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andypantsx3 · 3 days ago

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FILLING IN | BAKUGOU x READER ˖˚˳⊹

summary: A production assistant for an erotic arts studio, you think you've seen every ridiculous plot line under the sun. But not even porn tropes can compare to the absurd reality you find yourself in when the on-screen talent drops out, and you're asked to fill in opposite the studio's number one star Bakugou Katsuki. contents: The classic oh-no-the-porn-talent-has-gone-missing-let's-sub-a-rando-in trope, no quirks au, pornstar Bakugou, soft dom Bakugou, gn + afab reader, unrequited-requited crush, slight bondage, descriptions of afab genitalia, nipple sucking, cunnilingus, piv sex, pet names used: angel and sweetheart, porn with surprise feelings, 18+, 8.2k words notes: This is my Bakugou x Reader commitment for @ficsforgaza, and I am sorry it is late enough to also count for Valentine's Day (but also Happy Valentine's Day!!) Additionally, a special thank you to my angel princess @ofmermaidstories for handing me the nerd + pornstar combo when I was worried about Bakugou's characterization. I think this is the only way I could have ever written a pornstar Bakugou that felt right to me. Love you, Mermie.

The studio was churning in chaos by the time you arrived.

The first sign that things weren’t right was Komori, one of your fellow production assistants, propped against the wall outside. Her cellphone was pressed against her ear, and she looked nervous, her foot tapping a thousand miles a minute. She had a thumbnail pressed to her mouth and was chewing steadily through the nail like a rabbit through a lettuce leaf.

You didn’t want to disturb her, so you buzzed inside the studio, only to find the hallways filled with an equally nervous energy. Yaoyorozu, one of the production managers, hovered in the doorway of a dressing room. She looked to be arguing with someone, her normally sweet expression pinched in profile. A small circle of people took up the hallway behind her, shifting apprehensively.

A shrill voice filtered out of the dressing room as you tried to wedge yourself by. “I said I’m not doing it. We’re getting married and we agreed I wouldn’t do this anymore.”

“Bibimi—” Yaoyorozu started.

“Effective immediately. Find someone else,” Bibimi’s voice replied.

You stopped in your tracks, blinking as you turned back to the doorway, peering over Sato’s shoulder.

Bibimi Kenranzaki was one of the studio’s top actresses, the very performer scheduled to shoot the production you were working on this afternoon. The shoot was a Valentine’s Day special, and had already been delayed at Bibimi’s request several times. If you’d understood Yaoyorozu’s previous concerns correctly, today was the last possible day to shoot it with enough time for it to make it through editing to post on Valentine’s.

This was not good.

“Bibimi, of course we would never force you to do something you did not consent to,” Yaoyorozu said patiently. “But you can see how having delayed this shoot many times already puts us in danger of not delivering on our commitments.”

You heard a dismissive snort issue from the room, and peered over one of Yaoyorozu’s slender shoulders. Bibimi lounged across one of the waiting room couches, arms crossed over her chest. An enormous diamond ring you’d never seen before glinted from one of her fingers, clearly the source of today’s change of heart.

Oh, production was not going to be happy.

You winced as you ducked out from behind Yaoyorozu, heading back down the hall to stuff your things into one of the vacant lockers. It was a struggle to fit everything in as today you’d come directly from a lecture—two textbooks the size and weight of cinderblocks choking up all the space in your bag. You would have thought that, considering that a wide swath of the production staff were college students—including several of the performers themselves—the studio would have had a better set up. But it was often a fight to the death to even find an open locker amongst the many other bookbags, and an equally Sisyphean struggle to get the door shut on the tiny cubbies.

Once you finally managed to finagle the door shut on your backpack, you made a beeline for the supply room. Typically, your first task of any shoot was acquisition of about a million pounds of baby wipes and lube, though you wondered if they would be needed today, given the scene with Bibimi you’d just witnessed.

You checked the film schedule posted in the staff entry to find the allotted set room. Then you made your way down the twisting maze halls carpeted with ancient olefin to the set for You Cumplete Me, the obnoxious working title Kaminari had come up with for this particular Valentine’s Day project.

The room was set up like some generic apartment, a large bed with a wire-framed headboard dominating the majority of the space. A cherry wood nightstand cluttered with fake knick knacks stood diligently at the bedside, and two fake windows with their curtains drawn shut overlooked the whole affair, red dressings fluttering slightly in the breeze from a fan.

Most of the production staff was already inside the room, the cameramen and director huddled together in the corner, whispering nervously. You spotted Mina, the wardrobe coordinator and makeup artist, fussing with her phone in the other corner, her various products and brushes spread out across a plastic folding table, looking put out.

“You know if we’re going to be able to sub anyone in for Bibimi?” you asked as you approached her, flopping down in one of the chairs set up at her makeshift dressing table. You arrayed your armful of lube and plastic packs of wipes at the corner so as not to disturb her arrangement.

Mina’s eyes flicked up to yours and she grinned, the upturn of her mouth accented with perfectly-applied hot pink lipstick.

“Komori’s called like ten other actresses so far and can’t get anyone,” Mina answered. “And Shiozaki and Kendo are in-studio but both just got off another shoot so we contractually can’t use them. I think Yaomomo is ready to start shaking people down.”

You winced. Yaoyorozu never lost her cool, but the pressure must be mounting. You knew marketing materials had already been put out on the studio’s website, specifically promising the return of the studio’s highest-grossing star—Bakugou Katsuki—opposite Bibimi.

While Bibimi might be the highest paid actress, Bakugou was the real draw of UA Productions. UA churned out projects that were largely targeted towards less traditional markets—largely women—porn that was often of higher production value, higher quality scripting, and careful coordination showcasing enthusiasm and consent. It also subsequently employed more than its fair share of beautiful men.

And Bakugou Katsuki crowned that pile of performers. Though foul-mouthed and often irascible, he was undeniably breathtaking to behold, both on screen and in person. He was the typical blend of tall, strong, and well-muscled that most UA actors were. But he moved with a singular precision and intention that drove fans wild, and came equipped with bed-rumpled blond hair, mile-long lashes, a surly, pouty mouth, and a facial symmetry that Euclid himself would have wept over.

He was also nearing the end of his doctoral and would not be filming for much longer, you were given to understand. So the studio stood to lose a significant amount of audience trust and money, should this production fall through.

As if on cue, Bakugou Katsuki himself stomped through the doorway. The expression on his face told you he was already well-aware of what was happening with Bibimi, and he was getting annoyed with the hold up. He set a direct line for you and Mina, mouth twisted in dissatisfaction.

Your ears promptly went hot, the way they always did when Bakugou was in your line of vision.

You’d unfortunately had something of a crush on him from the minute you’d become a production assistant at UA, your third year of college. Funds were tight and your masters program loomed large in front of you, its meager stipend like a slap in the face. You’d needed something else flexible, and you’d found UA through the friend of a friend—its proximity to the university, and ever changing schedule of ongoing productions offering the perfect amount of flexibility for your situation.

Bakugou had been there that first day as Yaoyorozu gave you the tour, too. He’d been tucked up on the couch of the waiting room as you passed through, blonde hair rumpled, someone’s lip gloss still smeared at the corner of his jaw. He looked like a soft, relaxed mess—clothes askew like he’d pulled them back on after a shoot and immediately migrated to the couch—though his scarlet eyes tracked intently across the page of an enormous engineering text spread across his thighs. His long fingers twirled a pen absently, tapping against a notebook peeking out from just under the textbook, headphones jammed over his ears.

He did not look up as you made your way inside, but your stomach had flared to life with a sudden flutter of butterflies. You were startled by the pretty set of his mouth, the long lashes that swept over his cheeks as he read, the flex of those long, beautiful fingers on his pen. You had never seen a person so perfect in real life, and the effect was dumbing.

“That’s Bakugou, one of our performers,” Yaoyorozu had told you, leading you through the room. She did not stop to introduce you. “He’s working on a PhD in chemical engineering, and performs once every couple of months for us. He’s—erm—not quite friendly, so we’ll skip the introduction today.”

You’d followed her, nodding obediently, leaving Bakugou behind. You’d dutifully concluded your tour and signed all the paperwork, and met several other members of the staff. It was only when you’d been released from your onboarding obligations that you saw Bakugou again, as you ran out into the parking lot to start your car.

It was raining out, a torrential downpour much worse than when you’d arrived that came down in thick, pelting sheets. Visibility was bad enough that you almost missed the tuft of blonde hair across the parking lot, ducking under the awning of the nearby bus stop.

You knew the route headed back towards your university, and subsequently your apartment, and it dawned on you that Bakugou’s would most likely be attaining his cited PhD at your same college. You felt your mouth twist, impressed. PhD tracks were notoriously difficult to attain at Musutafu University—no wonder Bakugou needed a job that was, for lack of better phrasing, quick and dirty. He probably was drowning in post-grad labs and dissertation materials.

The memory of those long fingers tapping at the edge of his text suddenly flickered again in your brain, and something possessed you as you started up your engine. Before you knew what you were doing, you had pulled your car around into the bus stop bay, leaning out to call out to him.

“Hey—Bakugou, right?” you said, watching as scarlet eyes found yours, narrowing suspiciously. His pretty mouth lifted in an immediate, reflexive snarl, and those broad shoulders squared off, like he was getting ready for trouble.

You cut in, quickly explaining yourself when you realized he had no context for the rando hanging out of their car window at him. “I’m Yaoyorozu’s new production staff. Just joined today. Are you headed towards Musutafu U and do you want a ride?”

A blonde eyebrow lifted. “You’re with UA?” he asked. His voice was a kind of low growl, not unlike the thunder suddenly echoing overhead, and the sound shot through you like a bolt of lightning.

“I—yeah. Just signed the paperwork this afternoon.”

Several spatters of rain dampened your cheeks where you had your head poked out of the window, and Bakugou’s eyes tracked them closely as he leaned in. “Then let’s get one thing straight right off the bat—I don’t fuck coworkers off the clock.”

You recoiled, horrified at the conclusion he’d immediately brought himself to. “No! That’s not what I—I didn’t mean like—! I just thought because it’s raining out, you might want—”

“I want you to fuck right off, is what I want,” Bakugou said, crossing his arms over his chest. He made a show of leaning back against the glass wall of the bus stop, its interior papered over with moldering ads. It was a clear dismissal.

You blinked at him stupidly for a moment, mind reeling that your gesture had been received so poorly. But then you realized he hadn’t seen you, in your trek through the staff room during your afternoon tour. You’d only just seen him, and you hadn’t spoken to him besides. Despite your immediate interest in and respect for him, he knew nothing about you.

And he was a pornstar, come to think of it. He probably had had a fair number of creeps proposition him out of the blue. Enough that he was suspicious now, as you might have been, were you in his position.

Your cheeks heated, suddenly ashamed. You nodded, gritting your teeth as you ducked back inside your car.

“Right, fucking off, as requested,” you said, turning your blinker on to move back out into the road. “Sorry to scare you. See you, um—see you at work sometime.”

“Oi—I ain’t fuckin’ scared,” you heard him growl, but then you were turning back out into the street. You rolled your window back up as you sped up, resisting the urge to look back at Bakugou in the rearview.

What a humiliating first impression that had been.

You'd fretted about it for another week before your first official day at UA, and for several weeks more when you didn’t immediately run into Bakugou. When you’d finally met him properly, however, Bakugou acted like he’d never even seen you before in his life, and you somewhat gratefully followed his lead. He treated you like anyone else, with the same kind of universal severity he turned on the other production staff. You discovered very quickly that he was impatient, brusque, no-nonsense. He stalked onto every set with all the latent energy of a nuclear missile strike, and never softened until after the shoot was over.

His general attitude, and your humiliating first encounter should have been enough to turn you off of him. But the occasional glimpse of him after a shoot—rumpled, relaxed, open in a way he normally wasn’t, in the way that you'd first seen him—was unfortunately enough to keep those initial butterflies aflutter.

The fact that he was smart—and annoyingly adept in the bedroom, considering the number of reshoots his costars often needed after they accidently came too early—did not help matters.

“Where the fuck is Yaoyorozu?” he demanded of you and Mina, as he approached you in the set room now.

You met his scarlet gaze, holding very still under his regard.

“She was negotiating with Bibimi just now when I came in,” you told him, cheeks heating as his eyes flicked over you. He had a very direct way of evaluating people, and rarely missed a detail. You hoped your makeup wasn’t smudged from where you’d had your head propped up in your hand, valiantly resisting falling asleep in your earlier lecture.

“Bibimi’s a waste of fuckin’ time,” Bakugou growled.

You rolled your eyes. He couldn’t very well act opposite his own hand, so someone was going to have to fill in.

“Well Mina says we’re not having luck finding anyone else either so Bibimi is your best bet,” you told him.

Bakugou looked down his perfect nose at you. “Anyone in this damn studio could do better than she does.”

You felt your eyebrows raise. Bibimi was popular with a variety of audiences for her exaggeratedly dollish features—you doubted just anyone could fill in for her and look as good. You said as much to Bakugou, and he scoffed.

“‘S not about looking good, it’s about showing that you’re feeling good,” he said plainly, igniting a wave of fire across your cheeks. The flames worsened when he crossed his arms over his chest and you had occasion to notice he was in nothing but a workout tank, his bare biceps flexing enticingly in the studio lighting.

You were thankfully spared from having to form a coherent response by Yaoyorozu stepping into the room. She was tailed by Komori, and wore a troubled expression. She waved an elegant hand that encompassed both your camp in the corner and the directors on the other side of the room.

“Bibimi is unfortunately out. And we cannot use Shiozaki or Kendo. I am afraid we may have to call off the shoot this afternoon,” she said.

“So get someone else in,” Bakugou said, with his usual brisk directness. He turned to face her. You caught the whiff of something light and clean on him as he did so, laundry detergent and recently-applied shampoo.

Yaoyorozu fixed him with an expectant look. “We’ve unfortunately worked our way through the roster of available performers. Unless you know someone else?”

Bakugou stared back at her evenly, arching a blonde brow. “There’re a bunch of extras already here, aren’t there?”

A little shock went through you. Extras. As in the…people in the room right now? Did he really mean the production staff?

Yaoyorozu blinked, apparently taken aback. Then her gaze slid thoughtfully between Komori, Mina, and you. Another little thrill raced through you, like you’d suddenly missed a step. Surely they both could not actually be considering that.

“I’m a hoe but I’m a loyal hoe,” Mina said from next to you, immediately putting up a rosy palm. “Eiji is my one and only, sorry babes.”

Yaoyorozu nodded. “Of course, I would not expect you to violate any commitments you already had to a significant other.”

“I am also seeing someone,” Komori volunteered, a shy little blush sweeping across her cheeks. You smiled a bit at her obvious regard for whoever it was—until you sensed a dozen pairs of eyes suddenly turning to you.

Your stomach dropped—less of a missed step then and more of a sudden push off a cliff.

Worst of all was the pair of scarlet eyes suddenly burning with undue regard in your direction. You stared straight at Yaoyorozu, unable to meet Bakugou’s gaze. You still felt like you might burn up under his scrutiny, like an ant under a magnifying glass.

“I—uh—” you said dumbly, floundering for the right set of words to explain yourself. “Uhh.”

“You seeing anybody?” Bakugou prodded, prompting a fresh wave of heat to your cheeks.

“Well—no—”

“You clean?” he asked.

Your face burned hotter. “Yes, if you must know—-but uh—”

“Then what?” he prompted.

“Is it that easy for you? To just switch partners like that?” you asked. You weren’t exactly a blushing virgin but you still had only slept with partners you had cared for. Bakugou had worked with you for years and never signaled anything beyond dismissal and semi-professionalism—so it wasn’t like he had that same level of interest in you, despite your enormous crush on him. How could he just switch, just like that?

Bakugou uncrossed his arms to settle his hands on slim hips instead, and he gave you another evaluating once over. “Something the matter with you?” he asked. You noticed he did not ask if you thought something was the matter with him. You wondered if your crush on him was that apparent.

“No,” you said defensively. “Just—I don’t know that I’d be any good on camera.”

“You’ve been in videos before,” Mina pointed out, tugging playfully on your belt loop. “You were in Bibimi’s Christmas special a couple years ago.”

“That was different,” you said, staring at her. “I was her evil coworker who sent her running into Tetsutetsu’s muscular arms. I didn’t have to get naked.”

“We can give you time to get prepared,” Yaoyorozu promised kindly. “If you wanted to um, clean up or trim—”

“It’s not that!” you said quickly, waving your arms. Your ears burned. “I just mean I would be shy.”

Bakugou watched you silently for another long moment, his full mouth pursed in thought. His gaze dragged down your body and then back up to your face, and you felt it like a physical touch.

“Then if you forgot you were on camera?” he asked, a rasp in his tone.

You blinked at him dumbly. “If I—forgot?”

“If I made you forget,” he said, flashing a sharp smirk. The arrogance looked so good on him, zinging through your veins like an electric current. Your cheeks and ears flared even hotter, until you thought you might actually be emitting smoke from them.

You tried to form words but seemed to have trouble shaping the proper ones with your tongue, making a series of choking noises before you managed. “There is no way you could—you’re not that good.”

Something hot flared to life behind Bakugou’s eyes, and his smirk curled even sharper. “We’ll see about that.”

“What if Bakugou helps you get over your nerves, and we just try it and see how you do.” Yaoyorozu prompted gently. “Is that something you would be willing to do? Of course we won’t pressure you.”

Your gaze jerked back to her as you startled. For just a second you’d sort of forgotten there was anyone in the room but Bakugou.

“I sort of doubt—but if you really need—I mean I could—try…” you fumbled out.

Yaoyorozu nodded gratefully, looking pleased again. “Alright, then let’s at least try it. Mina please find proper costuming and help get Y/N ready. I will draw up a short contract with the same terms we promise all our on camera talent for you to look over when you’re done.”

You nodded, a little dazed. Had you really just agreed to—?

But then Mina was laughing, grabbing you by the elbow and drawing you out of the room. She marched you towards the back of the studio building where she’d amassed a respectable wardrobe, racks upon racks of clothes. “Alright, this is going to be so fun! I love dressing new talent! It’s always fun to work out what’s going to work with your coloring and style on screen.”

The mention of you doing anything on screen had all the blood draining from your veins, but Mina didn’t seem to mind. She kept up a stream of happy, easy chatter as she pecked around in the racks like a chicken hunting a grasshopper. Eventually she emerged with a robe in a deep pink, slippery and silky and glistening faintly under the overheads.

“Okay so you’re supposed to be a loving couple celebrating your anniversary and looking for ways to spice things up,” she said. “So you’ll be waiting for him to come home, looking delicious in this little slip of a thing. He can unwrap you like a V-Day present!”

Her callback to the plot of the shoot suddenly made you realize there were way more things involved in the project than just being pawed at on screen—and you did not know any of Bibimi’s lines. How the hell were you supposed to deliver any kind of performance?

“Don’t worry about it, I assure you the gears are already churning in Momo’s big brain,” Mina said when you asked as much. She peeled you out of your sweater and jeans, and ushered you into the robe. Cheeks burning, you let her look you over to make sure you were properly groomed for the camera.

Then before you could get cold feet, she bundled you up and shepherded you back into the set room and set to work on you with her various pots of paint and ointments. She worked a couple things into your hair, applied something glossy and sticky to your mouth, and adjusted the fit of your robe to her liking until she pronounced you ready.

Yaoyorozu was already leaning over you by the time Mina released you, laying out a packet of sheets in front of you. She detailed the terms to you in the professional, clipped tone you’d heard her conduct business in before, and soon enough you were penning in your own name in a shaky hand. The strokes looked almost foreign on the page, and you felt a little more than lightheaded thinking about what you’d just signed yourself into.

“So—what am I supposed to do about Bibimi’s lines?” you asked, your voice coming out kind of dry and crackly.

“We’re going to improvise,” Yaoyorozu said. “Bakugou will guide you. Try to respond as best you can to what he says, along the framework of being a couple celebrating their anniversary. It’s most important to capture your intimacy, however, so we can always come back and reshoot any dialog as needed after. You can call him Katsuki, there are no aliases for this shoot.”

You nodded, feeling even more nervous now that all the prerequisites had been completed.

That left Komori waiting for you. She was apparently assuming the duties you’d abandoned by becoming the star of this absurd alternate dimension. She led you over to what had been meant to be Bibimi’s starting mark on the bed and helped you spread your pink robe out enticingly. You almost laughed as you helped her, feeling foolish and distinctly unsexy for the deliberateness of it all.

There was nothing less romantic than half a dozen other people in the room with you, cameras and hot lights trained on you like you were an escaped convict under a helicopter floodlight. You got the impression that it was going to be a monumental task to work up the nerve to even loosen the tie on your robe, nevermind remove it.

Except then Bakugou walked in.

He’d changed, sometime in the half hour or so Mina had had you in her clutches. He prowled into the room in a dark charcoal suit, the consummate businessman home from his generic businessman job.

He looked unfairly good in it too—the close cut of it highlighted how his broad shoulders slashed inwards into a trim waist, and his pants showcased the flex of a strong, hard thigh. He’d acquired a chunky wristwatch in a dark metal, and it glinted dully under the overhead lights.

He looked sleek and dangerous, even though you’d just seen him stomping around in sweatpants not thirty minutes prior. You felt your breath escape you in a whoosh, your heartbeat kicking up as he prowled closer.

“I’m home, angel,” he said, a smoky rasp curling on the end of his voice. Despite the pet name, he sounded enough like his usual self that you almost answered him in turn.

You vaguely remembered you were obliged to playact with him, and you summoned up your nerve. “Hi, Katsuki,” you said. You hoped your voice did not sound too shaky. “Happy Anniversary.”

Bakugou’s scarlet eyes dipped down to your robe, fastening to the spot where it gaped open suggestively over one thigh. Your skin buzzed like a hive of bees was trapped beneath it.

“This my present?” he asked, stalking closer. He snagged the tie of your robe in his long fingers, toying with it speculatively.

“It should be easy to open,” you joked, then almost cringed.

Sexy. You were supposed to be sexy, not goofy as hell. And what happened when he really did try to open it?

A small amount of panic crept up your spine again, seeping into your veins. You did not feel ready to be naked before all of the eyes in this room, nevermind the roving gaze of the internet. What had you been thinking, signing up for this?

Your hand came up defensively to tug the robe tie back out of Bakugou’s hand, only for it to be captured too. Bakugou tugged you up and to him, and your face broke out in another sweeping wave of flame as you felt the hard planes of him against you. He was so warm, and smelled so good up close and you could not even begin to know what to do or where to put your hands—

Before you could ask him what the heck he was doing, however, he brought your captured hand to his mouth. You almost leapt out of your skin when you felt the gentle press of his lips on the inside of your wrist, the careful flicker of a tongue. Those scarlet eyes slid over you knowingly, near enough that you could see tiny flecks of deep purple in them.

His other hand came up to take your chin, his thumb stroking over the side of your jaw. The feeling made you shiver slightly, and it must have been clearly visible because the corner of Bakugou's mouth lifted into a smirk against your wrist. Your heart hammered against your ribcage, every inch of your skin thrilling with the feeling of your longtime crush doing something this to you.

“Think I’m gonna enjoying opening you alright,” Bakugou intoned.

You struggled to remember what he was talking about, giving up almost immediately as his mouth trailed along the inside of your arm. It traced up and up and up, until he was hovering dangerously close to your face. His fingers tightened on your chin, tilting your face up to his.

And then he bent his head, and crushed his mouth to yours.

Immediately, everything else disappeared.

Kissing Bakugou was three thousand zillion times hotter than you could have ever even imagined. You’d sort of imagined that with an attitude like his, he would be all power and impatience. And the power was there, but leashed, somehow. His mouth was hot and shockingly sweet on yours, and his fingers cupped your face to his, holding you there like he planned to kiss you for hours yet.

Your head was spinning by the time he let your mouth free, and the dip of his blonde lashes as he looked you over was extraordinarily self-satisfied.

His hand on your chin went to your robe instead, pulling the collar wide so that he could lower his mouth inside instead, kissing over your throat. You seized fistfuls of his suit, clinging to him, as he mapped a hot path across your shoulder and collarbone, one of his hands coming up to up your chest.

You heard yourself let out a soft hiss as his thumb pressed over your nipple through the silky fabric. Bakugou sucked a careful bruise into the side of your neck as he did it again, letting out a barely audible snort when you jerked in his hold, unconsciously arching into his hand.

“So sensitive for me, angel,” he drawled as his other hand came up to carefully pinch your other nipple.

You heard yourself make a small, choked off noise like a whine, and you could feel Bakugou’s lips pull into an answering smirk against your throat. You didn’t think you had been quite this responsive to a partner before—but something about the careful, purposeful way he was touching you had your blood running quicker in your veins.

Bakugou’s thumbs traced slow, deliberate circles over your nipples with just the right amount of pressure to make you groan. He teased you again and again as his mouth traced higher on your neck.

Within minutes you were panting, a slow, syrupy pleasure dripping down into your core.

Bakugou tugged your robe wider, then bent his head. You felt the tickle of his hair against your collarbone, softer than you would have thought, as his mouth closed over the point of one nipple. The draw of his mouth had you arching up into him immediately, pleasure zinging through your veins.

“Oh my god,” you said, seizing a fistful of that blonde hair.

Bakugou’s tongue teased at the nipple, and you writhed in his hold. Then he did the same to your other one, and you thought you might die. He hadn’t even touched you yet and you already wanted to crawl out of your skin with impatience.

“Katsuki—please,” you heard yourself say, almost distantly. “Katsuki—oh!”

“Please what, angel?” he said into the skin of your chest, before laying his mouth back over your nipple and giving a sweet suck.

“Oh my god—please!” you said, stupidly. Not an answer to his question but you’d forgotten how to string words together, your brain-to-mouth connection running on autopilot.

“Gonna have to be more specific, sweetheart,” Bakugou said, and you heard the relish in it. Your face burned, and you yanked his hair a little more firmly. He just groaned, and then sucked you a little harder.

“Touch me! Please—Katsuki,” you panted out, hips flexing unconsciously with the pull of your nipple.

“Thought this was my gift, angel. I can’t enjoy it how I want?” he asked.

You considered his words muzzily, having no idea what he was talking about. Gift? What gift was he talking about?

Bakugou’s scarlet eyes flicked up to yours, and something in your expression must have told him you had no idea what he was on about. His mouth pulled up into a self-satisfied grin, and he leaned up to kiss you again.

You flattened yourself out against his chest, all but velcroing yourself to him. You wanted to feel every inch of that hard body against you, wanted to climb as far into him as you could. Something gratifyingly hard pressed against your stomach as you kissed him, and he grunted, locking you to him with a muscled arm across your back.

“Want me to touch you, angel?” he asked.

You nodded. A smile played across his lips.

“Get on the bed for me then, sweetheart.”

It took a minute for you to process but then you were scrambling to obey, scrabbling your way onto the bed, turning and watching as Bakugou stepped nearer.

He shed his jacket as he approached, yanking off his tie too and flinging it somewhere behind him. Then he crawled over you, his fingers seizing the ties of your robe as he did. He pulled it open gently, then yanked a little harder until the silk tie slid free.

His eyes picked over it speculatively, then flashed back up to you. A look of intent interest settled over his features.

“You ever been tied up before, angel?” he asked.

You shook your head, even as it swam with the implication. Your skin prickled, somehow growing even hotter. He didn’t mean to…?

“You gonna let me?” he asked.

You rather thought you would let him do anything he wanted with you. The question was barely out of his mouth before you were nodding hurriedly. A shocked laugh punched out of him, and he gathered up your wrists, scooting you backwards until they pressed against the headboard.

He looped the silk around your wrists, gathering it into a series of complicated knots. He moved with a purpose and precision, his movements sure and practiced. You tested the give of the ties when he sat back on his haunches, finding that they held firm, even when you put a little more muscle into it.

Bakugou’s gaze blazed over you, hot like coals. His eyes traced over your body, spread out under him now, your silk robe pooling at either side of you in a pink puddle.

He bent his head and kissed you again, until you were fuzzy with the feeling once more. Then he worked his way downwards, softly biting your shoulder, licking over one nipple, pressing deep kisses into your belly and then indent of your left hip.

A shock of pleasure raced through you when you realized where he was going with this, and you let out an involuntarily little gasp as he hooked your thighs over his broad shoulders.

“Katsuki,” you began, though you had no idea what you meant to follow it up with. Bakugou didn’t wait for you to finish, ducking his head and licking a hot stripe up the cleft of you.

Immediately you arched, thighs flexing under his hands. Your face heated when he laughed again, but any embarrassment was instantly forgotten when he licked over you again, slower and more deliberate this time.

“Oh my god,” you said again, biting off into a groan when his tongue dipped deeper between your folds, flicking up over your clit.

“Yeah, angel?” Bakugou asked, his voice a heady rasp. “You like that?” He layered another open mouthed kiss over you, slow and thorough, until you were arching up into his mouth again.

It would have been evident to anyone on earth how much you liked it from the noises you made, the way you kicked and squirmed with the movement of his mouth. He sucked your clit gently into his mouth, then laved over it firmly as he pressed his fingers to you, the pads of his index and middle slowly sinking into you.

Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head when he gave another slow suck, the feeling almost too much. His fingers pressed deeper into you, easily slipping in with how comically wet you were for him. The gentle suction of his mouth made everything a million times better, everything a million times worse, as he carefully curled his fingers within you. He seemed to immediately find a spot within you that felt like he was touching your clit from the other side too, and the feeling was immediately far too much.

“Holy shit,” you heard yourself say, cutting off into an honest to god whine when his tongue swirled around your clit, just as he teased a finger along you from the inside too. “Katsuki—oh! Katsuki please! Please oh my god oh my god.”

Bakugou’s ministrations grew a fraction firmer, and you heard him groan too as he kissed you messily.

“So fucking hot for me, sweetheart. So sweet,” he said, then sucked again, a tiny bit harder this time. His fingers stroked you from the inside, a firm, deliberate rhythm that had you turning your face and muffling a keen into the meat of your arm.

Your hips flexed against his face, wild and uncontrolled, wanting less, more, not enough, too much, oh my god—

“Katsuki!” you cried, as you suddenly hit the crest of your pleasure. Your wrists pulled against their bonds, and the feeling of helpless restraint suddenly made everything feel a thousand times more intense. Every single nerve ending in your body felt like it was on fire, so that even the air of the room seemed too harsh on your skin. You screamed as you rode out your pleasure against Bakugou’s face.

He worked you through it diligently, licking and sucking until you collapsed back to the mattress, panting like you’d just run a marathon.

“Good, angel?” Bakugou asked.

You nodded breathlessly, turning your face to his when he crawled up your body to kiss you again. The taste of yourself on him was both embarrassing and thrilling, but Bakugou didn’t give you much leeway to consider it, kissing you into a stupid, pliant little puddle against the mattress.

You could feel him hard and hot against your hip as he did so, but he didn’t make any move to get inside you yet. Instead, his hands moved over you, slowly teasing you from satiation back into want. His fingers played with your nipples again, pinching them softly and rolling them. It felt like he'd rigged up some kind of wire, leading from your nipples right to your core, that lit the pilot flame of your interest again.

A couple minutes of diligent teasing, and easy, unhurried kisses had you wiggling under him again soon enough. It was only then, when you realized you were unconsciously rocking your hips against Bakugou’s, that he finally sat back to shuck off his shirt and pants.

He was so unfairly beautiful, bared in the bright light of the room. You’d known he was gorgeous, of course, but up close he was something else entirely. He was chiseled with thick muscle, his chest and arms hard and glowing faintly with perspiration. The light and the shadows of the room played over the divots of his muscles with a deliberate care, like he was a painting instead of a man, highlighting him in loving shades. A set of perfect abs trailed down into the hard jut of hip bones over his pelvis, and his cock was just as upsettingly gorgeous as the rest of him. It was thick and full and flush with his arousal, and he wasted no time crawling back between your thighs.

“You ready for me, sweetheart?” he asked. His voice had gone even more gravelly than usual, and it plucked at your core like a string.

“Please, Katsuki,” you said, your voice embarrassingly breathy. You couldn’t help yourself though, couldn’t be ashamed with the easy way your thighs fell apart for him. Your ankles hooked across his back, trying to pull him closer still.

He groaned and surged up over you to grab a condom off the nightstand. He quickly rolled it onto himself in one practiced movement, before immediately pressing himself into you.

He sank in mortifyingly easily, you already half out of your mind with want. He didn’t seem to mind, though—you heard the soft, sibilant hiss of his own pleasure as he filled you, and your robe tugged the skin of your shoulder as he fisted a hand in it, just beside your head.

“Been dying to fuck you, angel,” he said. “Thinking about how hot and tight and sweet you would be for me. Been thinking about it nonstop.”

You made a vague noise of agreement, moving your hips with his as he drew back and pressed inside of you again. The slide of him inside you was mind-numbingly good, the pressure against your stomach as he pressed back in almost sparking stars in your vision. The flex of his abs between your thighs as he found his pace was almost immediately too much for you, and you had to turn your face away. You tilted your face up to his, watching him as he watched you.

Bakugou seemed to read your expression easily, finding the angle and pace you liked incredibly quickly. He slid an arm under the small of your back to angle your hips up into him, yanking you up like you were nothing, and the show of easy strength had your toes flexing and curling against his back.

He kissed you again, catching the sounds of your pleasure in his mouth as he rocked into you. You moved against him, hips bucking, delirious with the feeling of him. Eventually he freed his arm from under you, pressing his thumb to your slit again with deadly precision.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned into his mouth, legs tightening on him as he played with your clit. The almost-too-gentle sensation of his thumb on your clit, coupled with the relentless drive of him inside you had your vision sparking and greying at the edges. His face swam in front of yours, and all of your limbs began to feel shivery, almost too weak to lift yourself into him the way you needed, to rock against him and find relief from the friction.

Bakugou continued to tease at you, carefully pinching and petting. His hips drove into you tirelessly, slapping the bottoms of your thighs, as you strained in your silk bonds, wanting to grab him, pull him even harder into you.

“Katsuki, please please please,” you heard yourself begging. You felt him smile against your mouth, tasted his reply more than heard it.

“You want me to let you cum, angel?” he asked, doing something with his fingers that made your breath catch in your lungs.

“Unhh, yes—please!” you cried, desperation coming over you in a white haze.

You had never—never—been so desperate for anything in your entire life. You didn’t know how Bakugou was doing it, why his touch felt like so much more than anything else you’d ever felt in your life. If he didn’t let you cum you were certain you were going to die, right here and right now.

“You gonna scream for me, sweetheart?” Bakugou asked, his voice raspier than you’d ever heard it. He grit the words out, like he too was on the edge of his own climax, barely staving it off.

“Anything, I will do anything,” you babbled senselessly. “Yes—going to scream for you—Katsuki!”

Bakugou’s gaze was hotter than you’d ever seen it, scarlet eyes clouded with pleasure, glowing like banked coals. “Then you can come for me, angel. Come on, sweetheart.”

“Oh!” you cried in answer, your feet planting themselves on the bed to jut your hips up hard. Bakugou’s thumb pressed hard against your clit, then, firm and merciless, and he fucked into you harder, his pace growing faster, furious.

Your second orgasm hit you like a truck, snapping your spine into alignment, locking all your limbs up as if in rigor mortis.

“Katsuki!” you wailed as you writhed against him, clenching and fluttering around him as you sobbed.

“Oh fuck,” you heard him say, and his hips stuttered. You realized he was coming too, fucking into you sloppily and disjointedly as he rode out his own pleasure. You arched and spasmed with him, clawing uselessly at the silk that bound you, twisting in blissful agony.

When you finally came back to yourself you found yourself slumped on the bed, Bakugou’s weight pinning you down into the mattress. His chest was slicked to yours with sweat, and you could feel the rapid rise and fall of it against you as he caught his breath.

“That good, angel?” he asked, his voice heady with satisfaction.

You nodded, absently turning your face back up to his for a kiss. He granted it, kissing you almost possessively. He looked soft and rumpled, just the way you'd always liked him, and something in you purred with satisfaction at finally getting to have him like this for you.

Gradually, you became aware of other sounds in the room as you came down from your high. Quiet murmuring and the sounds of shuffling met your ears, the shutter click of a camera lens slicing through the atmosphere like a knife.

A sudden shock raced through you when you realized you and Bakugou were not alone—and you were on the set of a porn film, half a dozen eyes glued to you just over one of Bakugou’s thick shoulders.

A porn film. You had been shooting a porn film!

“And cut!” you heard the director’s voice ring out, like a bucket of water dumped over your head.

You tensed up beneath Bakugou, mind racing. Holy shit, he had actually managed to make you forget, exactly the way he'd promised.

You could tell Bakugou was thinking the same thing as he went to untie you, looking extremely satisfied with himself.

“Told you, angel,” he said, flashing something of a feral grin. You hated how good the self-conceit looked on him.

You went to draw your wrists back to yourself as he let them free. But Bakugou caught them instead, carefully massaging the skin there as if to make sure things were circulating properly. It was a startling note of unexpected care, as was the way he drew your robe closed around you again against the sudden chill of the room.

You found yourself saying wonderingly, “Wow. It was just that easy for you to switch partners like that.”

The thought somehow stung, even though you’d known going into this what you were getting yourself into. Somehow, the latent care and intention with which Bakugou had fucked you had addled your brain, made you think your connection had been something more. He had felt like he had feelings, beyond those mimed for the camera.

But here was evidence to the contrary, plain and simple. There literally was a camera.

Except then Bakugou looked down at you, a frown marring his pouty mouth. “Well yeah. ‘Course it was gonna be that easy when it’s you we’re talking about.”

You blinked at him, not understanding what he was saying. “Uh. When it’s—me?”

A crease came in between Bakugou’s blonde brows. “I said it, didn’t I? While we were fucking? Wanted to fuck you for a long time. Of course it was easy.”

Your stomach dropped, like a rug had just been yanked out from beneath you. “You—have? What? Since when?” you demanded.

Bakugou leveled you with an unimpressed stare. “Since the second time we met,” he said, and your mind flashed back to the way he’d seemed not to recognize you, that second time you'd spoken to him. “Once I realized you did work for UA and weren’t actually a little fucking creep trying to lure me into your car.”

You felt your eyebrows shoot towards your hairline. “Then—? For years? You cannot be serious. You never acted like we were anything other than coworkers!”

Bakugou scoffed. “We fucking were coworkers. And I told you, I don’t fuck coworkers off the clock.”

You blinked again, startled by the level of professionalism couched in the crassess of his statement. It made sense, you supposed, for a pornstar of Bakugou’s caliber to have put boundaries like that in place. Probably everyone in the world would just be dying for a shot at him.

“Wow,” you said, almost to yourself. You didn’t know what to do with this new information, wondered how it was going to be possible to behave professionally with Bakugou at all going forward. It was probably obvious to him how big your crush on him was, given that he’d known all along he could make you forget you were on camera. Given the way you reacted to him embarrassingly easily.

Except then Bakugou leaned forward, putting his face startlingly close to yours. “Emphasis on were, since this is my last shoot,” he said.

You stared at him, wondering if you were interpreting the implication correctly. There was no way he meant—?

“Uhhhh, meaning what, exactly?” you prompted, heart beating just a little bit quicker despite yourself.

Bakugou’s mouth turned up into a gorgeous smirk, and he ducked his head even closer, voice going softer.

“Meaning you’re going to get dressed and I’m going to take us to get something to eat,” he said, fingers playing at the edge of your robe. “And then you’re going to give me that ride home in your car after all. And we are going to do this all over again.”

Flames erupted across your face, sweeping across your cheeks. And you were up out of the bed before you even realized what you were doing, catching yourself on the bedside table as you stumbled.

Bakugou’s laugh chased out of the set room as you raced towards the wardrobe again. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to care, this time.

Not when your heart felt like it was going to beat right out of your chest. You smothered a smile as you ran down the hallway.

Much like Bakugou had just done to you—it looked like your hopes and dreams were finally lining themselves up and filling themselves in.

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou smut #bakugo smut #bakugou x you #bakugo x you #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader

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navybrat817 · 2 months ago

Text

All Dressed Up

Pairing: Biker!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky visits a gallery to support his best friend and unexpectedly meets the girl of his dreams.

Word Count: Over 2.3k

Warnings: First meeting, mild dirty thoughts, instacrush, swearing, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Okay, lovelies. A new AU. I'm sorry. @targaryenvampireslayer @tavners @starlightcrystalline @whisperlullaby @sgt-seabass @vesearlee , I feel like you all either heard me screech, encouraged, or helped me, and I appreciate you. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo and divider by the incredible @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn’t dress up for most people since it wasn’t his style. He would do so for any of his brothers though, especially Steve. His best friend since childhood, and his club’s president, he always had a love and talent for drawing and painting. And after working his ass off on his exhibit it would’ve been a crime for the vice president not to show up.

Steve promised if there was ever a day when Bucky’s writing became published he’d be by his side to celebrate too. As much as they liked to give each other shit sometimes about art and how they created it, the support was there through and through. The only catch for tonight was that he had to dress nicely to get into the gallery. So, instead of the usual leather jacket or vest he wore and jeans, he went with a plain black suit and white button up shirt.

He refused to wear a tie since it wasn’t a wedding. He had to draw a line somewhere. No one paid him any mind though as they walked around the gallery, and he was more than fine with that. This wasn’t his night.

“You should be proud, punk,” Bucky said, looking over the art lining the large wall, each piece crafted with care.

“I am proud, jerk,” Steve smiled. He hadn’t worn a tie either, and it made Bucky feel a little better. “And you know you don’t have to stay the whole time.”

Bucky knew that. He also knew members and prospects would be trickling in and out throughout the evening. “Not needed at the bar tonight, so I can stay as long as I want. But I might cut out early since I see your face enough between that and the club.”

Steve chuckled. “Still haven’t sold the place, huh?”

The brunette sighed. It wasn’t the first time Steve asked if he was going to sell the bar to focus more on writing. “Where the hell would you all hang out if I sold the place?” He liked the bar. It wasn’t just a great hangout for the club, but for his other regulars, too.

“There are other bars,” Steve teased. He said that, but he loved the bar, too. “You know I just want you to-”

“Follow my compass. I know. You’ve said that so many…” He stopped talking when he saw an unexpected angel walk into the room.

Well, angel was the word that came to mind since you were wearing a white dress and the light over your head illuminated you like a halo. But as his eyes swept over you, he wondered if there was a bit of a devil in you. He wouldn’t mind bringing that side out of you if you gave him the chance.

And here he used to think love at first sight was bullshit.

“Hey. Do you know her?” Bucky subtly nodded in your direction as you spoke to another woman, jealousy flaring up for a second at the thought of his best friend knowing you and not telling him. And if you knew Steve, that was that before things even started. While the blonde didn’t have much game growing up, he came into his own after his growth spurt, and everyone adored or wanted him.

Steve shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he said, making Bucky’s shoulders slump in relief before his friend scrutinized him. “Jesus, are you eye fucking her? You are, aren’t you?”

Bucky wasn’t the least bit ashamed. “And I’ll keep doing it ‘til she looks at me,” he replied, wishing you’d at least spare him a glance and get a look at him in his nice suit. Maybe you weren’t into guys with tattoos and piercings, but he was certain he could change your mind if that was the case.

“How long has it been since you’ve been on a date?” Steve asked. “Just introduce yourself like a gentleman and see where that goes.”

��A couple of months? Something like that.” Tearing his gaze away to glance at his inked hands, he chuckled. “You think I’m a gentleman?”

He could be dangerous and downright dirty when the occasion called for it, but just because he rode a motorcycle and covered himself in tattoos and piercings didn’t mean he treated others poorly. He was raised better than that. Even with his ex-girlfriends, things never ended because he didn’t treat them well. They just weren’t the one.

“We both know you are. Sometimes,” Steve answered, smirking as a beat passed. “And she’s looking your way.”

Bucky’s head snapped up to find you looking right at him with a curious stare. You had the prettiest eyes he had ever seen. Which was nothing compared to your smile. It was like watching the sun slowly rise to meet the day.

Fuck, he was being sappy. You ruined him with a single stare, and he wanted to ruin you in return. Make it so you wouldn’t want another man.

You whispered something to the woman beside you before she nudged you forward and he realized Steve pushed him to move, too. It only took three more steps before he was right in front of you, the gentle smell of your sweet perfume filling his nostrils. Need slammed into his body as you smiled again, and he actually felt the blue of his eyes shrink as his pupils widened.

If Steve thought he was eye fucking you before…

“Hey,” he said, his voice raspier than usual.

“Hi,” you said. It was a voice he could listen to for hours and he wondered what it would sound like when you said his name.

“I’m Bucky.” He took a smaller step closer, trying his damnedest to block out any other man around him so you’d keep those pretty eyes on him.

You introduced yourself, too, and it was a name he would never forget. “I like your tattoos,” you added almost shyly. Almost.

If he had his way, you’d see the rest of them soon enough. “Thanks,” he smiled, holding one hand up to show you. “Dressed like this, I bet you think I’m part of the mob.” After getting dressed and adding the gold jewelry, even he thought for a split second he looked like a mobster.

“Are you or is that information I can’t be privy to?” you asked, making him chuckle. You didn’t skip a beat, and he liked that.

“Not part of the mob, but I am part of a motorcycle club,” he replied. He wore his patch with pride and that didn’t seem to scare you, which was good. “I also own a bar.” He didn’t know why added that part. You didn’t ask and he didn’t want to brag, but there he was.

“So, you ride a motorcycle, and you own a bar?” You glanced back at your friend to ask her, “Do you mind if I…”

“I’m good. You two talk,” your friend smiled, giving Bucky an encouraging wink. He looked back to find that Steve walked away, too.

You smiled as you faced Bucky again. “Well, I’m happy to hear more about either of those things if you have time.”

“Yeah.” A lopsided smile appeared before he could stop it. “I got time,” he said. All the time in the world.

Over the next hour, the two of you stayed close together and talked in between looking at Steve’s pieces. He told you he was there to support Steve and talked a little bit more about the bar he owned. A hole in the wall kind of place he fixed up. While he wasn’t a big drinker, he loved making them for his regulars, and his profession allowed him to get away with all the tattoos.

“I’ll have to stop by sometime,” you smiled before it faltered. “If that’s okay.”

He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but his heart raced, and he wanted to see you smile again. “I’ll hold you to that,” he teased. “What about you? What do you do for work?”

You told him that you were a blood bank nurse and still fairly new to the area. While you didn’t have too many friends nearby, you liked your neighborhood and the one friend you had made invited you to the gallery since she was an art enthusiast. You also let it slip that you were single upon your move here, which he was happy to hear since he was, too, but he didn’t miss the note of sadness in your voice.

He could help fix it if you were lonely.

“I’m not seeing anyone either,” he stated.

You raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “You don’t have an old lady?” His eyes went right to your lip when he bit it. “That is the correct term of endearment, right?”

“That’s right,” he said, his eyes soft. “Both of those things are right.”

You bit your lip again and he wasn’t sure if you were purposely trying to entice him, but now he wanted to bite your lip. “So, do you do anything for fun outside of riding and work?”

He almost groaned when you said “riding” and he had to shake his head to keep his mind from drifting. He couldn’t think of you being on his bike with your arms wrapped tight around him or you riding him or anything like that. “Well…”

He explained that he wrote a bit in his spare time outside of work and the club. It was a hobby mostly, but it would be a dream come true to get his work out there one day. If not, that was okay, too, because he had a decent life and didn’t need much. His bike, his brothers.

But to have an old lady…

“Maybe I could read…” you frowned when you saw the time. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how late it was. I should get going,” you said, disappointment filling both of you.

“Oh.” He scratched the back of his neck. The two of you were having a nice talk, and he hadn’t had a chance to ask about your hobbies yet. “It’s still kinda early. Do you really have to go?” he asked, realizing just how desperate he sounded. God, if the prospects could hear him right now… He just didn’t want the night to end.

“Yeah, I do. I’m actually working a blood drive tomorrow and could use the rest,” you said, smiling sadly. He felt like an ass for asking you to stay when you had work to do. “I don’t know if you’ve heard anything about it, but you’re welcome to stop by if you want to donate. I always have this fear that people won’t show, which I realize sounds ridiculous.”

Bucky mentally kicked his ass for not knowing about a local blood drive. He was usually more on top of those sorts of things. “Where’s it at?” You gave the location and time, which was all he needed. “I’ll be there,” he promised.

And every single club member would be there, too, if they knew what was good for them.

“Really?” you smiled, your hand bumping his when you turned to face him. “You’ll go?”

He let his fingers brush yours and he smiled to himself when he felt the light shiver. “Of course, doll.”

“Doll?” you giggled. He hoped he didn’t offend you. “I hope you show,” you added in a small voice, your gaze focused on the ground.

Frowning a bit, he wondered if you didn’t believe him. Did someone let you down before? “If I say I’ll be there…” He lifted your chin, so you’d look into his eyes. He needed you to see the truth in them. “I’ll be there.”

You exhaled, staring deeply into his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow then,” you whispered.

He grudgingly released you, knowing he had to. Besides, if he kept touching you, there was a good chance he’d pin you against the wall and show you what a work of art you were. “Good night,” he whispered, watching you go back to your friend. She linked her arm with yours as you glanced back, keeping your eyes on Bucky until you were out of sight.

He exhaled, mentally kicking his ass again. Why the fuck didn’t he ask for your number? You two hit it off, and you wanted to see him at least in some capacity beyond the blood drive, right?

Steve made a beeline for him as he stayed rooted to the spot. “It looks like you two hit it off. You know you didn’t even say hi to Chris or Sam or-”

“We’re going to a blood drive tomorrow,” he cut in. He hoped people would show, but he gave you his word he’d be there, and the club was all about giving back to the community.

The blonde’s eyebrows pinched. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Blood drive. Tomorrow. Everyone,” he said, giving his friend a hard stare. “You’re the president. Make it happen.”

“You’re the vice president, which means you supervise plans for club events or gatherings. That includes last minute things,” he pointed out, his eyebrows shooting up as Bucky got his phone out and typed quickly. “You’re serious about this?”

“Is it too much to say, ‘You better fucking be there or you’ll pay for it later’?”

The blonde grinned. A shit-eating, knowing grin, and he wanted to smack him. “This is all for her, isn’t it?”

Bucky sighed. He hadn't expected to meet someone so perfect tonight. “She’s a nurse and I wanna help. Besides, it’s good for the community and you’re all about that shit.” And he had to make a better impression after not asking for your number. “Will you at least promise you’ll be there?”

“To watch my whipped best friend fawn over a pretty nurse? Hell yeah.”

“Beautiful,” he corrected him. “She’s beautiful.”

And while Bucky would fawn over you tomorrow, he also hoped he’d get your number.

So, what do we think so far? Part of this writing style was slightly different for me, but I like how it turned out! I still need to give this reader a nickname and the AU a name, but this is a start. I can't wait for the whole club to show up at the blood drive. I also have something silly and cute planned for these two. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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amalasdraws · 1 year ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/bigmammallama5/732632789726478336?source=share do you have any tips on how to detect ai and deepfakes?

Good question and I'm gonna be honest, it's not always easy and it will only get harder and harder. I'm just an artist who has spent their personal time to dive into this topic and study images. I'm still learning and there is a lot I don't know. But let me show what I know. This will be long, but I will make a summary at the end! So far, even with ai having become better and better there are still almost always some things wrong with an image, and they all have a very specific look to them. So let me try to show you some and point out some of them.

As we all know, a biggest struggle ai had were hands. And even though here and there we still see messed up hands, I say "had", because the hands is actual a good example on how ai is improving and will only get better. Still, looking at pictures that show more hands is always worth it, because somewhere in the back there will be most likely at least one messed up hand.

Another issue a lot of ai still has is hair though!

It's very obvious still in many ai "drawings" and in those otherwise well rendered portraits. Hair starts to blend with the ears a lot, or with the clothes.

There is also often this very odd look between something too sharp and way too blurry

There is often a very specific texture to the hair. I actually do not know the artistic or specific name for it. I can only describe it as this weird sharp feeling that makes it look oddly pixely, and then you have areas where it's very blurry. And the kind of loops and almost flame like looking hair we see in the last pic out of the three here is also something very common with ai.

As an artist I know we make mistakes too! The way I draw hair is flawed too! But it's not only that it's flawed here, but it's following always the same pattern and falls into the same issues over and over again, no matter who is "creating" the image. Those flame like loops are a common one, next to the odd blends and weird sharp and blurry textures.

But ai is getting better, and we not only have "art" and something that tries to be a drawing/painting, but photos too.

A lot of those "photos" have a very specific texture and look to them! Again, it's not always the mistakes, but the very specific optic too. A lot of the images are oddly smooth, too rendered, with always blurry backgrounds. And when you look closer at the background you will see the mistakes! The crowd behind Jesus is a hot mess once you look closer. Bob Marley's hair has the same issue than I described before. Lincoln is surrounded by people with messed up hands and don't even get me started on the faces behind Caesar.

So a lot of ai images look alright on a first and quick glance, but as more time you spend with them, as more mistakes you will notice. The wehre is Waldo of ai horror.

And those "photos" shared here are still very obvious. Not just the mistakes and messed up details but the very specific aesthetic too.

Those images get better and better and as less details you have, as less mistakes you have!

With photos like this it becomes harder and harder. There are not many details and no hands. Not many mistakes can be made. Also the very obvious plastic looking smoothness isn't so much here anymore. It kinda still is...but differently. And always the blurry background!! Sometimes the hair is still a giveaway. Collars and clothe straps are also often still a giveaway upon close look. As is jewelry. Earrings will be different and necklaces often don't go all the way around, just end, or blend with the hair or clothes.

Often details on jewelry is also blurry and not shown properly. This is a trick with many details. With jewelry, batches, hair, ears, text. So it's often blurred out and not shown properly because ai doesn't know what to really show here.

It's often really just the small details and when we scroll down quickly we will miss them. Like the wedding ring on the middle finger, the pens on top of a closed pocket, the batches that are always blurry, messed up faces that blend with a blurry background.

And sometimes it's so subtle that I could only really tell that right is the ai image in comparison to the real photo on the left. The real photo shows hands clearly and even when things are blurred out it doesn't feel that it's done to hide things. The ai image on the right hides the hands. There is also a very dead look in the eyes :D

And here I could only tell because the text in the back doesn't make sense. Even blurred out we should be able to make out something here

And after seeing a lot of ai images I recognize the kind of blurred out bg in combination with a very smooth and well rendered foreground/characters.

And here the only giveaway is a closer look at the backgrounds as well

To summarize it:

Ai and fake news rely on a fast living world. We are being bombarded with tons of information and messages daily and we scroll past quickly. But the best tool, for now, in detecting ai is taking our time! Those images get better and better but so far there are still always some things off!! Especially in the background!

Hair. Often weirdly smoothed out and oddly sharp at the same time

Hair often blends with the ears or the clothes

Details are blurred out.

Jewelry doesn't match (example earrings). Details on metal often blurred out and never shown. Necklaces blend with hair or the clothes, and don't go around the neck.

Background is always blurred out.

In this blurred mess there are often hidden very messed up faces and/or hands.

A very specific smooth and yet too sharp/too rendered aesthetic combines with an always blurry bg.

Text, especialyl in the background, is not legible and doesn't make sense.

Backgrounds are often (so far) the dead giveaway. Somewhere in the back things become muddled and messed up. This shows also very well in ai decor/architecture. There will be odd lines that don't align or align too well. Curtain poles that end in the furniture, a plant that is behind a lamp suddenly having leaves in front of the lamp. As longer you look as more you will notice.

Conclusion:

Take your time with images! Sit with them! Especially when it's framed as important and political news. Is it ai and propaganda, or did it really happen? Don't fall for the quick buzz and outrage! Some things are obvious right away but with others you have to take your time. And it's time you have! If you are still unsure if a pic is real or not, do some research on top. Image reverse search. Can you find it anywhere else? Are other news outlets sharing it? Does the image/message make sense? For example there is now a deepfake of Bella Hadid voicing support for Israel. Ask yourself, does this make sense? If it feels out of line compared to previous behavior, do some research! Media literacy is not just as being able to recognize a fake or real right away, but being able to do research. To question things! Don't just take every post online for face value. Even when shared by a mutual you trust. They might have been tricked!

There are so many information online and it's great to have access to so information, but it's also difficult to wade through all of it. Media and truth are a weapon and it's being twisted and bend used to manipulate. Always has! But ai and so many people being able to post and share things, it becomes bigger and bigger and more dangerous. So don't just take everything that is handed to you and share it further no questions asked. Media literacy and being able to think for ourselves and do the research is important!! And as research becomes harder and harder, as sources are being messed up with ai and other fake news, it's even more important to sit with the images and study them. See the flaws, the mistakes. Compare it to other news and images.

This got long, and I started to ramble at the end. Sorry But I hope this helped

#text #ai #how to detect ai #danger of ai #ai images #fake news #amalas talks #anon ask #fake images #how to tell ai #long text #long post

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entitled-fangirl · 6 months ago

Text

A brilliant melody.

Cregan Stark x quiet!reader

Summary: Cregan marries a woman who never speaks. When she finally does, he feels his heart melt three times over.

Warnings: SMUT (p in v), talk of abuse, tears

A/n: I've been wanting some kind of cool transitions for my writing. Like instead of the "...", some people have really cool art there. Does anyone know how to do that? I hope that makes sense 😬

Masterlist

..................................................

She was quiet.

Being surrounded by the loud men of the north made her a quiet girl.

Cregan wasn't sure what to do with her.

…

"You're a meek thing, aren't you?" Cregan asked as the two walked the courtyard of Winterfell.

In one day, they'd be wed. Bonded for life.

She only nodded.

She only ever really nodded or shook her head.

He hummed as they continued walking.

Her father had told Cregan of this days before, as if it was a defect that could put a halt to their betrothal plans. Cregan made sure to assure her father that it was not.

After all, she could speak. She just chose not to.

"Winterfell is beautiful in the winter," he began to ramble. "When the snow falls, it covers all of this in its brilliant white. Do you enjoy the snow?"

She considered his question and gave a small nod.

He grinned, "That's my northern girl. Luckily, Winterfell is warm." He noticed the light shiver in her frame. "Perhaps we should go back indoors. Don't want my future bride to freeze before I can place my house cloak upon her shoulders?"

…

True to his word, Cregan managed to place his cloak over her shoulders the very next day. It was a wondrous ceremony filled with many from across the North.

Everyone gawked at the beauty of the new Lady of Winterfell.

But when one-by-one they moved to speak to her, Cregan was quick to deny them.

The two enjoyed the feast after. Seated at a high table, Cregan often leaned over to whisper things to her.

"You look radiant. Like the sun itself."

"I do believe the other lords may be envious that I have captured the most gorgeous woman of Westeros."

"I do wish you'd eat more. You've hardly touched the plate."

It was a strange sight, seeing such a burly brute of a man whisper sweetly to his wife.

"Is something bothering you?"

She shook her head.

Cregan sighed. "I've only known you for a few days, but I do believe I recognize the shaking of one's hands to associate with nerves."

It was true. Her hands shook violently.

"Is it the bedding ceremony?"

She shrugged.

His brows raised and he leaned closer, "You can be honest with me. I… I want you to be honest with me."

The woman looked down at her hands in thought. Finally, she looked back up at him and nodded.

"Aye. I see." Cregan leaned away and rested his elbows on the table, his head in his hands as he rubbed at his forehead. "Then I'll call it off."

He didn't miss the way her brows pulled together.

"The ceremony, lovely. I'll call it off."

…

Not long after, Cregan stood and held his hand out to her. "May I dance with you, dear wife?"

She grabbed his hand with enthusiasm. It seemed she didn't need words, for expressions were enough.

He smiled at her as he lead her to the dance floor.

Cregan was a lousy dancer. Being a northern lord meant there were many more important matters than learning how to properly dance. So, it was put aside.

He knew the steps in truth, and he could lead just fine, his steps were just too harsh, his movements too calculated.

It was just not how he expressed himself.

She, though, was marvelous.

It was as if each step was not one of a practiced art. It was as if it was how she naturally moved.

Cregan was in so much awe that he nearly forgot to continue the lead.

She didn't need words to express herself. Her movements were enough.

He felt as if he was finally seeing her.

And she was beautiful.

The song ended, to Cregan's surprise as he snapped from his thoughts, and the guests clapped for their Lord and Lady of Winterfell.

…

Honoring his word, Cregan forbade the ceremony. No other living creature would be a witness to their consummation but the two of them.

After laying her upon the rich furs upon their bed, he was careful to properly prepare her to take him.

Now, he forced himself to do so slowly, his hips slowly pushed to meet hers as he entered her.

She hissed lightly at the pain, and he swore he heard a small noise come from her throat instinctually.

He began to wonder what her voice sounded like.

Once seated in her fully, he paused to give her a moment to breathe. Her breath was quickened and her hands gripped his biceps as she tried to regain herself.

Cregan placed a light kiss to her lips, basking in the newness of her lips against his, as well as the eagerness she gave back as they did so.

Her hands slid up to cup his cheeks, suddenly gaining confidence.

"Have you adjusted, pretty girl?"

He shifted his hips, not thinking much as he waited for her response.

The sweetest breathy moan left her lips.

Cregan's eyes widened, and he had to stop himself from letting his lust take over then and there.

He tucked his face into her neck, laying heavy kisses along the way. "Easy now. Just tap me to stop."

And with that, he began to move his hips.

Not much came from her lips. She was used to not using her voice, that it almost seemed as if it was more work to use it then stay silent. It was hard for Cregan to tell her feelings, so he often had to tilt his head back up to gauge her reaction by her expressions alone.

He didn't realize how much he spoke in general until he was around her. How someone could happily be so silent, he wasn't sure.

But if the scratching against his back was any measure, he'd say he was pleasing her well.

"You're taking me so pretty."

She practically preened at his praise, her breath catching or escaping each time.

At one point, he pressed his hips firmly to hers, reaching deeper than he had before.

His face found its way to her neck again, her hands pulling at his hair.

But he paused, catching his breath and trying to instill a reaction from her.

Her hands recaptured his hair and pulled again. When he still didn't move, she tried to shift her hips to gain more friction. He was enjoying every second, despite the mere torture it was to not chase his own high.

He pressed a sloppy kiss to her neck, "Patience."

Her motions should have been enough of a reaction for him, but he wanted more. He'd do anything to hear her voice more.

One of his hands moved down to her clit, pressing his thumb down and circling the bundle of nerves.

A small whine came from her throat.

He felt warmth spread across his body, "Needy, aren't you?"

Her hand made a last-ditch effort to pull at his hair. He could hear her barely contained breath in his ear and a small voice.

"…Cregan… please…"

Cregan almost finished then.

Her voice was so soft. So sweet. Hoarse from its lack of use and so breathy.

It was beautiful.

But guilt overshadowed all of that. He shouldn't have pushed her to the point of speaking.

His hand trailed up her body to the bed, preparing himself again. "I won't deny you any longer. I'll give you what you want, sweet girl."

…

She began to speak to him after that.

The times were few and far between, but nonetheless, he never took a single word for granted.

Because she only spoke to him.

She never spoke her mind in full, so Cregan took it upon himself to do it for her.

In meetings, she'd pull at his sleeve, prompting him to instinctually bend his head down towards her to properly hear her soft voice amongst the others. That was how she contributed to meetings: to tell her thoughts to the only one there she trusted. Over time, the men in the meetings caught on, and would pause to hear what the Lady had to say. It was a game of telephone, barely hearing a peep from the woman as she spoke to Cregan, and he voiced it aloud in his own manner.

When they walked through the busy streets of the city, he kept his hand wrapped around hers, promising to give his attention to her when she squeezed it tightly.

Outside of their chambers, their form of communication was touch, often tapping one another gently.

Inside, however, soft exchanges were common. She would only speak calculated thoughts, not one to ramble, but she would talk of her day, her newest book, or questions of things she always wondered about the man.

In turn, he'd respond in the same manner, quieting himself naturally to match her tone as the two gazed into the flames of the fire that warmed the room.

"I wish you'd dance more."

Her head snapped up to him with furrowed brows.

"You're a beautiful dancer. I only wish I could see it more." He leaned against the back of the sofa. "Who taught you?"

"My mother," she spoke softly. "She was wonderful."

He smiled when he noticed the reminiscent look in her eyes at the thought of her mother. He pushed a strand of her hair from her face. "Tell me about her."

She leaned into his touch. "Father mocked me when I wouldn't speak. Said it was shameful. But mother always told me that feelings are expressed by actions rather than words."

"How so?" He absentmindedly asked.

"Men often say that they love their wives, but their actions are rather the opposite."

He hummed as he considered it. "Have I ever made you feel that way?"

"No."

It was the quickest response he'd heard from her. It only fueled his need to know as much as he could. To know her fully.

"Have you always been so quiet?"

As if a switch had been flipped, everything about her quieted.

Her breathing. Her voice. Her expressions. Her thoughts.

Silent.

Whatever had happened had to have been traumatic to instill such a reaction from her.

"Forgive me. That was too forward, even for me to ask-"

"-I don't wish to talk about it today."

He felt relieved that his question hadn't dissolved her trust in him completely.

"Well," he pulled her to him. "When you are ready to speak, I shall listen."

…

The next day, Cregan meticulously planned. And his efforts had paid off.

She walked into the meeting room at the same time she did every week, to see it lacking its usual members.

The table was pushed off to the side, and Cregan stood in its place as he donned a bright smile at the sight of her.

Against the back wall, a few musicians stood with their instruments.

Confusion spread through her and a wave of anxiety as well, prompting her to only stare at him blankly.

He was quick to correct it, stepping forward towards her. "I've excused the council today. I… I wanted to see you dance again."

Once her mind warmed up to the idea, a bright smile came across her face, accepting the hand that he extended to her.

"I must admit, my love," Cregan said as he stepped in time with the music. "I am not a gentle man. But I am trying. For you."

She nodded, not daring to speak her overwhelming thoughts at the moment.

…

After, they sat at the large dining table, the emptiness of it mattering not to the two lovers who sat together at one end.

"My uncle," she stated, breaking the silence.

His head tilted up to meet her gaze, "Hmm?"

Her cheeks turned a slight pink, "You asked how I became so quiet."

Recognition flowed over his face, "Ah. Yes, I did." He sipped his wine and leaned towards her. "Your uncle, then?"

She nodded.

"He was unkind to you?"

She picked at the skin of her fingers, seemingly reliving the moments in her mind.

A battle within herself.

He put a hand on her thigh, "I will not force you to tell me things you do not wish to."

"I do," she insisted. "But I know not how to."

"Begin to speak, and I shall piece it all together."

She took a deep breath. "My uncle hit me when I spoke out of turn. At first, at least. Then… it was whenever I spoke at all."

He felt ice go down his veins and a feeling like a rock going down his throat.

But being such a skittish thing, he knew not to react too harshly.

"When I told my father, he…" her eyes became glassy. "He said he was right for it. That… that a girl was made to only… shut her mouth and open her legs."

He couldn't keep it in anymore. "And you believed them?"

"When I spoke to you for the first time, I feared you'd be the same."

"I bask in the sound of your voice, my girl. I hope that you see that."

A warm tear ran down her cheek as she looked up at him.

"Oh, sweet woman," he cooed as he cupped her cheek. "Do not cry over false words."

When more tears began to fall, he quickly pushed her chair out from the table and pulled her into his lap.

She tucked her face into his neck, melting against him as if she wished to disappear.

He held her close, not caring when his tunic became damp. When he did speak, it was soft and assuring whispers.

Once she caught her breath, she pulled away from him. "Forgive me."

"I don't believe I will."

Her eyes widened, and he realized his mistake in word choice.

"Sweet girl, you've nothing to apologize for. That's all I meant."

She relaxed at that. She reached up and wiped her cheeks with a sniffle. "Actions have always spoke more than words."

He reached up and brushed a stray tear from her cheek. "Have they?" He asked softly.

She felt a smile come to her lips at his touch. "You are different. You could speak or act, and still, I'd only hear a brilliant melody to which I can always trust."

He never felt such love radiate as it did then.

.......................................

Taglist: @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia

#fanfiction #game of thrones x reader #cregan stark x reader #house of the dragon fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones imagine #cregan stark x y/n #game of thrones x y/n #house of the dragon #cregan stark x you #cregan stark smut #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark fanfic #hotd fanfic #hotd cregan #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd fanfiction #drew drools over cregan stark

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yua0ra · 29 days ago

Text

𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐎𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐂𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐲 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝

WARNINGS: mattheo riddle x high!fem!reader, porn with plot, dark smut, blood play, p in v, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex, blood kink!matty, submissive reader, biting, marking, breeding, NSFW, proofread, english is not my first language. smut 🂡

SUMMARY: Mattheo craves something, a feeling of satisfaction, fulfilment and control. Luckily for him, you are open and eager to try new things, and for once, Mattheo feels like he has found his person.

WC: +4.4K AN: This took so fucking long. I don’t think ya’ll are ready, lol. I’m being so serious: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, for the love of salazar. (also, anybody got the reference form the title?)

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

Touch-starved, love-starved, and attention-starved, Mattheo Riddle is no stranger to the art of indulgence. He thrives on the fleeting comfort offered by the endless parade of admirers eager to bask in his presence. Their adoration, their touch, their devotion—it’s enough to quiet the gnawing ache inside him, at least for a while. But it never truly satisfies. Beneath the smirks, the cocky demeanor, and the effortless charm, there’s an emptiness he can’t seem to fill.

He craves more. Something deeper, rawer, more exhilarating than the hollow affection he’s grown accustomed to. Something that sparks a fire in his chest and sends a thrill coursing through his veins. The superficial games, the fleeting highs, and the shallow connections no longer cut it. Mattheo Riddle wants something real, something that will consume him whole.

And yet, even as he yearns for this elusive fulfillment, he’s not sure he’s ready to face what it might demand of him. After all, it’s one thing to take; it’s another to give. And Mattheo has never been one to bare his soul. Not when the world has taught him to hide behind walls, even when he’s desperate for someone to break them down.

He has tried everything—fucking in public, fucking with a blindfold on, fucking with a leash, chasing thrill after thrill, and losing himself in the chaos of reckless nights. He’s tried drowning the ache with the loud laughter of parties, the rush of danger, and the fleeting touch of hands that mean nothing. For a moment, it works. For a moment, the void in his chest quiets, and he feels like he’s alive, like he’s in control. But the moment always fades.

No matter how many hearts he wins or how many rules he breaks, it all slips through his fingers, leaving him colder and more restless than before. The poor, desperate, girls—pretty faces, eager smiles—don’t even come close to touching the parts of him he keeps hidden. It’s not their fault. They give him everything they can. But it’s not enough.

It’s never enough.

What Mattheo craves isn’t something he can find in fleeting encounters or shallow connections. It’s something more profound, more consuming, more terrifying. He wants someone who sees past the charm, the arrogance, the calculated indifference. Someone who will unravel him piece by piece and make him feel alive in a way that no one ever has.

But that kind of connection doesn’t come easy. And for someone like Mattheo Riddle—guarded, scarred, and stubborn—it might never come at all. Still, he can’t help but hope. Somewhere deep down, beneath the layers of cynicism and self-doubt, he’s holding onto the faint belief that someone, someday, might finally be able to quiet the storm inside him.

Good thing that you’ve noticed, though. Mattheo’s restless energy, the way his eyes linger just a second too long, searching for something even he can’t quite name—it’s not something he hides well. He tells himself he’s a master of masks, of slipping into the version of himself people expect, but the cracks are showing. And you’ve seen them.

You’ve seen the way he leans into conversations as if he’s desperate for someone to say the right thing. You’ve caught the fleeting vulnerability in his gaze when he thinks no one’s paying attention. For all his bravado, for all the careless smirks and sharp retorts, Mattheo is an open book to those who care enough to read between the lines.

And maybe that’s why he’s drawn to you, even if he won’t admit it. You don’t fawn over him like everyone else. You don’t fall into his orbit just because he’s Mattheo Riddle. Instead, you see him. The real him. The cracks, the flaws, the restless hunger for something more. And while it terrifies him, it also pulls him closer.

Because maybe, just maybe, you’re the one who can give him what he’s been searching for. Or maybe you’ll be the one to finally destroy him. Either way, Mattheo can’t seem to stay away.

Which leads to this specific moment—you, sitting pretty on his bed, high out of your mind in the early hours of the morning, the faint glow of moonlight casting shadows across the room. Your head tilts back against the wall, eyes half-lidded, lips parted as if caught in the haze of a dream. You’re intoxicating, utterly untouchable yet so close that it drives him mad.

Mattheo stands a few feet away, leaning against the edge of his desk, watching you with a mix of fascination and frustration. You’re beautiful like this—unguarded, raw, and entirely out of reach. It’s unfair how effortlessly you’ve wrapped yourself around his thoughts, how your presence alone has him on edge.

“You’re not even trying, and you’re driving me insane,” he mutters, his voice low and rough as he runs a hand through his disheveled hair. He can’t tell if he’s more frustrated with you or himself. Probably himself. After all, he’s the one who let it get to this point.

You blink up at him, a lazy smile curling on your lips, the kind that makes his chest tighten. “What’s wrong, Riddle? Can’t handle a little company?”

He scoffs, but the tension in his body betrays him. “Company isn’t the problem,” he bites back, though his voice softens as his eyes linger on you. It’s not company he wants. It’s you. All of you. Every reckless thought, every untamed emotion, every unspoken secret. But he doesn’t know how to say that without sounding like a fool.

Instead, he stays where he is, hands gripping the edge of the desk, trying to keep himself grounded. You’re like a storm, and Mattheo isn’t sure if he wants to weather it or let it tear him apart completely.

You laugh softly, the sound like a spark in the quiet room, and shift on his bed, drawing your knees to your chest. The oversized sweater you’re wearing—his sweater—slips off one shoulder, exposing bare skin that makes his throat tighten. You’re a mess, and yet you look so perfectly out of place in his world that it makes him dizzy.

“Relax,” you say, your voice dreamy and far away. “You’re so tense all the time, Mattheo. Always thinking, always brooding.” Your gaze meets his, half-lidded but piercing in a way that leaves him raw. “Don’t you ever get tired of it?”

He swallows hard, jaw clenching as he forces himself to look away. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mutters, but the words lack conviction.

“Don’t I?” you counter, leaning forward slightly before standing up, moving across the room with an unsteady grace. You stop just behind him, and before he can turn or protest, your hands are on his shoulders. Delicate, careful, but firm—your touch makes him go still, the tension in his body seizing under the unexpected intimacy.

Your fingers work with a precision that sends a shiver down his spine, pressing into the knots in his shoulders as if you’ve done this a hundred times before. It’s maddening how easily you disarm him, how your touch both soothes and ignites something in him he’s tried to keep buried.

“You’re so tense, darling” you murmur softly, your voice low and sweet, like a lullaby in the quiet room. “Do you ever let yourself relax, Mattheo? Or do you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders every single day?”

His breath catches, his grip on the desk tightening as he tries to fight the urge to lean into your touch. “What are you doing?” he asks, his voice a mix of irritation and something he can’t quite name.

“What does it look like?” you reply, your tone playful but laced with genuine concern. “You’re all wound up, and it’s exhausting just watching you. Let me help, for once.”

Mattheo doesn’t respond right away. He doesn’t know how to. No one’s ever touched him like this before—not with the intention of easing his burden, of grounding him in a way that feels almost… safe. It terrifies him how much he wants to give in, to let you pull him out of his own mind, if only for a moment.

“You shouldn’t…” he starts, but the words trail off as your fingers dig into just the right spot, coaxing a low groan from his lips before he can stop it.

“Shouldn’t what?” you tease, leaning closer so he can feel the warmth of your breath against his neck. “Take care of you? Show you that not everything has to be a fight?”

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he lets his eyes fall shut, his body betraying him as it relaxes under your touch. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” he mutters, though there’s no real bite to his words.

You smile softly, your hands continuing their gentle rhythm. “Maybe I do,” you whisper, your voice dipping lower. “Maybe I know exactly what I’m getting into.”

Your words linger in the air, soft but potent, cutting through the haze in his mind like a blade. Mattheo doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, but you can feel the tension rolling off him, not in resistance but in something darker—something that borders on surrender.

“Is that what you think?” he finally murmurs, his voice low and rough, almost dangerous. His head tilts slightly, enough for you to catch the edge of his profile, his dark eyes glinting under the dim light. “That you know me? That you can handle whatever it is you’re inviting in?”

You don’t flinch. If anything, you press your fingers a little harder into his shoulders, grounding him, as if you’re not the least bit intimidated by the warning laced in his words. “I wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t,” you reply, your tone steady, unwavering.

Mattheo’s lips curl into something between a smirk and a snarl, his hands gripping the desk in front of him so tightly that his knuckles turn white. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. His voice trembles slightly, as if he’s teetering on the brink of losing control.

Carefully, you lean closer, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear as you whisper, “Then show me.”

It’s like a switch flips. In an instant, Mattheo is on his feet, spinning around to face you. His hands find your wrists, pulling them away from his shoulders, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he holds you there, his grip firm but not cruel, his dark eyes locked on yours with an intensity that sends a shiver racing down your spine.

“You think this is a game, don’t you?” he asks, his voice soft but venomous, his face inches from yours. “You think you can come in here, touch me like that, look at me like that, and I won’t lose my mind?”

Your breath hitches, but you don’t pull away. “Lose your mind, Mattheo,” you whisper, your voice steady even as your pulse quickens under his touch.

That’s all it takes for Mattheo to snap. His hands release your wrists only to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones with surprising tenderness, a sharp contrast to the possessive gleam in his eyes, he just stares at you, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. And then he breaks. His lips crash against yours in a kiss that’s all-consuming, overwhelming, like he’s trying to pour every dark, unspoken emotion into it. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the raw, obsessive need in every movement, every touch.

Mattheo isn’t gentle. He isn’t careful. But beneath the intensity, there’s something achingly vulnerable—a desperate, unspoken plea for you to stay, to see him, to claim him the way he’s beginning to realize he wants to claim you. You’re not sure what you’ve unleashed, but as you kiss him back, as his hands grip you tighter like you might disappear, you know there’s no turning back.

Mattheo’s hand flies over your plump ass, gripping the soft flesh with great force, making you moan into his mouth, the vibrations echoing against each other throats.

He swallows your sweet sounds greedily, his tongue delving deeper tasting inch of your warm mouth.

He pulls you even closer, showing you how good you’re making him feel, his hardening length poking you right against your lower stomach.

You can’t help it, you’re so greedy, so selfish, so fucking horny. All you want is him, him and him. Your body moves in autopilot, rubbing your body against his, creating a hypnotising friction between you two. His hand kneads and squeezes your ass even tighter, as he moves your bodies into the bed.

Breaking the kiss, Mattheo’s hungry mouth trails down the column of your throat, his teeth grazing over their racing pulse. He sucks hard, determined to paint your neck in purple, red and pink hues. Not bothering to leave any room for other lovers.

You can only let deep and low exhales, trying your hardest to maintain whatever is left of your composure. “Mhmm…. You like that baby? Huh?” You nod eagerly below him, still rocking your body forwards, grinding like a mad-woman.

“Words sweetheart, I want to hear you, yeah?” He looks at you intensely, his eyes narrowing slightly, “use that greedy mouth and let me hear you, pretty girl….” He commands, his hands roaming your body in a possessed manner. He just can’t help himself, he knows this was bound to happen, from the moment you two started talking to each other, he knew.

Squirming under his desperate touch you can’t help but smile, “y-yes, ugh,” you whimper when he pulls your jumper off your head. “You make me feel so good….” Your high making you feel things ten times stronger.

He torments you, fingers slowly tracing over one of your perky nipples as he carefully plays with the metal piercing. “Such a sweet girl, who would’ve guess this?” He laughs, his mouth moving from your throat to on nipple, his tongue swirling around the hard bud before sucking it into his mouth.

He rolls it between his teeth, applying just about enough pressure to make you gasp and arch into him. His other hand comes up to roughly palm your other breaths, pacing at the matching piercing.

He alternates, lavishing each nipples with attention. His mouth is hot and greedy, his saliva deliciously coating each one. He bites and sucks, matching your chest markings with your neck ones.

Mattheo’s left hand slides down with ease, expertly reaching your soaked panties, smiling when he feels your wetness. “Shit, baby, would you look at that?” He mutters in between your breasts, “so fucking ready,… dripping wet for me already, just how I like it.”

He cups your cunt, applying pressure on it, making your mouth open and closing with silent prayers. “Fuck, Matty, yeah, just like that…” Feeling satisfied, he finally leaves your sensitive and now colorful breasts alone, focusing on his most prized possession.

Your throbbing pussy.

With a quick movement he gets rid of the lacy underwear, grabbing you thighs and spreading your legs, positioning himself between them. He gets close, inhaling your arousal deeply. The smell making his head spin with pleasure, and he can’t help but try a little.

“Oh God…” You whisper, grabbing his head from the back, one hand teasing your breasts. You push his head further into you, so needy for this touch.

Mattheo grumbles againsts your soaked core, your flavour intoxicating, “take it, sweetheart, show me how you like to be eaten out.” He spreads your folds even wider, spitting into your core, flicking his tongue and diving his warm mouth back at it again, sloppily making out with your cunt.

He looks at you, his gaze never leaving yours. He loves to see your reactions, your body taking his treat so well, loves how expressive you are.

The endless slurping and the lewd noises, make you shake, tremble under his touch. He slides two fingers in, as his thumb rubs circles around your clit. This action makes your thighs pull him closer, suffocating him, but he doesn’t care. Mattheo wants to drown in your pussy, want his face covered in you, your sweet juice dripping down his chin. He’s just so obsessed, so fucking down bad.

His digits curling and pumping you full, in such a good way, such an explicit way, you roll your head back, your tongue darting out as you pant for air. You lungs are so overwhelmed, so full of desire, making you pathetically whimper as you begin to notice getting close. “M-mph fuck! Mattheo, God…”

He abruptly stops, making you whine loudly. “Not yet, my love… I want you cumming with my dick buried in this pretty little thing okay?” He undresses, tossing his clothes everywhere.

“No, please Matty…” you grind your hips in the air, your pussy clenching at nothing desperately wanting to feel his fingers in you again. “No… baby, please! I’m so, so, so close.…”

“Shh… my love,” he quiets you down, his drenched fingers now in your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself. “You need to learn how to be patient, because patient girls, get rewards….” Still sucking on his fingers he positions himself in front of your wet entrance, the head of his dick, so pink, so plump, so mouthwatering.

With his other hand, Mattheo grabs his dick, and slaps it a few times against your swollen lips. “Mhm.” Your arousal more than enough to be able to slide it in easily, but he doesn’t like easy. He wants more. Taking his fingers away from your mouth, he commands you “spit, princess, come on.”

You do as your told, spitting into his hand. Mattheo smiles “atta girl…” following your steps, he spits as well, to then rub the mixture of saliva on his angry cock. It makes it shiny, highlighting the veins and the sensible skin.

“Alright pretty… I’m going to fill you up, hm? ” Finally, Mattheo pushes his thick shaft into you, stretching you in unimaginable ways. He’s fucking huge, ripping your insides apart, as he tries to fit all of him inside your apparently tiny cunt. He can see his dick poking outside of your tummy, the sight making his eyes roll to the back of his head, as his lashes flutter in pleasure.

Mattheo hums lowly, his tone dropping an octave “oh s-shit, so tight f’me. Fuck, angel!” He grabs your legs, putting them in his shoulders, enhancing the heavenly sensation. You on the other hand, feel like you’re going to pass out. You can’t think, focusing all of your attention into the way he feels. Your red tired eyes, barely open, fill with tears as your hands lay lazily next to your head.

Mattheo rocks his body, picking up the pace. He needs to feel you closer, keep his hands busy with something. Him fucking you isn’t enough.

This is the point where normally Mattheo would come down from the initial, horny, high and give up on the search for something more raw, more exhilarating. Until an idea comes through, and his cock twitches inside of you.

He reaches for his wand, maintaining his fast rhythm, pumping in and out with extreme force, hitting spots that have never been hit, reaching beyond the g-spot, making you see stars, reach that almost unreachable nirvana.

He summons a silver, small, extremely pointed blade, and his hand reaches your chin. “Pretty girl? Look at me…” he flashes a shit-eating grin, one that makes you almost come instantly. “Fuck princess, can…can I mark you? Hm?” you barely process his question. “Can I make you mine? Are you going to let me ruin that beautiful skin of yours?” He persuades, but to be honest, you don’t need much, imagining his name carved into your skin, and fuck, it turns you on so much, the way his blood would mix with yours, ugh, you can’t wait, nodding in agreement.

He doesn’t waste any time, and slows down his fucking, turning his fast, rough thrusts into deep, almost loving ones. He makes himself comfortable, spreading your legs so wide, your pussy stretching even more. You’re going to be so sore, you can already feel it.

Mattheo tightens the grip on the blade, as he nears it towards your left inner thigh. “Relax for me, gorgeous… it’s going to hurt a bit, yes? But after, you’re going to feel better… so much fucking better.”

Relaxing your body, savouring the new pounding rhythm, you feel it. He presses the flat of the blade against your plush skin, the cold steel sending you shivers down your spine. He drags it with sensibility, leaving a deep, red line in its wake. The pain is sharp but fleeting, nothing compared to the dark pleasure radiating from his touch.

Mattheo’s leans down, his fingers tracing the lines, playing with the red, dense liquid, coating his fingers in your blood. His tongue flicks up, cleaning his digits, leaving them completely clean.

His eyes shutting for a moment at the coppery taste of you blood in his tongue. “Yes, yes, God, yes! You taste even better than I imagined,” his eyes open, gleaming with a crazed, obsessive light. A wicked, twisted smile spreads across his face. His teeth stained with red.

Mattheo's hand moves to your other thigh, the knife tracing a matching line to the first. He connects the cuts, forming an obscene, possessive mark - a dark, blood-red phrase 'property of M.R' etched into your flesh. The pain only serves to heighten the twisted, depraved pleasure coursing through you.

He groans, the vibrations rumbling through your core, his hips never falter in their relentless, punishing rhythm, driving into you with a force that borders on violence.

"That's my girl," he growls, his voice rough and ragged with lust. "My pretty little blood witch, so fucking perfect. I'll ruin you for anyone else, leave you wrecked and forever marked. You’re mine, you know that?”

Mattheo's hand slides up your body, wrapping around your throat, squeezing just hard enough to make your heart race and your lungs burn. His eyes lock onto yours, burning with a fevered, wild glaze as he keeps pumping inside of you.

The bed creaks ominously beneath you, the blood dripping onto your most intimate areas, stoking the inferno raging inside you. Suddenly, he stills, his body pressed flush against yours, his breath coming in ragged, desperate pants.

He reaches up, his blood-stained fingers brushing your cheek with a sudden, shocking gentleness. When he speaks, his voice is low and rough, rough and tinged with a desperate, aching need.

“Fuck, baby. I want... I need to feel it,” he rasps, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that steals your breath.

Mattheo takes the pointed silver, the blade glinting as he presses the cold steel against your palm, guiding your hand to his chest. His skin is hot, flushed, and slick with sweat beneath your touch.

"Mark me, my love…," he urges, his voice a desperate, aching plea. “I want to wear your name.”

Your don’t have time to react as your hand moves automatically and he leans in closer, feeling his pulse race beneath your palm, a frantic, erratic rhythm that mirrors the wild, untamed beating of your own.

Mattheo's eyes flutter shut, a shuddering breath escaping his lips as he feels the cold blade press into his heated skin. He doesn't flinch or pull away, instead arching into the sharp, sudden pain of the steel biting into his flesh. A low, guttural moan tumbles from his throat as he feels the first letter of your name being carved into his chest.

His hand fists in your hair, gripping tight, holding you in place as he guides your hand, urging you to carve deeper, harder. The pain is intense, searing, but it pales in comparison to feeling of fulfilment. Each letter you etch into his skin sends a bolt of electric, white-hot lust straight to his core, his cock throbbing and pulsing inside you.

Mattheo's hips begin to move again, thrusting in time with the brutal, possessive strokes of the sharp blade. The dual sensations of your initials being carved into his flesh and his sensitive member driving into your dripping cunt push him closer and closer to the edge. His grip on your hair tightens, his fingers twisting almost painfully in the strands as you both chases the release.

“I'm so fucking close, beautiful. I'm going to fill you up, mark you from the inside out. You'll be dripping with my cum, fucking drenched in it."

His thrusts become erratic, losing rhythm as he teeters on the brink of climax. The knife digs deeper, carving harder, the final letter of your name leaving a vivid, bloody scar on his chest. Mattheo throws his head back with a roar of ecstasy as he comes undone, his hot, thick seed erupting inside you, painting your walls white with his release.

At the same time, your pussy clenches, milking his cock tightly. The final wave of pleasure hitting you, as you drown in it. “Fuck, fuck, fuuuck! Oh! ugh!” You scream, crying and whining, gasping for air.

He collapses against you, his body shaking and shuddering, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. He inhales and exhales harshly, his breath hot and ragged against your neck as he clings to you, desperately, possessedly, like a man drowning and you're his only lifeline.

Mattheo's fingers tangle in your hair, fisting the strands almost painfully as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. He inhales deeply, dragging the scent of your skin into his lungs like a drowning man seeking air. When he speaks, his voice is a low, hoarse rasp, roughened by his exertions and the intensity of his emotions.

"Fuck, baby…," he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours. "That was... fuck, that was incredible. You're... you're fucking incredible."

He lifts his head slightly, his dark, hooded eyes searching yours. In their depths, you see a whirlwind of emotions swirling together - the wild, reckless lust that consumed him, the dark, twisted possession that demands your complete surrender, and something else, something softer and more vulnerable that he rarely allows anyone to see.

Mattheo's thumb traces your lower lip, smearing the mixture of his blood and yours across your lips, as if applying lipstick, sealing it with his own. A shudder ripples through him as he leans in closer, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with your own.

"Don't... don't go," he whispers, a desperate, aching plea underlying the words. "Stay with me, my love. Let me hold you, let me feel you in my arms. I... I need you, fucking now and forever."

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confused-pyramid · 10 months ago

Text

Breaking Point

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: You and Art were hitting partners (and a bit more) in college, so when you run into him a decade later at the U.S. Open, old sparks reignite...

word count: 3.4k

warnings: SMUT, p in v, oral (fem!receiving), slight marking, drinking

a/n: I watched Challengers last night and then wrote this whole thing in one sitting. Nothing in this is really canon other than Art being a major simp lol so no spoilers for the movie! I usually make playlists (or at least find a few songs that get me in the zone) when writing, so I thought I'd start sharing them here too if people are interested!

You should've known he'd be here. You've been following his career for the last decade since you graduated, and ever since he won Wimbledon last year, he's been tennis royalty, but a small part of you still thought you wouldn't run into him here. At the fucking U.S. Open.

Stanford was a lifetime ago, and you haven't kept in touch with anyone from the college team, but there was always something about Art Donaldson that stuck with you. Ten years later, that hasn't changed.

"It's been so long," he calls out when he spots you from across the practice courts. "I didn't think I'd see you."

You didn't either, and you still haven't decided how you feel about it yet, but when he jogs over to your side, you just shrug. "Guess it's your lucky day."

He smiles, and his teeth glimmer in the bright sunlight. "It certainly is."

The loud thwacks of tennis balls hitting rackets echo around you, but you can't seem to focus on anything but the man standing in front of you. He looks good.

He was beautiful in college too, whether he was training across the net or slipping into your bed, but it feels different now, with so much time apart. He looks like a man now.

"Anyway," Art says, jerking you back to reality. "We should get a drink sometime. To catch up."

He adds the last part almost as an afterthought, but it doesn't escape your notice how his eyes have been trailing up and down your body since he walked over.

A drink could mean almost anything with Art Donaldson, but you're too curious to refuse. "Sure. This weekend, after the semi-finals."

He nods, his eyes glinting with amusement, and you grab your bag from the bench beside you before looping the strap over your shoulder.

You walk off the practice courts after one last glance over your shoulder, and you feel his eyes following along until the doors swing shut behind you.

***

He should've expected this. You were a firecracker in college, and you kept him on his toes every single day you were together, so he really should have known what he was getting into when he met you for drinks that weekend.

Instead, he's one too many beers in, and his buzz is only enhancing the glow of your beauty in the hazy bar light. Your dress isn't even that low cut, but something about the shadows glancing over your strong shoulders reminds him of late nights in the Stanford dorms after a hard practice when there was only one thing he wanted more than sleep.

"You played really well this morning," he says genuinely as he sets his beer back onto the table. "After that first set, Mueller didn't stand a chance."

You flash him a dazzling smile as you shrug, resting your chin on your palm. "I had her after the third game, but thanks. It was a quick match."

Art hasn't taken his eyes off of you since you sat down, and while prolonged eye contact usually makes you nervous, you find that you're actually enjoying the attention quite a bit. Attentiveness was never an issue with him, and you would normally give in to your urges, but there's just too much history with him, and you can't afford to lose focus. Not when the title is so close you can taste it.

"I hear the networks are eyeing you for a commentator post," you say, trying to change the subject.

You trace your finger around the rim of your nearly empty margarita, before lifting it to take a final sip, and you don't miss how his throat bobs as you lick the salt off your lips.

"Uh, yeah," he mumbles, clearing his throat. "It was just some chatter, but I'm not looking to retire anytime soon."

You frown. "Is that right?" He's playing better than ever, but he definitely hasn't been himself out on the court in years.

He glances down, clearly trying to avoid the scrutiny, and when his eyes land on your empty glass, he changes the subject again. "You want another drink?"

You shake your head, knowing that another will lead to a less than fun morning, but he isn't done yet.

"You sure?" His eyes find yours again, and this time the eye contact feels primal. "It doesn't have to be here."

Your eyebrows lift and you tilt your head with a knowing smile. "Where were you thinking?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, before his lips curve up into a cheeky grin. "My room's nice."

You saw it coming from a mile away, but it still pulls a laugh out of you. "Oh, I'm sure it is, but this isn't college anymore, Art. You should get some sleep...focus on your match in the morning."

You push your glass forward and stand up, nodding at him as you turn to leave, but then you see him stand too out of the corner of your eye.

"I'll walk you to your car."

He looks at you with a hint of amusement in his expression, and you can't help but want to play along, even though Art Donaldson was nothing but trouble for you.

You don't respond, instead just stepping out from around the table and walking out the front doors of the bar. You don't have to turn back to know he's right behind you, and when you reach your car, parked in the center of the nearly empty parking lot, you spin around.

He doesn't stop walking until he has you practically boxed in by your driver's side door, his face less than a foot from yours as he tucks his hands into his pockets.

He had pushed his sleeves back at some point in the night, from the humid summer heat of the bar, and you can see the veins on his forearms now, under the dim light of the street lamps.

"This is me," you say jokingly, tipping your chin at your car as he looks at you with an expression you can't distinguish. "I'm good from here."

He doesn't move.

It's not that you expected him to give up so easily; you had just forgotten how persistent he could be.

Art's mouth stretches into a slanted smile. "Do you remember the Davis Invitational? Junior year."

Speaking of his persistence...he had been pursuing you for months, not in any tangible way, but you always knew what he was thinking.

After the invitational, where you and Art had been the respective men's and women's champions, you had gone back to his dorm to celebrate. Three hours and just as many vodka shooters later, he had finally gotten you in his bed. Not that you were complaining.

Art knew his way around your body, and even that first night, he had managed to get you off more times than you can remember.

"What about it?" you shoot back, your eyebrows raising at the insinuation.

"Nothing," he says with a shrug, but you don't miss the humor glinting in his eyes. "You just used to be a lot more fun to celebrate with."

"Fuck you," you spit out, shoving his shoulder harder than you mean to. He barely budges, instead grabbing your hand and tugging you a few inches closer, and suddenly a wave of lust washes over you, making your breath hitch.

You press your thighs together under your dress, hoping he can't feel the heat spreading across your skin, but then his smile turns to a smirk and you know you're done for.

"What do you think?" he whispers, leaning in so close that his lips brush over your earlobe. "Want to celebrate?"

Molten lava pools in your gut and you are only peripherally aware of his hand sliding down your hips to the flowy edge of your dress. His fingers glide over your skin as his hand goes under the loose fabric, before rising up to grab your ass, drawing your hips flush with his.

Your arousal is already starting to soak through your panties, but the feeling of his hard bulge pressed up against you sends you flying back to reality.

You lift your hands to his chest and push him back so that he's a few steps away from you. It's not far enough, but at least you can't feel him from there. "I'm not fucking you, Art."

He shrugs, his smirk only slightly shaken. "Who said anything about fucking? I just wanted to talk."

You huff out a laugh. "You're funny. Besides, I'm too tired for this. I need to rest up before my match."

"What about tomorrow night then?" His lip is still curved up in a smirk, but there's an earnestness in his gaze that surprises you.

"What makes you think you'll still be here tomorrow?"

His mouth spreads into a wide smile. "I always win."

You snort. "Fine. Win your match and we can talk."

You don't miss the grin on his face as you climb into your car and leave.

***

You win your next match in straight sets again, so by the time you're out of the locker room, Art's match is still in play. Driven by a mixture of curiosity and intrigue, you head over to his court and find a seat halfway up the stands.

He has won two of three sets, and he's leading the fourth, so with the prospect of the match ending soon, you use the time to observe him from a different angle.

His form is much better than it was in college, and you've seen him play countless times on TV, but you haven't really let yourself see how good he looks out there. The sinewy muscles rippling in his arms as he lifts them to serve. The rugged sturdiness of his legs as he races back and forth across the court.

You wish you could be down there with him, running your hands over the smooth lines of his abdomen, tasting the drops of sweat as they roll down his body-

The crowd erupts in cheers, and you are thrust back into reality as Art throws his arms into the air with a loud whoop. The scoreboard confirms his victory, and you clap along with the audience as he shakes his opponent's hand and heads over to his chair.

People around you stand up to leave, but you stay in your seat, watching as he grabs his bag and stuffs his rackets inside. When he wipes a towel over his face, his head turns up and his eyes immediately go to you, like he knew you were here the whole time.

Your stomach does an involuntary flip and he flashes his eyebrows at you as you bit the inside of your lip, trying to hold back a smile.

When he ducks back down to grab his things, you stand up quickly to avoid letting him see your blush and follow the rest of the crowd off of the stands.

***

You hear it late that night. Three little raps on your hotel room door, just before midnight.

You're in the finals, and you don't have any friends here to celebrate with, so you were sipping a beer and watching old match recordings when you heard the knock.

There's no one else who would come to see you this late, so you're not surprised when you open the door to find Art, dressed in a tee shirt and comfy-looking pajama pants.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, even though you already know the answer.

Art just looks at you, his pupils already massive. "You said if I win, we could talk." He shrugs. "I won."

"Okay," you concede, opening the door wider to let him in. "Just talking then."

He nods, before following you inside and shutting the door.

"You want anything to drink?" you ask as he trails behind you.

He shakes his head. "I'm good."

You grab your beer bottle from the side table and sit down on the floor, crossing your legs beneath you.

Art sits across from you, his feet in front of him and his elbows on his knees. You were assigned to a modestly sized room, but for someone as tall as him, the space must feel cramped.

"How did the match feel?" you ask, taking a swig of beer.

He thinks for a moment. "It was close at first, but once I shook my legs out, it became a breeze."

"Your legs were never the problem," you say, leveling him with a serious look. "It was always your attitude. Or your confidence."

He frowns, his eyebrows scrunching slightly. "I'm plenty confident."

"You are now," you tell him as you swirl the bottle around in your hand. "You won Wimbledon, you have a reason to be confident."

That makes him smile. "So you're saying my legs are fine."

"Yeah," you say before you can process what you're saying. "You looked good out there."

His smile turns to a smirk so fast it nearly gives you whiplash. "You think I look good?"

You let out an exasperated scoff. "At tennis."

His grin doesn't falter so you roll your eyes at him before lifting the bottle to your lips to take another swig. When you tilt the bottle back down to swallow, his hand reaches forward to take it from you. Your grip on the beer doesn't loosen, so the motion sends you pitching forward.

Your mouth parts with a small yelp as his arm wraps around you, tugging you closer, and before you can process what's happening, his lips are on yours.

If you let yourself think too hard, you would realize that there is way too much shared history and way too much baggage here for this to be a good idea...so that's why you don't.

Instead, you let him pull your body flush against his and when his tongue slides over the seam of your lips, you grant him access immediately. Your shirts come off in quick succession and you gasp as his hands run up and down your body, his strong, calloused fingers grasping at every inch of purchase they can find. Yours reach up to tangle in his messy hair, and when his lips move down your neck, your grip tightens, making him moan quietly against your skin.

Something about being on the floor takes you back to your college days, when you'd both be so worked up after practice that you couldn't even make it to the bed, but that feels too real right now.

"Art," you whisper as he runs his lips and teeth over your neck, before replacing it with his tongue to soothe the quickly blossoming marks. "Art, the bed. Now."

It takes him a second to process your words, but when he does, he loops an arm around your waist and lifts you up and onto the bed in one motion, before pushing you back onto the covers.

By the time your head hits the bed, he's already pulling your shorts and panties down, exposing you to the cool air. His lips follow the path of his hands as they trace up your legs, making you squirm under the hot touch of his rough fingers. He presses wet kisses to the insides of your thighs before spreading them apart and dropping to his knees on the floor in front of you.

"So wet for me," he whispers, almost to himself, before he dives in, his mouth making lewd noises as he licks a thick stripe up your core. "You taste so good."

He lifts your legs over his shoulders to give himself some leverage as he makes a mess between your thighs, licking and sucking your clit into his mouth before fucking you with his tongue.

His grip on your thighs is the only thing keeping you pinned to the bed as you writhe beneath him, trying to not squeeze your legs together from the heat spreading up your core.

His mouth feels amazing and it takes only minutes before you're already nearing the edge. You don't want to come until he is inside of you, though, so you yank his hair, pulling him up and off of you.

He looks up at you through his lashes, and he looks ethereal with his disheveled hair and his chin wet with your slick.

You, on the other hand, look like heaven itself with your eyes half-hooded from pleasure, and he can't help the grin that crosses his face as he licks his lips and climbs over you onto the bed. He lets you taste yourself as he kisses you again, and he lets out a low groan when you bite his lip just hard enough to sting.

"Fuck me," you gasp, your voice too breathy to be actually authoritative. "Fuck me the way I like."

Art grins at your desperate tone and the wild lust in your eyes, committing this image to memory for a later time when you're much further away.

He kicks his pants off as he lifts you both further up the bed, and after covering himself with a condom from his back pocket, he lines himself up and slowly pushes forward.

He gives you a few moments to adjust to his size before slowly pulling out nearly all the way and then thrusting in again.

The slight pain turns to pleasure almost immediately, but he keeps his pace steady so as not to hurt you. You need more right now, so you wrap your legs around him for leverage and flip him over so that you're straddling him.

He groans as his head hits the pillow, and when he tries to sit up, you press your hands to his chest, pushing him down as you ride him. This position gives you a lot more control, and you use it to your advantage as you bounce yourself on his cock, feeling the way he fills you up so fully from this higher angle.

His fingers dig into your hips as he helps lift you up and down, and his eyes are practically feral as he watches the spot where his cock disappears inside of you.

He's the perfect size to fill you up completely, and with each swivel of your hips, you get closer and closer to your climax, which is approaching so fast you can taste it.

You cry out when he hits exactly the right spot deep inside of you, and his eyes fly to yours as your movements start to stutter from your impending release.

Needing to see the look on your face when you come, he pushes your lower back forward so you fall against his chest, before lifting himself up to meet you halfway. With one arm locked around you, he brings his other hand down between the two of you to rub quick circles over your clit. The new angle lets him thrust up into you, and the increased pace of his movements mixed with the speed of his fingers sends you flying over the edge.

Your mouth falls open with a loud cry, and you squeeze him so tightly he's practically seeing stars. You look so beautiful when you come, like a goddess sent down here just for him, and when your eyes meet his, he finds his own climax.

His body jerks forward with the force of his release, and you let him thrust a few more times as he finally finishes inside of you.

After pulling out, he tugs you down to lay next to him, and at first you let him, but the emotions warring inside of you don't stay quiet for long.

You know that whatever this was isn't going to go anywhere. You didn't work in college, and you won't work now, and you don't want anyone to get hurt again, so you have to make a choice. Now.

"I need to get some rest," you say quietly, a tiny part of you hoping he doesn't hear you. "Before the next match."

"Yeah," he sighs after a beat. "Me too."

You let him hold you for a moment longer, before he unwraps himself from your body and sits up, tugging his shirt and pants back on. You tug the sheet back and wrap it around your torso as he stands up and walks to the door.

You're not sure what you're expecting as he goes to leave, but what you get is a silent nod as the door swings shut behind him.

#art donaldson smut #art donaldson #challengers #challengers smut #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson x fem!reader #challengers fanfiction #art donaldson x female reader #art donaldson x you

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peachpitfics · 9 months ago

Text

Cruel Summer

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Following your romp with Benedict Bridgerton in his art studio, he asked your brother for your hand! Now you're on your honeymoon, and you're getting a little bored, posing for him. A lady must find ways to amuse herself!

Length: 2.1k

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Content Warnings: Oral sex (male receiving), Penetrative vaginal sex, unprotected sex, light bondage, food play.

a/n: This is an anonymous request for a continuation of 'Guilty as Sin'.

Bridgerton master list (tag list)

Benedict Bridgerton escorting you to view his artwork, at his private studio, was just the beginning of your story. After sneaking around behind your family’s backs for a small while, Benedict gathered enough courage to ask your eldest brother’s permission for your hand. This seemed strange to the y/l/n family, not one of them had ever seen the two of you together, which showed how much attention was paid to the middle child. Benedict made sure to ask you in the Bridgerton drawing room, just before family tea, for everyone to see. He made such a big to-do, confessing his love to you, before every member of the Bridgerton family in attendance. It felt particularly safe there, amongst people who took interest in who you were as a person.

It was bittersweet to have siblings who offered their time, their attentions, and their hobbies freely. You learned so many new things from each of them, from pall-mall, to sewing, even horse riding. In six months, you were married and moved into the Bridgerton house for the meantime, until after your honeymoon. You would never outright tell Benedict you did not want to move out, but he felt it, he knew.

“My love” Benedict whispered, shaking your shoulders gently. Honeymooning in Paris was something the two of you had instantly agreed upon. So far, two weeks of sleeping late, making love, and eating copious amounts of divine food was your only concern. Of course, there were a lot of other lovely things Benedict had planned for your honeymoon – river boat rides and romantic dinners, every moment between locations filled with fine bread, wine, and cheese.

“Yes, my love?” You grumbled, rolling away from him, clearly having not had enough sleep.

“You must wake up, it is midafternoon!” Benedict exclaimed with a chesty laugh, rolling you back into him and tickling your sides. You howled with laughter, pushing him away playfully, leaning up to distract him as only you knew how. His lips were warm and wet against your own, seductive, and luscious.

“You must come downstairs! The housekeeper has left us a feast and I wish to paint my gorgeous wife” Benedict slid his hands around your naked body, lifting you out of bed as you groaned.

“Again?!” “My darling, I’ll be painting you until death takes me” Benedict chuffed, sliding sideways between doorways and down the stairs to the sitting room.

“What if death takes me first?” You smirked back, figuring you had him cornered here.

“I have made God promise I am to go first. And even so, I’ll have every detail committed to memory and these paintings and sketches of you now to keep me company” Benedict squeezed you in his arms, he didn’t like to joke about parting ways, in any sense. It was his truest nightmare, his deepest fear.

Benedict set you down in the sitting room and gestured to what he and the house keeping staff had readied. Paint, canvas, a staging area - littered around the room were bowls of fresh fruit, bottles of wine, candles surrounded by plates of cheese, oil, and bread. You relaxed back against his chest, his arms wrapping around you, cupping your breasts sweetly. You giggle a little, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. He nodded to your position for the rest of the day, a chair with the back faced to a very high window, casting a streak of sunlight down upon the spot.

There you sat, for hardly an hour before your mind began to wander, circling Benedict in your mind like a shark in open water. You had learned to become comfortable being nude for long periods of time these days, however Benedict had learned nothing of your persuasion or power when your attentions were dashed. Your movements started slowly, daintily taking your hands to your knees, and spreading your legs wide upon the chair. Resting a little, relaxing your back and cupping your own breasts. Your fingers gently grazing your nipples. But nothing, no attention from your husband. He sat close to his canvas, squinting into the detail of his work, his realm of perception clearly inhibited. With a huff and a light moan, you continued to palm at your own breasts, fingers trapping your nipples in a pulling motion- you decided to pretend Benedict wasn’t here. Suddenly, taking notice, you watched as his brush left the canvas, his mouth hung open a little and he removed his glasses, almost tossing them to the floor.

“What are you doing, darling?” He mumbled, swallowing hard. Your hands ran down your mid-section, over your belly and down your thighs sensually, soft mewls slipped from between your lips. Benedict loved the sounds you made.

“I’m just amusing myself, continue on with your painting my dear” Your replying comment was nonchalant in the best way. Benedict almost looked offended that you would suggest he could go back to painting.

“How do you suppose I paint, while my wife ravages her own body before me?” He blinked at the audacity of you.

“Well, dear one, this is what you have chosen for this afternoon’s activities… Now, you must endure” You smiled, sliding your hand between your legs, dipping your finger in the wet warmth there. Benedict shuddered, wishing any part of him were exchanged with your finger.

If there was anything you had learned about Benedict in the last six or seven months, it was that his desire for you was consistent and all encompassing. Benedict watched on as your fingers circled your clitoris, you moaned and exhaled gently - his paint brush never did return to the canvas. Beads of sweat formed on his brow line, the hot, French summer finally taking its toll in the late afternoon. You reached to the small stool next to you, extracting the tiniest jar of honey. You looked into Benedict’s eyes, holding the jar above your body, dangling your head back and pouring a steady stream of honey over your chest. The sun glistened, reflecting little pools of light off your sticky, sweet skin.

Taking your finger, you swept up your belly from your navel, placing your finger on your tongue in clear view of him, and that was his very last straw. Benedict threw his paintbrush to the ground, thrusting himself up and out of his chair, to march across the room to you.

“What do you think you are doing, wife?” Benedict’s voice rasped, his eyes were so dark, the colour had all but gone.

“Playing, my love” You replied cheekily, sucking another nip of honey off your finger. He all but growled watching your finger slip between your lips, his breath quickening in sheer lust for you.

“Are you punishing me for getting you out of bed?” Benedict’s face was so close now, his nose tip to tip with yours. There was such tension in his jaw, his teeth clenched hard in his fierce need of you. You fluttered your lashes back at him, refusing to answer with your words.

“Do you have even a semblance of an understanding of what you are doing to me? This is unbelievably cruel,” He breathed heavily down on you, desperation flooding his body and adrenaline surging behind, “You can’t begin to imagine the things I want to do to you right now” His stubble gliding across your ear and cheek, making you shudder.

“Show me then,” You challenged, “You are my husband after all”.

Benedict’s hands slowly moved to his shirt, shedding it, and throwing it somewhere behind him. He acted with a sureness and a strength you hadn’t yet experienced, but it was drawing you in. Undoing his pants, Benedict took his hard member into his hands, stroking himself against your chest, lathering it in honey. His other hand wove into your hair, tangling the perfect hold, bringing you forward.

“Oh. Goodness. Seems I’ve made quite a mess of myself… Wife, help me clean it up” He smiled smugly down at you.

Something feral, untamed, was unleashed inside you, your eyes darkening, “Certainly, my lord”. As your tongue reached out to meet his tip, his head lulled back in pleasure, his hand still wrapped around the base of him. Your lips parted slowly, encasing his first inch, and swirling your tongue around to suck the honey from him. Benedict exhaled headily, his breaths deep, but quick with the slightest grunt mixed in. The way he sounded, even now, made you wetter and wetter.

There was something maliciously keen in Benedict’s eyes as he watched from on high, your pretty mouth sucking all the honey off him and then some. His body gently rocked forward, his hand heaving your head forward, onto him in a more perverse manner. His head hung back in greedy caution, grasping to the very last straws of his gentlemanly nature as you sunk to the base of him, your tongue wriggling slyly underneath.

His fingers grew taut in your hair, reefing you backwards. His laugh was low, both impressed and challenged by your ministrations. In the next moment, Benedict had hauled you up and over his shoulder, he was charging up the stairs, mad with temerity.

Entering the bedroom, he threw you down on the bed, scrambling for any piece of material in reach, he began ripping. Four pieces of silk fabrics in his hands, he loomed over you in profound ownership. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, Benedict taking each wrist and ankle, tying them to each to their respective corner post of the bed.

“There” He stood, hands on his hips, proud of his work, “There’ll be no more of that”. Clearly touching yourself had had a dire effect on Benedict’s work ethic.

Kneeling between your thighs, his naked body unjustly out of reach, Benedict’s supercilious smile sick with goofy dominance. He thumbs over your folds, his finger descending, extorting whines of pleasure you never knew existed within you. Broad strokes of the most painful, unapologetically evil gratification. Benedict’s tongue flicked over his lips hungrily.

“I need you” The words escaped you violently, the thrill of his touch, his charming smile becoming all too much for you. He ignored you and continued another moment or two, reducing you to a begging mess beneath him.

“Shall I oblige you, my marvellous bride?” His grin was jubilant and all knowing, his hands came down on your wrists, pressing them into the bed. Benedict’s brutal, familiar kiss sown into your lips permanently, as he pushed inside of you with surprise.

“Y/n” He groaned, growled with unrepentant lust. Your eyes cast wide, the length of him stretching you mercilessly while he thrust in and out. His villainous face claiming your entire consciousness as he used your body to his pleasure, decadent facial expressions, and damnable sounds he was delivering straight to your right ear.

“You feel unimaginably perfect” Benedict groaned, your moans joining in alongside his.

Hands grasping for silk to hold onto, you longed for your own release, grinding your hips back against Benedict’s. His movements became more ferocious, keeping up with the sounds you were making. Frenetic energy began to move through your body, your ravenous thirst for him finally quenched. Every muscle in your body engaged in vivid contortion, Benedict pressing into you as deeply as he possibly could before his own body found its own powerful release.

Covered in sweat and honey, you laid tangled together for a moment before Benedict recalled your wrists and ankles were tied. He chuckled with giddiness, sitting up to admire his knots.

“You look fantastic like this, perhaps we should do this more often” He suggested sweetly. His thumb caressed the side of your face, your panting, tired body unable to give a response. Benedict littered your face and neck with loving pecks.

“We could be one person and I still would never be close enough to you. No amount of time with you will ever satisfy me. You are the centre of my world” Benedict whispered gently. Every day you were reminded of the intoxicants his poetic mind dabbled into every sweet thing he said to you.

In another instant, Benedict had sprung from the bed, running downstairs. You laughed, thinking he must be returning with some of the food the housekeeper had left strewn about his romantically planned afternoon. Instead, Benedict returned with a new canvas and his implements. Your mouth fell open all on its own, blinking furiously in his direction as he set himself up off the side of the bed.

“If you could just stay there, like that, that’d be great!” Benedict’s grin, excruciatingly exquisite, and concocting. He held himself with such pride in his agendum, cockiness seemed to fill the room in a potent manner.

“BENEDICT!?” You squealed, tugging frantically on his bindings, your laughter filled with rich resolve.

--------------------

tagging: @cringycat24 // @blckbarbiedoll // @freyagallileaevans // @junkie05 // @rosabeetroot // @flamewriterr //

If you'd like to be added to this tag list, please let me know!

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hexb0nes · 6 days ago

Text

Risky Business

word count: 5.5k

contains: modern/college au, no preestablished romantic relationships (viktor and reader are besties that torment jayce /hj), frat bro/lacrosse player!jayce, honors student!viktor, art kid!reader, switch!jayce, dom!viktor, switch!reader, bottom!jayce, top!viktor, alcohol, weed, drug use, stoner!viktor & stoner!reader, oral sex (blowjob & pussy eat), anal sex, cock milking, safe sex & proper use of lube!!! (wrap it before you tap it & never do anal without lube), doggy style, too many mentions of prostate/cock/dick/pussy/cunt, praise kink, corruption kink, virgin!jayce, teasing, praise, pet names (golden boy/darling/sweetheart/baby), vaginal sex, somewhat animalistic/rough sex, we swallow not spit, cervix bruising, multiple orgasms, jayce aims to please, jayce’s cock is too powerful, lightweight!jayce (bro can't handle the weed), viktor and reader are menaces, one off mention of public sex, humiliation if you squint

summary: jayce embarks on a spiritual journey of sex, drugs, and rock n' roll with the help of his two hottest classmates at his fraternity's risky business themed party.

a/n: shoutout to this fic's beta reader @zevrra <3 they're awesome and write amazing arcane content!

Stale booze, pungent smoke from loosely rolled joints, and people making out in every room of the house are the trifecta of a typical frat house party. Yet, things have been turned up to a hundred and fifty for Greek Week’s Battle of the Greeks, each frat and sorority house on the Row competing to be the Greek Life chapter. For Piltover University’s Sigma Phi Delta, Greek Week means maintaining their incumbent title.

Jayce, the newest recruit and brother, has the most unfortunate task for the party: keeping drunken idiots from destroying every inch of the frat house. Not that he minds, of course! Despite his charming looks and demeanor, Jayce Talis despises parties. Sure, a party of twenty people or less is fine, but a party at this level of insanity? Pure nightmare fuel.

To make matters worse for poor Jayce, someone from Sigma Phi Delta (he has his suspicion of who was responsible, a certain snobby blonde named Allira Salo) had suggested Risky Business as the theme for this year’s Battle of the Greeks. Now, here’s Jayce, standing by the drinks table in nothing but grey boxers, crew socks, and the longest button down he could find. D.M.S.R. by Prince plays over the speakers, a staple from the movie and the perfect party song.

Jayce nurses a Red Solo cup of cheap liquor in his hands, but he hadn’t taken a single sip. Whenever a frat brother or chatty drunk girl would come up to him, Jayce would feign drinking and laugh like a gleeful drunkard, playing along in the hopes they would skitter away to their next victim.

“Not much of a drinker, huh?” someone shouts to him over the loud beat of the funk track. Jayce looks down–he has to look down at everyone on the campus–and sees you, a classmate from his ART 106 class, Drawing for Non-Majors. Everyone pursuing a degree at Piltover University is required to take a “Creativity and Creative Development” class as part of their core curriculum. Drawing for Non-Majors happens to be the only art Jayce believes he could net an easy ‘A’ in.

“How could you tell?” he yells back, as the music switches to The Dream is Always the Same, a somewhat psychedelic song. You tease the rim of your cup, bubbling lemon-lime soda inside, “You’re the least giddy frat boy at the party.”

Jayce eyes the way you guide your manicured finger around the cup and has to tear away his gaze to answer, “Yeah, makes sense. I got tasked with ‘drunk dumbass’ duty, so it’s better to be sober if some ass tries to pick a fight and break something.”

You give a nod and hold up your cup to Jayce, “Care for some Sprite then?”

Jayce’s eyes widen at your offer, “But you,” he blinks his surprise away, “That’s your drink.”

“Sharing is caring,” you chuckle.

Jayce grabs the cup from you and examines it; never has he taken an already consumed drink from someone else, nonetheless from a cute girl like you. It’s like an indirect kiss! Oh, Jayce Talis–the cheesy romantic–is not one to kiss and tell, but he could count on one hand how many people he has kissed. Now or never. Jayce takes a timid sip from the cup and relishes in the refreshing taste, “Oh God, I needed that.”

“Good!” you take the cup back and down the rest of it. Now, this is an indirect kiss! Jayce’s tanned cheeks warm up at the realization and he fans himself with his free hand. Seeing his overheated face, you tilt your head and ask, “Too hot? Wanna come with me to a cooler spot?”

“Oh! Uh,” the frat boy runs through the possible outcomes if he does or doesn’t follow you. What if a fight happens while he’s occupied? What if you think he’s a bummer for not joining you? What if– “You don’t have to,” you add on and shrug, “If you don’t wanna.”

“No!” he exclaims, a bit too loud. Jayce quickly masks his enthusiasm with a fake cough, “Lead the way,” he flashes you his ‘Golden Boy’ smile. Please don’t think I’m an inexperienced loser.

“Cool,” you toss your cup in the nearby trash can and grab Jayce by the wrist, barely able to wrap your whole hand around it. Through the mobs of partying sorority girls, people cheering on a frat brother’s keg stand, and folks getting way too into dancing, you lead Jayce outside to the back of the frat house. A few party attendees are lounging about in the backyard, some of which are couples making out or people exchanging joints.

“Viktor!” you call out. Sitting around some abandoned lawn chairs, a thin man with shaggy shoulder-length hair and a flannel perks up. He waves the two of you over and you each find a chair to occupy. Jayce examines the stickers on Viktor’s cane.

“Hey,” Viktor greets you both, his accent rich and thick.

“H- Hey,” Jayce attempts to be nonchalant, but fails miserably when his baritone voice cracks into soprano range. He recognizes Viktor from many of his engineering classes, but he never had the opportunity to chat one on one with him. Yet, judging by the hordes of engineering students seeking the cane user out for tutoring, Jayce doesn’t want to come off as needing such assistance–well, some assistance would be appreciated–or that he would use Viktor for it.

“Cute,” Viktor lets out a deep chuckle, honey amber eyes glowing almost eerily under the full moon’s light, “The Golden Boy’s a bit shy, huh?”

“Oh, for sure,” you snort. Jayce pouts and averts his eyes from the two of you, only to have you tilt his chin back up with the tip of your finger, “We only tease in good faith,” you coo, “I take it that you know Jayce, Vik?”

“Everyone does,” he answers. Jayce pouts again and Viktor stifles back a laugh, “Also he’s my classmate in about half of my classes,” the pretty haired–Pretty haired?! Jayce, get it together!–boy leans closer and Jayce can smell the familiar stink of weed on his flannel, “I thoroughly enjoyed seeing your Rube Goldberg machine unfold during our class with Professor Hemingdinger.”

“Haha, yeah, that machine,” the engineering student cringes. You raise your eyebrows at the exchange, “Oh no, what happened?”

“The concept was ingenious, I must say,” states Viktor, “A creative way to dispense a cup of coffee for our dear professor,” Jayce buries his face into his sleeves of his varsity jacket, as Viktor continues, “However, Jayce miscalculated the placement of the coffee pot.”

“Don’t tell me,” your cheeks puff up to hold back your laughter.

“Cue our poor professor drenched in coffee!” the cane user laughs. You break and join in, boisterous laughter ringing through Jayce’s ears. The frat boy peers up at the exchange and comments, “At- At least, it was lukewarm coffee…”

“Thank God,” you calm down from your laughing fit, “If it was any warmer, I’m afraid that you would have been sued,” Viktor nods along in agreement. Jayce runs his large, veiny hands through his clean-cut hair, “Okay, okay. Enough is enough.”

“Sorry,” you throw an arm around Jayce’s shoulders and pull him close, the scent of your strawberry perfume strong and intoxicating to the frat boy, “We can make it up to you, if you want.”

“How so?” he inquires.

You give Viktor a wink and he returns it with a thumbs up. Viktor snatches his worn out satchel from the leaf-covered ground and rummages through its content. It takes a moment or two before Viktor procures the object of desire, a baggie of green flowery clumps.

“Please tell me that’s oregano,” Jayce pleads.

“Nope,” the cane user confirms, “One hundred percent pure marijuana.”

“Don’t worry! Vik has a med card, so it’s like… totally legal,” you reassure Jayce with a pat on the cheek. Jayce bites his tongue to prevent himself from saying something utterly stupid, “Are you sure it’s okay? We won’t get in trouble?” Okay, nevermind, he does say something utterly stupid.

“As long as you’re not a narc,” replies Viktor. He sets the baggie down and pulls a few more items from his satchel: rolling paper, filter paper, and a grinder, “Watch the master at work,”

Viktor grinds up a clump of flower; once properly grounded up to his liking, he places the filter paper on one end of the rolling paper, followed by the flower. He rolls it up flawlessly and seals it, producing a perfectly made joint, before making two more joints.

“Here,” he holds out a joint to Jayce. With shaky hands, Jayce accepts the joint with visible hesitation, almost dropping in the process. You squeeze his shoulder and murmur, “Don’t worry, the first time can be scary, but we can help you.”

“How?” questions Jayce. A sparkle of mischief flickers in your eyes, “Lemme show you,” you hop off your lawn chair and approach Viktor. You plop down on his lap and throw your legs over the arm of the chair, twirling a strand of Viktor’s tousled locks, “Light me up, baby.”

Viktor pulls out a silver lighter from his jeans pocket and you place the joint between your lips, letting it dangle. Jayce watches with bated breath, as Viktor flicks the lighter open and holds the flame by your joint. Once lit, you take a drag of it and inhale some of the smoke. You pull the joint out, cheeks puffed out with smoke, and beckon Viktor to come closer. Leaning in, you press your lips against Viktor’s and exhale, allowing the thinner man to consume the rest of the smoke, as the two of you kiss.

Jayce gawks at the sight of you making out, the way you tug at Viktor’s hair and the way he grips at your sides stirs something inside the frat boy, “And that’s called shotgunning!” you finish the kiss up and inform Jayce, “Just make sure you part your lips before I shotgun you, or else we’ll waste some good smoke,” you offer him a lopsided smile, “Wanna give it a try?”

“Sure,” he nods. You move from Viktor’s lap and onto Jayce’s, the joint still lit in your hand. Jayce swallows any fear away, as you lay the joint between your lips and breathe in the smoke, the lit end lighting up with the inhalation. You pass the joint over to Viktor for him to hold and he steals a few hits, as you moved closer and closer and–

Jayce’s lips connect with yours and he parts them just enough for you to push smoke into his mouth. It travels down his throat and into his lungs, burning and irritating. Jayce breaks away from the kiss to cough, spluttering out hot smoke. You rub his back while he hacks up a lung, “Yikes, yeah, that happens a lot to beginners.”

“Have some water,” Viktor passes off his water bottle and Jayce snatches it, drinking up all the liquid like a dehydrated man crawling through the Sahara Desert. He coughs a bit more up and finally settles down, “When does this-” he cuts himself off, as a fuzzy feeling suddenly clouds his mind. Jayce closes his eyes, then opens them, and then closes them again, “Wow,” he giggles, “Feels nice…”

“Please tell me that he didn’t just get high off one hit,” begs Viktor.

“I think he got high off one hit,” you answer. You prepare yourself to disembark from Jayce’s lap, but stop yourself, “Jayce,” he looks at you with wide eyes, “Yeah?”

“Why are you hard?” you question him.

Jayce’s eyeballs nearly popped out of their sockets at your inquiry. He jerks his head down and sees his predicament, a noticeable tent in his boxers. His face turns a deep shade or crimson red, “N- No, fuck, I’m so so so sorry- I don’t know why-”

You place a finger against his lips to shush, “Don’t worry, baby. We’ll take care of you,” you whisper into his ear and stroke his cheek with your thumb, “I know for a fact that you find me and Viktor very attractive, mhm? I saw the way you looked at us while we kissed.”

“And so what if I do?” the frat boy retorts, puffing out his chest in an effort to appear manly and confident. Yet, his resolve crumbles the moment you press your chest up against his torso, the fabric of your shirts being the only barrier, “We find you very attractive, too.”

Between the haze dulling his brain and the lustful stares of two stunning individuals on him, Jayce Talis caves in and whimpers to you, “Please, take care of me.”

“Good boy,” you peck him on the lips, “Show us the way to your room.”

Like an obedient pup, Jayce rapidly nods and helps you off his lap. Viktor nearly chokes on his joint when he sees Jayce’s boner, “What the fuck, you’re huge,” and earns a slap to the back of the head from you, “Don’t announce it!” you hiss to him, “He’s ours.”

Those two or so words send shivers down Jayce’s spine. He’s ours. All Jayce ends is to be wanted; his efforts on the lacrosse team, his performance in class, everything he does is motivated by his need to be praised. He squeezes himself between you and Viktor in a line as a makeshift hiding spot for his boner and guides the two of you back inside the frat house. You three weave and dodge various obstacles, such as neglected soda cans and a sorority girl threatening to puke on you. Upstairs, a few people are scattered about the hallway, but none pay any mind to you all. You make your way to Jayce’s room and he opens the door, allowing you and Viktor to enter.

Jayce’s room is somewhat stereotypical of an athletic frat boy with messy bedsheets and posters of famous athletes on his wall. However, he has a few so-called nerdy things in his room, including a mechanical model of the Solar System and a Lego-built U.S.S Enterprise from Star Trek. You make yourself comfortable on Jayce’s bed while Viktor borrows the desk chair and Jayce sits on the floor.

“Sooooooo…” the lacrosse player twiddles his thumbs, “How do we fix this?”

“What do you mean?” Viktor scoffs, “Haven’t you gotten a blowjob or a handjob before?”

Jayce’s silence speaks volumes and you connect the dots, “Oh. My. God. Jayce fucking Talis is a virgin.”

“No! I’m- well-” the virginal accused racks his brain to deny the allegations, “It’s- Ugh, okay, it’s true,” he confirms to you and Viktor, “It’s not that I have a vow of celibacy or anything, just that I wanted to save it for someone special.”

“It’s kinda cute,” you giggle softly while Viktor jokes, “And they say chivalry is dead. Good on you for defying frat bro stereotypes.”

“Are you gonna tease me all night or is one of you gonna choke on my fucking cock already?” Jayce’s filter went offline, the effects of weed taking more of an effect.

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” answers Viktor. You blow him a ‘good luck’ kiss and get cozy for the show. Viktor rises from the chair and leads Jayce to the bed; he sits down next to you, now face level to Jayce’s pelvis, “Drop those boxers, Golden Boy.”

Jayce tugs down his boxers and haphazardly shakes them off his legs. Now free from its confinement, his cock bounces freely, on display for you and Viktor to admire. Viktor sizes up Jayce’s dick—as thick as his wrist and as long as one and a half pencils stacked—and mumble to himself, “Damn, this is a virgin killer.”

“Impressed?” Jayce strikes the Superman pose and smiles. Viktor wraps a hand around his cock and gives it a light tug, watching as Jayce’s cockiness vanishes in an instant, “Yeah. It’s pretty impressive,” Viktor lines his lips up to the top of Jayce’s dick and opens his mouth, carefully sliding him inside. A soft moan tumbles Jayce’s lips from the sensation, as Viktor’s hot and wet mouth costs his cock. Inch by inch, Viktor takes more and more of Jayce’s length until he gets all but an inch in, a small bulge pointing from under his Adam’s Apple. Testing the waters, Viktor goes agonizingly slow with the blowjob, taking his sweet time to pull back until only the tip is inside.

“Please go faster,” Jayce whines. Viktor lets out a muffled chuckle, the vibration ever so pleasant against Jayce’s shaft, and picks up the pace. He bobs his head up and down the length of Jayce’s cock, occasionally running his tongue down the prominent vein underneath and twirling it around the mushroom tip. Combined with the weed, Jayce is experiencing pure bliss, as he jerks his hips forward and shoves his dick deeper down Viktor’s throat. The smaller man gags at the sudden change, but quickly recovers, letting Jayce fuck his throat. Jayce thrusts his pelvis forward and slams his cock deep inside Viktor, gripping the receiver’s shoulders for extra support. Spit leaks from Viktor’s mouth, his hooked nose smacking into Jayce’s well-trimmed pubes, as Jayce assaults his throat with his fat cock.

“Oh, shit!” the lacrosse player grunts, “I think I’m gonna-” he doesn’t have time to warn Viktor before climaxing, shooting sticky hot cum down the other man’s throat. Once positive that Jayce had finished orgasming, Viktor unhinges himself from the taller man’s cock and coughs up some cum. He swipes it off his lips and licks it off his fingers, “Salty.”

“Did you swallow all of that?” you ask, eyes as big as saucers, “He came for- like- two whole minutes.”

“Spitters are quitters,” he jests in retort. You playfully smack his arm and turn your attention to Jayce, “How are you feeling?”

“Amazing,” he pants, face flustered, “Just one issue, though.”

“What’s up?” you furrow your eyebrows.

“I’m still hard,” the frat bro points downward, his cock still hard as a rock. Viktor looks over at you and rasps, “Tapping you in.”

“More than happy to have my turn, take five to recover,” you tell Viktor. He leaves the bed and returns to the desk chair, massaging his throat. You focus in on Jayce and pull him onto the bed, “Ready to try some pussy?” you coo.

Eager, Jayce nods in response, his mouth salivating at the thought of eating you out. You obligate his desires and strip yourself of your jeans, leaving only your cherry red undies left, “Take them off and have a look.”

Jayce follows your command without question, pulling your panties down your thighs and off your legs. You spread your legs open and Jayce bears witness to his first ever not porn-related pussy. Some wetness spills from your slit and onto the bed, you’re simply drenched. He hooks his hands around your legs and pulls you closer to his face, inhaling the smell of your divine cunt. The scent alone sends Jayce into a needy state, rutting his weeping cock against the mattress for some form of relief. Yet, he wants—no, needs—to focus on the task at hand, pleasing you.

“Give it a try, I’ll guide you,” you inform Jayce. With a timid nod, the frat bro dives right in and licks a long stripe from the bottom of your entrance to the top of your clit. You shudder and curl your toes, as Jayce experiments with a variety of methods. He sucks on your clit, first gentle then hard, altering to see which one you like more. It seems that you prefer hard, taking sharp breaths whenever he sucks like so. Above, you rip off your T-shirt and bra, freeing your breasts. You gesture for Viktor to come over and he does, finding a suitable position before latching onto one of your tits. Sweet mewls escape your lips while your boys have their way with you, Jayce now confident enough to devour your cunt like an animal and Viktor groping at your unoccupied tit while he suckles the other.

“Fuck!” you croak out a shaky moan, as the knot in your stomach snaps, releasing a wet wave onto Jayce’s mouth and face. He happily laps up your juices, consuming every ounce he possibly could. You give yourself a minute to recover, Viktor laying beside you and tracing miscellaneous shapes on your skin while Jayce rests his head on your thighs.

“Good job, boys,” you announce. You give each man a tender kiss on the lips as a reward, “You two should make out with each other.”

“Okay!” Jayce cheerily complies while Viktor merely shrugs. Viktor takes your spot on the bed and lays down fully. Jayce hovers over him, one leg on each side of Viktor’s petite waist. Only once did Jayce Talis ever kissed a boy and that had happened in middle school, but kissing boys is just like kissing girls… completely nerve-racking!

“Just kiss me already,” huffs Viktor, yanking Jayce by the collar and slamming his lips against his. Jayce lets out a surprised yelp, but adjusts. Viktor’s free hand travels around Jayce’s waist and to his back, landing on his ass. He smacks Jayce’s ass, earning a moan from the other man, and begins groping it without remorse.

“Dude,” Viktor pauses the kiss to get your attention, “You have to feel this ass, it’s like pound cake.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice!” you make your way to Jayce’s backside, grabbing his ass and feeling it up, “Damn, Jayce! You have a whole bakery here!”

“Uh, thanks?” Jayce answers, unsure if that’s a compliment or not. You give Jayce your own smack on the ass, “Nice ass, Golden Boy. Now, get back to making out with my best friend.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he exclaims before he resumes kissing Viktor. Meanwhile, you utilize this opportunity to ‘rub one out’, as you play with your clit and folds. You shove a finger inside and whimper, visualizing Jayce’s finger in its place. Another finger is soon added later and you bite your tongue to suppress any ungodly noises.

“Hey, is it cool if I fuck him first?” Viktor asks you, receiving a weak thumbs up in return because you’re too busy jerking off to properly speak, “I’ll take that as a yes. Jayce, go get a condom from my bag.”

Jayce picks up Viktor’s satchel from the side of the bed and peeks inside, scooting various items out of the way before locating a roll of condoms, “I didn’t think you were the kinda guy to have a whole roll of condoms in your bag, Viktor.”

“Blame that one over there,” Viktor points over to you, who’s too entranced in pleasure to comment, “She likes to fuck everywhere.”

Jayce blushes at the thought; if you like to fuck everywhere, did you ever fuck in the arts classroom? His cock twitches when he imagines you and Viktor fucking in that classroom. Maybe, they’ll let me join them next time, Jayce ponders.

Viktor shimmies off his pants and boxers, revealing his own equally impressive cock. It’s definitely not as long as Jayce’s, but Viktor rivals him in terms of girth. The man in question rips off a condom from the roll and opens up its packaging, rolling the condom down his shaft, “Ready?”

“Wait, why am I the bottom?” he huffs.

You and Viktor stare at Jayce in silence, only the muffled echos of the party downstairs can be heard.

“Okay, you’re right, but still,” he concedes.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you,” states Viktor, genuine care in lieu of dry humor. Jayce smiles to himself at the reassurance and positions himself above Viktor, his hole dangerously close to his dick.

“Got any lube?” asks Viktor.

“Yeah, in the top drawer of my dresser,” responds Jayce.

“Sweetheart,” the smaller man calls out to you, “Be a dear and grab the lube. No one’s raw-dogging anal tonight.”

“On it!” you approach Jayce’s dresser and open the top drawer. Among the stacks of underwear and socks, you find a bottle of lube, half of it already used, “Want me to lube you up, Jayce?”

“Sure,” he consents. You squirm some lube on your hand and Viktor pries Jayce’s cheeks open, granting you access to his hole. Jayce hisses at the coldness while you lube up his hole, taking time to finger him loose for extra measure, “All ready!”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Viktor smiles and pecks you on the lips, “Now, enjoy the show,” he lines his cock to Jayce’s asshole and guides him downward. Viktor’s cock pierces through Jayce’s untouched hole and Jayce swears he sees stars in that moment. The feeling of a dick in his ass is definitely a new feeling, as Jayce gives himself grace to adjust to Viktor’s size. The other man strokes the sides of Jayce’s legs as a means of distraction, “Take all the time you need, darling.”

Pain soon morphs into pleasure and Jayce moans loudly, “Fuck! This is nice!” He begins to ride Viktor’s cock, his own dick bouncing up and down with each movement. His tongue rolls out of his mouth, the overwhelmed pleasure incapacitating any reasonable thought in Jayce’s head. Jayce steadies himself with the help of his headboard, continuing to hop on Viktor’s dick like a rabbit in heat. Cum drips from his cock onto Viktor’s pelvis, but he pays no mind to it, too fixated on Jayce’s blissed out expression. Viktor joins in with Jayce’s bouncing and thrusts his dick upward whenever Jayce goes downwards. He positions his cock just right to hit Jayce’s prostate, sending full body shivers through the larger man.

“There, there!” Jayce eggs Viktor on. Using Jayce’s hips for support, Viktor pistons his dick in and out of Jayce, relishing in each inclited moan and plea from the lacrosse player. To Jayce, each collision against his prostate feels like winning at the slot machines. One final thrust grants Jayce with the jackpot win, as he climaxes and coats Viktor’s torso in cum. Viktor follows afterwards and grunts, spilling his cum into the condom.

“Congratulations,” Viktor lets out a pant, rubbing circular motions with his thumbs against Jayce’s aides, “You just lost your anal virginity.”

Jayce tries to reply, but all that comes out of his mouth is incoherent babbles of pleasure subsiding. With Viktor’s assistance, he carefully slides off Viktor’s dick and promptly collapses on the bed beside him, his poor hole throbbing. Viktor removes the condom from his now flaccid cock and ties it shut; he tosses it into the small trash can and eyes you up, “I think he might be done for the night.”

“I’m not!” Jayce refutes, “See, look!” he gestures to his cock, still hard.

“Jesus Christ, did someone spike your drink with Viagra? How are you still hard?” you sputter, “This calls for drastic measures.”

“Drastic measures?” questions Viktor.

“I’m gonna milk that cock,” you proclaim.

You and Viktor swap places while Jayce regains his energy for another fuck. Engulfing Jayce in a side hug, you quietly hum to him, “What position do you wanna do? I’m a fan of missionary and doggy style.”

“Can we do doggy style?” he requests.

You snicker, “You’re not gonna be beating the golden retriever boy allegations anytime soon,” you roll over and get on your hands and knees, “I’m all yours for the taking, Golden Boy.”

Jayce rises up from the bed and gets behind you, your ass hitched up and slick leaking down your inner thighs. He gropes your ass a bit and gives it a few smacks as playback, “Nice,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Are you gonna keep admiring me or are you gonna fuck me already?” you sway your hips at Jayce, his cock twitching hard. Viktor tosses him an unused condom and Jayce rolls the rubber over the entirety of his shaft. Now properly prepared, he lines his dick up to your entrance and rubs it with the tip, making sure you’re wet enough for him to enter. You let out a low whine and Jayce takes it as a sign to slide in, doing so methodically and with as much gentleness as he could muster.

“So big…” you mewl, taking each inch of Jayce’s length like a trooper. By the time he finally bottoms out, there’s a noticeable bulge by the lower half of your stomach. Jayce caresses your stomach and finds the bulge, silently gawking at the sheer power of his size. On the other hand, you’re able to faint if Jayce Talis doesn’t fuck you yet, so you take matters into your own hands and pull back a bit on his cock before smacking your bottom against it. Jayce snaps into focus and grabs your hips, digging his nails into your supple flesh. His chest presses up against your back and he groans in your ear, “Eager, aren’t you?”

“Says the guy who just lost his virginity five minutes ago,” you fire back. Jayce responds with a sharp thrust and you replace your sass with a shameless moan. The frat bro starts thrusting in and out, making small modifications to his movements that incite the biggest reaction from you. Jayce finds it very hard not to pin you down and fuck the life out of you, he’s a gentleman like his mamá raised him to be. However, you’re more than willing to get the life fucked out of you, as you beg to Jayce, “Please! Fuck me, fuck me like an animal! I want you to destroy my cunt!”

All logic, all reason, went out the window the moment you tell Jayce to destroy your cunt. He buries your face into the bedsheets and latches a hand onto one of your tit while the other locks around your waist. You realize what a big man Jayce Talis is when he pins you, easily trapping you under his size. The sound of skin slapping against skin and filthy moans fill the bedroom, as Jayce growls to you, “You want me to destroy your cunt, huh?”

Smack!

“You want me to bruise that cervix of you, make you unable to walk for days?”

Smack! Smack!

“I wonder what kind of excuse you would have to use to justify such a prolonged absence.”

Smack! Smack! Smack!

“Sorry, Professor! I missed last class because Golden Boy Jayce Talis destroyed my tight, little cunt!”

“Jayce, please, please!” you sob against the bedsheets, tears of pleasure and arousal running down your cheeks, “Bruise my cervix! Do whatever you want, just fuck me!”

Jayce grits his teeth and picks up his pace, the bed rocking and creaking with each thrust. He looks over at an awfully quiet Viktor, only to see the stoner stroke himself off at the sight of his best friend getting fucked. That pushes Jayce to the limit and he lifts you up, holding against his body while he relentlessly fucks you. Any noise that comes out of your pretty little mouth is either pitiful cries or moans forced out by Jayce’s pistoning.

“Ready for me, pretty girl?” he rasps, as his third orgasm of the night builds up, “Want me to fill you up?”

“Yes! Yes!” you wail. In a flash, Jayce flips you over so you’re facing him and his lips clash against yours, a passionate kiss to silence his orgasmic moans while he climaxes. Near the desk, Viktor climaxes, as well, covering his mouth with his hand to suppress his moans. Your walls clench around Jayce’s shaft and you keep him inside your pussy until you milk every last drop from his beast of a cock.

Finally flaccid, Jayce pulls out of your cunt and falls exhausted by your side, completely drained. Viktor joins the two of you on the bed and snuggles up close to your left while you rub Jayce’s back on your right.

“That was so hot,” comments Viktor.

“Agree,” you tack on.

Jayce mumbles something against the bedsheets, but neither you nor Viktor can decipher what he says. You turn on your side and hug Jayce from behind, “Congratulations on losing your virginity, we’ll get you an ice cream cake to celebrate it tomorrow.”

“Yay…” he weakly cheers, “I love ice cream cake,” you chuckle quietly and kiss his back a few times, “Good job, very good job.”

“Hey, where’s my aftercare?” Viktor mockingly frowns. You pull away from Jayce and kiss him on the lips; you then pull away and pinch his cheeks, “Ouch!” he hisses, “You’re a dick.”

“And you’re my bestest friend in the whole wide world!” you tease. Viktor rolls his eyes and sets back into the bed. With a handsome boy on each side of you, you smile fondly to yourself and bask in the glory.

“We’re definitely doing this again.”

444 notes · View notes

maximoff-pan · 1 year ago

Text

the ultimate deception | benedict bridgerton (part one)

summary: you are a well known artist who paints under a pseudonym. What happens when Lady Whistledown comes to know of your identity? How will your relationship with Benedict evolve?

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!(artist)reader

word count: 4k

warning(s): poor writing and dialogue (sue me, I'm rusty lol), very unedited so if there are mistakes, I apologize, misogyny, penelope aka Lady Whistledown's biggest defender

a/n: this is definitely going to be more than one part, but I wanted to post something after so many months. Let me know how you like it (or don't like it haha)...comments and feedback are much appreciated <3

• • • • • •

“I wish I possessed merely an ounce of your talent.”

Benedict’s gaze seems to be wholly absorbing your latest painting, a depiction of the botanical wonders of London’s Royal Kew Gardens.

You puff out a breath, blowing on the feathery end of one of your writing quills. In your haste, it had gotten loose, tickling your face irritatingly. Tucking it back behind your ear, you wave him off. “You have much more talent than you give yourself credit for.” You admit through squinted eyes, scanning your work. “You simply lack conviction. And you worry far too much about what others think of you.”

Benedict smiles, receiving your words as the highest of praise. He reaches out to take a better look at the piece of art before him. “You flatter me.” He mumbles in awe. “But I suppose there’s a chance you could be right.”

Chuckling at his words, you grin knowingly. You’re right. It’s more than a chance…you just are. He knows it too.

You both continue to steadily eye the painting, you out of critical evaluation of your work, and him in sheer admiration of it.

Benedict’s favourite part remains the beautifully bloomed magnolias that are scattered across the canvas. He’d been sure to tell you numerous times of their elegance while you’d been working on it, eagerly awaiting the finished product. As you’ve come to realize, Benedict loves watching you work. It’s one of the prices you’ve had to pay for his allowance of your workstation being at Bridgerton House, if you could even call it that.

You are grateful, truly. You wouldn’t be able to make your own living without his kindness. And you certainly wouldn’t be able to keep to yourself in the way you prefer to.

“When will Augustus Leighton be displaying his latest work of perfection?” Benedict’s question reminds you of your fate as an artist.

Augustus Leighton is the pseudonym you paint under. Using his name, you have become a well known artist among the ton, even going so far as to have a painting hung at Buckingham Palace. It’s difficult, you must admit, pretending to be someone else. But it’s a necessary evil.

Painting as a woman would get you nowhere. Especially as a woman with no money (particularly at the time you began), no status, and no husband.

Your mother is a seamstress with little to her name and your father was a servant to Violet and Edmund Bridgerton, before his heart became too weak. He passed away when you were thirteen, only a few years after the Bridgerton children had lost their own father. You’d grown up with little money, but Violet had been kind to both you and your mother, seeing how close you’d become with her children.

You were raised alongside them, Benedict and Eloise becoming your closest of friends. At three and twenty, there are five years between you and the two siblings in either direction, with Eloise being freshly eighteen, and Benedict having turned twenty eight. To this day, they remain two of only three people who know of your true identity, outside of Penelope Featherington.

You hadn’t exactly meant for Eloise or Penelope to find out about it, but once they had, it became comforting to have more than just Benedict to speak to about your predicament. Especially considering, although Benedict has been wonderfully supportive, he could never understand the struggle a woman must endure in a male dominated world.

“Likely never. This one is a gift for Lady Danbury.” You answer Benedict’s inquiry after a bout of silence. “She’s spoken about her love of these gardens quite regularly, so I thought, why not have Mr. Leighton recreate it for her?”

“How will you get it to her?” He questions.

A smile pulls at the corners of your lips. “I have my ways, lest you worry about it.”

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The next few days are interesting to say the least. You’d somehow managed to get the painting delivered to Lady Danbury, and as far as Violet had been willing to speak of her latest visit with the formidable aforementioned woman, you have been made aware that she adores it.

You’d also heard more about it from Benedict, who’d mentioned something about her being at a loss for words, an ultimate shock to both him and his mother. They’d never seen her look so bewildered.

According to Eloise, Lady Danbury had been surprised to receive such a gift, especially of something so near and dear to her heart. She’d said it reminded her of her time with the Queen, telling the young Bridgerton woman about the months just after her husband had passed, when a new independent lifestyle began to bloom for her.

The painting itself reminded her that women like her could be free, and one day, they would be. That sort of metaphorical mindset had definitely appealed to Eloise’s sense of social justice. She’d been more than excited to tell you about the older woman’s reaction to your art, claiming it to be a wonderful revelation.

Today though, as you sit in the Bridgerton’s common living room, the opposite representation of said female autonomy rests in your hands. The paper feels rough against your skin as you pass it to Eloise who’s propped excitedly to the left of you. You’ve never been a fan of Lady Whistledown’s gossip column, although you can admire her unabashed confidence. But despite her strong will as an author, which could be seen as an inherently empowering trait, you are of the impression that she goes about it in an entirely backward way.

Women don’t need to put each other down to build themselves up. It accomplishes nothing, consequently acting as a source of nourishment for the patriarchy you find yourself trapped in.

“You’re not going to read it?” Eloise asks as she takes the pamphlet from you.

“I never do.” Is your instant reply.

Penelope perks up at the mention of the column, eyes trained curiously on you. If you had known better, you’d say she was a little too interested.

But at this moment you shrug it off, listening with no suspicion as she asks a simple, “Why?”

You don’t have the hindsight to understand why your stomach turns at her question, but you respond anyway. “I tend to think of Lady Whistledown as a poison.” It’s the first time you’ve voiced such an opinion.

Penelope and Eloise turn to you in surprise. “Come again?” Penelope’s soft voice cuts through.

“She is a poison.” You repeat before explaining yourself. “Do not get me wrong, I hold admiration for her bravado, but her words, the things she writes, they cause nothing but pain and conflict for those she chooses to sink her teeth into.”

“But she’s an independent woman.” Eloise interjects. “One who is doing more than any of us could dream of. She is making a name for herself!”

You try to think about your next words carefully, but your mouth makes quick work of a reply. “A name which she hides behind, casting stones through the guise and safety of anonymity.”

Penelope lets out a scoff from beside you. She’s always been one to defend the infamous gossip columnist. “At least she does not hide herself behind the mask of a man.” That feels like a shot. “The people know full well of her gender, despite her true identity remaining a secret.”

You hear the implication on her tongue. The same cannot be said for you.

And she’s not wrong. You do hide yourself behind the mask of a man. You’d never once denied that.

You sigh. “I know you must think of me as a hypocrite.”

Eloise agrees hesitantly. “Only a little.” She admits. “It’s just that you do the same as Mr. Leighton.”

You soften at her honesty. Truthfully, you understand where she’s coming from, but you can’t help the urge you feel to defend yourself.

“I disguise myself as Augutus because I know that no artist or art critic alike will take me seriously as I am. I want to share my work with the world, that is simply all I want. It’s all I have ever wanted.”

“Does that not make you a coward?” Penelope inquires, although it feels less like a question and more like an opinion. This is what she believes. And she's entitled to that.

“Perhaps.” You nod in acknowledgment. “But it has also made me uniquely successful. And I take great pride knowing that my work is highly regarded, in spite of the fact that I have to be someone else to succeed.”

“Does that ever bother you?” Eloise persists. “Knowing that no one will know you for the work you have done?”

Before you can respond, Penelope chimes in with a query of her own. “Does it ever make you feel guilty, lying as you do?” This feels like a challenge.

You turn to Eloise, answering her first. “No, I feel quite unbothered. I like the privacy it provides me.” Your gaze flicks between the two girls, a fire in your eyes as you speak.

You answer Penelope’s question next. “Guilt is one of the last feelings to cross my mind.” You feel content with it. “Because of Augustus, I have my own money, my own independence. I do not need a man to survive or to be happy. I have choices. And that's a facet of my life I never dreamed could have existed. If there is anything more empowering for a woman than that, I cannot think of it.”

Eloise listens to your words carefully, absorbing them, reveling in them. She hadn’t thought of it like that, but you’re right. Independence is a sign of true equality. And you have that. Not because of the name you hide behind, but because you’d used the insecurities of men to your advantage. You’d played the game and won.

“I suppose I have been quite short sighted.” There’s much less arrogance in her tone. Eloise sounds humbled. “You’ve given me a new perspective to think about.”

Penelope does not enjoy the direction this conversation has headed. “Surely you cannot think yourself above someone such as Lady Whistledown.”

Your face scrunches in thought. “Above?” You stipulate. “I do not think myself above anyone, gender aside. But I do think I have a much higher sense of self respect than she does.”

“And how could that possibly be?” Penelope has to bite her tongue. She wants to say more, defend herself more. But she cannot.

Eloise cuts in. “Lady Whistledown has the utmost confidence in herself. I dare say more than all the women in London combined. As much as I have come to see your side, I cannot agree with that.”

“One’s high level of confidence is of little concern here.” You deliver. “Often, in matters regarding the human condition, such as these, it can act as a detriment.” Your eyes narrow as you speak. “Self respect and self confidence can coincide, but they are not the same.”

Eloise laughs out of confusion. She’s not used to being this clueless. “I don’t understand.” She says.

“Ah,” you decide to stop tiptoeing around the subject. “I merely think that no self-respecting woman would use the pain and suffering of other women, or any other person for that matter, for their own profit and entertainment.”

Eloise’s smile drops. “Oh.” Again, she hadn’t thought of it that way. But what resonates with her most is that you’re not wrong.

“Is that what you truly think of Lady Whistledown?” Penelope’s voice is calm and collected for the first time this afternoon. It almost scares you.

“Yes.” You say, before voicing, “However, I mean no offense to either of you. I know how much you girls adore her column. I just want more for you than what she does. A life of gossip is dangerous, and you deserve so much more.”

If you had known you’d been talking to Lady Whistledown herself, maybe you would have kept those opinions to yourself. But little did you know how much your life was about to change, how dangerously you’d walked the line, and how much vengeance rests in Penelope Featherington’s soul.

Future note to self, do not play with fire if one does not wish to get burnt.

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

“(Y/n), I think you need to see this.” Benedict holds up the newest edition of London’s famous gossip column.

Your heart sinks at the look in his eyes. I’m sorry they seem to say.

You haven’t even read it and you already know it’s bad. Handing it to you, Benedict looks hesitant, almost in preparation of what's to come. As you take it from him, you glance down at the ink on the paper, her handwriting etched in your brain.

You swallow the lump in your throat as you begin to read:

Dearest Gentle Reader,

It has come to this author’s attention that a certain individual is playing an unforgivable game of deception within the world of classical art that this ton so highly regards. This artisan has gone to great lengths to keep their true identity from you, painting under a well recognized pseudonym.

By now you may have guessed, this artist is a woman. One who has tricked you and lied to you by passing her work off as that of a man’s. What a horrid crime it is to keep such a secret from you, and a desperate one, I must admit. A woman so foul as to seek such attention for her art, far too greedy to be content with the life so many of the wonderful women of the ton lead. Instead, she parades around disguising herself so she can live a life she feels entitled to.

This author asks you to consider the arrogance of it all. But the question remains, as I am sure you are desperate to uncover: who is the serpent who remains among us?

And so it is with great sorrow that I announce the once beloved Augustus Leighton is a fraud. A man never seen in the public setting, has given us a reason why. He is a woman.

And her name, ladies and gentleman of London, is (Y/n) (L/n).

As I am sure you, gentle reader, are shocked at this revelation, I will take a moment to address the woman this particular entry concerns.

May I remind you Miss (L/n), I have ears and eyes everywhere. Or did you forget? It would do you a world of good to remember that the next time you think about besmirching me. And, as I write this, I must say, this warning goes for all. Heed it, live by it, breathe by it. I am not a woman you want to cross.

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown

Panic crawls through your body. You want to cry, scream, maybe even simply die from the anxiety you’re feeling.

“What am I going to do?”

Your voice cracks, it sounds like glass breaking. Shattered, ragged, and tired, and Benedict can do nothing but hold you.

Again, as your body shakes and caves into the pressure you think, what am I going to do?

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The moment Eloise enters the room with Anthony at her side, your mind is sent ablaze. Only three people had known about Augustus. Only three people could have possibly let it slip, and you know for a fact it wasn’t Benedict.

As much as you want to believe Eloise would never do something like that to you, you can’t help but feel like she might have offhandedly mentioned it to someone. Her mouth had always worked much faster than her brain.

Benedict’s gaze meets yours in understanding. He hopes his sister hasn’t done this; he’ll be furious if she has.

You’re about to say something when a certain eldest Bridgerton catches you off guard. Anthony smiles when he sees you, eyes twinkling uncharacteristically so.

“I had no idea you could paint like that.” He says. “I must admit, I’m quite proud of you.”

You blink rapidly in confusion. Proud? In all the years you’ve known Anthony, he’s never told you he’s proud of you.

“So you’ve read the column then?” Your head hangs in shame. Everyone in London has probably read it by now.

“Everyone has.” Eloise pipes in timidly, confirming your suspicions.

She’s nervous, understandably so, fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress. You assume when you finally catch her gaze that she’ll avert it quickly, but instead, she holds it well.

We need to talk.

Benedict, reading the room perfectly, coughs in apprehension. “Brother, how about we let these ladies be for a moment? I’m certain they have some things to discuss.”

“Of course.” Anthony nods with a smile, not before reminding you how proud he is of you.

If anything good can come of this, it might just be that.

Once alone, Eloise is eager to assure you of her innocence. “I spoke to no one.” She promises. “Blood be forgotten, you’re my sister (Y/n). I would never betray you like that.”

The look on her face is one of pure panic; she needs you to believe her. And despite everything, you do. It almost makes you feel guilty that you questioned her.

“It’s alright.” You assure her. “I know you wouldn’t.”

But that only leaves one person…

“I think Penelope is Lady Whistledown.” You're taken aback by Eloise’s words, like a stab to the chest. Twisting the knife in further, she corrects, “I know she is.”

Moments of silence pass before you can collect your thoughts. “How long have you known?”

This is where Eloise loses her composure. Pure shame is etched upon her features. “I caught her a few weeks ago.”

A few weeks. A few weeks… A FEW WEEKS?

“Oh.” Your murmur is dejected and weak.

Eloise had known you’d been slandering Lady Whistledown in front of Lady Whistledown, and she’d done nothing to stop you, except defend her best friend’s honour. No wonder she’d been so reluctant to agree with you.

“I wanted to say something.” Eloise stammers. “But I couldn’t. Penelope doesn’t know that I know.”

You inhale a staggered breath of air, face falling to your palms. “I’ve been such a fool. How could I have been so stupid?”

“You have not.” The girl beside you opposes before continuing, “Trust me, I am furious with Penelope. The things she’s done and said about me, about the people I care about, I’m not sure I can forgive her for it.”

You scoff lightly. Trust her? How are you supposed to do that?

Sure, Eloise has certainly been burned by Lady Whistledown before, but she’s always had her name to fall back on. “You have no idea what it’s like, Eloise.”

“I’m sorry.” She slumps in apology, shrinking in on herself. Eloise likes to think she can understand where you’re coming from. She’s a woman, same as you, one who has the same struggles against the patriarchy, and yet, hers are much different.

“Don’t.” You dismiss her apology in frustration. It feels harsh but necessary. “You always speak about feminism and the difficulties of being a woman. How it is impossible for you to hold title and rank, or to be recognized for your accomplishments. But you are a Bridgerton Eloise, and that comes with more privilege, more title, more rank, and more acknowledgment in society than you seem to understand.”

Eloise’s brow furrows. “More often than not, that name is a burden, something you could not possibly grasp.”

“And I should not have to.” Your lips pull into a thin line. This isn’t a competition, but you feel it necessary to defend your point wholly. “I am the daughter of a servant and a seamstress. I have no money, no control, and no future if I am not to marry. Since the day I was born, I belonged to someone else. You talk of struggle, but you have no idea what it truly means.”

Eloise doesn’t like what you’re implying. “You think I live a life of luxury? That I am a stranger to the adversities life has to offer? I can assure you, I know much more about the struggles of which you speak. My mother has prepared me for the purpose of my future; finding a husband is imperative.”

“You plan to remain unmarried, correct?” You ask her seriously.

“With every fiber in my being.” Is her scathing reply. And it only serves to prove your point. But you can see her side of things too.

“El, you defy your mother with your distaste for society. And while I applaud your determination to fight for equality, your fault remains in your failure to recognize the entitlement that has been bestowed upon you simply by having that choice. Unlike so many women, you can choose to live your life as a spinster. For you, those options exist. For me, I have not one choice besides finding a well suited, at best, middle class husband, because that is all I am suited for.”

In this moment, her heart shatters for you. Is that really what you think of yourself? “You cannot possibly mean that.”

“It’s how it has to be.” You affirm.

“It’s not.” She disagrees. “There’s so much more for you than a husband.”

Both your defenses are down, walls have collapsed, and you’re starting to get through to each other. She’s starting to grasp the gravity of what this means for you. Your career is more than likely over, as is the steady source of income you’d managed to build. Except where before you’d had less than no money to your name, you now had a healthy dowry (that you’d earned no less) to find a more comfortable suitor.

Eloise sees it now. What Penelope has done is monumentally life changing.

However, as emotional as this circumstance is, you still feel the need to reach out. She’s your sister after all.

“Eloise,” your eyes search hers. They tread in a sea of empathy. “I never meant to imply you have lived a life without misfortunes. I’m not trying to diminish your hurt. But I thought if you heard my side, you might come to understand mine.”

She softens at your admission, having gotten carried away in defending herself. Nodding, she smiles gently. “I do.” She says. “And while you may not bear the Bridgerton surname, you do have us. Every Bridgerton will stand behind you, always.”

Against every fibre in your being, you believe her. Somehow you’ll always have this little family of yours, somehow you hope you’ll be okay…

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton x fem!reader #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x female reader

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ikkyfics · 1 month ago

Note

may i req a remus fic? maybe smtg angsty? like hes dating the r for a bet? i lovee u anyways, I'll devour whatever remus fics u decided to write my love

Sweet Lies

Remus Lupin x f!reader

Summary: Remus had come closer to you. He had said the right words, held your hand, kissed you with a tenderness that felt so real. But it was all a lie. All part of a stupid bet.

Warnings: angst

A/N: honey, I hope you like it and you are so sweet, saying these things that make my heart race - thank you so much <333333 I really hope this doesn't just sound like a stupid cliché

Masterlist - Consequences

Remus Lupin entered your life like a comet: unexpected, bright, and impossible to ignore. It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment when you stopped seeing him as just another quiet student from your house and began to notice the quiet strength he carried. There was something in the way he seemed to notice the details that everyone else missed—a book you liked to carry with you, the slightly frustrated tone in his voice when someone interrupted you during a heated discussion about spells. He didn’t just see you, but seemed to understand the parts of you that no one else bothered to unravel.

You had always been calmer, more reserved. In a castle full of extravagant personalities and voices echoing down stone corridors, you were the type of person who preferred to observe. But Remus changed that. Not in a grand or obvious way, but with small gestures that slowly began to dismantle the walls you had built around yourself.

“You’re always so focused here,” he commented once, sitting beside you in a quiet corner of the library. His brown eyes shone with something that seemed like genuine admiration. “It’s like the world could end outside, and you wouldn’t even notice.”

You had laughed, trying to look away, but he didn’t give you room to escape. “Maybe because the world is calmer in here,” you replied, closing the book you were reading. “There aren’t as many distractions.”

“Is that so?” His tone was curious, almost challenging. “And me? Am I a distraction?”

He was. From the first moment he pulled a chair next to you, from the first time he asked if you needed help with that complicated spell in Defense Against the Dark Arts. His presence was a constant distraction—and one you didn’t want to escape.

Now, as you both walked across the school grounds, the night air bringing with it a chill that made the sky look even more starry, Remus held your hand gently. His fingers were long and slender, marked with scars he never fully explained, but which you had learned to recognize as an essential part of him.

“Are you cold?” he asked suddenly, stopping in the middle of the path to look at you. The moonlight danced on his brown hair, tousled by the wind.

“Not really,” you lied, not wanting to break the moment.

Remus raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a smile you knew was reserved for when he was about to challenge you. “You’re not a very good liar, you know that?”

Before you could answer, he took off the scarf he was wearing and carefully wrapped it around your neck. The touch of his fingers brushing your skin made a pleasant warmth rise on your cheeks.

“All set,” he said, adjusting the scarf as if it were the most important thing in the world. “Now, no cold can get to you.”

You didn’t respond, simply pulling him by the collar of his robe, making him lean closer. Your lips met in a slow, peaceful kiss, a perfect reflection of how Remus made you feel. He was everything you didn’t know you needed: secure, warm, and a little broken, but somehow whole when he was by your side.

When you pulled away, his eyes searched yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “If I could, I’d stay here forever,” he whispered, his voice deep but soft. “Just the two of us. Nothing else matters.”

"Remus," you called, hesitantly.

He turned his head toward you, his brown eyes shining with that familiar mix of curiosity and patience. "Hm?"

"Do you think people can really change? I mean... not just change on the outside, but on the inside too?" Your question slipped out before you could stop it, and for a moment, you almost regretted saying something so vulnerable.

Remus furrowed his brow, a subtle gesture you had learned to recognize as a sign that he was thinking deeply. "I think so," he replied carefully. "But it’s not easy. Changing means facing parts of yourself you’d rather ignore. And not everyone is willing to do that."

You looked at him, noticing how the moonlight seemed to soften the lines of his face, making him almost ethereal. There was something comforting in the way he spoke, as if he understood things that no one else could.

"I’m asking because..." You paused, the hesitation tightening around your throat. Part of you wanted to pull back, keep what you were about to say hidden, like you always had. But his presence had a way of making you feel safe, as if nothing could hurt you while he was by your side. "Because sometimes, I feel like I’m... not enough. Like I’ll never be good enough for anyone."

His eyes met hers with an intensity that was almost unbearable. "Why do you think that?"

You shrugged, trying to keep a light tone that contradicted the pain in your words. "I don’t know. Maybe because I’ve never been the one people choose. I’m... comfortable, but not memorable."

The silence that followed your words wasn’t empty. It was heavy, filled with something you couldn’t name. Remus squeezed your hand, and when he finally spoke, his voice carried an emotion you hadn’t expected.

"That’s not true," he said, almost in a whisper. "You’re so much more than you think you are. And if other people can’t see that, the problem is theirs, not yours."

The warmth in his words warmed something inside you, something that had long seemed dormant. You looked at him, searching for a clue in his brown eyes that always seemed to be full of secrets. He knew how to say the right things, but there was something in that response—a hesitation, a slight tremor in his voice—as if he carried an invisible weight.

"Do you really think that?" you asked, your voice filled with a vulnerability that was hard to admit.

Remus hesitated, just for a moment. It was such a small gesture that, if you weren’t paying attention, it could’ve gone unnoticed. But you did. The pause was brief, but enough for something inside you, something very small, to stir.

"I do," he finally replied, his voice firm now, as if he wanted to bury any doubt that might have arisen. "You’re incredible. And I want you to know that."

You believed him. There was no way to doubt him when he said things in that deep, conviction-filled tone. So, you let the moment pass, preferring the security of the present to questioning what might have caused his hesitation.

When he leaned in toward you again, pressing his lips to yours, you allowed yourself to believe that this was all that mattered. The kiss was calm, unhurried, but filled with something you couldn’t name. Maybe a silent promise.

The next few days passed like a dream for you. Everything seemed to align in almost a magical way. Remus was always around, with that soft smile and the eyes that seemed to see straight into your soul. He had a way of making even the simplest moments—like studying in the library or walking through the halls of Hogwarts—feel special.

You couldn’t help the smile that appeared whenever you thought of him. He made you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered, like everything around you could fall apart, and yet you’d be safe as long as you were with him.

That afternoon, you were leaving the charms classroom when you heard familiar voices coming from a nearby corridor. The sound of laughter was the first thing that caught your attention, followed by the unmistakable tone of Sirius Black.

"You have to admit, Moony, it was brilliant," Sirius was saying, his voice full of amusement.

"I don’t know if brilliant is the right word," Remus replied, but there was a light tone to his voice, as if he was trying to hide something.

Curious and with a smile on your face, you made your way toward the voices. It was always nice to see Remus with his friends. He seemed so at ease with them, so different from the introspective Remus you knew. And you liked Sirius—he had that easy charm that made you laugh even when you didn’t want to.

But when you got close enough to see them, you stopped. They were facing away from you, meaning they hadn’t noticed your presence. Remus was leaning against a wall, arms crossed, while Sirius gestured animatedly.

"I still can’t believe you pulled it off," Sirius continued, laughing. "You know, of all of us, I thought you’d be the last to take a bet like that."

The smile on your face froze.

Remus sighed, looking uncomfortable. "It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Sirius."

"But it was, and it worked," Sirius insisted. "Thanks to you, Prongs finally got what he wanted. Lily agreed to go out with him. All because you got our friend here to think you were interested."

You couldn’t move. It was as if the ground had disappeared beneath your feet.

"I..." Remus hesitated, and for the first time, his voice sounded heavy. "It’s not that simple, Sirius. She... she trusts me. I didn’t want it to be like this."

"But it was," Sirius repeated, now with less enthusiasm. "And don’t tell me you didn’t know from the start that this was a bet. You agreed, Remus. And now... well, you know it’s not going to last forever."

You wanted to say something. You wanted to shout, cry, demand an explanation. But the words were stuck in your throat. Everything around you seemed to spin. The air was cold, but it felt like you were suffocating.

Remus had come closer to you. He had said the right words, held your hand, kissed you with a tenderness that felt so real. But it was all a lie. All part of a stupid bet.

Without realizing it, you took a step back, and the sound of your movement echoed down the corridor. They both turned immediately, and the expression on Remus’s face when he saw you was enough to break your heart.

"You heard," he whispered, his voice full of something that seemed like regret.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t trust your own voice. All you could do was look at him, your eyes filled with tears you refused to shed there, in front of them. The air felt heavy, almost suffocating, and the pain in your chest was so intense it felt impossible to stay there for another second. So, you turned away, without saying a word, and began to walk, your steps quick and awkward, desperately trying to put distance between you.

"Wait!" Remus’s voice echoed down the corridor, full of urgency.

You didn’t stop. Not for a second. The tears burned in your eyes, threatening to fall, but you blinked furiously, determined not to let him see how much he had hurt you.

"Please, just... listen to me!" Remus insisted, now closer. You could hear the sound of his footsteps, hurried, as he tried to catch up with you.

"Leave me alone, Remus!" Your voice came out louder than you intended, broken by the knot in your throat. But you didn’t care. All you wanted was to disappear, to flee from that nightmare that seemed to be sucking the air from your lungs.

But he didn’t give up. Before you could take another step, you felt his hand grabbing your arm. The touch was firm, but not aggressive, as if he were afraid of hurting you even more.

"Please, listen to me," he pleaded, his voice low now, almost begging.

You turned toward him with a sharp movement, pulling your arm from his touch. "Listen to me?!" Your voice trembled, filled with hurt and disbelief. "What else can you say, Remus? That it was all a bet? That I was just a joke to you and your friends?!"

He shook his head so forcefully that his brown hair fell over his eyes. "It’s not like that, I swear! It wasn’t supposed to be like this..."

"It wasn’t supposed to be like this?!" You took a step back, as if his proximity was too much to bear. "Then tell me, how exactly was it supposed to be, Remus?!"

He opened his mouth, but no words came out. His silence was like a direct blow to your chest. You saw the conflict in his eyes, the pain, the guilt... but also the truth.

"It was real," he finally said, his voice hoarse, almost inaudible. "What I feel for you... it’s real. I know I messed everything up, but I need you to know that."

You laughed, but the sound was empty, almost cruel. "Real? You think that matters now? After everything? You got close to me to help James get a date with Lily, Remus. You used me. How... how can you say that’s real?"

He took a step toward you, his eyes pleading. "I know it seems unforgivable, but please, believe me. I never meant to hurt you. I... I don’t even know when I started feeling this for you. But I do. I feel it so much it hurts."

"Well, congratulations," you shot back, your voice heavy with sarcasm and pain. "At least we’re on the same page. Because it hurts, Remus. It hurts so much that I can barely breathe. And you’re the reason for it."

The words came out before you could think, but they were true. He looked at you as if every syllable had been a blade. "I just wanted a chance to explain..."

"There’s nothing to explain," you interrupted, your voice quieter now, almost a whisper. "You’ve already said everything you needed. And I... I was foolish enough to believe in you."

You didn’t wait to see his reaction. Turning, you ran, ignoring his calls behind you. The tears finally fell, a cascade of pain you couldn’t contain any longer. And as you ran, you realized that no matter how fast your feet moved, there was no escaping the feeling of having entrusted your heart to someone who shattered it.

The following days were a blur of pain and emptiness. You felt like you were moving through life as a shadow of yourself, desperately trying to rebuild the walls you had torn down for him. Every brick you laid felt too heavy, as if the hurt and betrayal had drained all your strength.

Avoiding Remus was harder than you’d like. Hogwarts suddenly felt too small, with hallways that always seemed to lead him to you. But you refused to look into his eyes, to give any sign that he still had power over you. It was always the same: turn into another hallway, enter an empty room, or simply lower your head and keep walking.

You felt his gaze on you sometimes. Not insistently, but present. Like a shadow. He didn’t confront you directly, didn’t call your name out loud, but you knew he was there, at a distance, trying to find a moment when you weren’t so broken.

But you weren’t ready. Maybe you never would be.

Remus, on the other hand, seemed more worn out with each passing day. He clung to the routine like a man adrift, trying not to drown in the sea of guilt that consumed him. He knew he had no right to approach you, not after what he had done. But he also knew he couldn’t just leave things as they were.

He tried a few times, hesitantly, to approach you in the hallways. "Please, just a minute..." he had started on one occasion, but the way you ignored him, as if he didn’t exist, was worse than any response.

Other times, he simply watched from afar, waiting for a sign, anything that might indicate that you were willing to listen to him. But nothing came.

He threw himself into his studies, trying to find a distraction, but even that was useless. The words in the books seemed to dance, and he couldn’t focus for more than a few minutes. Every time he closed his eyes, the memory of how it all started haunted him, cruel and relentless.

James had presented the idea casually, almost as a joke. "If you get close to her, Remus, I swear Lily will go out with me. She said she’d only agree when our grumpy friend finally had a boyfriend."

Remus remembered Sirius laughing when he heard the plan, how he had crossed his arms and commented on how impossible it would be to win you over. "She’s not the type to fall for tricks, Prongs."

But James, with that confident smile and unshakable determination, insisted. And Remus, for reasons he didn’t even fully understand at the time, agreed. Maybe it was James’s persistence, or the need to help his friend get what he wanted so badly. Maybe it was curiosity. Or maybe, deep down, he already knew there was something about you that intrigued him.

At first, that was all it was. A simple, almost harmless plan. He would get closer, gain your trust, and then James would have his chance with Lily. But nothing went as he expected.

You were different. From the very beginning, Remus realized there was something about you he couldn’t ignore. The way you spoke, with a calm tone but filled with passion for what mattered to you. The way you laughed, a sound that seemed to light up any room, even though it was rare. The way you looked at him, as if you saw beyond the scars and the calm facade he tried to maintain.

He started with small gestures: sitting next to you in class, starting casual conversations in the hallways. And every time you smiled at him, something inside him melted. He liked being the cause of that smile. He liked hearing you laugh, seeing your face soften when he made some silly comment to ease the tension.

And then came the kiss.

Remus would never forget that moment. He didn’t know exactly how it happened—maybe it was the way you looked at him that afternoon, the sun setting and bathing your face in golden tones, or maybe it was the way your soft laugh filled the silence between you. But he knew he couldn’t resist anymore.

When your lips met his, it was as if the world had stopped. There was no bet, no guilt, nothing but you. He felt his hand tremble slightly as it touched your face, but when you returned the kiss, when your fingers found their way into his hair, Remus knew that was the best moment of his life.

And that was why he couldn’t confess.

Every time he thought about telling you the truth, the fear paralyzed him. He knew he had started it all for the wrong reasons, that he had lied to you, but now... now you were the most important thing to him. He didn’t want to lose you. He couldn’t lose you.

But the weight of the guilt was unbearable. Every smile you gave him, he felt the knot tightening in his throat. Every intimate moment, he hated himself a little more. He wanted to believe that what you had was strong enough to survive the truth, but a part of him knew that the revelation would destroy everything.

And now, as he walked through the empty hallways of Hogwarts, trying not to think about the sound of your broken voice, Remus knew he had made the wrong choice. He should have been honest. He should have told you everything before it was too late.

But he didn’t. And now, he didn’t know how to fix what he had broken.

The reunion happened days later, at the end of a quiet hallway near the library. You had gone there to find a moment of peace, away from curious glances and whispers that seemed to follow you wherever you went. But, as if the universe insisted on testing your strength, he was there.

Remus was leaning against the wall, his face marked by exhaustion, his brown eyes fixed on the floor as if carrying the weight of the world. When he heard your footsteps, he lifted his gaze, and the air seemed to vanish from the space.

"I... I didn't know if I should be here," he started, his voice rough, as if he had rehearsed those words a million times and still didn’t know how to say them. "But I needed to see you."

"Why?" Your voice was cold, distant, but inside, everything was in ruins. "What more could you possibly say, Remus? What’s left to explain?"

He took a step towards you, but stopped when he saw the way you instinctively stepped back. The pain on his face was almost tangible, but it was nothing compared to what you felt.

"I know I messed everything up," he said, his voice breaking. "And I know it's selfish of me to want to talk to you after everything. But I can’t... I can’t just let you go without trying, without telling you how much you mean to me."

"Mean to you?" You repeated, laughing without humor. "Remus, I was a bet. I was just a means to an end. And now you want to tell me I mean something?"

He shook his head, his eyes pleading for understanding. "It wasn’t like that... it’s not like that. Yes, in the beginning, it was because of James. But from the moment I truly got to know you, everything changed. You changed everything. I know this doesn’t erase what I did, but... I love you."

"Don’t say that," you whispered, your voice trembling. "Don’t make this harder than it already is."

"But it’s true!" He took another step, and this time you didn’t back away, even though you wanted to. "I love you. I loved you from the moment I realized you were different from anyone I’ve ever met. From the moment you let me into your life, even when I didn’t deserve it."

You stared at him, your heart racing, and the pain you had tried to suppress overflowed. "And that’s what makes it worse, Remus. Because, despite everything, despite the lie, despite the betrayal..." Your voice faltered, but you gathered all the courage you still had to say the words you feared the most. "I still love you."

The silence that followed was deafening. Remus seemed to freeze, his eyes wide as he absorbed your words.

"You have no idea how much this hurts," you continued, your voice barely a whisper. "I love you, Remus. And that’s what’s destroying me, because I know I can’t trust you. I know that every time I look at you, I’ll remember that it all started with a lie. And I don’t know how to deal with that."

"I didn’t want to hurt you," he said, his voice filled with desperation. "If I could go back in time, if I could change anything, it would be this. I never would have been part of that bet. I would have gotten to know you for you, not because of James’s stupid plan."

You laughed, but it was an empty sound, devoid of joy. "That doesn’t change anything. You made a choice, Remus. And now we both have to live with the consequences."

He approached slowly, as if every step was a silent plea. "Then tell me what I can do. How can I fix this? Because I can’t imagine my life without you."

"There’s no fixing it." Your voice was firm, even as your heart seemed to shatter. "Some things, Remus, can’t be repaired. Some things just break, and all we can do is accept it."

For a moment, you stood in silence, the world around you fading as you looked at him, trying to memorize that moment. Because you knew it would be the last.

"I wish things were different," you finally said, your voice so low you could barely hear it. "But they’re not. Please, just... go away."

His gaze shattered, and for a moment, he looked as if he was about to say something more. But then he simply nodded, the heavy silence settling between you before he turned away, his footsteps echoing through the empty hallway.

You waited until he disappeared before letting the first sob escape, as painful as the feeling inside you.

#remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #no use of y/n #remus j lupin #remus john lupin fanfiction #remus john lupin #remus x reader #remus x you #remus x y/n #writers on tumblr #ao3 writer #fanfiction #angst #angst ending #writing #marauders era

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shlonguru · 1 year ago

Note

Can we get one of Alastor fucking you in his radio booth and broadcasting it to fuck with Vox~ pretty please with a cherry on top💕

God thank you so much for your request and this idea, it really inspired me so much and I might do even more with this cause I find it inherently hot hehe. I'm so happy so many people enjoyed the first part of Alastor x Fem!Reader x Vox and I'm a degenerate so I wrote a second. I hope you guys like it too! Enjoy my fellow degenerates! o/

I would also like to thank @wipmoop for their amazing art cover for this smut! They're truly the best you can check them out !

And with this, I present you, drumroll please :

Alastor X Fem!Reader X Vox 2 - Rematch !

Summary : You're tired of waiting for your rematch and decide to take things into your own hands. Are you ready to face the consequences of your actions ?

Warning : 18+, Smut, dirty talking, oral, oral creampie, creampie, threesome, cum swallowing, praise kink, teasing, overstimulation, rough, cunnilingus, hair pulling, bondage, spanking.

Word Count : 4883 words (Yup, it's worse than the first one.)

After the events of the party Alastor brought you back to the hotel, explaining to Charlie that you might’ve hmm…had more than you could handle. She was delighted at the idea of you residing at the hotel and extended an unlimited invitation to you. You had your own room and actually enjoyed the people there more than you thought you would. You thought you’d give redemption a shot. However, you had been dreaming of your rematch with Vox and Alastor and it occupied most of your daily thoughts, as much as you hated to admit it.

It had been 2 weeks since you moved in and you hadn’t really been seeing Alastor since the party, he was a busy man after all, he was usually very polite when he saw you and would give you a hand kiss or wink at you. You hadn’t seen Vox at all since the party, but it wasn’t too surprising. Slowly, you started realizing that you were okay with what happened being a one-off thing.

This day you had just finished exercises with everyone and was chilling having some tea when Charlie exclaimed: “Oh Alastor is hosting his radio show! We should bring him some tea! Where’s Niffty? She’d be super-fast.” She looked around unable to find her.”

“She was chasing a family of roaches last time I saw her.” You explained drinking your tea. “I can bring him if you want.” You offered, not thinking much of it, but knowing the idea of seeing Alastor brought a slight smile to your face.

“Really?” Asked Charlie with sparks in her eyes. “That is such a selfless act I love it!”

“Is it?” You questioned. She nodded furiously before handing you a tray with a cup of tea, some milk, sugar, and some biscuits on it.

You left the group and started making your way to the radio tower. As you approached it you heard the demon speaking into his mic.

“And that my fellows, is why you should never trust a demon whose name starts with a V. I will return in a moment, enjoy this musical break of electro swing.”

You arrived in front of the door and knocked.

“Come in.” You heard.

You entered the room to find Alastor sitting in front of his station, his legs crossed.

“Oh, Hello Dear!” He exclaimed seeing it was you at the door.

“Hi! Charlie asked me to bring you some tea. How’s your show going?” You smiled as you entered the room. Alastor looked at you intensely as you walked past him, his smile as wide as ever, you could feel his gaze on your body, you were wearing a short red dress hugging your shape and flared at the bottom and a pair of black thigh highs. You sat the tray on the coffee table he had next to him and poured him a cup of tea.

“The show is going as well as it needs to be.” He replied coldly, pausing afterwards. “But more importantly, this dress suits you very well, I don’t think I’ve seen you in a dress since that night at the party.” He proclaimed calmly.

Your face flushed lightly and he noticed. He hadn’t talked about the party since that night and the simple mention of it sent back embarrassing flashbacks to your mind. Not that you regretted it.

“Oh really? I hadn’t noticed. This is more casual though.” You replied, not looking him in the eyes.

“Is it now Dear?” Asked the demon searching for your gaze then looking you from the bottom up.

“I'm glad you like it." You teased then presented the cup in front of him and thought you noticed a quick glance at your cleavage.

This was enough for you to decide that you had done progress at the hotel and that meant you deserved a little reward, and if you were honest with yourself, you had missed Alastor and Vox’s touch since that night, after all, they had given you a night you could never forget as promised. You had been a good girl but now it was time to drop the act.

You lingered giving him a good look. You then asked innocently: “Is there anything I can do to help?”

He took a good look at you, almost as if he was trying to gauge your intentions. “Actually, I do, would you grab me the mic from the shelf over there.”

“Sure!” You replied smiling. You made your way to the shelf and pretended to struggle to grab the mic which fell to the floor and rolled under the shelf. You then got on all fours and bent over trying to grab it, almost exposing your parts. After grabbing it you stood back up and turned around only to be met with Alastor smiling widely, leaning on the counter of his studio.

“Are you doing okay, Dear?” He grinned tauntingly before taking a sip.

“I don’t know, am I? Here’s your mic.” You handed him the mic. He put down his cup of tea and grabbed the mic slowly, not breaking eye contact with you. He then proceeded to pull swiftly on it, bringing you with it as you hadn’t let go yet. Your body ended up pressed against his.

“You know if you had been craving my attention this badly you should have mentioned it sooner.” He exclaimed looking deep into your eyes.

“Did I crave your attention, or did you miss giving it to me?” You asked smugly smirking back.

“Oh, I can give it to you alright.” He smiled wider, his mouth an inch from yours.

“Do it then.” You smiled back, holding the fold of his jacket.

You felt his lips crash onto yours, the both of you dropping the mic simultaneously. He grabbed your hips tightly pulling you into the kiss, kissing you even deeper as he moved one hand behind your neck. He then lowered his hands to your ass before grabbing both of your cheeks tightly, pulling you off the ground, you legs locking around him instinctively. He turned around, still kissing you while holding your weightless body and sat you on the edge of the counter of his studio. He grabbed both of your wrists and laid you on your back, pinning your hands above your head. He then proceeded to kiss down your neck and onto your cleavage.

“Coming here dressed this way was your mistake.” He smirked.

“Debatable.” You smirked back.

He kept both of your hands pinned together with one of his and took a good look of your flushed, panting, and eager body. While scanning down your body he noticed something that made his eyes widen slightly before he went back to looking into your eyes with a devious smile. His second hand travelled down your body making you realize how sensitive you felt already.

“You might not have missed my attention but this part of you certainly has.” His hand then rubbed against your womanhood, making you realize just how soaked you were already as you squirmed.

“Listen Dear,” he looked at you, still rubbing your pussy, “I’m going to let go of your hands, but you may not touch anything but yourself with them.” He then let go of your hands and pussy before bending over you, resting both of his hands on each side of your head.

“Understood?” He menacingly whispered with a very serious grin.

You nodded.

“Good girl. And be sure to make all of hell know how good you’re feeling.” He smiled before removing his jacket which he threw on his couch.

“Wha-“ You were about to question but then saw him casually turn on the mic of his station. The sign [On Air] turning bright red confirming what you thought.

Alastor then proceeded to kneel in front of you and pull you closer, to the edge of the counter, he then ripped your panties in one movement and started digging in.

You immediately felt his tongue dig deep inside of you, earning a loud moan out of you as he spread your walls. The moans kept pouring as he enthusiastically ate you out, alternating between the inside and the outside of your pussy that he was eating like the first meal he’d had in days. He kept moving his tongue in motions that sent jolts up and down your body.

Before you realized, your hands had made their way into Alastor’s hair, pulling slightly as the pleasure intensified. You only noticed when the pleasure stopped. You looked down, confused, and immediately realized your mistake, letting go of his hair, as the tall demon stood back on his feet, looking at you calmly, which somehow made it scarier.

“Didn’t we agree on you touching nothing but yourself? See not only have you not touched yourself, but you’ve also touched me, and I am not part of you, yet.” He said menacingly.

“Sorry…” You muttered.

“Too late Darling, I’m afraid bad girls need to be disciplined.”

You stared at him as you witnessed him calmly removing his bowtie then grabbing both of your wrists once again, this time tying them together, in a very tight fashion.

“Good.” He exclaimed proud of his work.

And with that he resumed eating you out, this time more aggressively. You felt your walls tighten as he attacked them relentlessly, grabbing your thighs with both of his hands. Your moans were getting louder and louder as his name poured continuously out of your mouth until you felt the knot that had been building up break and the orgasm wash over your body, making your legs shake in the process.

“Holy shit…” You blurted, panting hard as you watched Alastor stand up and give you a quick kiss.

“See, you know how to be a good girl.” He whispered in your ear before licking your ear lobe. You felt his throbbing crotch press against yours.

Before any of you could add anything, you saw a glowing blue circle draw itself around the both of you.

“What is th-“ You couldn’t finish your sentence as you felt yourself fall down through what had now obviously been a portal. The radio demon fell with you, though in a much classier and composed manner, almost as if he knew it was coming.

You felt yourself land on something soft and looked around. It was a very large bed. Alastor had landed comfortably on his feet next to the bed.

“Took him long enough…” He huffed.

You scanned the room; it was very large and luxurious, like a palace. It was a giant bedroom with huge French windows, and tall wooden doors at its entrance. As soon as you laid your eyes on said doors they opened violently.

“The fuck is wrong with you !?” Yelled the handsome tall demon entering the room. It was a very furious Vox. Seeing him furious made you immediately crave him.

“Well, hello to you too.” Smiled Alastor, still in the same relaxed position.

“Why would you broadcast her for all of hell to listen to? Have you lost your mind?” He screamed unable to compose himself.

“I only did so long enough for you to notice.” He mentioned “And if you were so bothered by it, then maybe you should have noticed sooner.” He smiled wider.

“What a dumbass.” Vox walked past Alastor and arrived in front of you. He smiled for the first time.

“Long time no see y/n !” He leaned in front of you making you blush as you took a good look at his handsome figure.

“Hi Vox! I’ve missed you!” You smiled with your face still flushed from your orgasm. He held your chin up gently.

“Fuck I really missed that hot face of yours, I’m sorry you were stuck with such an ungrateful prick for so long, I knew you should’ve moved into my place instead. You’ve clearly gone way too long without getting some well-deserved action, which would have never happened here by the way.” He said that last part louder on purpose. He looked down for a second. “Dear, you are making my sheets wet already, did you really miss me that much?” He smiled looking at your exposed parts, dripping onto the bed.

“We could have settled on a date to have our rematch instead of you exposing her to every lowlife that would listen.” He turned to Alastor.

“Our dear friend couldn’t wait any longer and well I guess I had to take matters into my own hands.” He said innocently.

“You’re such a piece of shit.” Proclaimed Vox with a wide grin on his face, briefly glitching. “I see you’re unable to try and beat me without a head start you radio bastard.”

“It’s not like I was doing anything you could do anyways, Mr. Flat-screen-no-tongue.” The redhead smirked.

“Oh really?” He glitched lightly. “Sit back, relax and shut the fuck up.”

He turned to you, and away from Alastor.

“Y/n! Time to get that rematch baby! Get your ass on the edge of that bed and spread those legs for me!”

Your body moved on its own at this command, and you managed to sit up at the edge of the bed despite your wrists still tied together and sat with your thighs spread open, revealing your most intimate part which couldn’t lie about how much you wanted this. Vox looked at you intensely, taking in the sight he had missed more than he thought he had and bent over resting one hand on his knee, the other holding the bowtie tying your wrists together with a finger.

“Has someone been a bad girl~?” He teased.

“That’s entirely possible.” You smirked back. You could tell from his face he liked that. He let go of your wrists and grabbed both of your thighs tightly, making you lose your balance and fall back onto the bed. The next instant, you sensed something that felt like a tongue slide inside your pussy. It sent immediate literal jolts up your body, earning a loud moan out of you that surprised even you. You came a little from that but didnt say anything, you moved your head, looking at what was going on down there and saw a big blue tongue, sliding out of Vox’s screen and eating out your deepest parts.

“Oh wow!” You exclaimed not knowing what to make of the mix of intense pleasure, surprise and shock you were feeling. A quick glance behind Vox and you saw Alastor roll his eyes unbothered having a cup of tea on the sofa not too far. You didn’t have time to really process anything as the TV demon kept eating you out aggressively, making your orgasm come sooner than you would have expected. You had absolutely no control over how fast it was building up, you just felt it snap and felt yourself come, arching your back embracing the wave of pleasure, grabbing your dress tightly as you did so.

You felt the tongue pull out of you and giving your whole pussy a good lick before Vox stood back up, wiping his face with a satisfied look on his it.

“Fuck you’re so hot when you come.” He blurted trying to keep his composure, but you could already see his member throbbing through his pants.

“Are you done with your ridiculous endeavor? An attempt to prove what exactly?” Exclaimed Alastor in a tone he tried to portray as nonchalant, but everyone else could tell he was ticked off. “Can’t you see she comes so easily you could barely even consider it a challenge.”

That statement pissed you off because as much as you were enjoying yourself you didn’t like being underestimated.

“I had no idea my enjoying myself would make you this insecure?” You responded smirking in your brattiest tone.

“Oh, I like you more and more.” Said Vox raising his brows and smiling at you.

You could swear you noticed an eye twitch on Alastor.

“You brat…clearly if you’re still feeling this confident then we haven’t gone hard enough on you.” He declared with a wicked smile scaring you as much as it turned you on. Alastor teleported onto the bed next to you, grabbed your hair firmly into a ponytail and pulled you further into the large bed, leaving you no choice but to follow him on your knees before pulling your face close to his. Your tied hands were hanging down in front of you as you looked up at the radio demon. “I guess we’ll have to fix that.” He kissed you deeply shoving his tongue in your mouth making your head spin. He pulled away from the kiss for a second.

“Sorry Dear, I am but a terrible spectator.” He went back into the kiss making you dizzy as he pulled down the top of your dress making your breasts bounce out of it. He grabbed one of your tit with his free hand, pinching your nipple and making you whine softly.

"Now you’re going to use all that confidence you were so proud of just seconds ago and you’re going to take it all in.” He let go of you and you fell on all fours, now facing his crotch. You took a good look and immediately noticed how tight his pants looked around his cock, it almost looked painful. With your tied wrists you unzipped his pants, pulling out your reward.

‘Was it this big last time?’ you thought to yourself. A slight look of surprise covering your face for a brief instant.

“Yes, it was.” Replied the radio demon, as if he had read your mind. “You were just too eager to notice.” He finished. You blushed heavily before giving your best shot at taking as much of his member as you could in your mouth, it amounted to about 2/3 of his manhood.

“Not quite, Dear, here, let me give you a hand.” He chuckled before shoving your face down his member, lodging it all the way down your throat. You couldn’t breathe but it still felt good, you pussy was quivering and dripping, and Vox noticed.

“Damn, look at your cunt, don’t worry I gotchu.” You heard Vox who was right behind you and the moment after felt him give your ass a hard spank. That made you moan loudly, and you knew Alastor felt it when you heard a groan coming from him, you looked up only to be met with an intense and serious gaze filled with lust coming from the radio demon. His hands were both in your hair, guiding your mouth up and down, enjoying himself.

Vox stood right behind you, and you heard his pants unzip. Immediately after, you felt one of his hands rest on your hips and the tip of his cock rub against your entrance teasingly.

“Have you missed that?” He asked, lust exuding off his tone. After a few seconds of his teasing, you wanted to beg for him to insert it but you mouth was too full for that.

“Come on…” He teased, knowing he put you in an impossible position.

In one motion you pulled your mouth off Alastor’s cock and pleaded loudly. “Vox please I need your cock in me!” You looked at him with a lewd look on your face .

Seeing you in that state made him blush briefly before he composed himself again.

“Fucking finally! You’re so fucking hot!” He groaned loudly pushing all of him inside of you in one go making you scream of pleasure in the process. You immediately felt Alastor grab your hair in the same fashion he had moments ago, pulling your face close and squinting.

“Let’s not get distracted now, shall we?” He demanded sternly.

Vox felt you tighten around him as you heard those words, pulling an involuntary moan out of him.

“You naughty girl, you’re loving this aren’t you?” He spanked roughly you before starting to thrust at a rather fast pace.

“Obviously.” Declared Alastor smiling before shoving your face back onto his cock. He was the one thrusting now, in fact, they both were and soon enough, you felt that coil build up once again in your insides. Your eyes rolled back as you felt the knot snap.

Vox felt you tighten almost uncomfortably around his member as you came. He grabbed both of our ass cheeks tightly.

“That’s right, come for me!” He groaned throwing his head back and fucking you through your climax, holding your ass tightly then spanking it.

You had just finished coming when you felt Alastor pull out of your mouth. You exhaled loudly catching your breath.

“Good job not suffocating, here’s your reward.” Said Alastor grabbing your panting figure, pulling you off Vox and propping you onto his cock as he stood on his knees, you were still panting but it was now intertwined with moans as he effortlessly moved you up and down his member. You moved your tied up wrists over his head, wrapping your arms around his neck and grabbing it gently, you kissed him softly yet longingly as the moans continuously flooded out of your mouth. You felt his member grow thicker inside of you, as expressed by your moans becoming louder. Your kiss was interrupted by the TV overlord who grabbed your chin, turning your face away from the radio demon.

“Now you can’t just give all your holes away so easily my dear.” He said calmly standing bent over next to you.

“My apologies.” You replied looking up into his eyes.

“You’re forgiven.” He added with a smooth voice before you felt his lips meet yours. You were surprised at how soft they felt, and you had just found out he could do such a thing. He probably didn’t do it every day, but he was such a good kisser, you were dazzled by the kiss before he pulled out of it.

“Now open up dove, we’re not done just yet.” He grinned.

He hadn’t finished his sentence that you had opened your mouth, eagerly awaiting him.

“My god you’re such a good little slut.” He laughed not able to contain himself any longer, he pushed himself deep into your mouth and moaned loudly as he did so, you started moving your head swallowing his member to the base each time.

You hadn’t noticed because of how gradual it had been, but Alastor was now moving much faster than how he had started, hitting your deepest parts each time.

“Are you going to come again and prove me right?” Alastor smirked at you, pausing his thrusting for a moment and spanking your ass roughly. You moaned loudly around Vox’s cock and stopped moving as he immediately grabbed your head and kept the thrusting going.

“Nuh uh, you can’t stop yet.” The TV demon said as he kept pumping in and out of your mouth.

You looked at Alastor from the corner of your eye.

“What is it sweetheart? The TV got your tongue?” He spanked you again this time harder. Your pussy tightened around him, and he felt it, making his grin widen even more.

You looked at him trying your hardest to stay in control.

“Aww you still think you can decide whether you come or not. How adorable…I guess it’s time I teach you this lesson.” He squinted his eyes challengingly before he spanked you one last time, harder than all the other time, this time immediately grabbing both of your ass cheeks very firmly, not breaking eye contact with you.

“I…” He slammed you against his cock. “…decide…” He slammed harder. “…if…” He slammed even harder, digging his nails into your ass. “…and when…” He slammed hard and you felt yourself dangerously close to the edge. “…you come!” He grinned, slamming one last time harder than you had ever felt him thrust in you and he saw your eyes roll back as your pussy started pulsating around his cock. You moaned loudly around Vox’s cock, who pulled out just in time to hear it aloud. You were panting hard, your whole body going limp.

Vox grabbed your face and pressed your cheeks together bringing his face close to yours. “You’ll relax soon enough bitch, but we’re not done yet.” He then proceeded to grab you off Alastor and prop you once again on all fours. You were wobbly at best. “Come on are you already exhausted? After all this big talk?” He spanked you now red ass making you whine. You moaned softly and looked at him with pleading eyes. Your legs felt weak from all this thrusting and climaxing, and he could tell. He let out a soft sigh.

“Here. Let me give you a hand.” He grabbed one of your legs and propped it on his shoulder. “Now you’re going to take it like a good girl?” He looked at you his eyes focusing intensely on you.

“Yes, Sir.” You pleaded. As soon as he heard those words coming out of your mouth he felt an irrepressible urge to take you and you felt all of him enter you once more, at this point your pussy being overstimulated felt so sensitive everything felt ten times more intense. You moaned loudly while your tongue hung out of your mouth, and you gripped the sheets tightly as Vox started thrusting more roughly than he previously had.

Alastor, seeing your tongue hanging and your mouth open, took this opportunity to push himself inside your mouth and started thrusting.

“Enjoy your own taste dear, because you’re about to taste me.” He declared with a sadistic gaze on his now flushed face. You loved seeing the evolution of his boldness as lust took over.

“Shit you’re so fucking tight!” Vox thrusted hard, gritting his teeth, and digging his nails into your thigh, pulling it close against his chest as he lost himself in pleasure, his movement becoming more erratic as he glitched and he brought himself closer to the final release, nevertheless, he never failed to hit your G-spot with each thrust. You felt it coming, despite your best efforts, they both felt you tense up more and more. You still did a great job wrapping your tongue around the radio demon’s shaft, you heard his breath get shakier as he maintained composure fucking your mouth, one hand under your chin and the other in your hair.

You felt the knot about to snap as you hear them both declare as one:

“Are you ready?”

They both thrusted deep in you one last time, releasing simultaneously, filling you up from both sides as you came one last time, almost seeing stars at this point.

Alastor let out the closest thing to a moan as he emptied himself directly down your throat tightening around his member, slowly pulling himself out afterwards and enjoying the sight of your dazed expression.

“Good job.” He patted your cheek smiling and slightly panting, much more relaxed than a few moments ago.

Vox pulled out next and you immediately collapsed onto the bed, cum flowing out of you.

“Holy shit you felt so fucking good!” Vox also felt all sorts of dizzy after his orgasm. He quickly got a grip and they both grabbed what was necessary to clean you up, laying you down comfortably after Alastor removed his bowtie from your sore wrists and Vox handed you one of his shirts to wear.

You were fast asleep and woke up probably a few hours later to both of them having tea in the corner of the room.

“Oh, shut the fuck up, you can’t talk your way into being better in bed, she literally blacked out after I made her come, that’s how good it was.” Expressed Vox with frustration.

“Maybe that or you were just so boring she fell asleep.” Replied Alastor calmly sipping his tea.

“Fuck off, weren’t you facefucking her as well? Wouldn’t that make you boring by extension?” He proclaimed, anger taking over his tone.

Alastor ignored him. You moved in the bed making it creak and earning their attention.

“Oh, looks like our friend has finally awaken from her great slumber.” Announced the radio demon.

They both arrived by your side as you fully came to.

“Hello beautiful.” Exclaimed Vox, with his usual smile and composure. “How are we doing?”

“Well!” You replied attempting to stretch then realizing how sore your whole body felt. “Never mind.” You added.

They both smiled with a satisfied look on their face, almost as if admiring their work.

“Yeah, you need to rest. Next time try not to bite off more than you can chew sweetheart.” Declared Vox with Alastor nodding approvingly next to him.

“Any idea who performed best this time Dear?” Asked the radio demon.

“I mean, it’s hard to give you an answer when you both do whatever you want at all times.” You said with a hint of frustration. “Maybe if you both stuck to one hole, I would be able to tell.” You added, genuinely trying to recall all the events in the right order.

“Hmm, No.”

“Nope.” They both proclaimed simultaneously.

“We will, however, keep fucking you until you give us an answer.” Gloated Vox with a hint of excitement in his voice.

“I’m afraid it’s the only way.” Added Alastor calmly.

“Fair.” You conceded.

‘Holy shit what did I get myself into…’ You thought to yourself.

“Now, rest my dear, you’re going to need it.” Said Vox still smiling at you before vanishing into electricity out of the room.

“I’ll see you soon Darling.” Declared Alastor before smiling and disappearing into a shadow.

To be continued...

Vox is genuinely so effortless to write. I love how versatile he can be, Alastor on the other hand is rough -.- but once I'm done I can fully appreciate it.

PS : I know Alastor is Aroace and I hope no one takes offense to my work. I genuinely take pleasure in writing smuts and I've been loving his personality that's all.

Peace out ! o/

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