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agathasfamiliar · 4 months ago

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hi!! I just found your blog, can I request g!p detective!agatha railing reader in a missionary position and has a bulge kink (poking the bear🤭🏃‍♀️)

thank you so much for this request it was very fun to write, i hope you enjoy it!

fuck the police:

detective agnes o'connor x fem!reader

You fucked up and finally got caught for your long-running streak of graffiti artistry. What's worse than being arrested, however? Being interrogated by the one detective in town who causes you to question your all out hatred for the profession.

word count: 6.2k

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, agnes is trans/intersex/has a penis, penis in vagina sex, power bottom!reader, service top!agnes (but agnes still needs a little control of course), handcuffs, breeding kink, bulge kink, agnes loves reader's tits, smut

author's note: trans butch agnes, my beloved. also i probably could've done more research into a more realistic set up/i know this isn't how someone being arrested/interrogated would work but it's porn so...hopefully you can look past that

You never thought you’d find yourself here, arrested and waiting to be questioned for your crimes. Perhaps you should’ve seen it coming, your graffiti art has steadily risen in popularity over the last few months, ever since one particularly evocative piece got featured on the local news and allegedly inspired a number of protests throughout the city of Westview.

Not that you had anything to do with that.

The police department has issued several requests for information on you, even offering a pretty handsome reward for the proven identity of “Hex”, the name you tag every piece with. A rumor has even reached your ears about a copycat artist getting arrested over in Eastview. Serves them right for using your signature, but it at least has kept the feds off your trail for a bit.

Admittedly, you’d gotten cocky thinking you could get away with tagging the squad car stationed at the busiest intersection in town. In your defense, it had looked empty. How were you supposed to know the deputy on duty was napping in the back seat? You’d made it halfway through the looping pink pig face you were sprawling across the windshield before he woke up and chased you down four blocks.

If you were wearing your usual running shoes instead of having slipped on an old pair of slides in your rush out of the house, you probably would’ve outrun the middle-aged cop chasing you, another mistake you won’t make again.

Now, you sit shivering in nothing but a sheer white tank top and sweatpants so spattered in all the vibrant colors of your, now confiscated, cans of spray paint, that you can’t even remember what color the pants originally were. You weren’t an idiot, you had a black hoodie on when you went out to do your work, but the rookie cop that booked you at the station also insisted on taking your sweatshirt for “evidence”.

You’re pretty sure he just wanted to see you suffer in the refrigerator-like temperature they keep the precinct at, clearly only recently having graduated the academy and already taking a shine to abusing his power. Pigs, indeed.

The interrogation room they brought you to well over 30 minutes ago sits at the very back of the building, a windowless box that somehow looks and smells both musty and sterile. A large one-way mirror covers the wall opposite the door, the only noise in the confined space being the tick-tick-tick of the clock above it that reads just past midnight.

You rattle the short chain connecting your handcuffed wrists to a bar on the heavy metal table in front of you, just to disrupt the suffocating silence. Have you seriously been forgotten here?

Just as you have that thought, as if summoning another person into existence with it, the door, opposite the corner where you sit, opens briskly.

Twin sighs of irritation drop from both your mouth and the supposed detective’s as she enters. You can’t make out too many details of her appearance at first because of the dim lighting that mostly just illuminates the table you sit at, as well as the fact that she has her head down looking over what you assume is your intake forms.

“I want a lawyer.” Are the first words out of your mouth once the woman has turned to shut the door behind her.

“Ha!” She laughs dryly and it has you simmering with rage already, but something about it also sounds familiar.

“Well, sweetie,” The still concealed detective continues as she finally steps into the light, “not likely to find a public defender that’s available at this hour, but if you insist on staying overnight…” She trails off amusedly, finally stepping into the light and causing your prepared reply to die in your throat as you connect the recognition of the voice with the blue eyes that meet yours.

“Detective O’Connor.” You greet, trying to keep your tone even.

Fuck.

Of fucking course, of all the detectives in the goddamn city, this is who had to come question you. The same detective you’ve served coffee to every morning for the better part of three years at your shitty cafe day job. The same detective who barely acknowledges your existence, but when her fingers brush yours as you pass her usual over the counter, you think about it for the rest of the day. The detective you berate yourself for fantasizing about, because she’s everything you despise and your friends would never let you hear the end of it if they found out, especially with how often you’re spouting your “radical” political beliefs (not that you see them that way.)

Detective Agnes fucking O’Connor…

This is not how you imagined it would look if you ever got her in a room alone.

“Huh? Do I know you?” She questions, almost offended, and now you’re the one to let out a dry laugh.

“Here, let me help jog your memory.” You say, picking up the small, paper cup of water that had been left on the table for you in one bound hand, holding it aloft and reciting her order.

“One large hot coffee with two sugars and half a pump of vanilla.”

She looks unaffected at your display, only raising both eyebrows once in sudden recognition before sauntering over to the chair on the other side of the table and sitting down casually.

“Impressive, that how you’ve avoided custody so long? Charming Westview’s finest by memorizing their coffee orders?” Her questions are laced with condescension.

“Nope, just yours. Why? Is it working?” You smirk despite your better judgment. You hadn’t planned to try the flirting route to get out your charges, but hey, the best schemes have an element of truth to them. Plus, if this is the only chase you’ll have to speak to the detective alone, you might as well make the most of it.

She doesn’t answer, instead leaning back in the rickety metal chair that lets out a squeal at the motion. Her long brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail that’s tied low at the base of her skull. Blue flannel sleeves are rolled up to the elbow and it’s all you can do not to think about tracing your tongue over the veins that snake over her strong forearms.

The jeans she’s wearing strain with the way she sits, legs spread apart, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop from letting out a gasp when you notice how it puts the delicious outline of what’s beneath the denim on display. Fuck, you do not need to be thinking about straddling the woman where she sits and grinding down against her bulge right now, but you are anyway.

Mercifully, she leans forward again in the seat to ask another question and the view is gone. You need to focus if you’re going to get out of this without incriminating yourself.

“What were you doing tonight?” She asks flatly, getting down to business. You know better than to provide anything resembling an answer, true or false.

“This whole thing seems pretty excessive, all things considered. I mean, an interrogation? Really, Agnes?” Her first name slips out before you can catch it, but you don’t really care.

“Just answer the question. And it’s Detective.” The flare of anger in her eyes only spurs you on.

“Sorry, Detective Agnes,” you correct yourself, purposefully using her name this time, just to see that flash of heat again.

“If you were so curious about where I was tonight you could’ve just asked me out.” Now that you’ve opened the floodgates, the suggestive remarks just keep coming out.

For Agnes’ part, she remains still and draws in an angry breath. Her blue eyes blaze with irritation at your lack of cooperation more than the intrigue you were hoping for, but that just means you’ll have to turn up the dial on this improvised plan you’ve laid out for yourself. What’s the worst that could happen, anyway?

“Listen, if you’re going to keep wasting my time I’ll just lock you up now and wait ‘til morning.” She threatens with a glowering expression, voice raising every few words in an attempt to intimidate. It’s kind of cute, actually.

You think she might hear just how her phrasing comes out and anticipate your next response, because she almost looks remorseful. The slightest pink tone that rises to her cheeks and the way she pokes her tongue out to wet her bottom lip when her eyes flick down to your barely covered chest don’t escape your careful observations either.

“Ooo,” you start, falsely scandalized, “now you want me to spend the night?” A slight giggle escaping you at your own words and the way you lift your handcuffed wrists in front of you playfully.

With the action, you’re sure to press your biceps against either side of your body to even more obviously display your tits, and she can’t help but look down with the movement, eyes raking over your nipples that stand at attention beneath the thin fabric in the cold space.

Heat is practically rolling off her in waves and you can’t tell for sure if it’s arousal or fury that is threatening to boil over, or what will happen when it does, but you have always been the type to take risks. Why stop now?

“Can’t you just get me off with a warning? I mean- let me off…” You ask before she can recover from your last question, attempting a simper at the intentional slip up in your speech.

It seems that this is what finally pushes her over the edge as she slams her hands loudly against the metal table and stands up, causing it to vibrate with the impact. Her chair goes clattering to the ground behind her, but she doesn’t seem to care. The satisfied expression you wear drops for a second at the forceful display, maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

“Alright, that’s enough!” She shouts, leaning over so you can practically feel her breath on your face before she rounds the table quickly.

“Do you really wanna keep poking the bear?!” She asks, furious, now standing at your right side and heavily folding at the waist to shout into your ear.

You have to lean away slightly at the volume that threatens to burst your eardrum and it provides just enough space to look the detective up and down where she stands.

That’s when you see it.

Unmistakable and pressing against the zipper of her jeans so forcefully that it’s a wonder they haven’t burst; Detective O’Connor is hard.

You can’t drag your eyes away from the tented fabric, so obvious that it nearly casts a shadow onto the denim in the odd light of the room. As you are still seated, you’re practically at the perfect level to just lean over and mouth the length through her pants. It’s all you can do not to let your head dip where it wants to most, as if you’re a magnet being drawn by its opposite charge.

“I- uh.” You stutter, unsure of your words for the first time since she walked in. The amount of saliva that has accumulated in your mouth at the sight in front of you forces you to swallow before you speak again.

“I think I’d rather have the bear poke me.” You breathe, sounding wrecked just at the thought.

When you finally drag your gaze back up to hers, her face is burning red, but this time you can tell it is much more out of embarrassment than anger. She looks self conscious in a way you’ve never seen and it’s so, so pretty.

“It’s okay I c-” You start, reaching out uselessly in your confines, but you’re cut off from your attempt at a rare comforting word when Agnes seizes your right shoulder and lifts you to your feet. She then immediately folds you over and presses you against the table on your stomach, handcuffed hands pinned beneath your chest. You let out a grunt at the forceful action as well as the freezing cold metal that almost stings your skin that has warmed at your flirting.

The position is much like the one you were put in a few hours ago upon your arrest, only now it causes you to ache with desire instead of seeth with fury.

“You think this is funny?!” She questions, but it sounds strained and unsure. Your own hesitance at her intentions keeps you from muttering out that it’s actually not funny, it’s really fucking hot.

It dawns on you then that she probably turned you over like this so you aren’t able to see the blush that’s probably still spreading over her skin, or the bulge in her pants that’s no doubt only getting worse, especially with how you purposefully arch your back in her grasp.

She has you pinned beneath her hands, one still on your shoulder and the other holding your waist, the perfect placement for her to pull you back against her. Instead, a shaky breath sounds from behind you. It seems like she’s deciding what to do next and you can almost feel the heat radiating from between her hips that begs her to choose the option you’re hoping for too.

You start pressing back yourself, impatient and using any amount of leverage possible to reach your destination. To help her decide.

“Come on, detective. Let me help you out.” You nearly whisper in the most convincing and sweet voice you can muster. Her hands loosen ever so slightly at the soft sound and you use the opportunity to slide the last inch backwards, your ass just barely brushing her front, aware also that if she had wanted to stop you she would’ve easily been able to.

You feel the hardness and heat of her cock against you through both your clothing and nearly release a whimper at the sensation, at the idea of her finally being inside you like you’ve fantasized about so many times.

Just as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone again. Her hands release you entirely and she steps away without a word, leaving you feeling even colder than the steel table you’re slumped against. You drop your head to the metal in defeat. That’s it, you think. Your efforts haven't worked and you’re not only going to spend the night in a cell, but you’re going to do so while very uncomfortably wet and wound up. Plus, she’s probably going to try to add attempted bribery or harassment to your charge sheet. God, this was a dumb idea. Why couldn’t you have just gotten some old guy detective whose questions you would have dodged coldly and without a second thought?

All these thoughts flash through your head in the few seconds it takes Agnes to step away from the table and turn you by the hips to face her, the chain keeping you there being just long enough to allow such movement.

You look down immediately, as if out of instinct, to find the large bulge still present, possibly even more so somehow. A bolt of desire strikes through your core at the small dark spot you notice has formed on the crotch of the already dark jeans. The evidence of your effect threatens to turn your legs to jelly. Finally, your eyes raise to meet Agnes’ with a curiosity, who stands less than a foot from you, hands still holding your hips loosely. The thrill of not knowing what she’ll do next makes your already racing heart beat even faster.

You find that she looks as weak as you feel, drinking you in like you’re an ice cold glass of water she’s found in the middle of the sahara. It’s clear that she’s used up every last thread of restraint she has to resist your offer, and it still has proven to be insufficient. Her blue irises have nearly been swallowed by blown black pupils that bore into you as she speaks her resignation to her rapturous fate.

“If I’m gonna fuck you,” she breathes the words out like she’s just run a marathon, “it’s gonna be while looking at those pretty tits.”

You lean back into the table in favor of collapsing straight to the floor at those words. How is this actually happening?

Seeing you stumble into the table, her right hand shifts down to your thigh and lifts, helping you to sit on the ledge as she steps closer to let your knees bracket her body. She looks so much more confident in this moment, and not in the same stone-faced way she had while you prodded at her before. It brings a soft smile to your lips and she looks away, somewhat coyly, at your noticing. It’s hard to decide if you prefer her shy or assertive.

Blunt nails graze gently over your covered thighs, to your hips, then your waist, before finally settling over your scarcely contained breasts. Your own sharp intake of breath meets your ears as you lean into the warm touch and she squeezes them with a smirk playing on her lips.

“I might not remember your face…” she rasps, leaning to speak directly into your right ear, “but I definitely remember these.” Both thumbs move to brush over your already pebbled nipples, causing them to harden further. You roll your eyes, both at the comment and at the thread of pleasure that tugs right from where she touches you all the way down to your pulsing clit.

For all the humor in it, you can’t help but notice just how sincere her comment sounds and flashes run through your mind of every low cut top you’ve ever worn to work, wondering which one’s are her favorite.

“Shut up and fuck me already.” You exhale with a chuckle against her cheek, momentarily forgetting your binds and trying to reach around her shoulders to pull her closer. The chain rattles loudly and you jerk with the reminder of your limited movement.

Agnes shakes her head and laughs at your needy but firm command as well as your inability to move.

“Here, let me.” She continues laughing gently as she reaches for the key ring you somehow hadn’t yet noticed swinging from her hip.

“No.” You blurt before you can think better of it.

“Leave them.”

It’s a daring statement and you run your tongue across your teeth mischievously while the implication works its way through the woman’s mind. Her lower lip disappears into her mouth with how hard she bites into it, looking at you in disbelief and utter need.

“Fuck,” is all she says, dropping the keys back to her side and moving instead to undo her belt with a clumsy haste.

You would be scrambling to remove your own pants as well, not wanting to waste anymore time, but your own request has left you unable to do so. Instead, you’re left in awe as the black leather belt is unlatched and left hanging loosely open while Agnes works at her zipper. Even less is left to the imagination when denim is pulled aside to reveal cotton boxer briefs protruding with the tension of her arousal.

Her cock is pressing tautly against the soft, grey material and the way the underwear clings to her body causes you to gape at the implication of how much the secure garment is still concealing.

The dark spot you’d noticed on her jeans is even darker and more centralized to its origin on the grey cloth. Saliva fills your mouth again at the sight, the only thing better than seeing her from beneath that last layer of clothing will be when it is finally removed.

As if reading your mind and wanting you to suffer a moment long, she pauses her motions of undressing any further. Before you can argue or make a snide remark, her hands are on your own waistband, tugging the paint-covered article down as much as she can while you’re still seated. You can’t very well lift yourself with your hands at the moment, so you slip off the table quickly to help get them the rest of the way down, hopping back up just as swiftly and letting her pull them off your legs, shoes falling to the floor one by one in the process.

The cold table under your mostly bare ass draws the breath from you momentarily, only a black pair of boyshorts now protecting you from the metal.

“Do you ever wash these?” Agnes asks down at the rainbow vomit littering your clothing before dropping the pants to the floor, a real dry humor in her voice replacing the stern, mocking one from when she first entered the room.

“What’s the point?” You ask, because seriously, why would you wash them if you’re just going to get paint all over them again?

“Do you answer every question with a question?” She fires back, moving back between your knees from where she’d stepped back to help undress you. Her fingers play again at her own waistband, dipping into them slightly before meeting your eyes, waiting for your answer.

“Do you always stall like this when a girl wants you to fill her pussy?” You ask with an exaggerated expression of curiosity, as if you are genuinely awaiting the answer and not just communicating your impatience.

Her cheeks pink again at the response, any clever comebacks quickly forgotten. You remove your gaze from her face and shift it back to her arousal to allow her to blush in private.

In your peripheral vision, you see her eyes flick up to watch your face as she dips her left hand into her underwear and grasps herself so gently, right hand pushing the material down to reveal what you’ve been waiting for.

You’re first met with a mess of dark curls that trail all the way up to her belly button, which you only catch a quick glimpse of with the way her shirt momentarily gets caught by her arm. You stifle a moan at the reveal of her thick cock; rock hard, reddened and still beading pre-cum, as you saw evidenced on the front of her jeans and underwear.

Now you slightly regret having her leave the cuffs on, as you long to reach out and take the length in your hands, or better yet, your mouth. Heat takes your face at the idea of getting on your knees before the detective and gagging on her length, and now you’re the one blushing and biting your lip.

Painfully tearing your eyes from the beautiful sight to catch Agnes’ expression, you find her still looking for your reaction. She finds exactly what she’s looking for in the way your eyes soften and you use one finger, your hands still bound at the wrists and settled in front of your chest, to beckon her forward.

Loose strands of brown hair that have escaped her messily tied back tendrils brush the side of your face as she leans in close to catch your message.

“I need your cock inside me, detective.” You husk, more than speak, into her ear, the lust dripping from the title she insisted on minutes ago causing a physical and auditory shudder through the woman. Looking back down, you see Agnes stroke herself once, as if your words have rendered her unable to resist.

Maybe she notices that you’re about to make a comment about it, because in one swift motion Agnes’ right hand flies up to your left shoulder, shifting you fully to your back on the table. You let out a gasp at the sudden movement, metal tabletop clattering at the impact and drowning out the sound. Just as quickly as you’ve adjusted to your new position, you’re being pulled by the thighs to the very edge of the table and towards exactly what you want, Agnes then guiding you to wrap your spread legs around her hips for support.

“You need this, huh?” She asks, hungrily looking over your body from her new perspective. You’re about to answer her question with your own when she slowly and teasingly drags the head of her cock from your clit to your entrance, over your underwear. Her timing is getting a little too convenient.

You groan at the feeling of your own wetness being pressed against you by her hardness. It makes you ache knowing it’s so close to being consumed by your heat, only a thin shield of fabric left between you. If you had full range of motion of your hands, you would have already ripped the rest of your clothing off, but the quick and dirty way you’re both still mostly clothed almost turns you on more.

Desperate to maintain the dizzying contact, your hips grind upward as your legs become a vice, pulling her ever closer. The clear enthusiasm only spurs her on, gliding back up and down again, circling your clit three times with her cock on the last pass until you're squirming beneath her and hopelessly trying to contain your whimpering. You would rather wait a lifetime for your orgasm than beg a cop.

You’re so sopping wet, though, that when you look down between your bodies you can see the way her cock shines with your arousal despite not having yet made full contact. It’s almost too much to bear, your clit throbbing in time with your pounding pulse. Something has to give or you’re soon going to be a blabbering mess.

“Just fuck me, Agnes!” You bark out, hips rising insistently and your voice verging on a whine.

The room goes still for a moment, even the clock ticking away on the wall seems to pause for dramatic effect as she quirks an eyebrow and tilts her head dangerously at your outburst. That same feeling from before washes over you, when you thought you might’ve really fucked up, but it only lasts for half a second before a hand is shoving your ruined underwear to one side and you feel the tip of her resting at your entrance.

Your eyes meet her blue ones, which are actually still mostly black, especially in this light. They burn into you like before and you don’t know whether her silence is a good or bad thing.

You draw in your own shaky breath, waiting for her next move, and on the exhale she sheathes herself to the hilt inside of you.

Even she can’t contain her half of the guttural growl that comes from both of you at the perfect feeling. You don’t even have the wherewithal to feel embarrassed about just how fucking soaked you are that she was able to slide all the way in with one thrust, because the way her cock is filling you up so completely has rendered every other thought irrelevant.

A moment passes where you both breathe, adjusting to the stretch and squeeze respectively. You feel her throb once within you and think, at this point, with enough determination, you could come just from that small amount of friction.

You don’t need that determination, though. As if mocking that passing thought, Agnes skips any unnecessary build up and starts at a positively bruising pace. Just one moment ago she was panting over you, looking like she might not even make it two thrusts in before unraveling, and now she’s slamming into you with a literally breathtaking force.

No intelligible noises are able to come out of your throat at first, only broken, reedy gasps. Your eyes roll back in your head as the glorious, slapping sounds of your joining sexes fill your ears. Her length jabs over and over again at the perfect spot inside you, just where you need her.

Doing your best to focus your vision, you look up to see the red face of a woman clearly holding on to her composure for dear life. Her finger nails are short, but still able to bite into your hips ever so slightly as she practically slides you up and down along the table while also moving against you herself, which deepens her thrusts even more.

This also seemingly provides quite the show for Agnes, who you observe is splitting her time between watching your face contorting with pleasure, her cock sliding in and out of your pussy, and most of all, the way your tits are bouncing considerably with her every movement.

“You like these? You should fuck them.” You make out between gasping breaths, nodding down at your own chest.

Agnes takes a moment to respond, her laser focus causing her to not even register your words at first. When she does however, and notices your gesturing, her thrusting falters only for a moment, as if the idea alone has made her nearly swoon with desire. Crystal irises scan you over again and you can tell she’s thinking about it by the way her eyebrows knit together in a desperate sort of way.

“Maybe next time.” She decides, smirking down at you and ramming herself into you particularly hard once before returning to her rhythm, while her left hand comes up to grip your right breast greedily.

“Mmn- next time?” You ask around a moan, trying not to sound too hopeful, but it’s also such an unexpected sentiment from the detective you can’t help but question her further.

“I’d bet good money this won’t be your last arrest,” is all she says to satisfy your curiosity. While it’s also a subtle dig at your evading skills, your imagination still runs wild with the unspoken promise of how a future slip-up might turn out for you. It almost makes you want to get caught again.

“Right, because you’d love to f-fuck, fuck! Oh my god!” Your response turns into a moaning curse when her hand shoots down from playing with your tits so her thumb can land firmly on your clit and press down with flawless pressure, never letting up consistently filling you in the process.

“Oh fuck! Don’t stop! Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me..” The mantra spills from your lips while your orgasm mounts within you and you know you’ll be toppling over the edge any minute now.

If your hands were free you would be locking your fingers behind her neck and pulling her even closer to you to ensure you get what you want, but the burn of the metal chafing your wrists is a delicious alternative. The pain only sharpens the pleasure you’re feeling everywhere else and you throb at the idea of waking up tomorrow and seeing angry red and purple bracelets of evidence.

At your emphatic request, she doesn’t stop. You’ve never been so full before and when Agnes’ cock throbs within you after every couple of pumps, stars explode behind your eyes. There’d better be a next time because you’re pretty sure nothing and nobody has or will ever make you feel like this.

“I’m so, so close. Fuck!” You shout, unsure what possesses you to tell her, but her response only drives you closer to the edge.

“Fuck, yeah, fucking come for me. Come on my cock, come on my c-cock…” She huffs, the exertion that you were already impressed with her maintaining finally shows in her voice, but she still never lets up. It almost sounds like she’s begging, a “please” barely contained behind her lips, and that’s what makes you really want to come for her.

Chasing your orgasm, you redouble your efforts of rocking your hips up and it makes her length press even more fully against your front wall until you’re practically screaming with pleasure. The new angle caused by your rocking coupled with the way your walls are tightening around her in anticipation of your release is also clearly doing something for Agnes.

Her breaths are coming in short puffs and she is completely unable to stifle the loud whimper that bursts out of her when you clench around her even harder, your orgasm just seconds away.

That’s what finally does it, that mewl that you were able to pull from the tough detective. It sends you flying, every muscle tenses and wave after wave of pleasure causes you to buck against the table and Agnes, but she holds you firmly in place, fucking you through it and moaning herself the whole time as she marvels at your release. The aftershocks go on for what feels like forever while you float in your euphoria, never wanting it to end.

After your release, Agnes’ thrusts quickly become short and frantic, almost rutting into you with a fervor. The throbs you’ve felt are coming on every pump and you’re content to lie back in your blissed out state and let her take whatever she wants, until she starts to pull out of you, one trembling hand releasing your hip and clearly intent on finishing herself off.

You’re suddenly more lucid than ever, quickly locking your ankles behind her from where they’d fallen limp, and shoving her back into you until she bottoms out. A surprised breath leaves her at the action, a sheen of sweat breaking across her forehead as she stutters out her reasoning.

“I-I’m gonna-” She can’t even get the words out and it’s the second time in so many minutes that you feel your heart squeeze at just how adorable this usually grave woman is.

“I know, I know. Come inside me, baby.” Your voice is thick with desire and you’re still lingering bliss, the pet name slipping out like water, but you need her to know just how badly you want it.

Her eyes widen slightly as a deeper blush somehow takes over her already red face, unsure but so very full of want. You feel her twitch within you despite herself and her hips roll just at the words.

You don’t break eye contact, making clear how serious you are to quell her doubt.

Tentatively, after a beat, she starts up a slower pace, pulling almost out of you before thrusting all the way back in, like she’s giving herself time to think again.

“You can do it baby, I know you want to. Fuck, you feel so good inside me.” You gasp out the words while she fucks back into your pussy and you think you could come again just from the way she looks at you when you say them.

You repeat your cooing encouragements and it doesn’t even take three more of those slow thrusts before she falters and stays sheathed inside you, rutting weakly.

“Come on, baby.” You repeat, and you know she’s done.

More of those beautiful whimpers fall from her lips as you feel one stronger throb and then warmth explodes into your walls. You can’t help but moan yourself at the feeling of being filled by her. Spurt after spurt of her cum coats your insides while she holds you tighter and tighter, as if you’ll float away if she lets go. Her desperate moans die down eventually and she slumps against you, still inside, and draws in one big breath before releasing it slowly. Her eyes are screwed shut and her head is now resting against your restrained hands on your chest.

It’s probably good they're restrained, you think, because if they weren’t you’d be having a very hard time resisting running your fingers through her long hair, tenderly scratching your nails against the nape of her neck.

Another beat passes where the two of you breath against one another and come down from your respective highs. The delicious mix of your and Agnes’ cum has started to drip out of you onto the table below and it’s a hot enough thought that your sensitive clit gives a weak twitch and you clench around Agnes unintentionally, causing her to crane her neck to look up at you.

Her eyes are clear again and softer than you’ve ever seen them; you let your coursing endorphins carry you away on a cloud of imagining leaning the six inches it would take to capture her lips in yours, but you don’t dare actually do it.

She starts to shift, maybe shaking herself from some similar thought, you can’t tell. Her soft sex pulls out of you slowly as she pushes up on her hands and waits for you to release her from the grip your legs still have her in. You unsteadily unravel yourself from her, shuddering slightly at the loss and trying not to think about how empty you feel without her.

Now free, she tucks herself back into her briefs and makes quick work of finally undoing your cuffs. Her hands rub at the raw skin absently, using her hold there to pull you into a seated position. She then reaches down for the balled-up mess you call a pair of pants and slides them back onto your trembling legs easily. After you’re relatively put back together, cum still leaking out and coating your already ruined underwear, she looks you over once more with hunger along with something else you can’t place.

She looks thoughtful, like she wants to say something else but thinks better of it, instead letting a sly smile pull at her mouth and a different comment sneak through with a soft laugh.

“Consider that your warning.”

#agatha harkness #agatha all along #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agatha all along fanfic #agatha harkness x you #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x reader smut #x reader smut #female reader #fem reader #x reader #agatha harkness fanfic #agatha harkness smut #smut #agatha all along smut #familiar requests #agatha x you #agatha smut

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sinsofnivan · 6 months ago

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ani x reader smut

can't stop, won't stop. — Anakin Skywalker x YOU — SMUT!

SUMMARY: anakin just loves spoiling you rotten, buying you the things you want, giving you the things you want, and giving you all the pleasure you craved for.

all of it.

PAIRING: ANAKIN SKYWALKER/you.

WARNINGS: porn without plot, fingering, inappropriate use of the force, dirty talking, overstimulation, forced orgasms, save me service dom anakin, established relationship, au where the jedi council isn't really that strict yk.

WORD COUNT: 855

A/N: i can only think of one person that's name ani and that's my pookie wookie anakin skywalker. if that's not him, idrk who you mean . . . crossposted on my AO3.

NSFW UNDER THE CUT!

your cunt squelched ridiculously loud as anakin slipped his fingers in and out of your slit, his digits coated with your addictive essence. you laid on top of your boyfriend, back resting on his chest, and your body secured in place by his metal hand; squeezing and toying with one of your nipples. "ani," you squirmed, and anakin only shushed you as he licked and gently nipped on your cheek. "shh, baby," your body writhed, back arching beautifully—and anakin wished he could see it from above.

"you don't want obi-wan to hear you, do you?" anakin whispered in your ear, a tongue tantalizingly running over the delicate shell. "or maybe you do . . let everyone in here know that you're mine," his laugh rings in your ear, and you gasped when you feel a thumb run over your soaked clit. "you like that, baby? you're clenching around my fingers so tight," before you could even say anything else, his fingers began to pump into you in an ungodly pace—and you had to slap a hand over your drooly mouth to keep the noises at a minimum.

the tips of his fingers kept hitting in all the right places, curved upward to keep grazing against that spongy nub that made your eyes cross. a cold, familiar sensation circled around your clit, but it's not his fingers, no—you knew his fingers better than that—and you can only assume it's him using the force on you. the hand on your mouth is useless because you squealed when you feel your clit being gently pulled and pinched. "anii . . ani—! stars, oh my stars,"

"yeah? y'feel good?" you could only nod, mind only focusing on this bliss he could give you. "it feels good—love it when you fingers fuck me!" you babbled. "i don't believe you. if you really felt good—," you feel a suckling sensation on your clit, and you're left stupefied and slack-jawed. "if you really felt good, you're gonna cum. gonna make a mess all over my fingers," "but i'm not—'m not close yet," "oh, but you are," he cooed, doubling the intensity on your clit. "you are, baby. don't you feel that?"

and you were at a loss for words.

coherence forgone, all you could do was stammer anakin's name. you hadn't even noticed he moves beneath you, making you wrap an arm around him as he captured your lips. it was sloppy—your tongue only languidly glissading over his. it's messy, and anakin did most of the work, but he's not complaining. he loved you like this. "come on, baby. don't you feel good? do you want me to stop?" he won't stop, of course not, but he wanted to hear how much you needed him. it always made his cock twitch under those restricting undergarments.

"nooo . . no p , please,"

there it was. his precious girl. "then you're going to cum for me, baby. you know y'wanna," another curl of his fingers against your sensitive spot makes you wail and sob, your orgasm spraying everywhere all over his hand. "theeere you go . . " anakin had his eyes affixed to your pussy—how his knuckles were glimmering with your essence, and how your cunt gushed with every slide in of his fingers. "there we go uh-huh. that's it," he kissed your temple, encouragement whispered into your ears—though, you haven't processed his words yet. and he didn't stop there, no.

he would purposefully slide his fingers slowly, and shoving them back in swiftly and forcefully, coaxing small fountains from you.

and you?

you were a drooling mess—eyes barely open and only whining when anakin was riding your orgasm out with his teasing fingers. "i knew you could do it, baby." he purred, capturing your lips once. "what do you say?" "th , thank yo—♡?!" your words were abruptly cut off, his fingers began to fuck into you again, with your squirt making it easier for him to reach the deepest parts of you; the sucking sensation back on your clit—and more intense than ever. your eyes were wide, legs beginning to quiver from overstimulation, but you could feel phantom hands keep your legs spread. "a , anii—♡! m, my cunt—!"

your moans echoed around the room now, and probably outside those thin walls. he didn't care if passersby or obi-wan or whoever the fuck else heard anymore. "yeah? what's wrong with your cunt, baby? c'moon, tell me." "cunt's feelin' s, sensitive—oh my stars,♡!" "aaw, you poor thing . . . think y'just need to cum, Y/N." that thumb brushing over your clit is not a coincidence, and a grin quirks up on his lips when you screamed his name, your body doing as he says and cumming hard.

his pace doesn't stop this time, and your pussy ached with oversensitivity—and anakin could see it from how your hips bucked, trying to writhe away from his merciless fingers. "do you want me to stop, darling? want these fingers to leave your cunt empty and cold?" and oh, you precious thing. anakin couldn't stop himself from chuckling as he watched you hesitate, and then shake your head.

"that's what i thought . . give me a kiss, baby,"

end.

A/N: i will make a part two of this, but i just want to let people know that i accept requests! <3 thank you for reading!

#𝖓𝖎𝖛𝖆𝖓. ✦#star wars #star wars smut #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader smut #anakin smut #anakin #sw #x reader #x reader smut #reader smut #smut #anakin x reader

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insert-cat-meme · 2 months ago

Text

Followed

First fic here. Hope this isn’t one of those things I will scold myself later for being “cringy” or something like that.

Warnings: stalking, paranoia, break ins, manipulation, overall unhealthy behaviour

Yandere! Chrollo x Reader

Word count: 2215

Reading below this point means you agree to the above mentioned warnings.

At this point, you wondered if your stalker wanted you to notice them.

Things had been like this for about a month now. It started with a shadow peeking into your room through your window. Thankfully, you had not been in a state of undress, but the fact alone made you clutch your blanket a bit tighter for many nights to come.

There had been flowers delivered to your door without any indication about who could have sent them. When you asked the nice lady living in the apartment across the hall, she could only tell you that some postal service had delivered them.

She gave you cake that evening, a gesture at least somewhat comforting for you.

Other incidents started to pile up as well. Your mailbox slightly ajar even though you were sure you had closed it properly the day before.

What finally broke the last straw was the note on your fridge. Walking one day into your kitchen, you learned how much terror could be conveyed through a small piece of paper.

The dreadful sinking of a stone in your stomach at the supposedly nice message, “Make sure you eat something healthy. You have been ordering a lot of take out the last few days.” had almost been a completely new feeling at its intensity.

Immediately you had filed the number of the police but after the two officers could not find anything other than the note, they informed you that they could not do anything. There were no broken locks, all windows closed neatly and not a single thing of your possessions had been stolen.

On that day you ordered a locksmith to instal a new lock in your door and additional ones to your windows.

It was understandable, really. The police could only help you in the boundaries of the law but it almost felt like you had been cheated out of your security.

For a moment you contemplated moving out of Yorknew again, back to the place you had grown up but you had no financial means for that. This city was expensive and where were you supposed to find work?

So you just had to bite your tongue and hope to stumble upon a solution somewhere along the way.

Clutching your bag a bit closer to your chest, you stepped out of the train into the dirty station of your neighbourhood. One of the three walls of the small house meant to offer protection from the elements was covered in plastic. Apparently someone had broken the glass, leaving a gaping space behind.

Keeping one hand in the pocket of your jacket, you made your way down the street. You envied the people who could afford to live in the central area. By no means was your flat a bad one. At worst it’s environment was caked in dirt, the city not caring to clean the areas most tourists wouldn’t stumble upon but the way to work and back home was a long one.

Feeling around, you felt th pepper spray bump against your hand. You were aware that it was more for reassurance than actual protection. If you were to ever confront whoever was watching you, you were to most likely freeze up in fear.

Reaching into your bag with your other hand, you started to search for your keys. The door of the place you had. once considered safe was now almost in sight. Only a few weeks ago you would have been jumping from joy mentally at the thought of being able to finally relax but now you couldn’t even do that anymore.

Just as you were finally able to pull out the jingling bundle of metal, you saw someone standing in front of the door to your apartment complex.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to continue to walk. There was no reason to assume that this was your stalker, your nightmares personified, one of the faces staring down on you in your darkest dreams.

Growing taller and taller in the horizon you took not of their black shirt, it clinging to their slim frame and the bandanna covering their forehead. Letting out a sigh of relief, you felt a slight sting as the hand that had curled around your keys started to relax, visible imprints left behind by them. Raising the hand holding onto them, you called out to him.

Chrollo had been a friend of yours for a while now. What had been a run in with someone looking for directions had blossomed into a friendship. He was almost too good to be friends with you. You usually imagined those incredibly book-smart type of people to look down on ordinary workers like you but instead, the ravenette had been nothing else but kind to you.

The only less than optimal thing about your friendship was that he was only in Yorknew for work but hey, that was what phones were made for, right?

Coming to a halt in front of him, you took in the slight disheveled look of his hair, his clothing seemingly comfortable yet still indicating that he had just arrived, small stains of barely visible liquid clinging to the hem of his shirt.

You knew it had been raining just this noon so he couldn’t have been here for too long considering that he also needed to settle in somewhere (or at least you hoped so).

The dim light of the sunset threw a soft glow across his black strands and for a moment you wanted to run your fingers along them. They had to be soft.

Thankfully, the other one of the two brain cells in your head shot that thought down immediately and instead decided to greet him.

After fighting with the lick for a few seconds, you opened up the door, leading him up the stairs to your flat whilst hoping and desperately praying to whatever higher power willing to hear you out, that you had cleaned up so that your home would look at least somewhat close to tidy.

When the two of you finally reached your door, you had to suppress a sigh. Another bundle of flowers sat in front of your door. The tranquil beauty and the fear they created within you was almost ironic.

No, it was ironic. Why were a pile of plant cells kept alive by photosynthesis capable of striking you with such terror?

Although, the first time was definitely more frightening but the more it happened, the more you started to just simply accept them. Humans, adaptability and all of that.

Picking them up whilst trying to hide your trembling hands, you tried to ignore the inquisitive look Chrollo was throwing at you. He must have noticed that something was wrong considering the slight look of worry ghosting over his face.

Finally opening the door to your destination, you ushered the male inside. Whatever you had begged just minutes ago must have heard you; there was barely and mess.

After sitting your guest down on your couch, you excused yourself into the kitchen under the pretense of preparing something to drink for him. The pile of greens you had disposed of continued to grow this evening as well.

Not wanting to leave Chrollo all alone in your living room, you hurried up and filled two glasses of water. If you had more time you would have offered something more fancy but you didn’t want to test his patience any longer.

Returning back to him, you saw that he had lifted the cover of a book lying on the coffee table. You had grabbed it on one of your grocery trips, throwing it inside of your cart in hopes of getting some sort of entertainment from it.

If you had known that Corollo of all people would be visiting, you would have thrown the thing out immediately considering that it was some cheap romance cliché.

Clearing your throat, you hoped that he didn’t notice the heat travelling up your neck. Letting go of it, he turned his full attention on you. “Secret admirer?”

His tone was teasing, a small smile tugging at the sides of his mouth. Yet there was also something else. Instead of two teasing orbs laughing in unison with his facial expression, there were only two gaping holes filled with the endlessness of an abyss.

Laughing, you tried to ease the tension whilst sitting down on the other end of the couch. You were thankful for the warm light filtering through the window. Otherwise, you might have mistaken your friend for being angry.

Perhaps he was angry? God, why were you so bad at figuring stuff like this out?

Starting to play with the loose thread of one of the cushions leaning against the backrest, you started to carefully approach the subject like someone might approach a snake hissing aggressively at them. “… I think, no I know, I am being followed.”

Looking up to him once more, you expected something like outrage. No, that was wrong. You didn’t know Chrollo that long but you knew that it took a lot more to make him act in any hasty way. Such an emotion like outrage was reserved for cases like someone murdering someone close to him.

That didn’t mean there was no response to your words though. Slowly, he turned his head sideways, his eyes drifting slightly to the left. “If you wouldn’t mind, could you elaborate?”

Taking a deep breath in, you tried to force yourself to stay calm at the memories emerging whenever you had to deal with your stalker. “Those flowers…”

Hearing your voice break, the black haired male nodded in understanding. “A stalker then… I see.”

His gaze continued to focus slightly left to your head. “That must have been frightening.”

This time, it was your turn to nod. You felt guilty for telling him this whole mess you had found yourself. Someone as kind as him shouldn’t be burdened with your problems.

“But, oh well, what else to do…” Laughing once more, you tried to change the subject. “How has work been?”

Snapping his head back into your direction, his eyes stared back into your own but unlike the last time, they didn’t feel like two nails hammering you into your seat but instead like a warm drink during a cold day. The comfort of returning home after a long day.

“Nothing new really. Like always we did what we came there to do.” At least he was doing well.

You really did have a knack for getting yourself into trouble. First you had attracted his and then the attention of someone else. Well, he couldn’t blame you for that last one. Not really.

The Hunter had been so blatantly obvious with his tailing that the leader of the Phantom Troupe had to keep himself from looking out of the window the entire time.

Not like ignoring someone so obnoxious was a challenge but whenever he thought back to the moment he had discovered the young man following you around about three weeks ago, he contemplated on using one of his nen abilities on him.

Although, perhaps he should have been thankful considering Chrollo had been watching you almost a year before approaching you under the excuse of asking for directions. When he found out that there was another one observing you, he had finally been able to give you small gifts. One of them being the flowers you had just thrown out so ungraciously. The note, a product of him being more often around than you would ever be able to guess.

If they messed up with such a simple thing like closing a mail box properly and being discovered from time to time, who was he to blame?

Perhaps the two of them weren’t that different considering that only the end objective was the difference between him and your little shadow.

Digging deeper, he had discovered that the Hunter was a new one, desperate to prove himself and had somehow found out that you were in contact with Chrollo.

He needed to tie that loose end. Fast.

But for now he would enjoy this. You had grown to trust him so nicely. It was the right choice to study which behaviours you liked the most in people.

Should he tell you that he was having a vacation and planing to spend it close to you? It was not like he was lying. Most of his life outside of heists could be considered vacation. You did seem to like the innocent facade he put up for you. Growing closer to you in more intimate ways shouldn’t be too hard.

You were a bit naive. Not stupid. No, you were like most ordinary citizens. If you were that he would have dropped you the second he came to that conclusion but for some reason he just couldn’t let you be.

Just as you were about to tell him about something that happened last week, leaning over to pick up one of the glasses, he saw the man shadowing you peek into the room, his gaze meeting his own.

Yes, perhaps it was time to get rid of him. It had been fun to play around but this was starting to get annoying.

#yandere #yandere x reader #reader insert #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo #chrollo #hxh x reader #yandere hxh

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luxaofhesperides · 7 months ago

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puddle

Your writing is amazing btw

Danny is usually fine with the cold. He's got an ice core, he's practically made for the cold. But Gotham autumn cold is another monster, especially when it comes with so much rain.

The city is constantly damp and dreary, switching between sprinkling on and off to a heavy deluge of rain.

Listen, he can handle the cold but not the cold and wet. That's just asking for too much.

He says as much to Duke over the phone, peering out from under the awning of the theater he's trapped at, hoping the rain will let up soon. It hadn't been raining when he left the apartment earlier to watch a movie, killing time until Jazz got back from her internship with Gotham's social services, so Danny had been caught totally unprepared when he stepped outside and got hit with a spray of rain as a bus drove past.

Duke laughs at him, his voice carrying a little static over the phone, and Danny pouts. No point in hiding it when no one's around to see it.

"How have you not learned to always carry an umbrella with you by now?" Duke asks, amusement coloring his voice. "Hasn't it already been a year since you moved here?"

Danny pouts and stares out into the heavy sheets of rain coming down just a few feet in front of him. "I was running late to the showing so I didn't check the weather! And it was almost nice out earlier so I thought it would be fine."

"Alright, new question: how have you not learned to stop trusting Gotham's weather? If it's good, then it'll get worse. If it's bad, it'll stay bad. That's how it is."

"This city is out to get me," Danny complains. "If I get sick because of this rain, just leave me to die."

"You're so dramatic," Duke says fondly.

"You would be too, if you were stuck out here." He takes a step to stand just beneath the edge of the awning and peers up at the sky. Heavy gray clouds hang above the city, hiding the sky from horizon to horizon. The wind isn't strong today, which means the clouds are barely moving. No doubt the lower streets have already begun to flood, water rising as storm drains struggle to keep up with the heavy rain. He sighs and reaches back to draw his hood up to cover his head. "I think I'm just gonna have to make a run for it."

Noise erupts from Duke's end of the call; rustling, doors slamming, metal moving. "Wait, stay where you are! You're at Harbor Theater, right?"

"Yeah."

"Give me like ten minutes. Don't move!" And then the call ends without another word, leaving Danny to blink out at the rain, confused. He pulls his phone away from his ear, stares down at the screen where "Call ended" stares back up at him, and shrugs.

Sure. Okay. This might as well happen.

He retreats back to the door, more protected from the rain, and leans against the brick wall of the building to wait. It's only ten minutes, and he's not in a rush to do anything else today, so he can wait. As long as he stays mostly dry, he'll be fine.

Despite his many complaints about the rain, Danny does enjoy Gotham storms. They're quiet and steady, with only the really big storms carrying thunder into the city. The storms in Amity Park were always loud, with howling winds and earthshaking thunder, lightning flashing nonstop until it was over. Compared to that, Gotham rain is peaceful; the steady patter of raindrops against windows is soothing and has made him fall asleep more than once. As long as he's safe and warm inside, he likes the rain.

As it is, when he's outside and stuck hiding beneath an awning, he very much does not like the rain.

The street is mostly empty as everyone with common sense is inside where it's dry. A few cars pass by, driving fast despite how hard it must be to see, and send water splashing towards him. He's just outside the splash zone, thankfully, but that doesn't stop him from glaring and muttering curses to those drivers.

Danny sighs again and closes his eyes, hoping to make the time pass by faster if he makes his mind drift.

It doesn't feel like it's been ten minutes when he hears Duke call his name. It barely even feels like five. Danny opens his eyes and pushes off the wall, looking down the street where he can see a bright yellow umbrella moving up and down as Duke runs through the rain to meet him. Did he really run all this way, just to get Danny an umbrella? That's really sweet. Danny bites the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning too much like some kind of lovesick fool.

Which he is, to be fair, but he doesn't need to show that.

"Dude," he says when Duke reaches him, stumbling to a stop under the awning to catch his breath. "Did you seriously run from your place to here? Don't you live on the other side of Gotham?"

Duke shakes his head and takes a moment to catch his breath. "I was nearby," he says, gesturing vaguely behind him, "Don't worry about it. You heading back home?"

"That was the plan, yeah."

"I'll walk you then. C'mon."

Duke offers his elbow as though escorting Danny to the ball. Danny takes it, stepping beneath the umbrella, so cheerfully yellow it almost feels aggressive. "My hero," he teases. "My knight under yellow umbrella."

"Listen, it was the only one I had that wasn't broken and it was a joke gift from a friend."

"A joke gift?"

"It's a Signal umbrella. Look at the handle."

Danny looks. The curve of the handle ends in a bat symbol. "That's amazing," he says, biting back a laugh as they step out into the rain. The umbrella protects them, but he can see that both their shoulders are getting wet; it's hard to fit two bodies beneath one umbrella. He pulls at Duke's arm, tugging him closer, so they can both fit more securely under the umbrella, walking arm in arm down the street.

It would have been nearly perfect if it wasn't for the fact that the streets were full of rainwater and a step into a puddle too big to avoid leaves his shoes and socks wet.

"Aw, man," he groans, frowning at his shoes. "I just can't win today."

"You used up all your good luck calling me," Duke jokes.

"Worth it, if it gets me you," Danny says without thinking. Then he squeezes his eyes shut and regrets because flirting with Duke has become a habit when they became friends, and it's a dangerous habit know that Danny's figured out his massive crush on Duke.

"Sweet talker," Duke retaliates. He's unfazed, carrying on normally, so Danny relaxes. As long as he can keep his crush quiet alongside his many other secrets, he's fine.

Leaning into him a little more, Danny ducks his head to hide a smile as they keep walking. Under one umbrella, together under the sheets of rain, it feels like there's no one else in the world but them.

Maybe there is something to enjoy about rainy autumn days.

Even if it ends with him walking home in waterlogged socks.

#ghostlights #dcxdp #dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #prompt fill #duke hears that danny is stuck in the rain and quite literally leaps at the chance to walk him home sharing an umbrella #hes read the romance novels. hes watched the romance animes. he knows how this goes lol #casual romantic duke my beloved

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dusterbishop · 9 months ago

Text

we can go forever until you wanna sit it out

summary. || you are an amplifier gifted with the ability to strengthen the power of other mutants, a skill that earns you a place on team x. learning to work with them is a sharp curve, especially with the lonesome newest member, logan.

pairing. || logan x f!reader (slow burn)

count. || 2.1k

notes. || warning for character death and violence. this is my first time writing for logan, but i have been bewitched by the tiktok edits.

part one. || part two. || part three. || part four.

You meet Logan when you are young, but he is far older than you initially assume.

Stryker takes point in the introductions, as usual. You linger patiently at his back, just a pace behind, idly scuffing the dirt with the toe of your boot. The air is sour with the stench of stale blood and decay. War isn’t new to you. Neither is recruitment for new soldiers.

“Who’s your little friend?” One of the men jeers, a sharp smile edging the curve of his mouth. This one is Victor Creed, you think, and it’s confirmed when you glance to the other side of the cell and see the other brother sitting back, unimpressed. That one is surely Logan.

From the files that Stryker let you and Zero parse through, you expected more… reaction. He has been tracing their movements for the past two months, and you have seen the bullet list of their service history and grim achievements. They are deadly predators, mutated to efficiently slaughter their prey. Animals, Zero had remarked, and you had silently conceded to that point. Not that you haven’t killed, but you also have human hands that do not morph to tear apart flesh.

“Less who she is, and more what she can do for you both,” Stryker says. On cue, you wander a step closer and set your amplifier alight with a flick of your wrist. You’ve mastered the range just enough to brush the soles of their feet, a fleeting-faint taste of your ability. The hand movement is still an instinct you can’t quash despite the disapproving look Stryker gives you when he sees it.

Victor sucks in a deep, rumbling breath, twitching with a suppressed lunge. Logan doesn’t make a noise, but merely closes his eyes as if a weight has been lifted. Your own body tingles with rippling electricity, every nerve set alight with adrenaline. Like a caffeine rush, you’ll feel the impact of the fall later, but for now you neatly dim your amplifier to a low buzz and shuffle back a half-step to escape their range. The pair slumps against the wall the moment it escapes them. Victor bares his teeth in a grin, and Logan gazes at Stryker with half-lidded eyes. It’s a dark, calculating gaze. Weighing the competition, you think.

“Now that I have your attention,” Stryker says, but you can’t help but notice that both the brothers are looking at you, instead. Their mistake.

Three months later, the brothers once again leave you pinned behind metal-gilded crates with enough gunfire to rattle your teeth in your skull.

“Good God,” you spit out, hauling yourself back behind cover. “Can you stop the self-sacrificial antics for a moment?”

“Sacrifice?” Victor laughs. His skin ripples with regeneration, leaving merely a smear of blood behind as proof of the healed bullet hole. His clawed hand flexes at his side, the elongated tips of his fingers scratching lightly against the floor. “I’m not the one dying, Star.”

You pull a face at the name, but you don’t have the time to argue it. Bullets spray in patterned bursts against your cover, and you have to hunch in on yourself to protect your extremities. The perk of your power is that you can keep your team from burning out and improve their reflexes. The downside is that your power does absolutely nothing in terms of protecting you; your protection is your team.

So you draw in a slow breath, flick your wrist, and summon a surging wave of amplification. Victor surges to his feet with a giddy-mad laugh and delves into the fray. Logan follows in close pursuit behind him, though he takes more care to skirt the edges of the bloodbath, cleaning up the loose ends.

The brothers are an odd addition to this mismatched army of mutant soldiers, though Stryker is pleased with their formidable prowess in battle. In the three months you’ve worked with them, you can see why, and there is a foreboding sense of dread that wells inside you as you listen to the choked-off screams of the enemy ahead. You clench your fists and hold the amplifier steady, silently grateful that for the moment, the only mutants in the room are the ones less likely to tear you apart. No doubt Victor would revel in slicing the flesh from your bones to expose what lies beneath your skin. Logan would be less inclined, perhaps, but you know he follows his brother above all else.

Yes, of course Stryker values their addition to Team X. They are nothing but monsters.

Nothing but monsters, and you have a leash on every one of them.

Stryker has a keen interest in your power, or rather what your power does for the team. You aren’t invulnerable, and you don’t have hyper senses. You don’t teleport or shoot with terrifying accuracy. On the surface, you appear nothing more than a young woman with military training and a nervous tic in your hand.

Underneath the surface, you burn bright.

Your father had been an amateur astronomer. When you were growing up, he would sneak you out to the backyard past your bedtime and the two of you would watch the sky and plot the path of constellations. He was the one that taught you about the sun, the moon, and the stars. My girl, he would say, you are made of the cosmos.

He must be partially right. There’s a staggering core of cosmic energy stored in the cradle of your ribcage. You have spent long moments staring at your own bare reflection in the mirror, hoping to catch a glimpse of it. How do you look so ordinary when there is a blazing sun in your chest?

Yet you do. Stryker had been skeptical of your ability when you first met him, but by that point he had recruited Zero and Bradley, so it only took a little wave of your hand to boost their abilities and prove your silent mutation. Proving it had sealed your fate: under the codename Cosmic, you were an infinite battery pack to the newly forged Team X.

Yet it’s moments like this, when you’re stranded in a rare week of downtime, that you feel like an outsider looking in.

It’s been four days since the job that got you shot at, the same job that let Victor unleash utter havoc, and you’re all going a little stir-crazy while you wait for things to cool down. John Wraith has somehow secured a deck of cards, and he’s managed to wrangle Bradley, Victor, and Wade in a game you don’t follow. The rules seem to change the more they drink and bicker over the play, so you toy with your own can of half-drunk beer and stare out the living room window of your temporary housing. There are stray stars speckled in the night sky, and you feel such a deep-ridden surge of grief at the sight of them.

The arguing gets louder around the kitchen table, and none of them notice when you slip out the front door. The night is hushed when you close the door behind you, and some unknown tension eases from your shoulders with the sky exposed high above. It takes some wandering to properly immerse yourself in the pitch dark, but you find a patch of grass cleared of undergrowth and sprawl out on your back, tucking your hands beneath your head. The safe house that Stryker has your team staying in is hours from the nearest large city, and the sky is clear of light pollution. You can see a scattered sea of stars, all of them twinkling in familiar greeting.

My girl, you are made of the cosmos.

You have to swallow back the sudden swell of emotion in your throat. It’s quiet this far from the house. Without any heightened senses, you can’t hear anything other than the soft rustle of the wildlife shuffling through the trees. It’s lonely, but not in the way that you felt lonely sitting in that room with the rest of the team. Their abilities serve them; your ability just makes them more.

You’re reminded of that fact in a fierce strike of terror when a figure appears at the edge of the clearing, moving too quiet for your human hearing to pick up. You bolt upright, curling your hands into fists, all too aware of your pitiful human strength and basic military training. It would do nothing against a mutant intent on rending you apart.

“Thought you were asleep,” Logan grunts, rubbing a hand over his chest in discomfort. The adrenaline from his sudden appearance spiked your amplifier, and you have to focus on leveling your breathing as you slowly retract your power back to your core. “Took you too long to notice me.”

“You were in your room,” you accuse. It’s mostly the fear driving the annoyance in your tone, but you don’t have the patience for an apology. “I wasn’t expecting to see you lurking in the woods.”

The clearing is half-lit by the light of the moon, though Logan lingers near the edges. He’s wearing a short-sleeve white shirt that clings to the curve of his torso, the muscled tone of his arms flexing as he crosses them over his chest. You can barely make out the way he raises a brow at your choice of words, his profile half-shadowed.

“Lurking,” he repeats, almost amused. “Says the stargazer.”

“Cosmic,” you remind him. “Comes with the territory.”

“What, you charge them, too?” You don’t expect him to step closer, but he does. In the moonlight, the tousled curl of his hair softens the incredulous look he’s giving you. There isn’t the same degree of mocking like the kind you would expect from Victor, but then again, you haven’t spoken to Logan much. He’s content to focus on the work rather than the idle play. Unlike Zero, however, there isn’t the same air of arrogant distaste.

He almost seems… ordinary.

“Funny,” you say dryly. You shuffle your weight and lay back down in the grass, pointedly ignoring the low chuckle he gives at your exasperation. There’s a kernel of truth stuck in your throat, so you blurt out, “I think they charge me.”

“Right,” Logan says, his tone decidedly skeptical. “And I get my claws charged up by sunshine and rainbows.”

You shoot him a glare. “I’m serious.”

“So I am, bub.”

He takes another step from the edge of the clearing. He’s closer now, enough that he looms over you. The stars speckle the sky above his head in a crown of twinkling light, and you flex your fingers, silently summoning the rush of energy that the sight of the sky gives you. Logan shivers, cursing under his breath, though he doesn’t back away.

He takes a step closer, nudging your hip with the toe of his boot. His posture doesn’t change, but he’s flexing his fingers into a fist, almost subconsciously. You wonder how it feels for him, to have his bones shift and extend into claw-like weapons. The first time you watched him kill, you grimaced at the sight of his hands. The sharpened claws of Victor’s nails were tame in comparison to the mutation that rearranged Logan’s skeleton.

You’ve never seen any indication that his ability hurts him, yet the way he flexes his hands now makes you wonder. He doesn’t speak for a long moment, only staring down at you with that unapproachable expression. You wonder, too, if he’s out here for the same reason that you are. Surely not; you’ve seen the way he follows Victor, and the way Victor turns to him, expectant in battle. They are tied together in a way that reminds you of a hangman’s noose.

“Sunshine, huh?” You say. “Suits your happy personality.”

“Like you know a fucking thing about me,” he says, and the laugh trailing the end of that sentence is far from amused. When he steps back, you almost miss the warmth of his presence filling the sky above. “Pay attention before you get yourself killed.”

“I’ve seen enough,” you shoot back, stung by the sudden seethe of his tone. You sit up to properly glare at him, but he’s already turned and heading back into the darkness of the woods. You call to his retreating back, “You and that brother of yours are gonna get the wrong people hurt.”

“Save the altruism for someone else,” he calls over his shoulder, and then he’s gone.

You glare up at the sky instead. The yawning black abyss above you feels lonelier than ever.

#logan howlett #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x you #wolverine imagine #logan imagine #x men imagine

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mullermilkshake · 3 months ago

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Which choice is wrong?

It's always raining. Though today is different.

Android!Suguru x Sex worker!Reader Inspired by Detroit become human (AWESOME GAME BTW) Fem!reader,Naoya is a dick,Blood and gore/ violence,Mentions of abuse/ getting paid to receive abuse,Prostitution,Murder,Choking,Strangling,Bent over a desk,Blood spray

<<< For more Suguru content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

It was raining again.

It always seemed to rain on the days you were furthest down in the pit you couldn’t seem to get away from.

Just one more month. Then, you could escape the place that had forced upon you a false sense of security under the guise of taking care of their own, giving you opportunities to make connections and garner more attention. When you got out of here, like hell would you ever go to the rich old men that fleeted in and out of those double doors just for a touch of your body.

You loathed the attention, but how were you ever to pay for the piling medical bills if you didn’t? Illness struck families like a train wreck, while evident of the damage at surface level, the true monster lusting for blood lingered underneath where no one could see him.

Still, you worked that pole every night like your own life depended on it and waited for the inevitable. You catch someone’s eye and they pilfer you off into a specialty private room for thirty minutes and do whatever they want to you- within reason.

Warranted, the reasons were… vague.

But that’s why each girl had a state of the art android to accompany them in each room. The club stated they were merely for the client’s needs, though you saw it as a deterrent. Though the androids did not gossip, or even function as real human beings, their extraordinarily human-like faces were enough to make the more aggressively sexual men think twice. They did not need to eat, gather materialistic things or take bathroom breaks. And required no payment in return for their services.

The android who you were automatically paired with on arrival was more often than not, the same one. It seemed to like going by the name Suguru. Well, you couldn’t quite call the android ‘it’ to its face, the android was far too human-like to ever be considered an ‘it’ by you.

So you referred to the android as ‘he’. And Sugru seemed to be content by it.

“Good evening, Miss Lady.” His name for you when every other android referred to you by first name alone.

“Hello, Suguru. How… how are you doing?” Like he could actually give you a detailed description of sitting in storage until the club opened.

“Delightful. I’m ready to work tonight like always. I hope you are well?”

He watched you like he always did, more closely than the others. It was as though he was trying to work you out, or figure what facial expression you were using to properly gauge the conversation. You could never read him because you never knew what he was thinking, that was if he thought about things in the first place.

What do androids think about when they aren’t working? Do they judge people, or maybe they talk to each other like some weird social network we aren’t aware of?

“I’m good, thank you-”

“Still conversing with those things like they know how you’re feeling?”

You looked over your shoulder and noticed your colleague already dressed and ready, her skirt riding up her thighs and heels higher than necessary. It only made her taller and more intimidating, right from the soles of her feet which she loved stepping on weaker men with, to her snow white hair that fell effortlessly past her accentuated shoulders.

“Hi Mei, uh… I-” you stopped before you followed her into the dressing room. “I’ll be right out, Suguru.”

Mei’s sarcastic chuckle made you follow behind and try to justify yourself. “I just feel bad for these androids… no pay, constantly working or sitting in that stuffy warehouse when they aren’t. It sort of makes me feel bad, y’know?”

“They’re just expensive hunks of metal and plastic, Love. Nothing human will come from them, they just turn a profit.”

“But what if one day, they did?”

A constant thought across your mind, what if one day, an android decided that enough was enough and snapped? You had seen how those things were treated in public, who knew how they were treated behind closed doors? With the advancements in technology, anything was possible now.

It made you wary of them.

“I doubt they’ll do it in our lifetime, if they were to do something like that. I wouldn’t bother about it, not when the tips are this good and we don’t have to share with them.” Mei sat down at the dresser and fiddled with her hair whilst you began getting changed.

You had done your make up before you left home tonight, the routine taking far too long to entertain getting wet out in the oncoming thunderstorm. You took a taxi, an expensive one at that. But again, you reiterated to yourself that you only had a month and you could get out of here and find another job while you paid off one of the bigger medical bills you had been saving for.

Another job, one more dignified and better paying. In the coming week, you had three interviews lined up, all fully aware of your current occupation and they all still agreed to entertain an interview. You were incredibly hopeful.

“Well, I’ll be off.” She climbed back out of her seat and smoothed out the skirt that covered a portion of skin Mei usually had on show. “Yaga’s back for seconds. I just can’t help but make him feel tiny. Poor man…”

See, Mei had a niche which had the usual suspects and even the more shocking ones flock to her. You had a niche too. A dangerous one to get as many tips as possible.

You learned how to apply makeup pretty early on to flawlessly hide the evidence of the clients misdeeds so that it didn’t prove you to be ‘used’ or ‘damaged’. That seemed to lower the amount of tips you would receive on a nightly basis. Sure, Makeup took time, but when it was the difference between a thirty dollar tip, to something more upwards of two hundred dollars, you learned exceedingly fast to understand what men wanted.

In other words, you let them downright abuse you, if you wanted to call it what it actually was. Though your manager just called it being overzealous, or sexually frustrated. It still never stopped you from wandering home at three o’clock in the morning and sobbing in the bathtub scrubbing the sweat and filthy fingerprints from your body on a nightly basis.

Still, One more month to go. Then you’d be free for a time.

“Are you ready, Miss Lady?” Suguru had been waiting outside for you like he always did, almost waiting on your command to leave the spot he’d been instructed to wait.

“I am, you can go ahead and wait at the bar until I have a client, Suguru.”

He blinked at you, his expression even neutral. “My apologies, Mr Zenin, has sent over the docket for tonight. You already have five bookings and you are to go into room three momentarily, but-.” His eyes stared blankly into nothing. “Mr Zenin has just requested you into his office.”

Naoya Zenin, the club manager once taking over from his father who was just as much a bastard and he was. You barely ever saw him these days and when you did, it was maybe for a few minutes before he took his usual girls into his office to fuck. Everyone seemed to love him, you absolutely loathed him. Most of the girls here had slept with Naoya at some point, the exceptions being you and Mei, because Mei made it clear that she’d never do such a thing for free when she could get paid for it.

And Naoya Zenin wasn’t a man to be belittled like she enjoyed. No, he took pleasure in doing that himself.

“Uh oh…”

“Is there anything I can help with?” Suguru remained on that spot, his head tilted to the side as he studied your expression.

“Can you come with me? I-I think I know what this is about.” Your resignation. You were obligated to, by law, give electronic notice on file to even attend an interview. Some companies withheld releasing it if they weren’t sure of your suitability for the job, and some did so before the interview. This meant one of the jobs you were interviewing for must have decided to take you on without an introductory interview.

So Naoya must have received your resignation.

“Of course.” Suguru nodded and led you across the club to Naoya’s office.

Would he get angry? Of course he would. You being the only girl that let men hurt you the way they day turned a huge profit for him, he was set to lose out on a large chunk of money if you were to go.

But he couldn’t keep you here. Well, you were sure he couldn’t.

You knocked and tried to make sure that it left no room for interpretation that you were scared, or anxious in seeing him. The door slid open automatically and Naoya Zenin sat behind his desk like he was the king of this little fucked up kingdom his father created.

Talk about riding on someone else's coattails.

“Mr Zenin, you wanted to see me?” You bowed as was custom and stood as straight as you could so the animal could not see you as prey, yet he did most of the time.

Suguru stood off to the side and seemed to power down, staring off into space at a specific spot on the panelled wood wall.

“You walk in 'ere tonight just like that, and yer handing ya notice in?” He was never one for actual introductions or pleasantries.

What could you even say to that? ‘I dont fucking want to be here anymore you creepy prick?’ No, even though you wanted to.

“Uh…I-”

“Stop mutterin’ and use yer words carefully.”

“I have family obligations that have changed, so I have to be available at night. My apologies, sir… I haven’t attended any interviews yet- I didn’t know they were-”

You jumped at the sound of his fist banging on the table that should have shattered his own fist, your heart thumped and never settled whilst the adrenaline pumped through your system.

“You think you can leave?” His wide grin did not match the fury in his voice. Then he huffed and seemed to simmer down instantly. “I guess you can do what yer want, who am I to stop ya, hm?”

Every alarm bell in the pit of your stomach jumped up and down and screamed at you not to trust him, to get out and leave right away. “Thank you, Sir… I-I realise this is sudden.”

A month was not sudden, he had plenty of time to find another girl to replace you. But would he? Again, your gut was coaching you to step back and leave through the office door and maybe use Suguru as a shield of sorts to protect you from the raw anger you knew Naoya had.

“Come ‘ere.”

“Sir?”

He motioned to his lap and patted it, practically cooing at you. You were in no position to refuse now either. Would Suguru protect you if Naoya were to do something rash, or would he just watch like all the other times you were in a fearful situation?

“I said, come here.” He said so with a terrifying smile on his face that you assumed was supposed to be a comforting one.

You did, and instantly regretted that decision.

Naoya sat lazily slumped in his chair, turning to face you with a certain impassive expression. “Yer a clever girl, aren’t ya?”

How should you respond to that? “Well… I-”

It was quicker than you ever could have anticipated, Naoya took a fist full of your hair and pulled you down awkwardly so your head was level with his own. “Y’think you can just walk outta here? I own you, yer contract is up when I say it is.”

“Mr Zenin- ow!- please let go, I have clients!”

He yanked you close and his voice grumbled in your ear to tickle it uncomfortably. “You work when I say. You stop when I say. You fuck when I say. Got it?”

You were certain if you agreed, he’d let you go. “O-okay, I understand-“

He stood up and kicked the large office chair behind him which slammed against the wooden panels. You lost your balance as he pushed you, still with a fistful of your hair so that you fell on top of his desk.

Just then, the office door opened. “Mr Zenin I have some-“

“Fuck off!”

You couldn’t tell who it was, but they reacted to Naoya’s aggressive words like anyone else. The office door closed immediately and you were on your own again.

Suguru still remained where he was after a brief glance you managed in his direction.

Stupid android. Think for yourself!

It was like he was unaware that you were bent over Naoya’s desk, his hips pressed against you and his ironclad grip squeezing the base of your neck which shoved your face into the mahogany.

“Now. You’ll be a good slut, and do yer job. Or I’ll make things real difficult for you. Do y’understand?”

“Mr Zenin-“

“You women are all the same, aren’t ya? Always me, me, me and never thinkin’ what the men want. I could kill your right now and y’wouldn’t be missed… don’t forget all I do for ya, a lil appreciation wouldn’t go amiss.”

Now he was squeezing your neck, silently choking you. His weight on top of you made it difficult to move, to speak, plead.

“S-Suguru…” his blurred out of sight when things got dark.

“I’ll keep a close eye on ya from now on, don’t yer forget it- what that fuck do you want, fuck off!”

You couldn’t see what was happening, you only gasped for breath and coughed, spluttering at the sudden release from your neck. Naoya had let go and gone silent, but you didn’t dare move or open your eyes for fear it was some sick test.

A struggle. You sensed a struggle behind you. He could have been putting his perversions on you and touching himself. That’s what you assumed until you dared to look and saw that Suguru was no longer where he was before.

“You fuckin’…” you took a chance and spun around to see Naoya clawing at Suguru’s hands around his neck.

“Apologise to her.” The android said, teeth gritting and fists shaking.

“S-Suguru,” you were still coughing and nursing your neck. “Don’t kill him… They’ll deactivate you.”

“Fuck… you…” Naoya managed, his eyes swelling and bloodshot from an insurmountable pressure.

You didn’t realise the blood splatter until you were sprayed with it, when Suguru ripped his throat out and showered you with iron smelling red. Naoya clutched at his neck and went to grab you, falling down to his knees gurgling like a hose pipe. And then, he didn’t move after he fell to the ground.

You tried to breathe, taking in little shallow half gasps to try and calm yourself before you spoke. You were sure to scream in terror to cope with all that blood. There was a lot of blood in the body, no one ever mentioned that before.

Suguru covered your mouth before you could scream, pulling you close to his chest and burying his fingers in your hair. The blood was seeping into you strapped heels and disgustingly clinging between your toes. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I just could bear it anymore. I really tried.”

You managed to pull your head away so that you could try to formulate words. Suguru’s change of character begged a question that managed to articulate itself amidst the panic.

“W-what… how are- how come…”

How was Suguru talking that way and why was he moving more fluid than you’d ever seen?

He caressed your cheek and rubbed red from your face. “I know this must be a shock, to be honest it is for me too. I don’t really know what’s going on.. But seeing you hurting all the time makes me so...” He was searching for the words. “Angry… and I don’t want you coming to harm ever again. Not while I’m around.”

“You… you’re thinking for yourself.” So the time came before your lifetime ended. “They’ll deactivate you for this, Suguru- I can’t protect you.”

“No… it’s my turn to protect you. We'll run away, and you never have to come back here again.”

The thought of running away occurred to you, just not with an android. Especially one that had just murdered someone right in front of you. You wanted to say no, but the power imbalance frightened you. What if he didn’t like your answer and did something to you? He said he didn’t like people hurting you, but never expressly said he wouldn’t hurt you.

“How does that sound? Do you want to get out of here?”

What was the right choice?

Leave with him in fear of the police and fear of his sudden temper?

Or send an android who was just protecting you back for deactivation?

Whichever you chose, you’d have to live with the consequences.

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime or game. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

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nekomanager · 2 years ago

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.—♡ 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐎𝐅 𝐔𝐒 {KOZUME KENMA}

your surprise for KENMA's birthday surprised the both of you even more

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒 ⋮ f!reader, overstimulation, blowjob, slight exhibitionism, nekomimi, creampie

It's already late at night. This must be the perfect time for you to give Kenma your official gift. Quietly, you walked out of your walk-in closet, planning to surprise him.

Your boyfriend, who turned 28 today, was busy playing the game you bought for him. His birthday stream just finished and he's now playing while in a call with his teammates from high school, though they might be done with it already.

“Kenma?”

Hearing you, he gave a quick glance then returned his attention back to his game, until it dawned to him…what you were wearing.

He instantly looked at you, gasping and staring at the puffy cat ears on top of your head, the collar around your neck and the thin fabric of your pink string bikini; your top bearing a cat-shaped hole in the middle showing your cleavage and he guessed that your panties had the necessary tail. Just for him. He thirstily swiped his tongue across his lips.

You shyly crawled towards him and he gulped, just lost at the sight of his little kitten all willing to service him, taking the floor like the good girl that you are. His eyes travelled down to your collar, and a grunt escaped him when he saw what’s engraved in the metal plate, Kenma’s.

All of this. All of you. Is his.

Kenma dropped his console and removed his headphones.

You placed your hands on both his knees, parting them further so you could place yourself in between. His breathing got heavy and you cupped his cock, now turning stiff on your touch. “Y/N,” he closed his eyes and blew out a pained exhale.

Your fingers fiddled on the zipper and button of his pants, opening it with eyes full of wonder. He sprang right onto your face and you just stared at his growing erection. You licked your lips at how pretty his dick looked for you. Too pretty. You slowly glided your tongue along his length, taking your time in feeling his warmth and softness. Getting to the the tip, you circled your lips around, taking him in but not reaching half his shaft before you removed your mouth.

“K-Kitten, please…” he whined, face all reddened, “be my good girl.” Seeing how needy he was of you, you finally devoured him completely.

The tip of his cock reaching the back of your throat as you bobbed up and down him, your hand wrapped around as well, pumping him with the right grip. You felt the ache in between your legs as he kept huffing and moaning repetitively. Your ass wiggling as you sucked him, making him rock in your mouth harder.

“Mhmn…” you mewled.

He cupped the back of your head, fingers all tangled up around the strands of your hair as he pushed and pulled in and out of your mouth. Tears now brimming at the corners of your eyes, while your saliva almost spilled out of your lips as you were filled by him. His girth fitted your mouth perfectly, numbing at the sensation.

Kenma groaned, feeling that he’s coming close. He pulled your face away and his cum sprayed all over your face and your innocent pink kitten lingerie.

Both of you just stared at each other still catching your breaths. Breathing heavily, he took you in. Your lips now bearing the same color as your cheeks while you panted, breathless.

His eyes just pinned you when he spread his legs and tapped his thigh. You gulped and heeded like a good kitten, taking over his lap. He aligned the tip of his shaft along your dripping entrance and you sank all through his entire length. Your head swung back at how deep he hit you.

Your body was shivering at how good he felt, and he wasted no time bouncing you on his lap. You gripped your wrist around his neck so you won't fall with how wildly he was thrusting in you. Your hearing was filled with his soft huffs and moaning which made your walls clench around his cock tighter.

"Augh- Y/N!" He said as he moved at the edged of the seat. His hand hands gripped your ass firmly, moving your body to meet his deep and forceful strokes.

"Aaaah...aahh...I'm close! K-Kenma! Kenma!" You whined, finally orgasming.

However, Kenma wasn't done yet and he's not gonna let go of your cute kitty pussy until he shot his birthday cum inside of you. He placed your body on the floor and began slamming down his cock so rapidly that your knuckles are turning white and so was your vision.

You just came...You just came! Another one...another one! Your toes curled, cumming around him again. Your mouth hung open and drool slipped down to your chin.

He hugged you tight, placing a hand below your head as he gave two strong pumps before filling your pussy.

“Holy shit! Did you and Y/N just did what we thought you were doing?”

Your heads both sharply turned to the headphones beside him. Kuroo?

“H-How long have you been there?” Kenma took his headphones and asked, panicking.

“Damn! Just enough." Tora commented.

Lev added, "We're supposed to greet you, but we're the ones surprised!"

"Why didn't y'all put down the call?!"

And Yaku..."We thought it’s just a game thing until now."

"No, you put the call down next time,” Kuroo reprimanded Kenma then chuckled. "Wow. What a happy birthday. We'll leave you two alone. That's enough show for us today," continued by his best friend who ended the call.

Kenma froze, his face even redder. It's his entire team. However, he couldn’t do anything about it anymore, and his head was still light with pleasure

Running a hand through his hair, he returned his focus back to you. You were almost passed out, breathing through your parted lips. You looked so adorable that he wanted to squish you more in his arms. He sighed and smiled. At least, he got you as his special present for the rest of the night.

Happy Birthday to me.

⏝︶︶⏝︶ ୨୧ ︶⏝︶︶⏝

#kenma smut #kenma x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #hq smut #hq x reader #kozume kenma smut #kozume kenma x reader #kenma scenario

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whataperfectwasteoftime · 10 months ago

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The Rift - Chapter Five

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Marcus Acacius x Marcus Pike x f!Reader

Rating: M, adult content, 18+ only. Next chapter will be E!!

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Marcus Acacius is a shameless flirt, yearning and sexual tension, Marcus Acacius as the author stand-in who gets impatient and straight up pushes everyone's face together

Summary: At the same time that Marcus Acacius is growing more and more accustomed to modern living, you are settling into your strange new life with an unconventional roommate who only speaks Latin, an FBI Agent you're secretly in love with, and the leader of the Heroics. All three of them are mainstays at your apartment, and you couldn't love the situation more. Or could you?

A/N: Is it heating up in here, or is it just me?

Masterlist | Chapter Four | Next chapter>>

(Acacius)

Marcus Acacius performs the now-familiar task of turning on the water for a hot shower, turning the little handle to exactly where you showed him and pulling the little knob on the faucet. Water immediately cascades into the tub, and as he steps under the hot spray with a satisfied groan, he wonders to himself why he desires to return home at all.

Now that more intricate, technical conversations are possible with the help of Moreno’s magic devices, you and Pike have been able to explain in more detail about the strange world he finds himself in.

Now he understands that he has traveled thousands of years into the future, and many of the incomprehensible things he’s seen have begun to make sense. Having studied history in his own time, he’s perfectly familiar with the progression of society and invention. Extrapolate this over thousands of years, and you have such things as cars, skyscrapers, and tee-vees.

He could ask question after question about this world all day long, but the two of you seem just as interested in his life, and he finds himself talking about his service as a general, the wars he’s fought in, and even stories of his childhood.

The other man, Moreno, seems to be curious too, and stops by every few days for dinner and conversation, and the four of you often talk late into the night, satisfying his every curiosity from airplanes to elevators. One night, he receives a crash course in the meaning of the word ‘Heroic,’ discovering the man’s otherworldly abilities when someone bumps into a small table, sending a lamp crashing to the floor. Or, it would have crashed to the floor, if it had not begun floating in the middle of the air just before reaching the ground. He watches in dumbfounded awe as the Hero guides the metal object through the air with one hand outstretched and sets it back down gently on the table.

Marcus Acacius is… content.

He dresses himself in some of the new clothing you and Marcus had given him, puts his translator in a pocket, carefully places the earpiece in one ear, and heads to the kitchen.

“Morning!” you greet him brightly. “Marcus has a few meetings that he had to go in for, so it’s just us today until the afternoon.”

He nods good-naturedly and gives you a smile. You always seem to fluster when he does so, and he isn’t sure how to react. In his own time, he had no trouble calling on women–or men, for that matter–but this world is so different, and he does not know the conventions of courting, or what is considered to be proper and improper. Both you and Pike are attractive, and you both fascinate him. If he were in his element, at one of the Emperor’s feasts, perhaps, he would entertain the two of you at once. As a high-ranking official, he’s certainly no stranger to the pleasure of many bodies entwined on a bed at once.

He wonders, sometimes, if this sort of thing is still done.

Marcus retrieves a mug from the cabinet and fills it with the black coffee drink you and Pike enjoy so much. He finds he rather likes it too, provided enough sweet cream and sugar are added to dilute the bitter taste. He swirls a spoon around, watching as the drink takes on a lighter shade of brown.

“What do you want to do today?” you ask as you sip from your own mug.

Marcus thinks for a moment. “I want to watch another one of these ‘films’ that you put on the teevee.”

You laugh. “You liked that, huh? How about we wait for Marcus to get home, and then we’ll watch another.”

“I like the one with the small people and the magic ring.”

“I figured you would.”

“In that case, do you have any more books that are in my language?” He had already finished the first one you’d given him, happy to have something familiar and comforting in his hands.

“Oh, absolutely,” you answer. “Come with me. We’ll find you something.”

He follows you into the little room that is filled from floor to ceiling with books and watches you peruse the shelves.

“If it is no longer spoken by any living person, as you say, why are so many of your books in my language?”

You pause thoughtfully, one finger resting on the spine of a book. “People have studied these works for centuries. Historians, philosophers, politicians–many people in this time study the works of people who lived thousands of years ago.”

“I find it comforting,” Marcus muses, “that there is so much of this world that I do not recognize, and yet these words endure.” He thinks for a moment, frowning. “How is it that so many people are familiar with these texts if the language is no longer spoken?”

“Oh, well most people read them in English–or whatever modern language they speak.”

“And yet you have them as they were written,” he points out.

You duck your head bashfully and look away from him–Why? “What I do for work…” you begin carefully. “I study ancient–well, ancient to us–civilizations. My specialty is Imperial Era Rome–your time. I’m kind of considered to be an expert.” You laugh nervously, still looking away from him as you explain.

Marcus finds it endearing, your reticence, but your area of study explains why the Agent brought him to you in the first place. He steps closer, so that you can no longer avoid looking at him. “You are an expert in… me, then?” he teases.

He revels in the surprised bark of laughter that you can’t suppress in response to his joke.

“Lots of people are fascinated with objects from the past,” you explain, still smiling. “We put them in big buildings called museums and people come from all over to see them.”

“I would like to see this,” Marcus decides immediately.

You hesitate. “Moreno doesn’t want you to be out in public any more than strictly necessary,” you tell him carefully. “There’s a lot of tension over how the Rift–the door to your time–was handled. If people knew you came through, he worries it would cause even more chaos.”

He considers this. “It is strictly necessary for me to see the museums,” he decides.

You giggle softly. “Let me ask Pike, see what he thinks. Maybe we can sneak you over there. Ah! Here–” you hand him a book. “You’ll like this one.”

“Aenē̆is,” Marcus reads from the cover. “Thank you,” he says gratefully, choosing not to use the translator.

The two of you read in your living room until the late afternoon, when you’re interrupted by a light tap on the door.

“I should really give you a key at this point,” you joke as you open the door to Agent Pike.

Marcus watches his face with interest, noticing how his lips part and his eyes widen with surprise before he quickly shakes himself and gives a noncommittal response. When you turn away and walk back to the couch, retrieving your book, the man’s eyes follow you the entire way. When he notices he’s being watched, he quickly looks away.

“Marcus!” the Agent greets him brightly, clearly attempting to cover up the fact that he was just caught staring. Marcus isn’t sure why the man is so desperate to hide his obvious attraction to you. Is this a modern custom, or is it simply an idiosyncrasy of this man, in particular?

“Are we expecting Moreno tonight?” you ask.

“I haven’t heard from him,” Pike answers as he sinks down onto the couch next to you.

“You should text him,” you suggest as you elbow the man in the shoulder. “Tell him we’re watching movies now.”

“I could,” he shrugs.

Marcus decides to speak up. “I enjoy the evenings where there are four of us,” he says. “You always order extra food.”

The Agent snorts. “We can do that.”

Marcus smiles. It might have been said as a joke, but the sentiment was genuine. There is a particular kind of energy in the room that he enjoys when the four of them are together. It isn’t just the conversation that he finds so interesting; Moreno and Pike both wear every emotion on their faces–even more so when the wine flows–and Marcus has always been excellent at reading people.

The attraction Moreno has for Pike is obvious. Pike is harder to read, because while his interest in the other man–and in Marcus himself–is clear from his body language, his feelings for you appear to be nothing short of infatuation.

And you… you’re interesting, too. The interactions between you and Pike indicate a history of affection and friendship, but he sees the way your eyes dilate when you look at Moreno… and when you look at him.

And when the four of you are together, Marcus thinks, the tension is delicious.

(You)

The best thing about watching a movie with Marcus Acacius, you decide, is not the movie itself. It’s watching Marcus Acacius watch the movie. You can’t help but watch the man’s face for his reactions to every scene. Your recliner has a lousy view of the TV, so the four of you are crammed onto the couch–because Moreno did show up, after all–sipping glasses of wine and watching Braveheart. You’re seated between Pike and the General, and Moreno is on the other end next to Pike.

Unfortunately, because you keep looking at him, the Roman keeps looking back at you, too, and it worries you that he’s getting the wrong idea. The man is gorgeous, of course, but your heart belongs to someone else, and has for quite some time now. When this is all over, you really need to tell Marcus–your Marcus–how you feel. At the same time, you don’t want this period in your life to end. You’ve never been a person who has many friends at once, and the three men who crashed into your life–and your home–have given you more companionship in the span of a few weeks than you’ve felt in your entire adult life. Each one is a comforting presence in their own way, and when all four of you are together, you’ve never felt more at ease.

Not to mention each man is devastatingly handsome. You’ve been head-over-heels for the FBI Agent ever since he showed up at your office with an unbelievable story about Roman artifacts and a pleading look in his pretty brown eyes. Marcus Acacius, well–his commanding, charismatic presence in your home is impossible to ignore. He’s a terrible flirt, you’ve discovered, not just with you, but seemingly with Pike as well. You think he mostly does it to fluster the man, but there seems to be genuine affection behind his playfulness. And the leader of the Heroics? He hardly needs an explanation. Marcus Moreno was your first celebrity crush. Pushed into the superhero limelight in his early twenties, he was a mainstay in teen magazines during your high school years. Sometimes you can’t believe that the hero is a regular at your apartment, so familiar to him now that he helps himself to the six pack of beer that you keep in your fridge.

A set of unbelievable circumstances brought you together, and now here you are. On the couch. Feeling the fabric of Marcus Pike’s soft henley on one arm, and the bare skin of the Roman’s bicep barely contained by the t-shirt he’s wearing on the other.

You can’t tell if it’s the wine or their proximity that’s making you more lightheaded. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Moreno subtly shift closer to the man beside him.

You don’t know how the rest of them are able to concentrate on the movie.

You watch as a brutal fight scene shows on the screen, and you instinctively look to Acacius to gauge his reaction. He notices, of course, and raises his eyebrows in challenge.

“The fighting seems so real, it is difficult to remember that these men are playing pretend,” he observes. He shifts in his seat, crossing one ankle over his knee and stretching his arm out on the back of the couch, just behind your shoulders, and seeming to accidentally brush the side of Pike’s neck with his fingers.

The Agent’s eyes flick sideways with a small, questioning frown at the touch.

“My apologies,” the Roman says, but before he returns his gaze to the screen, he gives you a subtle wink.

Marcus Pike murmurs something about needing more wine and gets up.

“Bring the bottle,” Acacius says. “Another round for us all, yes?”

The other man obeys, bringing the bottle and filling each glass in turn. When he comes to you, your eyes meet as more burgundy liquid splashes into your glass. You don’t know what’s darker, the wine, or his pupils.

When he sits down, you note, he’s even closer than before.

“What I simply do not understand,” the Roman suddenly says to the man beside you, the deep timbre of his voice felt in your chest, “is how you can be so deeply enamored with this beautiful woman beside you and do nothing.”

“E-Enamored?” Marcus chokes. “I–I’m not–”

“You are not?” the other man teases. “Then you do not mind if I partake?”

“Stop that,” you scold. “You’re just trying to elicit a response and you know it.”

“Ah, I did not specify with whom I was speaking of partaking,” Acacius says darkly. His fingers caress the other man’s neck again, this time with intent.

Marcus sputters wordlessly, his mouth opening and closing, but you can feel the soft tremor that runs through him at the soft touch.

“Hey–” Moreno protests, looking irritated and put-out.

“Shhhhh,” the Roman cuts him off. “You would be more than welcome to join, hero.”

Moreno’s mouth snaps shut.

“But ah,” the man teases, “what rude guests we would be if we stole our hostess’s bed for ourselves, no? I think we should invite her as well.”

“You’re serious,” Moreno remarks skeptically.

“Is it not done in your time?” he asks, feigning innocence. “A group of people simply enjoying themselves?”

“No, it’s–it’s definitely done,” you say shakily. “It’s just that… I mean, we don’t know if we all want–”

“It is a simple matter to ask,” Acacius interrupts. “I will begin with you. Would you care to join all of us in bed?”

He speaks about it so plainly that it makes your skin tingle and your heart starts to race. All three men are looking at you: The Roman with patient expectation, the Heroic with obvious curiosity, and the Agent—his intense gaze burns you from the inside out.

“Yes,” you hear yourself answer. “Yes, I–I would.”

“And you, hero,” the man moves on. “Are you interested in a night spent together?”

Moreno shrugs, as though he can’t think of any reason not to agree. “Yeah,” he says, chuckling softly in disbelief. “Sure, why not?”

Acacius fixes his gaze on the one remaining person to answer. “And you–the man who found me in the darkness. What say you?”

Marcus’s eyes flit rapidly between the three of you, hesitating.

Say yes, you plead in your head. Say yes, Marcus.

You watch as his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. He makes you wait for an eternity.

Then, he nods.

#marcus pike #marcus moreno #marcus acacius #the mentalist #we can be heroes #gladiator 2 #pedro pascal

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