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aphroditesswan · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! I was wondering whether you could do hc’s on when hsr men and women react when they see a bulge (whether from their cocks or dildo’s) when their fucking you - G

intro: singularity

honkai star rail x afab fem reader

warning : smut, tummy bulge, nsft, rough sex, mating press, degrading, praise, full nelson, cowgirl, begging, body worship, mirror usage (?), size kink, breeding kink, marking, spanking, implied strap on use but never explicitly stated, breath play, i dunno what else ngl, might be ooc

summary : while the hsr characters are rearranging your insides, they notice themselves inside your guts. how do they react?

genre : smut

notes : can you tell i went SO HARD on the women’s.

Caelus

caelus threw his head back as he sank into you, his arms hooked around the back of your legs to spread them wide open for the mirror in front of you both, his hips bucking up to push himself further into you. he brought his gaze back, that the whole point of the mirror was to see your pretty face as he fucked you senseless. he moved in and out, his eyes moving around your body and almost completely tuning out your whines at his agonizingly slow pace. when he noticed the small bump in your stomach that disappeared when he pulled almost halfway out, he only got slower, wanting to see every second that his cock moved in and out of you and really, truly fucked you.

“just wait baby, please please please please… fuck you feel so nice around me.”

Stelle

her hands gripped your hips as she moved you up and down her length, her eyes focused on the way your chest moved up and down with your breath along with each sudden buck of her hips she made up into you. when stelle’s gaze finally met the bulge in your stomach, she bucked her hips up harder than before to get a good look at the tent that appeared and disappeared with each thrust, causing a yelp to be let out of you. she put pressure on the bulge as she thrusted in as deeply as she could, a giddy smile on her face that complimented her dazed eyes that were focused on your stomach and tits that bounced with each thrust. she was completely and utterly memorized with how your body moved and reacted to everything she did, and she was only determined to keep seeing the reactions on that pretty face of yours.

“look at how nice i look in you, baby… you’re sooo gorgeous like this,,”

March 7th

her hands eagerly moved around you, touching, feeling, groping wherever they could as she thrusted in and out of you. march noticed the slight movement in your stomach when she moved her hands down to claw into your thighs, but she didn’t stop any of her thrust. she kept going just as she had before she noticed, one hand digging into your thigh while the other pushed down on your stomach as she giggled softly at the sight. she was quick to grab her camera though, snapping a picture on her blue camera of the bulge in your stomach appearing as she thrusted in and out of you, then one of your flushed out face, getting your pretty tits in both pictures.

“you’re so pretty for me, how could i resist?”

Dan Heng

his fingers were digging into the soft plush of your thighs when he noticed, slowing down his moments which was complete agony for you. dan heng quietly observed with his mouth slightly agape, just gazing at the small bulge in your stomach that could be seen as he thrusted in and out of you harshly. he kept his eyes focused on you and clear, his demeanor seemingly calm, but the very obvious blush on his face and the way he’s staring straight into the little area of your guts spoke otherwise. he’ll return to his fast pace in just a second, just let him admire you for a bit.

“oh… oh, wow…”

Kafka

she had already bent you like a pretzel, you wondered how she hadn’t seen the bulge in your stomach by now as she pressed her hips against yours countless times. kafka had your legs over her shoulders, a gold anklet with the letter ‘k’ on it for her swinging back and forth and dangling next to her ear for her to hear as she pushed in and out of you. her gaze finally shifting from your fucked out expression to trial down between your bouncing breast and while on her way to where your bodies connected, something catching her eye that made her look from your dripping cunt to right above, the small bump going in and out with each thrust. she moved a hand that gripped right above your knee and pressed you against her chest to push down on the bulge, feeling it move under her as the other hand squeezed your neck softly.

“you’re such a slut, y’know? felt that this whole time and didn’t even think to tell me.”

Himeko

she was so,so,so gentle with you. himeko was always taking her time to fully sink you done onto her length as she sat you flat on her lap. she ran her hands over your body, pressing and squeezing where she wanted but was still so gentle with you, letting you set the pace and believe you were in control and everything. she had her eyes focused on you, eye contact being something she valued when fucking you so nicely you saw white. her hands trailed down the sides of your stomach, whispering praises on how good you were for her, how she enjoyed every single second of you on top of her when her hands stopped, fingers grazing over the place where she felt a bit of movement. she caught on rather quickly, laughing under her breath to herself.

“my… how lewd, don’t you think?”

Blade

with your thighs pressed against his large chest, movement for you was almost impossible unless blade was manhandling you or you were rocking back and forth from his harsh thrust. his hands gripped bruises into your hips, groaning into your ear as he restricted some of your breathing with just pressing himself onto you, your knees pushing your tits together and your thighs against your stomach. he was laid on top of you but was somehow keeping his stance with how he thrusted in and out of you. he looked down to see where you two met, seeing the small bulge that popped out whenever he was balls deep in you. he chuckled lowly at the sight below him, smacking your thigh which earned a small yelp and a star seeing clench around his cock from you.

“pathetic, you’re so small i’m practically popping out of you. you can take it, can’t you?”

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thebeesatemyknees · 1 year ago

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141 as ex-husbands

Some ex-husband (ooc) Simon Ghost Riley, John Price, Kyle Gaz Garrick and Johnny Soap MacTavish x reader headcanons.

Word count: 860 || No warnings (let me know if any). || Reader: gender neutral. Pronouns: "you"

Note: In all four scenarios, you got divorced for fairly harmless reasons. You were getting along, you loved each other, there was no fighting. But perhaps you realised that you both have different hopes for the future. Maybe you got sick of waiting for him, missing him, of worrying if he's gonna come home alive and in one piece. Maybe he didn't realise how lonely you felt beside him.

Ex-husband Simon Riley, who still thinks of you as "his", but not in a possessive way. You're still his person, his family. He still would do anything for you and wouldn't even give it a second thought.

You need help assembling new furniture? He can come by after work. Need a ride to the doctor's appointment? He needed to run some errands anyway, it's not a big deal. Anything happens while he's deployed? You can call his base and he'll contact you as soon as possible.

And he doesn't expect anything back. How could he? He's gonna do anything for you because that's what you're supposed to do for your people. And he'll give you your space, keep it clean between you. You wanted a divorce and he respects that, doing his best not to overstep any boundaries. He's mindful of the things he says, keeps his hands away from you. A respectful distance.

But God, does he miss you. If you showed the slightest interest in getting back together, he would agree immediately, going back to what you two had, as if the divorce never happened.

Ex-husband John Price, who kinda forgets that you're not married anymore. Similar to Simon, John still thinks of you as his and would do anything for you without expecting anything back.

But you often have to remind him that he's overstepping. "Darling" or "love" casually added to his sentences. Hands gently holding your shoulders or hips while he directs you to move to a different spot. He doesn't do it on purpose. The last thing he'd want is to disrespect your boundaries or make you uncomfortable. But keeping you close just comes so naturally to him.

He apologises quietly when you reprimand him, pulling his hands away and restating what he said without the pet name this time.

He wouldn't beg you to give him another chance. He's got enough respect, towards you and himself, to not be dramatic, to not make it messy. But he has a hard time accepting this new reality.

Ex-husband Kyle Garrick, who subconsciously goes back to courting you, as if your marriage never happened and all of it was still ahead of you.

He's more distant, doesn't initiate touches, doesn't use pet names anymore. And at first you think it's because that's just how break-ups work, because he'd moved on. But it all seems to be caused by him suddenly becoming almost shy around you.

He sends you messages from time to time, checking if you're doing alright. He asks you out for coffee, just to catch up. You ended things on good terms, so there's no harm in it, right? And you can see him trying to act casually about it. He brings you one singular flower he picked on his way to the café. Cuz you like them, don't you? It's not a big deal, he saw it and put it in the pocket of his jacket. So casual. Then, your conversation stays on a purely platonic path. Well, except for a few compliments and pick up lines he throws your way. But that's what friends do! And if you don't let him drive you home, he asks you to at least text him to let him know you got back safely.

If you confront him about his behaviour, he gets quiet. His jaw twitches, a shameful look fills his eyes as he looks away, unable to fully face you. He doesn't feel like he's in the position to defend himself, to argue. He's guilty. He wants you back for himself. And he so badly regrets letting you go without trying harder to fix things.

Ex-husband Johnny MacTavish, who becomes bitter towards the whole world. He's not happy about losing you and he's straightforward about it. He's hurt, filled with regrets, he's angry - but not directly at you. He understands and respects your wishes, but he's just so angry with himself. Angry that he didn't notice where your marriage was going, that he didn't change his ways, that he assumed that you're his and therefore he's got a lot of time to slowly fix things. Angry that he didn't do enough.

He wouldn't hide his emotions. He wouldn't get shy, wouldn't just quietly yearn for you.

He keeps his hands to himself, making sure he doesn't make you uncomfortable and that you still feel safe around him. But he continuously asks you for another chance. He knows better now. He can be better. Just give him a chance. Or at least let him do this or that for you. And don't act as if him helping you is weird! He's yours, nothing will change that. He promised he'd be there in sickness and in health, and he meant it. No matter how much your life-paths split. So stop pushing him away and just let him help. He'll stop asking you for a second chance, but at least let him be there for you.

He aggressively offers himself to you. Getting upset and moody if you act as if he was more akin to a stranger rather than someone who belonged, body and soul, to you.

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lostalioth · 1 month ago

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𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐛𝐬

→ premise: peter needed to test how strong the new formula for his web shooters is so why not get his gf’s help, and have a little fun with it. its not like he had millions of other more scientific ways to test its strength.

→ pairing: tasm!peter x fem!reader

→ warnings: smut | 18+, bondage [with peters webs], fingering, small edging, peter possibly ooc, nicknames [baby, princess]

→ a/n: kinktober 04

Sure Peter had plenty of other ways he could test out the strength of his newly formulated web fluid. But you were just so eager to help your boyfriend out, always asking him if there was something you could do. Sewing up gashes and holes in his spider suit, patching him up after a fight, etc. So why not enlist the help of his pretty girlfriend instead of testing it out the same old boring way he always did. Of course being unaware of his little scheme you innocently and sweetly said yes when he asked if you'd help him out with an experiment. That was how you ended up in Peter's bed, hands restrained together and stuck to the headboard with his webs.

His body was currently nestled between your spread legs, eyes roaming your body before fixing on your face. Your lower half is entirely exposed, the breeze from his open window nipping at your skin making you squirm. “This wasn't what I thought you meant when you asked for help, and I said yes Peter” you whine and buck your hips into his touch as his hands roam up your sides, rubbing and caressing your body. You can feel the cool metal of the singular web shooter strapped to his left wrist. “Oh this is fully what I intended when I asked baby, tug all you want, squirm all you want” he coos as he uncovers your breasts by pushing your shirt up to reveal them. “Need to test how strong the new formula is” he explains softly as his right hand falls between your open thighs, middle and ring fingers nudging open your slit and rubbing through your folds. Slick immediately collecting on the tips of his slender fingers.

With a sharp intake of breath you twist your body and try shifting your hips away from his hands. His free hand that has the web shooter aims towards your writhing leg and shoots webs that wrap your ankle tethering it to his foot board. “You sure this wasn’t what you intended, princess? You're so wet for me” he emphasizes his tease with a tilt of his head, smirking softly as his two fingers push at your hole.

You whine and push your hips back on his hand trying to get them inside you, your hole clenching at the small intrusion. “I missed you Pete, you've been so busy” you explain and look through your lashes at your boyfriend hovering over you, your eyes full of longing and love. “Awww well i'm here now baby” he leans down and presses his lips to yours just as his two fingers push knuckle deep inside you. You let out a short surprised moan against his lips as you kiss back greedily. You tug at the webs around your wrists, hands desperate and itching to touch Peter. “Keep tugging baby, try your hardest, you can do it” he mumbles into your mouth, his words both encouraging and mocking before humming when you whine in response. Goosebumps rise on your skin from the pleasure, his free hand coming to pin your hips down holding them still.

Pumping his fingers in and out of your leaking cunt, a sloppy squelching sound filling the room along with your muffled whimpers and moans. “Fuck!~” you let out a plaintive cry and pull away from peters mouth when his thumb is added in, stimulating your clit. Rubbing small circles on your bundle of nerves as his fingers speed up their movement, making your mouth fall open and your head fall back against his pillows. Your hands tug as well as your leg at his webbing, the action doing nothing to tear or unstick it. A heat spreading through your body, you liked this idea of him tying you up with his webs more than you could’ve guessed, the heat settling and growing in the pit of your stomach.

“Come on baby, i don't think your tryin’ hard enough to break out” he taunts as his long fingers find that spongy spot deep inside you and start abusing it, the rough pad of his tongue speeding up its circles. “Gonna have you cumming before you break the webs princess” he chuckles softly and leans down to kiss along the exposed column of your neck. Your head goes fuzzy from his mouth on you, his fingers ruthlessly thrusting inside you, the feeling of him all over you. “Can’t- I can’t do it Pete, i cant break em’ fuck- please baby im gonna cum!” you whine and cry out, your eyes squeezed shut as you teeter on the edge of your climax.

He grabs ahold of your chin and moves your head up the movement forces your eyes open, you stare into his deep brown eyes, his pupils blown.

“Not yet baby, the experiment hasn't gone on long enough, need to see if they break” his voice comes out sweet yet concedesing as he crashes his lips against yours to muffle your wanton moan.

Truthfully Peter had gotten enough information from all your squirming and pulling that he figured it was strong enough, he was just having far too much fun playing with his pretty girlfriend.

→ a/n: i havent written for tasm!peter in a bit so I feel like he’s possibly out of character ? Idk I felt rusty when writing him

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generalsmemories · 9 months ago

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sensitive

✧ sunday x gn!reader

✧ synopsis: the wings by his ears are far too sensitive for what you're both about to do to them.

✧ contents: just a lil scenario for the piercings on sunday's wings. and the hc (that has probs become every writers canon take) that his wings are oh so sensitive. established relationship, mildly suggestive cause why not, uhh, mentions of blood? sunday being utterly weak against his lover. ooc sunday cause goddamn i have NOTHING on this man.

✧ a/n: breathes in. listen i don't believe in any god but good lord i would start praying for this man if he asked me to.

jing yuan wips still in order, i just want to be on my best self mentally when writing for my eepy general so have this brainrot so i can function this week at my work and hopefully i'll write something more <3 thank you once again for your patience!

NOT BETA-READ THIS WAS WRITTEN WITHIN AN HOUR CAUSE THIS BRAINROT HAS BEEN BREWING INSIDE THE MIND FOR A MONTH, IM SORRY FOR THE ALL OVER THE PLACE WORDS - I HAVEN'T WRITTEN SINCE THE LAST JING YUAN ANGST PIECE.

Your fingertips have barely grazed the very edges of the feathers when the distinguished leader beneath you flinches in surprise. The fingers that grip your hips tightening further which causes your body that was previously hovering above him to settle down on Sunday's leg. You can hear a tiny sigh leaving his lips before you feel his head rest against your shoulder, the action causing you to chuckle.

"The longer you delay this, the more nervous you'll get, you know?" you muse, threading your fingers through his hair in an effort to coax him to lay back in the same position he previously was in. You're barely able to touch his right wing again before a gloved hand shoots up from his side and you feel a sharp nip at your neck in warning - causing you to immediately halt all of your actions.

"It would've gone a lot faster have you decided to not do it in such an orthodox method, dear." Sunday retaliates with a sigh, pecking the bite mark as some sort of apology, an apology that you knew was not sincere in the slightest.

You giggle once again, settling down comfortably on his legs whilst slightly leaning back to fully look at your lover. Your arms loop over his neck while cocking your head to the side in slight confusion, although said confusion doesn't reach your mischievous eyes or the huge grin on your face. "Why I thought this would help calm you? It was your idea to pierce these wings of yours after all," you remind him, tapping the piercing gun that you're currently holding onto on his shoulder.

The man before you sighs, seemingly in exasperation over your usual antics whilst shrugging away the piercing gun that you're continuously tapping him with. You can however clearly see the slight reddening on top of his ears, while his wings tuck a bit behind his ears - clearly a signal that he's feeling a bit embarrassed.

"You're well aware of the effect you have on me, my love." he admits, the hand on your hip moving from its spot to instead rest against your neck. "Hmm? Then I suggest that you hurry along to let me pierce your wings before said effect makes you lose your patience," you tease with a quiet laugh. "I do have a lot of experience with this lil' gun of ours after all." you cheekily say - causing Sunday to direct his gaze towards your own ears, which have a few more piercings than your average person.

"... I'm well aware." Sunday replies.

Well aware of how sensitive your own ears are, almost as sensitive as his own wings that have yet to be pierced. He could let out a breath beside them which causes you to tremble, a small peck would make you gasp softly, but if he were to use his tongue-

"You're thinking of inappropriate things again, dear." you mutter into his ears before unlooping your arms from his neck to rest against your sides, your whole weight supported by the singular hand Sunday has on your hip.

"Hardly."

For someone not of Halovian descent, you're somehow able to discern his thoughts immediately - quite a hassle to be honst.

"Well then, my dear? Why don't you relax so we can get this over with so you can return to your duties?" you whisper, moving your body to sit between his legs so that you can get a closer look on his right wing, where he preferred the piercing to be on.

"... Just- don't say anything when you're about to do- Ah!"

The single clicking noise of the needle piercing his wing before retracting back to it's original spot makes Sunday jolt in surprise, the grip on your hip increasing in pressure, but you're too busy looking at the placement in glee to care for your distraught lover right now.

You notice the edges of the piercing reddening a bit, extending your finger to gather the tiny bits of blood that had escaped from the wound. Glancing at Sunday, you notice his slightly glossy eyes that immediately diverts from your gaze.

The quiet laugh you let out makes Sunday glare at you, but his eyes widen slightly when you lick his blood away from your fingertips with closed eyes. "It wasn't that bad, was it?" you ask, opening your eyes again to lock eyes with Sunday, diverting your gaze slightly to his right wing.

You decide not to comment on his glossy eyes, deciding to instead scoot closer to peck the corner of his eyes, "Sorry that I surprised you, but as you said - Doing it this way is far more convenient for the both of us," you explain, lips pressing against Sunday's to coax him into relaxation.

"Mhm, thank you for indulging me, dove." he whispers, arms wrapping around your waist, the tension in his shoulders finally leaving.

"Although..." you murmur in between various pecks against Sunday's lips, your lover raising an eyebrow up in confusion and imploring you to continue speaking.

"I think you said you would go for 2 of the same piercings if the first one looked nice, no?" you say before pressing your lips against his once again. Sunday was barely able to understand the meaning behind your words before he could feel the same pain of the needle shoot through his already overly-sensitive wing.

The loud gasp he lets out is swallowed by your lips, his open mouth letting your tongue slip inside while the piercing gun in your hand slips away from your lips now that you've done your part of the deal. Your hands settle themselves against Sunday's cheeks now- wiping away the few tears that have now slipped down from his glossy eyes with your thumb.

There's a certain desperation in Sunday's hands by your waist. He had first bunched the material of your clothes upwards by surprise, but now he's slipping his gloved hands beneath them and quickly traveling further up - he moves in a way that you don't know if he's trying to push you away to scold you, or press you closer to him to feel your warmth.

He eventually decides to push you away. His cheeks are reddened and he's heaving for breaths while he's glaring down at you in mild disappointment and a hint of excitement - and yet the hands that's dragging the buttons of your shirt from inside to snap them open tells another desire from the esteemed leader of Penacony.

The same mischievous smile is present on your lips when you part ways, your lips are a bit swollen but it doesn't stop their journey from grazing against his now incredibly sensitive right wing, the jerk of his entire body not bothering you in the slightest as your lips glide over his feathers, your lover shuddering a bit when you let out a breath right over his newly pierced wings.

"All done now, my love," you mutter into his ear, shrugging off your now ruined shirt off of one shoulder, "Do I get any reward for doing this so smoothly and quickly?"

Sunday lets out a scoff, rolling his eyes at your triumphant expression before shoving you down onto the couch the two of you were previously resting on. "I'm thinking a punishment is more fitting for how you didn't warn me of your actions twice, no?"

#honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail x you #sunday x reader #sunday honkai star rail #hsr x reader #hsr x you #hsr imagines #star rail x reader #star rail x you

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keresnotceres · 1 year ago

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Good, Good, Great

Ghost x Fem!Reader (And they were roommates)!

[nsfw] cw(s): Jealousy, alcohol consumption, references to smoking, strip club, rdr calls ghost ‘big boy’ several times, suggestive content, non-explicit sex (it’s mentioned), rdr is highkey a brat lol, mention of dumbification.

PART TWO

3.4k words I don’t understand how UK currency works so i guessed, ALSO! Reader is kind of a slut!! Because we don’t get enough readers that have BEEN AROUND TOWN (iykwim) and I am hellbent on fixing that :) ALSO ALSO this kinda sucks and it’s prolly OOC but I spent like four days on it so here u go <33

You’re not dating — but he’s not keen on sharing. He sees you serving another table drinks, scantily dressed, hips swaying with every step, and can’t help but watch with a glare as some other man sets a 20 between your tits.

How Laswell convinced both herself and Price that a strip club was the best place to meet and discuss information on a new mission was beyond Ghost. It wasn’t until two blocks away from the venue did he begin to recognize the surroundings, the streets, and damn it, even the people.

He forwent the skull mask and the skull-patterned balaclava for a plain black surgical mask that left him feeling bare and exposed. Only a thin piece of fabric was between him and his anonymity; two strings that held together the Ghost façade from falling into Simon.

He’d be damned if he told the others that he recognized the club — that he frequented it. Not for a certain stripper, no, not for the girls performing at all. He knew every staff member from the amount of times he’d come to pick you up after your serving shift.

You always smelled like alcohol and someone’s blueberry vape, sometimes weed; you claimed that just came with the job. He’d respond asking if he smelled like gunpowder and metal, if that was the case. He remembered how you shook your head.

“You smell like cigarettes and aftershave.”

He grimaces as they approach the shining lights of the club. Myth is a looming building; five floors, only two used for actual club affairs. The other three were offices or something equally as boring; even if you would prattle on about your outlandish suspicions of a mafia being run up there.

The first floor had the basics; a main stage that was across from the full bar, a plethora of sleek tables and uncomfortable leather chairs filling the space between the two attractions. On the far wall, a few booths with itchy velour couches separated by fake bushes. Doors sat on either side of the four booths, both led to some sort of VIP room that Ghost had never stepped foot in.

The second floor overlooked the stage section of the first, only the dancers could see the people decorating the steel railings. It was usually reserved for the rich people, the important men who had had wives and didn’t want to be seen in the public eye, the men who were desperate enough to pay extra to pretend they could get some, and the people staff liked. Ghost happens to fit into the latter category.

There was a second stage on the upper floor, it wasn’t often dancers were up there performing, they were usually lounging around with someone they knew would paid them well. The was a second, smaller bar which served the singular purpose of storing new bottles, which caused you to complain about having to go up and down the stairs every time you had to get another round for a table.

His constant presence had led to him “befriending” the bartenders (if getting a free drink counted as being friends) and getting half-hired as security (he was roughly the same size as the men they already had for the job), even the hostesses knew to assign him to your section each time he walked in.

It baffled him, to say the least. Even after he was gone for 11 months the one time, (what a god awful time that was), the Myth staff knew who he was.

Ghost didn’t even register Price trying to tell him to stop as he walked to the shiny glass doors of Myth. The thing that dragged him out of an absentminded state was Soap’s obnoxiously loud laughter, Ghost stopped dead in his tracks and spun around to face the rest of the task force.

“Yae walkin’ right in like ye own the place, eh, Lt?” He had a conniving grin on his face. “Didnae take you for that kinda guy.” Gaz looked like he was trying to picture Ghost in a club, Price only looked at him with mild amusement on his face.

Ghost glares at Soap, embarrassed. “I’m going where we were told to go.”

“Wasting no time, either.” Gaz manages to crack a smile from Price with his chide.

“Are we going in, or not?” Ghost’s eyebrows raise in questioning, his patience already running thin. He looked over his shoulder at the bouncer, who he wishes he didn’t recognize as Paul.

Gaz had already fished his ID out of his pockets, the graying white background of the Royal Air Force card reflecting the sign lights. Soap wasn’t far behind him, most people who see someone with a mohawk assume it’s a teenager who lost a bet. Anyone could look at the Captain and know he’s over the age of 18, no college student could rival the man’s facial hair.

And Ghost? All he had to do was look Paul in the eyes and he was let though without even a second glance. It was no different than if he were just coming in to pick you up, although it was considerably earlier than your usual 2 AM clock outs. Ghost forgot the club was even open at 5 PM.

He got an odd look from Soap at the lack of identification, but odd looks from Soap were a daily occurance.

The club looked the exact same as when he’d left 4 months ago, the same blue-purple lighting, same ugly silver bead curtains hanging over the walls, and the same Thursday night bartender. His name was something along the lines of Tony (Tim?); Ghost hadn’t particularly cared about him, he’s never at the club on Thursdays anyway. Your shifts are normally on the weekends, only the occasional Thursday if there was an event.

The hostess seems to be familiar, too. She’s either Camille or Angelica; he could never really remember who was who. The two have the same bleach blonde, blue eyes, and freckles; they’re practically the same person to Ghost. He really only pays attention to you when he’s at Myth.

The hostess stares at Ghost for a second, as if trying to recognize him. Before she could try to speak, Price cut in.

“We’re meeting someone here. Blonde hair, a little older.” His eyes scan the half-empty floor of the room. “She might be upstairs?”

The hostess perks up at the mention of a woman. “Right. Follow me, please.”

The blonde led the group of them upstairs, two of the 20 tables had people at them. Only one of them had a Laswell-looking woman at them. The other was a group of seven men; each in a suit, and each with a glass in their hand.

Once the hostess set a few menus on the table, she spoke a final time. “Your server will be right over.”

Ghost let the others sit down before him, eyes lingering on the group of men across from them before they slid over to Laswell. She looked as comfortable as any other person in a strip club by choice, lounging back in her chair with a cocktail in her hand.

“You look disgruntled,” she notes, eyes resting on Ghost.

“You had us meet in a strip club,” Ghost mutters. “This isn’t my usual scene.” It was quite the lie, really. He’s spent more time here than any other pub in the Manchester area at this point.

“It’s close to home.” She takes a sip of her drink, completely at peace. “And it’s unsuspecting. Who comes into a strip club to talk about top secret information?”

Ghost looks at her, unamused. “Us.”

Laswell ignores the distaste in his voice. “You don’t have to worry about that group,” her head tilts in the direction of the rowdy group of men. “They’re all drunk or too focused on the girls to even bother listening to us.”

The distant sound of heels against the floor catches his attention, his eyes fly towards the staircase. And there you are, flouncing up the stairs with three glasses in one hand and a bottle of Blue Label in the other.

You make your way to the group of men, a customer service smile plastered on your face. Ghost can’t hear your words, but he watches you set the bottle down in front of the most important-looking man, along with two of the glasses you were carrying.

He watches as your shoulders bounce when you laugh at something he says, though it looks like the fakest giggle you can muster.

He watches as the man takes a 20 pound note from his pocket and tucks it right between your tits. On instinct, Ghost’s hands tighten into fists and he glares. It’s a sharp glare, one he’d give to some idiot recruit that tried being cocky. You gasp, then smile brightly at the man, he can tell you’re saying thank you profusely from the way your mouth is moving.

You step away from the man and Ghost’s eyes fly from him to you, and his glare drops into a normal enough look, but his fists are still tight; his fingernails dig into the palms of his hands.

Ghost’s eyes roam your body, how the little black skirt you’re wearing rode up just enough that it would be considered a tease, how the black shirt you’re wearing is just a little too tight around your tits, and the 20 pound note that was stuck right between the two of them. He had to consciously unclench his fist before anyone would notice.

Then you come prancing over, hips swaying almost hypnotically as you walk, a glass of bourbon nestled in your hand.

You smile sweetly as you bend down in front of him, showing off both your tits and the note right between them, and set his glass on the table.

“I believe that’s for you, big boy.” Fuck, he missed hearing your voice, the nickname flies over his head through his stupor. Even if it was the faux, sultry version of it you used for work. “Can I get the rest of you anything? A beer? Whiskey?”

It was almost impossible for Ghost to tear his eyes away from you, rather, that damn note between your breasts. He wanted to pluck it out and throw it right back at the other man, replace it with something bigger, better.

When he notices Gaz’s disturbed stare, his eyes avert from you.

Gaz’s eyes trail from his to yours, “I’ll take a Manhattan.”

You smile at him, “of course, is Sazerzac okay?” Gaz nods shortly, glancing away from you to avoid Ghost’s stare. “Anyone else?” You pivot towards Price, shifting your weight from one leg to the other.

Price angles his head to meet your gaze, squinting through the LEDs of the club. “Gin and tonic,” his eyes don’t leave yours, “Hendrick’s.” An offhand comment from Soap entertains the liquor’s Scottish origins.

You nod along with his words, then tilt your head towards Soap. “Can I get you anything?”

“I’ll have a Coke.”

“I hope you mean the soda,” you muse. You didn’t get any reaction out of the group, not a single smile — how disappointing. “We have the cherry kind, if you’re into that.”

Soap shakes his head, a small frown on his face. “Just normal Coke’ll do.”

You hum absentmindedly, “alright.” Your eyes flicker to Ghost, the smile on your face contorts into a little mischievous one. “Are you going to be wanting the bottle, Simon?”

You really are a vixen, aren’t you? Through grit teeth, Ghost spits out, “no.”

“Alright, then. I’ll be back with those drinks, boys.” A single wink, and you were off. Low heels clacking against the tile floor, hips swaying side to side. Ghost was all too aware of every detail of your retreating body, from the way your hair bounced with each step you took, how the skirt you wore rode up just slightly enough to make his grip on his bourbon tighten.

Ghost fights the urge to get up, grab you by the waist, and pull you onto him. Both his experiences and his logical reasoning say it’s a terrible idea, yet the idea of reminding you who you ultimately belong to is so enticing he could be drooling.

He’s seen you cockdumb; it almost always comes after you pull a stunt like this. Of course, he knows you do it just for the sake of getting him bothered and getting fucked stupid. But he also likes the idea that you do it just for him. You put on a little show.

He finally put it together years ago. Back when you would bring over some pathetic-looking hookup just to see his reaction. When you’d fake moan loud enough for the whole damn neighborhood to hear, then look at him the next morning through your eyelashes all innocent.

At some point, the hookups ended, and you began flirting with customers right in front of him. Just like you had done a moment before.

When your head disappears from view, Soap is the first to attack him vocally, almost gawking after you. “You’re on a first name basis with the bottle girls at a strip club?” He looks incredulously at Ghost, almost jealous.

“Is that why you were in such a hurry to get inside? You knew this was where your flings worked?”

Soap leans in closer, “how often do you come here, LT?” It was question after question from the Scotsman, and despite his inclination towards him, Ghost was getting slowly more fed up.

Ghost set his glass down, “I’m going to the bathroom.” He put his hands to his knees and stood up from the plush seat, eyes scanning the other group one more time before he left his teammates at the table.

It doesn’t take long for him to find you, leaning up against the doorframe to the server’s closet while you wait for another cocktail server to put in a ticket, twiddling your coworker’s Elfbar in your hands until she reaches behind her for the vape.

You hand it off to her and turn to face Ghost, a catty smile adorning your lips. “How can I help you, sir?” Ghost stops a few inches before you and a hand darts towards your cleavage. He tugs the 20 pound note from between your tits, your hands following his to grab for it.

You give Ghost several noises of grievances as he holds the note away from you, a look of slight disgust evident in the ways his eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed.

By the time you gave up trying to reach the banknote, he’d begun digging in his back pocket. “I’d like my tip back, asshole.”

Ghost says nothing in return, no noise or gesture to acknowledge he had heard you. Instead, he tugs a 20 and a 50 pound note from his pocket and tuck the two bills into the space between your breasts. The money from the other man was crumpled and shoved back into his pocket.

You don’t stop him, you’re a bit too turned on to even think of stepping away from him.

“There,” he mutters. “your tip.” He steps back from you, like he was going to leave and go back to his table. You, however, were having none of that.

“Hold on.” Your hand twitches, stopping before it could shoot out to grab his wrist (but you’re smarter than that, you know him). “You didn’t call or anything.”

Ghost frowns under the mask. “I’m not home.” It was a clipped reply, not one you wanted.

“What?” You match his frown, annoyed.

“I’m here for work. You saw the others,” his hand gestures vaguely to the upstairs, “they’re my coworkers.”

You raise an eyebrow, “you work with someone who has a mohawk?” Disappointment flickers in Ghost’s eyes, if it was from your question or just the thought of Soap’s haircut, you didn’t know. The poor man isn't even there to defend himself.

“Is it that hard to believe?” Ghost knows that, yes, it is hard to believe that he worked with a Scotsman with a terrible haircut while continuing to be the infamous Lieutenant ‘Ghost.’

The look on your face screams ‘yes.’

Ghost relents, “listen.” His voice has a certain sadness in it that makes you calm down a bit. Truthfully, you’re pretty damn pissed at him for just showing up out of the blue from God-knows-where, but your expression softens after a few seconds.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Riley.” Your coworker nudges your shoulder to let you know it was your turn to use the kiosk. “Go back to your friends,” you wave your hand in a dismissive fashion. “I’m working.”

Ghost doesn’t budge, even after you’ve ducked between the bead curtains that dangle at the top half of the doorway. You pop back out of the doorway, an unsurprised look on your face.

“Don’t flirt with him.”

Your eyebrows fly up, an incredulous tone flooding your voice. “What?”

“Don’t flirt with him,” Ghost repeats, his eyes boring into yours.

You set a hand on your hip, annoyed. “I’m making money.” The look in his eyes doesn’t change, he’s utterly serious about some random man you’re flirting with for extra cash. A thought crosses your mind, and your annoyance melts into mischief.

“You’re jealous over him?” The way his eyes widen a bit is enough to tell you that, yeah, he is. “Really, big boy?”

And fuck, if you didn’t have him wrapped around your finger by the way you walked, you had him now. All it took was one stupid nickname and Ghost is crumbling into Simon.

“Not jealous,” is his defense. You just soak it in with a grin on your face. You step towards him a little, shoulders forward and leaning down ever so slightly so that your cleavage is a little more obvious, so that the money he stuck between your tits is poking right out at him.

“You sure?” You look up at him, still grinning like your coworker once had when she got a free vape from a customer. “Seems like you’re a bit jealous.”

All he can do is stare down at you, clenching his jaw shut lest he say something he really shouldn’t. But God, does he wish he could.

Really, if it weren’t only 5 PM, he would’ve let you get to him. Let you drag him into an empty VIP room and fuck your words right out of you, leaving you a whimpering, babbling mess. But Ghost — Simon — knows better than to incapacitate you when you’re working.

All he’s left to do is watch as you give him little smirks from across the room, as you adjust your clothes to be just a bit more revealing, as you get close enough that he can smell the remnants of your perfume when you ask him aimless questions. And that’s just what he’ll do once you prance off to get his teammates drinks.

You pat him on his covered cheek patronizingly before you slink away, outstretching your hands for the three drinks cluttered at one side behind the bar. You pass him by, drinks in hand.

“If anything,” you look up to his eyes as you pass him, “it’s the guys you’re with you should be jealous of. You know I like older guys.” That’s enough for Simon to be reclaimed by Ghost.

He follows after you, glowering at your back. You don’t have to look back at him to know he’s scowling at you, but it brings you a slight bit of satisfaction.

“C’mon, big boy,” you hum, “I’ll get you another drink if you tell me his name.” You look back at him once you reach the staircase and climb a few steps ahead of him.

Ghost stares into your eyes like a dead man, you almost think you’ve gone a bit too far. “No.”

You give him an exaggerated pout and turn back to the front to see where you’re going. “If you aren’t jealous, you shouldn’t have a problem with it.”

“No,” he huffs, irritation growing steadily. “Ask again and I’ll have your head.”

You quicken your pace on the last few steps, skirt bouncing from the motion; Ghost doesn’t bother to look away. He follows you back to the table where Laswell and the others are chatting quietly.

You lean down to set the drinks on the table, and Ghost takes his chance. His hands hover around your hips, bulge brushing against your ass as he moves behind you to sit down in his seat.

“Sorry,” he muses in the most unapologetic tone you’ve ever heard from him. It’s Simon’s eyes that look into yours, like a challenge. A really, really horny challenge. “Had to get past you.”

#cod mw2 #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley fanfic #fem reader #simon riley mw2 #simon riley x female reader #cod fic #mw2 fic #mw2 x you #mw2 smut #mw2 x reader #simon riley smut #ghost smut #simon ghost riley smut

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nvirskies · 10 months ago

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it's getting hot in here - c. la rue

warnings: reader is like half-naked? just no shirt on is all but reader is wearing a sports bra, nothing sexual just like a tad suggestive?, clarisse is a gay mess, kinda ooc clarisse, i know next to nothing about blacksmithing please hang in there with me, fem reader, no use of y/n, self-conscious reader, not beta read

summary: clarisse goes to pick up a custom order dagger from the forge when she's met with an unexpected sight.

hephaestus!daughter!reader x clarisse la rue

word count: 1.3k

taglist: @lvrue @azrielsdiary @b0ok-lover @star-girl69 @petitegavotte

from this post !

a/n: tbh might make this a multi part thing, at least a second part. also, so sorry this took so long to finish- i got sidetracked with a couple other things irl. hope you enjoy! men, nsfw, non-sapphics, 16- / 19+ dni

It was no secret the kids of Cabin 9 ran a side business to make some extra cash. It was pretty lucrative, given that there would always be a line of demigods waiting to have their weapon(s) of choice customized. Custom engravings, patterns cast into handles, ergonomic handpiece add-ons, and so much more. Name it, and it would be done for the right price, forged with impeccable quality.

And that was how Clarisse La Rue found herself heading to the forge just east of the strawberry fields with a thin paper in one hand and a small bag of golden drachmas in the other. The edges of the slip were just barely singed, and the writing on it looked nearly incomprehensible to many eyes, scribbled notes of her order confirmation and gods only knew what else. It didn’t matter to her, she just needed it to get her dagger and go.

Crowds parted for her like the Red Sea, once-lively conversations coming to a grinding halt as she walked straight through crowds and groups with nothing more than a glare and a sharp look in any general direction.

In no time at all, the familiar sounds of machinery clanking, fire hissing and crackling, and hammers striking metal filled the air. It was the forge, the singular place where one could guarantee there would be at least one child of Hephaestus in there at all hours of the day.

She pushed open the heavy metal door, swinging it wide open soundlessly despite its obvious weight. And what a sight she was greeted with. You were there alone, hunched over a piece of blisteringly hot metal, pounding away at it with a hammer in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other.

Something about you entranced her.

She didn’t know if it was the way your hair was pulled into a low ponytail, some loose strands clinging to the sides of your face, the way you subconsciously bit your lip as you focused completely on the red-hot metal in front of you. Or perhaps, it was the way your muscles rippled in the dim firelight as you struck the metal again and again, a thin sheen of sweat covering the exposed portions of your skin from both the heat and the exertion.

Maybe it was a combination or something else entirely.

As she gazed at you, a light blush dusted her cheeks as she came to the realization that you weren’t wearing much while working. The heat of the forge had led you to forgo wearing a shirt entirely, said shirt reduced to a tiny, crumpled gray bundle of fabric in the corner of the room. You were left wearing a sports bra, dusted with ash and soot and a pair of baggy sweatpants resting just above your hips.

It wasn’t as if Clarisse had never seen people dressed in less before. Hell, she’d seen her own fair amount of skin for various reasons. But this time, it seemed different. The slip of paper and bag of coins in her hands were forgotten momentarily as she simply stared at you from the doorway.

The way the dim light of the roaring furnace illuminated you from behind gave you an almost ethereal glow, the edges of the flames flickering around your moving silhouette.

She could see the muscles in your arm and shoulder tensing and relaxing with every ever-so-precise swing of the hammer, and she found herself silently watching you work from the doorway.

Ultimately, it was the soft clinking coming from the bag of drachmas Clarisse held in her hand that drew your attention away from the project in front of you. Your head snapped up, tense and a tad startled from the sudden sound, having been so zoned into your work that you hadn’t noticed her presence.

The hammer in your hand dropped to the metal workbench with a loud clang, the sound reverberating throughout the forge, ripping Clarisse from the glossed-over, hazy look in her eyes as she watched you move just moments ago, having been completely and utterly under your spell.

“Shit-!” you exclaimed, jumping slightly and wincing at the harsh sound, eyes widening further as you’re greeted with the sight of a Clarisse who seemed far too casual compared to how she normally treated campers, especially given her outward distaste towards children of Hephaestus.

And all of a sudden, you’re all too aware of your lack of a shirt and your cheeks flare with an embarrassed bright red flush.

Flushed the same color as the heated metal in front of you, Clarisse noted absentmindedly. It wasn’t a look she didn’t like. But of course, she would never admit that. The big, bad Clarisse La Rue flustered over something as insignificant as muscles on a girl? Impossible.

Her attention is drawn back to you, observing as you scurry to the other side of the room to grab your stashed-away shirt, slipping the loose grey fabric over your body, any and all views of the muscles she had seen just moments prior completely disappearing in a matter of seconds.

After having taken a few calming breaths, you steeled yourself for a barrage of snarky remarks that you were sure would come spewing out of the Ares cabin counselor’s mouth like acid out of the myrmeke’s mouths, but they never came.

Instead, you’re greeted with the sight of a Clarisse who seemed to be a bit flustered? Her eyes didn’t meet yours for a moment before she straightened herself out. Before your very eyes, you watched her cool and collected facade slip over her like a mask, and that trademark smirk of hers tugged at the corners of her lips.

“I’m here to pick up an order, under my name,” she remarks, holding up the bag of drachmas and thin slip of paper in an outstretched hand. Her gaze seemed like it was scrutinizing everything about your appearance from the baggy grey shirt that hung loosely over your frame to the soot just barely smudged on your forehead. Whether it was a good or bad look you had no idea, subconsciously shrinking into the shadows of the dimly lit forge.

“Right, right, La Rue…” you trail off nervously, scanning the room for the rack that held completed orders and leafing through the tags attached to each object. “La Rue, La Rue, La Rue, where is it-?” you muse to yourself, repeating her last name in a hushed tone until the sight of it comes into view. The dagger she had ordered was at the edge of the table, with the request for a heavyweight handle and an etching of her initials into the butt of it.

Normally, Clarisse would have found your behavior annoying if it were coming from anyone else, but oddly enough, she quite liked the way her last name rolled off your tongue. It felt almost natural, too natural. Quickly, she brushed away the lingering thoughts about how you had looked almost god-like with the flame from the roaring furnace glowing behind you, the thoughts of what your skin would feel like under her hands.

After a beat of silence, you grabbed said dagger, placed a little ball of clay over its razor-sharp tip, and slipped it into a small drawstring bag, pulling it closed.

“That’ll be five golden drachmas, La Rue, or fifteen silver ones. Whatever works for you” you say as you hand her the bag, other hand outstretched for the paper she held and to take the coins. She dropped the five golden coins in your palm and grabbed the bag to turn on her heel and walk out without another word.

Or so you thought.

“Thanks for the weapon. I’ll see you around, pretty girl.”

#🖋️ nvir writes #clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x fem reader #clarisse la rue x you #clarisse la rue x fem!reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue pjo #clarisse pjo #cabin 9 #daughter of hephaestus #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo tv

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mythophosfox · 9 months ago

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Blade x Abundance!reader

Word Count͟͟͞͞➳❥ 1.9k (One-Shot)

Reader is gender neutral // Not proofread

A/N͟͟͞͞➳❥English is not my first language so I apologize for any grammar errors. The reader follows the path of abundance, and their origins can be up to interpretation. Have fun imagining yourself a backstory ;). This is more or less a test for a concept I've boiled up in my brain.

Cw ➳❥ Possible OOC, Mild body Horror, abrupt ending, illness, mention of pain, Soft, wholesome, SFW, vague on purpose.

Summary ➳❥ Blade meets you, a follower of the abundance, during one of his Mara crises. You heal him and leave leaving only your name. Who are you, he ponders. Once he finds himself desperate, he whispers your name.

Blade sat on the floor, hidden inside an abandoned merchant stall on the Loafu—his body tenses, the mara ever so threateningly consuming his mind. He hisses at the pain, holding back a groan from the intoxicating pain. Unable to move, run, or call Kafka for help. In these moments, even he couldn't help but to feel desperation. Maybe it’ll finally eat him alive this time, letting him meet his long-awaited end. His eyes closed. Corrupted memories and faded voices calling to him, a stabbing pain piercing the remains of his bruised lonely heart. Only the hope of death lay dryly on his tongue. Blade felt joy as his conscience faded into the dark, his body limping on the floor.

Blade could only hear the ringing in his ears until the thumping of footsteps appeared close to him. A light hand places itself on his shoulder. The unsupportable pain starts to vanish from his body, spreading from the singular light touch. The memories fade, freeing him from their strain. Blade lifts his head in a daze, vision foggy from his symptoms. He sees someone crouched next to him, their hand still placed on his shoulder. The person smiles at him softly. Throughout his body, gladioli buds start to sprout. The sprouts grow on his scars, lessening their pain. His mara calms, freeing his mind to think clearly again. The fog in his eyes dissipates, now able to see you fully. He suddenly winces out of your touch, backing away from you with sharp threatening eyes. You quickly bring your hand back to yourself.

-’’ My apologies, I mean no harm.’’ You spurt out, attempting to calm him.

Blade only stares at you with intensity, his face back to a neutral state. A deep groan escapes his lips. He considered knocking you out, unwilling to uselessly harm someone for an escape, but he quickly realized how dissipated his mara felt. His eyes widen, witnessing the bourgeons and flowers spread around his torn muscles. How did you-- Abundance? Even so- how was it so effective? His gaze wanders back to you as you innocently stare back.

-’’ You should be feeling better for a few.’’ You chirped softly, standing back up on your feet. ‘’ I need to move, Good day.’’

-’’ Wait!’’

As you turn your back, Blade mindlessly takes hold of your wrist. You turn back, surprised by the man’s sudden outburst. Blade didn’t know what he was doing, maybe he was losing his mind even more. His grip loosens, but you don’t pull your hand back.

-’’ How-’’ He shuddered. -’’ y/n’’

His mouth is agape as you cut him off. He quickly swallows his tongue.

-’’ If you ever need me again, call my name.’’ You state as if it was a simple fact.

You free yourself from his grip gently before walking away from the premises, disappearing within the simulated horizon of the Loafu. Blade watches your figure disappear, his normal expression back on his face. He didn’t know you, nor did he care about you. He was simply lucky, and you were foolish. Why would he ever remember your name?

…

Weeks later, Blade lays in his bed at the stellaron hunter’s base. His mara is acting up, making him twist and turn on his futon. His covers are thrown off the futon as his body feels too hot to sustain it. He finally lays on his back, exhausted and restless. He breathes heavily, sweat sliding off his muscles, wetting his bandaged chest. It stings, leaving him breathless for only a moment every few seconds. His trousers are drenched, sticking uncomfortably on his legs. His eyes blur as he stares at the ceiling. Memories flood his weakened mind, making him clench his fists until his fingernails pierce through his skin. The pain is unbearable, consuming him once more like it always was. Groans escapes his lips every few minutes, unable to control the debilitating feeling throughout his ill body. As Blade feels his consciousness fade, something flashes in his mind. A recent memory, a word, a name. He fought the need to say it. His pride unwilling to do something so pathetic. A sudden sting causes him to groan loudly as he barred his teeth in thin air. Dammit, dammit it all.

-’’y/n…y/n…’’

Blade felt pitiful, gasping your name out of his burning throat. Nothing answered to him apart from the echo of his pleas. Of course, you won’t come. You were in the Loafu after all, and he was lightyears away from you. He so stupidly kept calling your name, desperate from the mara. Against his pride and his better judgment, he couldn’t help but call out your name silently. He frowns in frustration.

-‘’y/n…y/n!’’ He barely screamed that last one, but nothing. Not you or the relief will ever arrive. He closes his eyes, exhausted and in pain. Maybe- just maybe, something could deliver him from this never-ending curse.

The air suddenly feels fresher. Blade noticed that his futon seemed to have changed…texture? He quickly realizes that his pain is suddenly numbed. Although still present, it’s barrable. His eyes shot open, greeted by a light blue sky. His eyes widen, feeling a cool breeze all over his body. What in the? He sits up, touching his bandages and chest confused. Was this a dream? The afterlife? His body feels fuzzy as if ants were crawling beneath his skin. He looks around the plains surrounding him.

A vast field of gladiolus bloomed before him, showing their diverse and saturated colours. The field seems to be endless, crossing the horizon. It sways in unison as a breeze traverses the blooming flowers.

Blade finds the force to stand up, holding his arm with his hand. Although he’s able to walk, the fuzzy feeling forces him to limp softly on the pillowy grass. Was this death? He looks down at the imprint of his body on the flattened flowers. Would a dream be this detailed? Without a thought and without a destination, Blade starts walking weakly in any direction. He leaves behind him a trail of red spider lilies, new flowers blooming at his every step. It feels like hours as he aimlessly wanders inside the never-ending plains. Finally, he sees what looks like a small cabin. He furrows his eyebrows, both happy and cautious of such a finding. As he approaches he smells something in the distance, sweets. The field opens up to a clearing. Between him and the house a few meters away, lays a picnic blanket with pastries arranged elegantly on its surface. On the edge of the blanket, there you are, sitting peacefully with a cup of tea in your hands. Blade’s eyes widen in disbelief. It’s you. He approaches you with more hurry than before.

You enjoy your favourite blend of tea, humming delightfully to yourself. You feel the presence you’ve been waiting for you. You turn your head towards the figure. You watch silently as Blade slowly approaches you. He stops in his tracks, leaving some distance between the two of you.

-’’ You–You’re here.’’ He exhales.

-’’ You called.’’ You answer simply.

The warrior studies you, desperately trying to find anything suspicious about any of this, but all he felt was confusion. You give him a soft smile, aware of the questions he might have. Unknown to him, you weren’t going to answer any of his questions.

-’’ Where–’’ He tries to ask, but you cut him off as easily as last time.

-’’ Come, Join me. Have a seat.’’ You invite him. Your voice is soft and calming, which bothers Blade.

Nonetheless, he closes his distance and sits next to you. He feels awkward, and not used to interacting with strangers. His walls are still up towards you. After all, you barely knew each other. You tap your lap softly, inviting him to rest his head on top of it. His eyes widen as he gives you a glare. You stare back, unbothered.

-’’ You look pained, I can fix that…’’ You whisper you’re voice honeyed, inviting him further.

Blade scoffs at the absurdity of this entire situation. First, he wakes up in an unknown field, then he rests on your lap? He might as well go with it. Blade shifts the weight of his body, his back facing you before he reluctantly places his head on your thighs. You chuckle, gently putting a hand through his hair. The man closes his eyes at the touch, furrowing. The gazing of your fingers on his scalp suddenly felt like heaven. The feeling spread all over his face, causing a sharp exhale to escape his nostrils. As your right-hand plays softly with his hair, your left-hand descends carefully down his bandaged chest. The buzzing in his body ceases once your finger traces his skin. He feels calm and at peace. A feeling he never thought he could ever experience. His expression relaxes for the first time in years. For once, like the last time he saw you, his body feels empty, light, and devoid of ill. The tingle of your fingers tracing his scars through the bandages gives him goosebumps. Quick gaps escaped his lips. If he knew what it meant, he’d say it’d feel like euphoria. By now, his entire body felt weightless. He pressed his head on your stomach, enjoying this feeling with water in his eyes. You giggle softly, proud of your healing work.

-’’ We can stop now if you wish to.’’ You calmly propose, removing your hand from his hair. It’s interrupted by his hand grabbing yours.

-’’ No…Please.’’ He whispers, pleading for your touch.

-’’ Very well.’’

You continue your miracle, tracing the tips of your fingers all over his chest and face. Blade relaxes completely within your grasp. His skin shudders from time to time from the gentleness of your touches. You both spend your time like this for a while. Suddenly, a distant bell chimes across the sky. You look up, disappointment on your face. You look back at the now dozed-off warrior on your lap. You caress his cheek with the back of your hand, walking him up softly.

-’’ I’m afraid our time together is over.’’ You sigh sadly. You were enjoying your time with this stellaron hunter. His calm expression, the peace in his eyes as he flutters them open. The pain you meticulously make vanish.

-’’ Will I–Ever see you again?’’ Blade asks weakly. He attempts to reach out for your cheek. You stop him, intertwining your hand with his instead.

-’’ Oh, Blade…’’ You purr. Blade’s eyes widen at the mention of his name. He never told you his name. ‘’ You only have to call my name, remember?’’

As you finish your sentence, you lower your head closer. Your soft lips barely graze his before Blade wakes up in a cold sweat.

Blade frantically sits up. He’s back in his room. Was it really a dream? He pats around his body, realizing the pain is gone. What just happened. He feels a lingering pressure on his lips. A light blush flushes his cheeks. He hovers his fingers over his lips. When he looks down at his chest he notices gladioli flowers sprouting on his skin. His eyes widen at the sight. He looks around his room. Gladioli blossoms and sprouts are scattered around his floor…

Tags ➳❥ @swivy123

End note ➳❥ If you guys love the premise, I might make a more serious short-series about this. This has been a fun concept to work with. The mystery behind who the reader is. Idk, let me know! For now I've got more coming in the works :D

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jazzyoranges · 10 months ago

Note

hey. i really like the fic about shapeshitfing!reader x wednesday. i was wondering if u could do thing and reader being absolute besties and playful with each other which makes wednesday annoyed and sorta jealous.

Best friends

Wednesday Addams x fem!shapeshifter!reader

Words: 1.4k

A/n: lowk shapeshifter!r is so fun to write, thanks for all the requests about her :) hopefully you like reading about her a lot because honestly i’m a little obsessed with this universe

Warnings(?): wednesday being wednesday, ooc wednesday, mentions of knives and blood

“Why are you adamant on annoying me.” Wednesday opens her door to you, whose rapidly knocking stops when the look on Wednesday’s face doesn’t give much room for explanation. But you love being defiant so you don’t really care

“Thing and I planned to go on a date today!”

The Addams looks behind her to see the appendage with the tiniest little crocheted messenger bag that was worn on his wrist like a bracelet. You can see Wednesday’s forehead wrinkle when Thing saunters over to your feet for you to put him on your shoulder, just as you’ve seen Wednesday do countless times before

“I asked Thing if he had any rings to wear and he said no, so naturally I’m going to treat him on a day out” The appendage taps excitedly on your shoulder, poking at your face to signal he wants to go

“And when did you plan this?”

“After we played tag, you wanna come with us?” You ask with a turn of your head

“Shopping isn’t my strongest suit. I’d only slow you two down.”

“We’ll be off doing hot girl things. I promise I’ll have him home before curfew, Miss Addams” You treat Wednesday like she’s a disapproving mother, when in reality she looks unfazed and honestly a little annoyed. You and Thing wave goodbye, leaving Wednesday with her own thoughts as her roommate is doing god knows what with her friends

Time alone could be good for Wednesday. She’s been around people far more than she preferred. With maybe an hour on her hands before someone interrupts her, Wednesday sits at her desk to write

Her fingers drum against her desk, a habit she picked up from Thing. The appendage you were taking out on a date. For gods sake, he was a hand! You asked a singular appendage out on a date. Not even a full human. A fucking hand. A hand that didn’t have a voice, yet you were still infatuated with him nonetheless

And maybe Wednesday is smart enough to recognize she’s feeling a little peeved over a hand. Maybe Wednesday is smart enough to know Thing does have a voice; a sassy one at that. Maybe Wednesday is coping with the fact you wanted to take Thing out more than someone you actively sought out and saw every day

And maybe you’re the reason why Wednesday had to buy a slightly bigger trash can for the more recent mistakes she’s been making during her writing time

You were a disease. You forced your way into everyone’s life, but somehow you always came out with more friends and acquaintances than you started with. It was annoying how unforgivably social you were.

Your dumb smile with your pearly white teeth. Wednesday’s tapping on her desk got a little faster

Your need to include everyone whether you knew them or not. It was why you were on a date with Thing in the first place

Your everlasting hunger to be around someone. Wednesday knew you didn’t like to be alone

Your voice that Wednesday knew so well.

…

Fuck.

“Hey, Wens!” Enid makes her presence known with a sing-song tone while placing her jacket on the coat hanger near the door

“Where’s Thing? It’s quiet in here” The blonde immediately notices

“He’s on a date,” There’s a small pause after Wednesday talks “with (Y/n).”

“(Y/n) took Thing on a date?”

“Correct.”

“How’s your writing going?” Enid peers over Wednesday’s shoulder to look at her once again, full trash can. Enid notices that happens a lot when you’re on Wednesday’s mind for some reason. The Addams glares at Enid when she makes another mistake, crumbling up the piece of paper while maintaining eye contact with her roommate

“Great.”

A beat of silence.

“…did you seriously get cucked by a hand?”

“Repeat such degenerate nonsense and I’ll be forced to make sure you never will.”

“I dunno, you’re looking a little jealous over there” Wednesday doesn’t have to turn around to hear the wolfish grin in Enid’s voice

“The urge to push a knife through your skull is an insatiable hunger that cannot be fed by anything that isn’t your blood.”

//-//

“Do you like this one? See look, the dragon is the ring!” You place the ring on Thing’s middle finger. The appendage shows his approval with another few taps

“Yes, it makes you look tough. You want another one?” He nods. Well, at least makes it look like he’s nodding. You grab a silver ring from the display, putting it on his thumb

“Will Enid like the rings?” Thing signs

“Everyone will love them, especially Enid. You running out on lotion?”

“Nope! How can I repay you?”

You pretend to think for a second

“If you delete Enid’s blackmail on me off of all her devices I’ll take you out again, free of charge” The employee at the front is probably wondering why your back is turned to her while you’re whispering into your hands

Thing holds a thumbs-up and you take the two rings off his fingers and put them on the check out counter along with a few other little trinkets you liked and stuff for your friends

A pink and white bracelet with charms you knew Enid would find cute, scale earrings that twinkled in the sun that Bianca would look stunning in, a bee pin that was too perfect for Eugene, and a black snake that curled into itself as ring for Wednesday

You only assumed Thing gave you a blank stare when the cashier said your price was a bit more than a hundred fifty dollars. Your mom would definitely chastise you for your spending issues, but that was a problem for another day. Your current problem was that you had to get Thing home by curfew like you promised

//-//

Thing might not want to take up your invitation on another date anytime soon.

Currently you’re turned into a bird with the appendage hanging on for dear life on your back as you carry the bag of items you bought in your beak. Thing pleaded you just run on the ground like any normal animal, but you promised you’d get him home by curfew. Running would’ve taken too long and your ass would get tired

So instead, you went for the skies without Thing’s approval

He might hate you now, honestly. In your defense, it was too late when he told you he had a fear of falling when you were above tree height

You asked if he wanted to sit in the bill of a pelican instead and you felt him pluck one of your feathers. Lucky for you both, Wednesday and Enid’s room wasn’t too far away

When you land on the balcony of their dorm, Thing hops off your back and apologizes for your now lost feather. You also apologize for not planning correctly and having him on your back with little to no safety

Enid looks a little confused when Thing starts to hug the bird that landed on her balcony, but she eventually figures out it’s you. The blonde looks away for a second and you’re already a cat desperately knocking against their circle window to be let in

You walk in like you own the place, and Wednesday checks the clock if you actually got Thing home by curfew

“With minutes left to spare, too.” Wednesday says. You smile proudly

You jump up onto Enid’s bed, bag still in mouth. You push it over so it’s parallel to the bed, digging your head in until you find what you need. The pink and white bracelet with charms you got from Jericho. Enid makes sure to ruffle your fur so much it starts to stick out until she pats it down. Thing makes sure to tell Enid all about his day

Grabbing your bag, you make your way towards Wednesday, who’s reading a book with a dark cover on her bed

You look through the bag again, but this time with the aforementioned snake ring in your mouth. You keep your tongue away from the ring as much as possible to stop you from getting your saliva on it

Of course you thought about your friends while on a date.

Wednesday reaches out her hand, taking the ring from your mouth. She places it on her left ring finger and it seems to be a snug fit. There’s a wordless thank you in Wednesday’s eyes when she uses the same hand to scratch under your chin, making you purr

The happy expression on your face and the way you lean into her touch makes Wednesday’s heart melt the tiniest bit.

You crawl into Wednesday’s lap as she reads her book. Every now and again you can feel the now cold ring against your skin, sending shivers down your spine

You end up spending the night with Wednesday’s lips against the back of your ear and her hand on your stomach. It wasn’t your fault you were a cuddly cat.

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x y/n #wednesday (2022)#wednesday x you #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #thing addams

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magicdustsworld · 3 months ago

Text

Redemption (2)

Levi Ackerman x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Your professor is supposed to teach you the lessons to redeem oneself. Then... why does this lesson seems nothing like any other?

Tropes: Professor/Student, explicit smut

Warnings: Profanity, age gap(Levi is in his early to mid 30s, Reader is in early 20s), blackmail, dubious consent, nonconsensual groping, fellatio, cum swallowing, minimum prep, light bondage, hair pulling, videography, humiliation, degradation, spanking, orgasm denial, protected/rough, mind break, undertones of sadism and angst, absolute filth, mean!Levi, semi public, college/modern AU, no mentions of y/n.

Word count: 3.8k

Event: Part 2 submission for levievent day 10 - age differences.

A/N: please heed the warnings, some parts may be uncomfortable to read and Levi is portrayed in a very OOC manner.

Divider credits - @cafekitsune

|PREVIOUS|

"Very well," Levi takes a singular step towards you—only now, the intimate proximity starts to dawn. "Let's start with your first lesson on redemption."

You blink, too conscious about your attire and the enclosed room. Swallowing a lump, you ask "What lesson?"

"Do you have to be somewhere now or later tonight?"

Slightly do you tilt your head, raking through your schedule for tonight. Well, there's the frat house but that's easily skippable when your reputation and life is on the line. You shake your head, "No."

"Good," Said so, he pivots on his heel, locking the door and–

"Why did you lock it?"

A huff is incited akin to a laugh, a fact that sends a tremor down your spine. He turns to you, "As much of a harlot you are–" stepping up, he flicks the collar of your obscene uniform, trailing his fingertip to the button which barely concealed your modesty. He holds one of your breasts over your uniform, giving it a firm squeeze, "–I'd assume, you don't want an audience, or do you?"

All of a sudden, everything clicks.

"Excuse me?" You sneer, eyes flashing with a blaze as you grasp his wrist and immediately tear it off yourself. "What the fuck do you think you're doing? That's highly inappropriate."

Inappropriate, really?

In response, he can only pass you his impassive expression, "There's the brat again," he rolls his eyes, "Have the guts to speak about fucking appropriateness when you show up–" gray eyes rake over your figure so leacherously that you are forced to wrap your arms around yourself. "–like a walking advertisement for debauchery. Please," he scoffs, voice straining with disgust, "I have seen more modesty in a stripper."

The sting of the insult cut through you like a cold wind, chilling you to the core. On cue, you tighten your hold over yourself, trying to soothe the ache of the degradation with the brush of your thumb rubbing circles. Burns culminate over your cheeks, hot emotion welling up your eyes–threatening to fall any second. It's a constant struggle to put on the veneer of stablity.

Cold. It's too cold. Someone. Anyone. Just banish this chilling cloak that's heightening your senses.

Your pray is returned when Levi's calloused hand grips your jaw. It's warm. But it's too warm akin to boiling lava and it burns you, so you don't want this. You don't want any of this. Fingernails of yours dig into your arms with so much force that it breaks skin–drawing blood.

He forces you out of the reverie and when you gaze into his eyes, instead of indifference, you see darkness. So deep, so depraved that your inner instincts scream for you to run.

Leave. Run. Now.

His voice is a husky whisper when he speaks, "You show up like a slut, you will be treated like one." His hand descended down to your shoulder and just at the contact–

"No!" You choke out, fliching away from his touch as you stumble but regain balance. Breathing through your mouth, eyes are wide open as the dread of the inevitable grapples you. "St-Stay back, don't touch me."

He blinks, retracting his hand, "So that's how it's going to be," he mutters under his breath, sauntering past you and finally rope of suffocation around your neck loosens. No sooner does the breath of relief leaves you, his voice reaches your ears, "You can leave." He pauses, there's a click of something. "I'll meet you on Monday in the head office with the dean and your parents."

"What? No... y-you can't do t-that," Turning towards him, you are still holding yourself. Standing near his desk, Levi's gaze is stuck on both of your pictures, no try at shifting his attention at the real you. "You said, you'll give me a chance."

"And you're throwing that chance away. I am only left with the other option."

"That's no chance, that's exploitation! You're trying to take advantage of me."

His eyes flickers over to you now, "Am I?" The pause only makes the beating of your heart to accelerate. "And what if I am?"

"You can't do that."

Levi heaves a sigh, picking up the picture in which you're smoking the Marijuana, "You still don't get it, do you?" He asks, prompting a raise of your brows while his eyes are stuck on your photographed mien. The bliss of pure ecstasy clouding your eyes, a stark contrast to the fear sated gaze before him. "The days for you to pull the strings is over. Now–"

The waft of an unnatural wind wisps the picture from his hand—falling on the floor. His movements are poised– elegant even, feet squashing your photo, he strides to you, "I won't force you."

He extends his hand again and when it contacts with your skin—it's the same goosebumps as before. "We can forget any of this ever happened and meet after the weekend or..." The pads of his finger brushes over your collar bone to the back of your neck as he coils a strand of your hair in his fingers, "You can agree to let me teach you a lesson on redemption."

Said so, like an upcoming storm deflecting it's path, he backs away. No longer the touch pricks your skin, no longer you're suffocated with the palpable tension.

Tucking his hand inside his pockets, he finishes, "The choice is yours."

There is no choice here.

It's a straight up threat to either give into his perverse wishes or he'll make sure, your life is ruined beyond repair.

Stuck in between a rock and a hard place, there's only a handful of options laid before you.

You don't want this.

Curse to all the entities responsible for putting you in such a situation.

A depraved man and a desperate girl—there's only so much that can happen.

"I agree."

"This is the final warning, brat." Levi looks down on you, the vigour of a lofty frown stretched on his lips. "Do this properly and don't you dare use your teeth."

Never in your wildest dreams did you think you'll ever end up doing this. Forced to your hands and knees, before your professor with his legs spread wide, he pumps his manhood before your eyes. And God– isn't he huge? How can you ever take that? A thin trail of hair marks the the base of his shaft. Momentarily, you are stupefied with the display of self-satisfaction, Levi bestows on himself; his manhood standing erect as a tempting exhibit.

"Get to it," On his command, you extend your hand, holding his cock by the base. Moving your palm over the glans skin, gathering the moisture in your mouth, you swirl your wet tongue over the tip—following the same method you do while you give anyone head.

Apparently, Levi isn't just anyone.

He clicks his tongue, threading his fingers through your head, he gives it a sharp tug; inciting a protesting groan from you. "None of that shit. Open your mouth, wide."

You don't have the time for that.

Levi is forcing his cock inside your mouth as you struggle to take him wholly. The sheer girth of it stretches your mouth to the maximum–jaw straining in an uncomfortable manner and the lack of lubrication on his member could only make it difficult to move your mouth against him. Giving yourself a minute, you hollow your cheeks, coating the skin with saliva as you start to move in a slow, steady pace.

A low hum of satisfaction escalates from him and you find yourself eager to please him. This is what you have to do. Please him. Satisfy him. Show him that you've the potential and finally be off the hook. You bob your head in a to and fro motion, gradually increasing the speed as he fills himself in your your wet cavern as much the muscles would allow. Guttural groans escapes him followed by a series of curses as his grip tightens over your hair, "Loosen your jaw, make sure I reach all the way."

Almost on instinct, you try to deepthroat him and your gag reflex comes to play. Tears spring up your eyes, trailing down your cheeks so does the drool as bile akin to acid rises up due to thr intense penetration. Quickly, you recoil back, giving yourself a minute to stabilize your breathing before starting your performance again. (Although mindful to not surpass your limits). Lapping his cock and sucking him all the way that the tip touches your uvula.

Salacious moan leaves his mouth, snapping his hips forward to meet your mouth while he guides you on his cock via your hair. "Mhmm, been upto this all the while cutting slack, huh? Agh– fuck, at least you learnt something useful, didn't you nasty little slut?"

The abjection pours down your ears making you suck in a breath. Yet, it still manages to send a shiver of pulse down your core. Shifting your focus onto giving him the stellar blowjob, you try to not think about about your arousal.

It will be over soon.

His cock twitches inside your throat. Fuck! He's close.

Levi's frame goes rigid–halting your movements as well, he holds you in place, nostrils near his pelvis. No sooner than you can comprehend, thick ropes of cum is shot down your throat.

"Swallow it all," He concedes and when you looked up, his pupils are dilated with wanton desire. "Don’t you dare let any of that filth drop on me."

Like clockwork, you follow. The musky, mettalic taste of his cum gathers on your tongue, you know better than to let it rest. Therefore, you swallow it down–each and every drop he has to offer.

Finally, you are let go off his cock with a pop sound, leaning back, you flutter your eyelids shut. The stench of his ecstasy still lingers in the air and the sudden removal of his cock from your mouth leaves you empty. You grasp your jaw, pressing the area to soothe the ache.

Levi's grip loosens from your strands as ragged breaths escapes him while he slumps down on his chair. His chest rises and falls in a rhythm, he looks down on you with half lidded eyes. And shit! He looks hot for the wrong reasons. From the expression that haunts his handsome face, its apparent you did a good job.

Shouldn't you be praised a little?

You have little time to complain before Levi is standing up from the chair, grabbing hold of your bicep, he pulls you up to your feet. "Hey– ah!"

Not a second later, you're being slammed onto the mahogany desk. Tits spilling out of your uniform, squashed on the sleek surface due to his manhandling. He yanks both of your wrists back, holding them via his left hand.

Click!

You try to turn around at the unusual sound—attempt proving to be futile with the way your body is twisted. However, your curiosity is brought to a rest when something foreign starts to slid around your wrist. Its his belt? Narrow and smooth leather yet the rough edges starts to dig into your skin. Levi wraps the object around your wrist multiple times–his pace, rushed yet precise–before securing it with the click of his buckle.

"Ugh– fuck! Why would you do that? " Objection quickly flows out as you tug on the restraints—tight.

He doesn't bother looking at you, eyes trained on the curve of your ass and the way your legs are positioned. Just perfect. Calloused palm grips your hips, brushing over the mesh of your skirt, "A birdie told me you were planning to run away." He says with mock amusement although the neutrality stays plastered on his mien. "Can't have my precious student running off in the middle of a lesson now, can I?"

"I wouldn't—"

"Quiet."

He hauls your excuse of a skirt upto your ass, the hint of a smirk slipping off when he notices the very obvious wet splotch on your panties. Filthy little slut. He yanks it down with a force that might have ripped it. Delving two of his fingers over your folds, he checks for the wetness; trailing it to draw circular motions over your swollen nub.

"Ahh– yes," your hips buckle, eager to feel more friction, a faint moan escaping from you. However, he retracts his hand and you let out a whine. In a way to just feel thr stimulus, you try to clamp your legs only to be greeted by a harsh slap on your pussy. "Aghh–"

"Keep them wide open like a good little whore."

He's enjoying it, you know. Toying with you, reducing you to a mere plaything at his disposable. You've never hated your professor as much as you do now for leaving you begging for more. You've never hated yourself as much as you do now for letting him do this yo you.

You can hear some shuffling before the ripping of a packet, soon Levi's latex sheathed cock head is pressing on your folds.

"Here's your first lesson," he grabs hold of a chunk of your hair, rotating your nape to face him. When you do, the least bit of self-esteem is discarded, his eyes are darkened with lust. Looking down on you like a predator to its quarry, "No crying, no moaning, no calling my name, nothing. I don't want to hear a sound." He jerks your head back, making you yelp aloud, "Is that fucking clear?"

It's painful to respond when he has such a vile grip on your hair, still you manage a nod.

Levi positions himself in your entrance, your saliva still lingers on his cock and wetness has gathered on your cunt. You don't need anymore lubrication. He retains you in a single position, clutching your hips before he is plunging inside.

"Agghh! Wait– eeeek– stop, ahh—" The burn surges through your cunt, excruciating hell befalling on you as Levi, quite literally, forces himself inside. It's no wonder he was big and the lack of proper preparation causes tears to spring up your eyes.

Once, he is buried to the hilt, he pulls back till the tip before thrusting himself inside—filling you up again. You shriek, nails digging into the palm of your hands while he sets a relentless pace; rendering you breathless. "Wait, aghh– Levi I– Ah!"

A harsh slap is delivered on your asscheeks and Levi clicks his tongue, "Can't even follow one rule, can you? And calling me by my name, where the hell is your manners, brat?" Said so, he smacks your bottom again—harder than last time. Using your binded hands as a leverage, he pulls you up, breath fanning near your earlobe, he snarls, "What did I tell about making a noise?"

The tears roll down your cheek. All of it hurts. From the way he is bullying your cunt upto his comfort and the slaps he confers upon your asscheeks. It hurts but fuck! You suck in a lofty breath, mouth wide open as the drool runs down your cheek. Why does it feel so good?

"Oi," He grabs your hairs again, yanking your head back with all the force he can conjure. Or maybe its just the half of it. "When I ask you something, you answer. Got that?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

You breath in, "Yes sir."

That's more like it.

That's what Levi wanted to say but that could give you the benefit of doubt. So, why should he?

You bit into your lips, trying to stop all the lascivious moans threatening to be released. A task proving to be a hassle with the way Levi was wrecking you open. Six inches plunging deep inside, he was deadset on ruining you beyond repair. Cheeks dampened with tears, your chest heaved up and down from a moment of reprieve. The erotic encounter seems to grow more brutal as the seconds pass. As if he liked to see you curse and whimper in this pain. Liked the look on your face whenever the pace would get merciless. (Something which he keeps all the way through)

Too far down the lane, you don't even register the strings of profanities accompanied by the absolute filth Levi speaks down your ears.

Velvet walls clamps down on his cock and just now, Levi notices the articulation of pure bliss on your face. He hates it. Still with your luscious strands in his hold, he unlocks his drawer—bringing out his phone. Unlocking it, he swiped to the video mode.

"Smile for the camera, slut."

Only then you notice the flashing of the device on your face. Eyelashes dampened with tears, the same rolling down your cheeks, drool falling off your lip and tits on full display, if someone you didn't know saw you right now, they would actually take you to be a slut.

"Lesson number two," Levi's voice reverberates in your ears as he leans to your level, "Acknowledgement. Go on, speak about all of your crimes," He presses on, forcing your face to be seen on the camera. "Why are you being fucked stupid, huh?"

"Si-Sir this isn't–"

"Speak."

The humiliation of the act gnaws at the recesses of your soul (or what is left of it). The derisive tone and taunting play only pushes you further into an oblivion of decadence. More tears escapes your eyes as again the sheer powerlessness of yourself in this arragement starts to dawn inside of you.

"Go on. Accept what you did."

You force a smile on your lips, looking at the camera as Levi looms over you, "I- I've been cutting slack– nghh– and wasting time with sm-smoking weed and drinking past aghh– my limit–"

"And?"

"An-and, I- I tried to ahh– te-tempt my professor. So h-he is teaching me a- aghh– lesson i-in learning." You aren't even aware of half the things that leaves your mouth now, too drunk on lust and the slick running down your thighs—you are already broken beyond repair.

Levi turns off his phone, tossing it to the drawer. He leaves your hair, grasping you by the hips again. He increase his pace, sweat glistening over his forehead and hair as it drips down on your skin. The sound of skin slapping echoes through each and every corner of the room, the combined acrid stench of arousal and slick wafting around.

He slams his hips against yours, "You like being treated like this, huh? Like a horny little slut begging to be degraded and used?"

All the overwhelming feelings clouds your judgement, blurring the lines between right and wrong, fantasy and reality as if the power of thinking is stripped off of you. "Ahh— yes, I do."

"Shit! You are sucking me in like a bitch in heat," His taunting words makes no sense anymore. The erotegenic exchange between his body and yours renders you to the deepest corners of a dark tale. "Mhmph, bet you haven't been fed a real cock right? First time, agh– no wonder you're going haywire with a little pain, fuck! A-ain't that right, whore?"

Wasn't this always supposed to happen?

Weren't you always just this? Just a cocksheath meant for other's pleasure? The desk creaks due to the continued onslaught. It's like you can see yourself from an omnious eye, reduced to nothing but a crying mess under the aggressive mimistrations of your professor. The hollowness settles in you, even the pain from moments ago seems to fade just as the humanity is swept from your eyes. You can hear a girl's voice, much like your own—asking for more, to be filled up, to be left as nothing but a broken doll.

Humorous, she is. How pitiful to willingly ask for to be treated like a rag doll? Could never be you.

Levi snakes his arm under one of your knees, raising it up—reaching faster and deeper inside your warm cavern. Velvet walls clamp tight around him, a knot forming in the pit of your stomach, begging to explode any second and with the ruthlessness he is bestowing upon you. You don't think you'll last longer. With the other hand, he reaches over to your pussy running with juices with yours and his. He brushes over your clit, rubbing circular motions and like that you're pushed over the edge.

"Hold it." It's funny how compliance has become second nature. It's okay. It's fine. You'll have your moment soon. Just– just please him now and you will rewarded soon enough. The thought alone helps you to withstand the painful event of stranding your orgasm. What's more insane is the sheer delight that comes with the pain.

And then you smile. Giggle even. What is happening with you?

As for Levi, he doesn't even care with all the shit you're blabbering and the dumb, drooling, giggling mess you are reduced to. He thrusts into you a few more times, the knot untangling in his abdomen as he reaches the peak of his ecstasy—emptying himself in the condom.

He pulls away and all of a sudden, like a bucket of cold water is thrown over you, you regain your senses.

"Get out." He says, pulling off the filthy latex sheath and discarding it in the trashcan.

What?

You blink, craning your neck to him, "Wa-wait, I haven't—"

"Third and last lesson for tonight," Levi stares down at you, all the serenity of releasing his frustration on you vanished from his mien. The same darkened expression from previous haunts his eyes again, "Repentence. You gain something, you lose something."

Said so, he unbuckles his belt from your wrists, tucking his attire in a proper manner. Without sparing you a glance, he is saunters to the window.

"Get the fuck out of here."

Six months later

Hitch's eyes are wide open when she sees the rank list.

Chugging down her drink, she calls your number. As soon as the signal connects, she is speaking before you could have the chance to say hello.

"Girl, you gotta teach me your ways." Her voice is akin to a high pitched chirp, she continues, "How the hell did you manage to bag a position in the top ten?"

Silence for a minute stretches in, then you laugh.

"Maybe, I just went through a redemption arc."

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