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levisjinchuriki · 7 months ago

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midnight - satoru gojo

summary: gojo's new year's resolution is to tell you how he feels, but people keep stealing you away before he gets a chance

warning: fluff, friends to lovers trope, gojo pining after you, a bit of a power dynamic, small amount of angst, kissing

gojo stands near the edge of the room, one hand gripping a glass of something amber and strong, though it’s been forgotten. his other hand rests in pocket, fingers twitching with restless energy. he’s satoru gojo—jujutsu high’s golden boy, the strongest sorcerer, the life of the party…and yet, tonight, he’s anything but.

his sharp blue eyes, usually so carefree and confident, are laser-focused on you standing across the room, leaning into a conversation with a group of his friends.

you’ve always had this intense power over him, even when you weren’t trying. it’s in the way you move— completely unaware of how effortlessly you draw people in. it’s in the way you smile, disarming and genuine, making everyone in your orbit feel like they’re the only person who matters.

but for gojo, it’s your eyes that get him the most. the way you look at him commands his full attention, every time. you see him, really see him, in a way no one else does. and it makes everything else fade away.

you’ve caught him staring more than once tonight. each time, he sees that same knowing look in your eye, your lips quirking into a subtle smile that feels like a challenge. like you’re daring him to do something about the way he looks at you.

his grip tightens around the glass. gojo takes a shaky breath, trying to steady himself, but it’s no use. he’s starting to lose his mind.

you’ve been stolen away from him at least five times tonight. first, it was yuji, grinning ear to ear as he swept you into an animated conversation. then geto had pulled you aside, his smooth charm keeping your attention longer than gojo liked. now, you’re surrounded by a group of people whose names gojo didn’t even bother to catch, their laughter mingling with yours in a way that makes his stomach twist in jealousy.

it’s maddening.

every time he musters up the courage to approach you, someone else beats him to it, pulling you away just before he can do the one thing he’s been too terrified to risk for years. every missed opportunity gnaws at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth that even his drink can’t wash away.

because satoru gojo is in love with you.

he always has been. from the moment you first smiled at him with that effortless warmth, he was all in. but fear—sharp, unfamiliar, and relentless—has kept him silent. the thought of losing you, of ruining the bond you’ve shared for years, has held him back, no matter how much it’s tortured him to watch you be with other people.

it ached to see you cry on his shoulder over an ex who didn’t deserve you. it hurt even more to hear himself giving you advice he wished he could follow—advice he wished he could prove to you himself. but through it all, he stayed the supportive best friend, locking his feelings away and pretending that watching you love someone else didn’t shatter him every time.

but tonight, gojo feels different. maybe it’s the champagne fizzing in his veins, making everything feel a little lighter. maybe it’s the delusional bravery that comes with every new year, the promise of new beginnings and the freedom to act on desires that have been bubbling under the surface. or maybe it’s the way you keep looking at him like that—like you’re waiting. like you already know.

his chest tightens as he lifts the glass to his lips, downing the drink in one long, burning swallow. he grimaces, but the rush of liquid courage steadies him momentarily.

enough is enough.

glass abandoned on a nearby table, gojo straightens, his towering frame cutting through the crowd with ease as he makes his way toward you. his pulse is pounding, his nerves are screaming, but his eyes stay locked on you, unwilling to let anyone else take you away this time.

“can i steal her for a sec?” gojo interrupts smoothly as he approaches the group. his tone is casual, but there’s an edge to it—a subtle claim that leaves no room for argument. his towering frame and commanding presence seal the deal as his hand presses against your back, guiding you away without giving the others a chance to respond.

you let him lead you, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you glance up at him. he feels the warmth of your gaze, the way it lingers, and it does little to calm the pounding of his pulse.

“finally decided to come out of your corner, gojo?” you tease, your voice low and laced with amusement.

“i wasn’t in a corner” he lies. your raised brow and knowing grin let him know you’re not buying it for a second.

“right. and i wasn’t waiting all night for you to talk to me” you counter smoothly, the challenge in your tone making his stomach flip. the glint in your eye—mischievous and just a little smug—nearly crumbles him. he stammers for a moment, trying to form a response, but nothing coherent comes out.

“you’ve been avoiding me” your voice drops in volume as you step closer. the intimacy of the gesture steals the air from his lungs.

“i haven’t—”

“you have” your voice is firm, but still laced with that teasing edge that drives him insane. “you’ve been staring at me all night like you want something, and yet, here i am, talking to everyone but you”.

gojo swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry. you’ve cornered him effortlessly, your words peeling away every excuse he might have used to deflect. the way your eyes hold his makes it impossible to look away.

you’ve been watching him just as closely as he’s been watching you, dissecting every glance, every subtle shift in his posture. you’ve caught him staring more times than you can count, and each time, the slight tilt of your head and that knowing look in your eye made it clear: you know.

you know exactly how much power you have over him.

and you’re enjoying it.

it’s infuriating, the way you have him so completely wrapped around your finger without even trying. but it’s also exhilarating. he’s satoru gojo—untouchable, powerful, confident. no one has ever left him flustered, never made him second-guess himself. but somehow, you’ve brought him to his knees without even trying.

“ten... nine...eight…” the crowd begins the countdown, but he barely hears it, drowned out by the pounding of his heart. now, as he stands before you, the room buzzing with energy and the countdown ticking dangerously close to zero, he knows he can’t wait any longer. the way you’re looking at him— like you’ve been waiting for him to finally catch up—sends a thrill racing through his veins. it’s the curve of your lips—that faint, maddeningly confident smile—that has him completely at your mercy.

there’s no time like the present. either he steps forward and starts the new year without regrets, or he lets the moment slip away and risks losing the person most special to him forever.

“three... two...”

he doesn’t wait for “one”.

without another second of hesitation, gojo pulls you closer, one hand wrapped around your waist and the other cradling your face as though you’re something fragile and precious. his thumb brushes gently against your cheek as he leans in.

the kiss is everything he’s ever dreamed of and more—sweet, passionate, and filled with longing after years spent second-guessing and holding back. it’s not just a kiss; it’s an apology, a confession, a promise all wrapped into one moment.

your arms slide up instinctively, fingers threading into his undercut, pulling him impossibly closer. the gesture is possessive, grounding, and when you kiss him back with equal fervor, satoru knows he’s a goner.

you’re everything he’s ever wanted but was too scared to ruin. and now, with the taste of your lips on his, satoru is sure he’s addicted. he feels relieved, euphoric, and he wonders how he’s managed without this for so long.

when gojo finally pulls back, your foreheads rest against each other. you’re both breathless, chests rising and falling in unison.

“took you long enough” you tease, your voice brimming with warmth. your thumb lightly grazes his bottom lip.

for all his usual confidence, there’s a vulnerability in the way he looks at you now. his normally playful eyes are earnest, his gaze searching yours as if afraid this moment might vanish, like a dream slipping through his fingers.

“yeah, well… i like to keep you on your toes” satoru quips with familiar cockiness.

the smirk on your lips a reminder of the truth: he’s in your hands. you’ve always been the one in control. but tonight, you let him have this moment, let him play at being the one holding the reins.

you hum, the sound low and pleased. the way you’re looking at him—with affection, amusement, and something he doesn’t dare name—has his heart racing. for a second, he wonders if his knees might give out entirely.

“happy new year, gojo” you say. your fingers brush the nape of his neck.

“happy new year” he murmurs back, eyes fixed on yours as if he’s afraid to miss a single second of this.

then, before anyone can pull you away again, before the world outside this moment can intrude, he leans in, stealing another kiss. it’s slower this time, less hurried, but no less consuming. the intensity builds, unspoken feelings spilling over with every shared breath, every gentle press of his lips against yours.

it’s just him, you, and the undeniable connection you can no longer ignore.

when you finally part, both of you breathless, he lingers close, hand cradling your cheeks. there’s a softness in his gaze now, a vulnerability that’s rare for him, but is entirely genuine.

as the sound of cheers and laughter signals it’s time to celebrate with everyone, gojo laces his fingers with yours before leading you back toward the others. his grip is firm but gentle. he doesn’t let go, not even when you’re surrounded by the lively crowd.

instead, he gives your hand a squeeze, his thumb brushing against your knuckles.

he’s determined—no one is going to steal you away again.

not tonight. not ever.

a/n: happy new year, everyone. this is my first fic of 2025!! one of my resolutions is to write more. please send some requests my way!! <3

creds: found on pinterest so i’m not sure who the creator is!

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voitier · 2 months ago

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M.P.S 02 - JJK

“I-I’m sorry, I– shit, I don’t–” “Keep going.” Two simple words. A command, really. That’s all it took for Jungkook to let go of all restraint.

GENRE: oneshot (but it's actually part 2 of a fic. read pt.1 here)

RATING: 18+

CONTAINS: masturbation (m&f), getting caught, panty stealing, unprotected sex, kinda switch jk and reader, soft jk at the end

WORDCOUNT: 1k8

TAGLIST: (tagging both the people who asked to be tagged in part 1 and those who asked for part 2) @jeeykey @songbyeonkim @yunhoswrldddd @vsr4197 @wookookiechan @jjeonjjk7 @ian-jk97 @koogenre @rafesfuckdoll @stardustbaee @topforsure @missjgirly1 @kamyyyy @secretpeachcoffee @chimsworldsstuff @jayhargrove

Divider by @cafekitsune

Loud banging echoed inside the shared apartment as your fist collided with Jungkook’s door over and over again. “Jungkook,” you groaned exasperatedly, grabbing the door knob and twisting it for major dramatic effect. “C’mon dude, I only need my charger and I’m pretty sure I forgot it in here”

From the other side of the door, Jungkook was panicking. Not because of the embarrassing amount of empty soda cans scattered around his desk, or because of his ruffled bed sheets, or even the rather worrying pile of clothes growing day by day on his chair. No, none of it mattered in the moment.

What mattered, though, was his hand covered in slick precum he had smeared around to ease his motions, and your black thongs still wrapped prettily around his cock. Not to mention the fact that you had started banging on his door right as he was this far away from finishing, pulling him out of the mood immediately, yet not enough to make his aching boner go away. Hell, the sound of your agitated voice only spurred him on, and it was clear in the way he kept leaking more and more precum. “Fuck,” he whispered, breaking in cold sweat.

You knew from the moment he had snuck in the bathroom that it was the perfect time to act. If he couldn’t grow a pair to come forward and admit that he was attracted to you, then it was your shot to shoot. And now, with him falling for your trap, you knew there was no better timing.

But first you would give him time to enjoy himself – and, to be fair, you really needed that shower to clear your mind from the alcohol circulating in your system. Then, once you had stepped out of the shower and wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel, with your hair still dropping little cascades of water on your shoulders, you walked towards Jungkook’s room with an excuse ready: your charger. From then on? It was an open-air theatre.

In the panicked frenzy Jungkook was in, he failed to notice a couple things: one, he hadn’t tuck himself away properly, leaving his poor abused tip peeking from the waistband of his pajama pants, actively soaking that spot; and two – and this one costed him a lot – he hadn’t noticed that while moving away from the door his shirt had caught on the knob, pulling it open once he had moved.

He registered what had happened only once the door clicked open and you stepped inside, watching with a look of pure, sheer, horror as your face morphed from annoyment into something that could be called… surprise? Shock? He didn’t really know, but he knew for sure that he was just seconds away from passing out on his floor. What a way to go, huh?

You had to muster up all your strength to not laugh in Jungkook’s face. Poor boy was mortified, to say the least. Years and years of acting school became suddenly of vital importance as you hid your amusement under a mask of fake surprise, taking in the disheveled appearance of your roommate whose face plastered the right amount of pain of being cockblocked and fear of being caught red handed.

“I-”

“Are those mine?”

And there it was. Jungkook silently prayed that a hole would open up immediately under his feet and swallow him whole, sparing him of this suffering. He knew what you were referring to even without averting his gaze from your face, the black thongs bunched in his fist were a clear admission of his crime.

As much as the embarrassment of being caught froze him in place, his brain slowly began to realize that you were standing there in front of him – half naked, if not completely – covered by a skimpy towel that he knew covered nothing behind, and the soft scent of the soap you washed yourself with soon hit his nostrils, pushing him in a haze he didn’t think to pull himself out of.

His cock twitched dangerously in his pants, a clear reminder of what he had stopped and what he needed most now. The sudden twitch caught your attention, your eyes dropping to the bulge pushing against the fabric of his pants and his glistening tip leaking profusely. A little “Oh-” escaped your lips before you could stop yourself. You had a feeling Jungkook was… gifted, to say. But to see the clear outprint of it? Yeah, you needed him now more than ever.

“I-I’m sorry, I– shit, I don’t–”

“Keep going.”

Two simple words. A command, really.

That’s all it took for Jungkook to let go of all restraint.

He exhaled softly, watching hypnotised as you made your way to stand just a couple feet away from him. From this close, he knew that he could have touched you as he pleased. But he didn’t. Not yet, at least.

Your fingers reached down, brushing his tightly closed fist. You let your touch linger a little longer before gently tugging the fabric away from his hand, chuckling as you felt how much more soaked it was now than how you left it minutes prior.

“I believe these are mine,” you whispered amused, glancing down to peek at them before letting them fall to the ground with a shake of head. “That’s where all my other ones went, right? Had you so desperate to have a piece of me that you had to steal my underwear. Poor boy” you cooed, stroking his cheek lovingly. You watched as his eyes fluttered shut, a soft gasp leaving his lips, soon followed by a pained groan at the throbbing pulse in his pants.

“Sit down on the bed, Kook.”

He didn’t waste a second to obey, sitting at the edge of the bed and looking up at you. You leaned against the desk, feeling the wooden surface dig into your lower back. Whatever, this was worth the bruise you would wake up with in the morning.

“Finish what you started.”

“But–” whatever he was going to say died in his mouth as he watched your hands reaching for your towel, tugging it open. The room stilled for a moment, the soft thump of the fabric resonating between you two. You had never seen Jungkook look as hungry and desperate as he was in that exact moment, watching as his eyes traveled up and down your naked body over and over again, his legs unconsciously spreading wider.

You couldn’t hide how much his act was affecting you either, knowing that your arousal was probably glistening your inner thighs as well.

“Fuck, please, I need you.” A groan left his lips as he saw your fingers dip between your legs, lightly rubbing over your clit. His own hand flew to his pants, tugging them down and freeing his poor cock. He couldn’t help but set a brutal pace from the start, his eyes never leaving the spot between your legs.

“Not yet–” you managed to choke out, yet your words were cut off by a breathy moan as you slipped a finger inside, curling it just right while you looked right back at Jungkook. Your back arched away from the desk, legs shutting around your wrist as pleasure spiked through your system.

A low groan came from Jungkook’s throat before he raised to his feet, murmuring a quick “Fuck it”. His hands found the back of your thighs, raising you so one of your legs was on the desk, the other dangling off the ground as he held you up. Your hands grabbed his shoulders for stability, squeezing them as Jungkook thrusted inside you, both of you moaning loudly at the feeling.

His hands found your waist, holding you closer as his hips pistoned into you, filling the room with the sound of wet squelches, skin slapping and moans. Not resisting anymore you kissed him, desperation seeping through your kiss. Nothing in what was going on was soft or loving, the act itself was driven by your need to satisfy an insatiable hunger that had been clawing at you for months.

Jungkook’s hand traveled to the back of your head, burying itself in your damp hair as he pushed you closer to him, as if closer would be something achievable. His tongue found yours in a whirlwind of lust and desperation, the other hand on your waist squeezed your flesh so hard you were sure he would leave his handprint for a couple days. You whimpered as Jungkook’s cock stroked your walls in all the right places, making you shudder in his arms.

“Good girl,” he husked, his voice rough from the making out, “taking me so well, made to take my cock”

You threw your head back, his words only spurring you on more. Your walls fluttered around him for a couple seconds as you felt his thumb softly circle your clit, all while peppering your neck in kisses and hickeys.

“Fuck– c’mon baby, cum all over my cock,” he growled, his thrusts growing less erratic but sharper, each one inflicted to push you over the edge. You couldn’t help but blabber nonsense, your senses clouded by the overwhelming pleasure cursing through you as Jungkook pushed you over the edge.

Your walls clamped shut around his cock, making him groan out loud. “Shit, love– can I finish inside?”

You nodded, wiping away the tears of pleasure striking down your cheeks. “Please, please” you cried out, nails scratching his back. Your body shook with the strength of Jungkook’s thrusts, the man having a hard time holding back any longer. He cradled your body to his torso, holding you tight as he buried himself to the hilt, filling you up with his cum.

Slowly the high began wearing off, leaving you both tangled in a mess of sticky bodies and tired pants, overstimulated and worn out.

Jungkook was the first to recover. Carefully he slipped out of you, picking you up bridal style and laying you on his bed. “Jungkook,” you croacked out, body shivering with the aftermath of what had happened.

“I’m here,” he whispered, laying down beside you. His hand moved a strand of hair that had fallen on your face behind your ear, then he pulled you closer to his body, letting you bask in the warmth provided. “Did so good,” he praised, slowly kissing his way from your collarbones to your jaw.

You sighed contented, running a hand through his soft hair. Your eyes caught a piece of fabric sticking out of the drawer next to his bed, a pattern that you recognized all too well.

“Kook?”

“Mh?”

“I want my underwear back. All of it.”

A couple beats of silence followed before his back rose and fell with a big sigh.

“Fuck.”

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cece693 · 2 months ago

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Hi! I love your stories and I was wondering if you could write something about Buck Barnes or Steve Rogers with a male reader who got sick but is being stubborn about it. He refuses to accept he is sick and doesn't want to let his boyfriend take care of him, insisting there is no need to rest or go to the doctor, he has to work and it's no big deal even if he clearly feels warm and looks tired. The more he fights it the more exhausting it gets and he starts to look really childish, like a whiny toddler throwing a tantrum or something

Simple requests always are my favorite, more so when they target some of my favorite characters.

I'M NOT SICK (I PROMISE)

pairing: stucky x male reader tags: you're not sick, but you are, caring boyfriends, like who wouldn't want to get smothered by them, you're such a drama queen, but in a good way, comedic elements

You wake already annoyed — at your own body, mainly, because it dares to feel like a bag of wet cement. Your head is stuffed with cotton, joints aching as though you sparred ten rounds with Steve and Bucky back-to-back. Obviously you are not sick; you simply...slept funny. You tell the mirror so while splashing water on a face that’s gone a worrying shade of pale.

Down the hall, voices drift from the kitchen.

“He was burning up last night,” Bucky mutters, soft enough you almost miss it.

“Let him try toughing it out for one more hour,” Steve answers, impatience tucked beneath kindness. “Then we stage a coup.”

A coup? Over your totally-not-illness? Ridiculous. You stride in, shoulders squared, clutching your laptop like a shield. “Morning,” you croak. (Why does it sound like gravel?)

Two sets of super-soldier eyes track you: Steve stirring oatmeal while Bucky leans against the counter with arms crossed. Both clock the tremor in your hand when you reach for a mug.

“I’m fine,” you say before they can speak, because offense is the best defense. “Just a big day. Gotta answer emails before the morning briefing.”

Bucky lifts a brow. “Emails can wait. Your temperature can’t.”

You wave him off. “Drama queen. Look, I’m— ” The room tilts; you catch the back of a chair before you become a new floor decoration. Bad move: Steve is at your side instantly, steadying you with a palm to your forehead.

He winces. “You’re burning, sweetheart.”

“Captain Rogers, stand down,” you huff, wriggling free. “I’ve had worse after one of Nat’s curry nights.”

“Nat’s curry doesn’t make you shiver,” Bucky says.

“I’m not—” A violent sneeze bends you double, proving everyone’s point except yours. When you straighten, both men are staring the way a pair of wolves might regard an injured bunny.

You cross your arms. “Don’t look at me like I’m made of glass.”

Steve sets the oatmeal spoon aside, blue eyes sliding from your flushed cheeks to the goosebumps on your arms. “Glass is stronger than you look right now.”

“’M not calling off work.” You place your laptop on the counter and open the screen. “If I miss that briefing—”

Bucky’s metal hand closes gently over the lid, easing it shut. “Doll, you’re typing gibberish. ‘Regrads’ isn’t a word.”

Heat pricks behind your eyes — half fever, half humiliation. You yank the computer back like a toddler stealing a toy. “Mind your business, Tin Man.”

Bucky’s jaw ticks, but Steve only sighs, patient in that maddening Boy-Scout way. “We’re your business. You’re ours.”

“I don’t need babysitters!” Your voice cracks, too loud for a Wednesday morning. You know you’re being ridiculous; still, the more reasonable they get, the more you dig in. Why does accepting help feel like surrender?

“Okay.” Steve shifts tactics, the commander scenting mutiny. “You have two options. One: you let us put you on the couch with fluids, Tylenol, and bad daytime television. Two: I declare you unfit for duty, call Sam to cover your briefing, and carry you there myself.”

Your mouth drops. “That’s coercion.”

“That’s love,” Bucky corrects, gentle. “Love sometimes sounds like orders when stubborn punks don’t listen.”

You attempt a scathing retort but it devolves into a coughing fit so brutal you see stars. When your vision clears, you’re mortified to find tears clinging to your lashes. Bucky’s flesh hand rubs slow circles between your shoulder blades; Steve wipes your cheek with a dish towel, tenderness undoing every scrap of defiance.

“I hate this,” you whisper, voice small. “Feels like losing.”

Steve tilts your chin until you meet his gaze. “Letting people care for you isn’t losing. You’d patch us up in a heartbeat, wouldn’t you?”

“Well—yeah, but—”

“Then let us return the favor,” Bucky says. “That’s what being in a relationship is, doll.”

Your shoulders sag. The fight, finally, ebbs out of you, leaving only exhaustion and a grudging gratitude. “Fine,” you mumble. “But I want the couch, not the bed. And no thermometer—I don’t need the numbers judging me.”

Bucky snorts. “And you called me a drama queen.”

Steve kisses your burning temple. “Couch it is. But the thermometer stays. Compromise.”

You grumble yet comply, allowing yourself to be herded to the living-room fortress Steve prepared: pillows stacked like ramparts, fleece blanket already warmed by the dryer. The moment you hit the cushions, your eyelids feel weighted. Steve tucks the blanket under your chin; Bucky appears with a steaming mug of honey-ginger tea that smells like safety.

“Tiny sips,” he warns. You obey without argument this time, too tired to posture.

The first sip scalds in the best way, unlocking the knot in your throat. You blink up at them, shamefaced. “Sorry for the tantrum.”

Bucky brushes his knuckle across your hairline. “You’ve seen Steve when he refuses to admit he’s injured. Trust me, yours ranks low on the toddler scale.”

Steve grins, sheepish. “I do recall hopping on one foot insisting my ankle was ‘just tweaked.’”

“Broke it in three places,” Bucky adds, deadpan.

Their banter coaxes a weak laugh from you, which morphs into another sneeze. Steve slips a tissue under your nose like a dad with perfect reflexes. You mutter thanks, cheeks hot for reasons beyond fever.

“Rest,” Bucky orders, voice gone syrupy with concern. “Movie marathon while you nap?”

“Something terrible,” Steve suggests. “So you don’t mind missing chunks.”

You groan theatrically. “Put on The Room. My pain should be mirrored on screen.”

They chuckle, but Steve actually cues it up. As Tommy Wiseau begins his infamous rooftop rant, Steve presses a cool kiss to the side of your forehead. “Love you,” you whisper.

Steve smiles against your ear. “Love you more.”

Bucky scoffs playful jealousy. “I’m right here, punk.”

“…love you both.” Sleep tugs you under.

You wake thirteen hours later to sunlight and the smell of pancakes. Your fever’s down, head merely cottony instead of magma. Steve’s stretched beside you reading a dog-eared novel; Bucky dozes in the armchair, metal fingers still curled like he fell asleep guarding you.

You swallow around a tender throat, throat thick with unspoken gratitude and leftover stubbornness. Steve’s eyes flick to you, soft. “Feel better?”

You nod.

He arches a brow. “And?”

“…And maybe next time I’ll admit when I’m sick.”

Bucky cracks one eye open. “Record that on your phone so we can play it back.”

You roll your eyes—then smile, sheepish. “Fine. Next time I’ll let my annoyingly perfect supersoldier boyfriends fuss immediately.”

Steve tucks stray hair behind your ear. “Good. Now eat your pancakes before Bucky claims them.”

“Hey,” Bucky grumbles, sitting up, “we share everything in this relationship—especially flapjacks.”

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callofdoobie420 · 3 months ago

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Because it was requested and I have a lot of feelings about dominant Simon, who will secretly sub for you…

Without further ado… sub!Simon (he a switch tho) x reader pt 2 to this

(Cw: lewd language, sex, maybe something else? sorry if i forgot...)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As was widely known by many, Simon was a dominant man in the bedroom. And you….you were his sweet, soft, submissive little lovie.

Except not right now.

No.

You had come in frustrated — in more ways than one. Annoyed, undoubtedly, by another idiotic client of yours.

Now, here he was, stood in your shared living room with only his black boxer briefs still on. You stalked back and forth in front of him. Eyeing him like prey.

This must be what you feel like when he fucks you with his eyes. He wasn’t used to this feeling. Sure you had undressed him with your eyes. Given him those looks that let him know you wanted him. But this…oh, this was a different look altogether. You had never been so blatant with your lust before.

He could almost cum in his underwear just from your heated gaze.

“Good boy…” you said, your voice low. Seductive. “Looking so handsome for me, now head to the bedroom.” You bark out - a command, not a question.

He would never admit to anyone that your commanding tone made him whimper — but it absolutely did. He could practically feel the smirk you wore, on his back as he walked slowly to the bedroom.

You followed behind him, his pace allowing you time to slip your clothes off piece. By. Piece.

When you finally reached the bedroom, and Simon turned to sit on the edge of the bed his eyes widened.

“Oh my pretty lit'l birdie…” he growled out, his eyes raking over your naked body. Your nipples perky from the cool air in the house. He reached a hand out, wanting to rub his thumbs over them — warm them. But you batted his hands away playfully.

“Ah, ah, ah,” you tutted at him, shaking your pointer finger at him. "You can touch when I tell you."

Simon was practically drooling at your command. His palms flattening to the bed on either side of himself. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, his eyes traveling over your naked body.

"God damn luvie," he groans, "you are going to be the death of me..."

His admission brings a wicked smirk to your lips, and you move closer pushing him down to lie flat on the bed. Gripping the ends of his boxers, you pull them down his thighs slowly.

"I've barely even touched you big guy," you purr at him, pulling his boxer briefs off and throwing them somewhere in the bedroom.

With ease, you climb up onto his lap - straddling him. You bite your bottom lip softly, as your gaze follows every hard angle of his body. Fingers ghosting ever so slowly over his abs, sliding down until they wrap around his thick, veiny cock.

"Mmmm" you moan, eyes closing just from touching him. Even with all your talk, you were just as needy as he was.

"So what's going to happen is..." you begin, as you position him so he is settled just in between your slick folds. Sitting so you could rock over his length perfectly. The beautiful mushroom tip of his cock should brush against your clit with each movement. A small moan escaping you from just the thought, before you clear your throat, "I am going to grind myself against your cock until I cum."

The blunt way with which you say it has Simon's eyes widening, and his breath catching in his throat.

"Jesus luv..." He groans out, his hands coming up to grasp your hips.

Your eyes narrow at him, and you reach down to grab his hands. Prying them off you settle them back on the bed beside you both.

"I said no touching!" You reprimand, "I will let that one go because you got caught up in the moment...but don't let it happen again." You warn before returning to your spiel, "Now I am going to ride this cock until I cum, and you are going to keep your hands right where they are. If you manage to keep them there until I cum, then I will let you do whatever you want..."

Simon growls softly, but nods his head. He had told you not to play with fire, and offering him anything he wants. That was playing with fire.

"What a good boy..." You coo at him, a hand trailing down his toned chest as you started to grind your hips down onto him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

(I have never written smut before i am so sorry if it is horrible. Pls wash your eyeballs if you need, but i also like hope it isn't bad? Pls dont hate it. It is only like a very lil smut. Ok anyways love u. Oops thats probably too soon. You're cute. Bye.)

Taglist (I literally never though anyone would read my stuff let alone want a pt 2 to something. But here you go <3)

@theonly1moonlight @fullmoon-84

#simon ghost riley #cod x reader #cod x you #cod fanfic #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #cod drabble #ghost cod #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghost x you #sub!ghost #ghost call of duty #simon riley cod #this man is not a want he is a NEED #simon you dirty man we love you

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nyxs2 · 7 months ago

Text

Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 5/?)

Negotiating with the devil is a delicate dance — every offer comes at a cost, every promise demands a sacrifice. And when Silco is your devil, the price is always more than your soul.

Silco x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 7,6K

Warnings: smut, sexual tension, light bondage (restraint without having sex), jealous Silco, semi-public carnal acts, masturbation (m!receiving), accidental exhibitionism (it will make sense I swear), orgasm denial, possessive behavior, you work in the brothel, Silco POV Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

What can I say? I'm a fan of the "under the table" cliché, so I had to make my own version... Silco's little monologue at the end was me trying to make references to Silco's monologues in arcane (it didn't turn out so well, but the intention is worth it) Btw I'll make a banner for this story so I can pin it to my profile and make it easier to select chapters AND I'm considering making a playlist for this series, so if you have any song suggestions please let me know.

You woke up suddenly, gasping for air, as though you had just surfaced from underwater. Your mind, still foggy, stumbled between that memory and reality. You were okay now. It was just a memory, a fragment clinging to the recesses of your mind. Your chest rose and fell frantically, but as the environment around you started to take shape, the cold, dense air of the room grounded you back in the present.

Taking a deep breath, your senses began to return, one by one. Muffled sounds reached your ears—voices filled with authority and disdain. The familiar smell of tobacco invaded your nostrils, mixed with the scent of aged leather. Your skin registered the coarse yet oddly comfortable fabric draped over you. Despite the initial confusion, it brought a strange sense of relief. You were alive, but not exactly safe.

You moved, testing the motion of your limbs, feeling the stiffness gradually ease. But then came the worst sensation in the world: your throat was parched, so dry it felt as though it might crack at any moment. A discomfort that yanked you back into the limbo between wanting to rise or succumbing to the exhaustion that still clung to you.

You chose the latter. Slowly, the recent events began to piece themselves together. It was a fragmented mosaic, but soon you realized you were lying on a couch. Not just any couch, but the one in Silco's office.

"That boy is ten minutes late." the deep, cutting voice filled the room—the kind of baritone that could command respect or instill fear with equal ease. It wasn't hard to identify the speaker: Silco. He sounded irritated, though his irritation was controlled, like a blade kept sheathed. "He'll wait another ten for his arrogance."

"He's going to hate that." another voice replied, this time feminine, yet deep and brimming with authority much like Silco's. The kind of voice that seemed to belong to someone accustomed to commanding presence without raising their tone. You recognized it immediately. It was her—the same woman who had handed you Kate's necklace.

"Let him throw a tantrum." the metallic creak of a chair shifting broke the silence, indicating someone—certainly Silco—had leaned back, adopting a deliberately relaxed posture. "These fools have the bad habit of forgetting who they're dealing with." there was a pause, followed by an audible sigh. "Such an unnecessary headache."

For a moment, you considered remaining still, listening to the conversation, pretending to still be asleep. But the pain in your throat became unbearable, forcing you to act. Slowly, trying not to draw attention, you attempted to sit up on the couch. The blanket—that's what had been covering you—slid slightly as you adjusted your body, but the movement, subtle as it was, didn't go unnoticed.

Two pairs of eyes fell upon you.

"Welcome back." Silco's voice hit you like a snap. It was provocative, laden with that familiarity that made your stomach churn. Your eyes met his, and the shrewd, controlling glint that always inhabited his gaze was more evident than ever. He looked pleased, almost as if he knew exactly what you were thinking and feeling at that moment.

He then shifted his attention to the sturdy woman standing still, unmoving like a statue. Her posture seemed that of someone used to following orders without question but not without an intimidating presence.

"Leave us." the command was clear, direct, his tone leaving little room for hesitation or questioning. It was so natural you could imagine she had been waiting for it. "I need to have a private conversation with my guest."

The woman—whose name still escaped you but who, now that you looked closer, didn't seem entirely unfamiliar—hesitated for a fraction of a second longer than necessary before complying. Her gaze lingered on you, carrying something between suspicion and curiosity, though you couldn't decide which was more prominent. With a final glance, she left the office, her footsteps echoing softly on the floor until they disappeared down the hall.

When the door closed, the room felt even more claustrophobic. Silco turned his attention back to you, his sharp eyes scanning your face as if trying to decipher something. He tilted his head slightly, studying you before finally speaking.

"How are you feeling, dove?" his voice was a mix of calculated concern and veiled disdain. "I trust you've recovered from our little... incident."

You raised your eyebrows, a mixture of disbelief and irritation washing over your features. The word "incident" felt like a bad joke, a blatant attempt to downplay what had happened. Your voice came out rough, dry as sandpaper, as you confronted him.

"Incident? You bastard! You drugged me!"

Silco's face remained unreadable, a mask of unshakable calm, as though your accusation were nothing more than a leaf carried by the wind. Without saying a word, he reached for the glass decanter on his desk, pouring water into a tumbler with almost ceremonial precision. Then he stood and, without hurry, offered the glass to you, like someone extending an olive branch.

You hesitated for a fraction of a second, but thirst won out. You grabbed the glass from his hand and emptied it in large, desperate gulps, the water sliding down your throat with such immediate relief that it almost drew a sigh from you. Only when you finished did it occur to you that you hadn't even checked if there was something mixed into the liquid.

"I sedated you." Silco corrected, his tone calm and almost didactic, as if explaining something trivial. He refilled the glass with the same patience, setting it aside without pressuring you to take another. "To prevent you from doing something stupid. Something you'd regret."

The serenity with which he spoke was unsettling. Each word was meticulously measured, as if he controlled even the impact he intended to have on you. "And technically." he added, and you immediately knew you wouldn't like what came next, "You were the one who pulled the trigger that released the gas."

Your glare of disdain was more eloquent than any verbal response could have been. Your expression said it all: how much you detested the way he twisted the facts, transforming what was so obviously his fault into a wordplay that absolved him. But, as always, he seemed to simply ignore it.

"Satisfy my curiosity, dove." Silco leaned casually against the edge of his desk, legs slightly spread, arms resting in an unnervingly relaxed manner while his intense gaze seemed to pierce into the darkest corners of your soul. He positioned himself strategically, the difference in height between you two magnifying the aura of dominance he exuded. "What exactly was your plan? Come here, grab my own weapon, and put a bullet in my head? Or was there something more elaborate behind it?"

You swallowed hard but held his gaze. Silco knew you weren't stupid. He had always known. And that was exactly what made the tension between you so unbearable. He didn't underestimate you. Quite the opposite—he believed you were capable of far more than anyone else would ever imagine.

"You're no fool." he tilted his head slightly, his eyes gleaming with that blend of fascination and menace that made him impossible to ignore. "You knew I'd have precautions. You wouldn't be the first to try killing me in my own office."

He pushed off the desk with predatory grace, approaching you with slow, almost dragging steps. The tension in his body was palpable, every muscle ready to react, but you knew he wasn't afraid. Not of you, not now. He seemed to feed off the nervous energy radiating from you, as if it sustained him.

"So, tell me..." he purred, his voice so low and rough it felt almost tangible, like velvet sliding across your skin. "What game are you playing?"

You lifted your chin, refusing to yield, even though the disparity of power between the two of you was glaring. The posture was symbolic, almost theatrical. He stood tall, looking down at you with the gaze of a judge about to hand down a sentence. You, seated, staring back from below, yet without a trace of submission in your eyes.

It was a stalemate—a power struggle in which the cards were visibly stacked in his favor.

If you had listened to reason, you would have submitted by now. Apologized, played the victim, begged for your life. After all, even if this had been a trap Silco orchestrated from the start, the fact that you had actually pulled the trigger against him was a crime that could easily seal your fate.

"Maybe..." you began, a dry, bitter laugh escaping your lips. You turned the now-empty glass of water between your fingers as if deliberating something far greater, then placed it on the table with a dull thud. "Maybe I just came here to appeal to whatever's left of your common sense." your words dripping with sarcasm, laced with a wild courage, almost suicidal. "To try and reach whatever humanity you might have left, if there's even any left at all."

Bowing your head to Silco had never been part of the plan. Submission wasn't who you were, and this constant battle for control, for power, was part of the game you played. The game that, in some twisted way, kept the two of you tethered. So, instead of accepting the vulnerable position he seemed intent on placing you in, you decided to flip the board.

You rose from the couch, your legs as steady as steel, and faced him directly. Your eyes met, and the distance between your bodies was minimal—far too close for what should have been a casual conversation. But Silco, of course, didn't believe in personal space. And if he could ignore that convention, so could you.

"You're right." your voice was light, though the weight in your tone was unmistakable. "Trying to kill you like that wasn't the plan, but the opportunity was there, and I couldn't let it slip by. I would've done Zaun a favor if I'd succeeded."

The words were spat with a caustic pride. There was no fear in them, and certainly no regret. In your eyes, Silco's death wasn't just a desire—it was a necessity, a moral duty. If Zaun was poisoned now, it was his doing. If you felt so intoxicated by him that it bordered on hatred laced with desire, that was his fault too. Everything was his fault. He was the cause and the consequence, the poison and the unattainable cure.

Your fingers slowly rose to the fabric of his suit, the texture familiar—a bitter, sweet memory all at once. It was the same gesture you'd made the night you first met, and just like then, he didn't move to stop you. He allowed you to touch him, as if the vulnerability it implied wasn't a problem. Perhaps, just as he unraveled your rationality, you unraveled his. Perhaps you were each other's weak spot, exploiting that frailty in a selfish, destructive game.

"But since we're talking about games." your voice taking on a provocative tone. "Shall we talk about yours as well?" your gaze slid over his body, lingering at his hip, where you confirmed what you had already suspected: the holster was empty. Clever bastard. "I know how ruthless you are." you said, an almost casual note in your words, though the tension in the air was palpable. "You've eliminated everyone who stood in your way, everyone who dared challenge you. Every single one who raised a hand against you is now dead."

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his neck. The scene might have been mistaken for a romantic gesture, were it not for the heavy atmosphere, laden with ambiguous intentions. Your proximity was suffocating, both for him and for you, yet neither of you pulled away.

"But I'm still here." your smile was almost childlike, innocent, but your eyes burned with something entirely opposite. "I've challenged you so many times... slapped you, shot at your head..." your voice dropped lower, almost to a whisper. "You know how much I want to hurt you. How much I want to kill you."

A pause, tense and deliberate.

"And yet, here I am. Alive!"

You felt Silco's arms wrap around your waist, his hands pressing firmly against your back, keeping you close. The way he made a point of leaving no space between you was almost suffocating. His possessiveness in that touch was unmistakable, as if he were staking his claim, but his face—oh, his face. The severity etched into his features betrayed more than just control. His narrowed eyes and tense jaw reflected two conflicting emotions: irritation and desire.

Silco was not a man who dealt well with direct confrontations, especially when challenged. Yet, he remained silent, as though intrigued by where your words and actions were leading him. You could almost hear his thoughts, trying to decipher your moves while his patience slowly frayed.

"You said I make you feel alive, didn't you?"

Slowly, you began to push him back, your bodies still pressed together, but the movement was unmistakable. One step, then another, until he was backed up against the edge of the desk. Your gaze darted around, scanning the objects within reach. Anything would do, as long as it was useful. Your eyes settled on a small dagger, resting atop a stack of freshly opened letters. That would be enough.

"Does the idea of my hatred excite you enough to make you not want to kill me?" the question was laced with disdain, an implicit challenge, as your hand moved slowly toward the desk, your fingers inching closer to the dagger's hilt.

Silco didn't respond immediately, but there was something in his expression—a glint in his eyes, a slight curl at the corner of his lips—that told you he knew exactly what you were doing. And yet, he seemed to be enjoying it, accepting the challenge.

"Your hatred?" he mocked, his voice low, almost a growl. "I'd rather the thought of breaking you."

"Good to know." you leaned into him, reducing the already minimal space between your faces. It seemed like a gesture of surrender, as if you were about to give in, to initiate a kiss. But as your lips drew closer, your fingers finally brushed the dagger's hilt.

It was quick. Too quick. Before you could raise the weapon, Silco's hand shot out, gripping your wrist with an ironclad hold, crushing any hope of movement. He barely had to try. With a single, fluid motion, he reversed the situation entirely, pinning you against the desk. Your back collided with the wood in a thud that echoed in your ears. The dagger slipped from your fingers, clattering uselessly to the floor.

His grip on your wrists was unrelenting, pinning them above your head as his weight bore down, keeping you entirely immobilized.

"Tsk, tsk." the sound of his tongue clicking carried an almost casual disdain, but his eyes betrayed him—there was something more there, a spark of amusement. He seemed to relish the mistake you'd made, as if waiting for you to misstep in exactly this way. Yet, there was a tilt of his head, a faint gesture of acknowledgment, as if he recognized something in you. "So predictable, dove. You'll have to do better than that if you want to catch me off guard."

You thrashed against his grip, your body twisting with enough force to wreak small havoc on the pristine desk. Papers slid to the floor with a muffled rustle, others crumpled beneath you, and carefully arranged objects toppled into minor chaos. It was a ridiculous, rebellious spectacle, but at its core, it was necessary. You were the disorder Silco seemed so intent on containing—the point of chaos in his calculated control.

And even though rationality screamed that another attack was practically impossible, there was something vital in showing Silco that you wouldn't give in so easily. Not without a fight.

"Now." he began, his voice tinged with a mock deliberation as he tilted his head to look directly into your eyes. "What should I do with you?" his fingers tightened around your wrists—not enough to hurt, but firmly enough to remind you who was in control in that moment. "Punish you for your insolence? Or reward you for your... enthusiasm?"

Your body was on fire. The rage burned under your skin like embers, but it was accompanied by another sensation—one you knew well enough to feel a flicker of embarrassment.

"Give me your worst." you snapped, your voice cutting through the air, a mix of anger and something that sounded almost like... anticipation. It was the heat from before, the way Silco's touch, even in restraint, left marks that went beyond the physical. Your body, damned and contradictory, reacted to the stimulus in ways your mind refused to condone.

Silco noticed. Of course he noticed. His smile widened, curving into something not just triumphant but dangerous. "You don't know what you're asking for." his voice low and gravelly as he tightened his grip on your wrists. The pressure wasn't painful but evoked a strange sense of anticipation.

"I'm not asking." you met his gaze, chin tilted upward in defiance. "I'm demanding, Silco."

The words came out sharp, like razors, and you knew what you were doing. It was like pulling the trigger of a gun without knowing where the bullet would land. You saw the change in him immediately. His breath hitched—barely perceptible, but you were close enough to catch it. His eyes narrowed, not in anger but in focus. He was searching for something in you—lies, hesitation, any crack in your armor that would reveal you were bluffing.

But he found nothing but resolve.

You both remained there, suspended in a limbo where the air felt electrified, so dense it was almost impossible to breathe. The tension was tangible, nearly solid, like metal on the brink of being forged under intense heat. You could feel the smell of gunpowder before the inevitable explosion, but just as the moment threatened to erupt, a sound shattered the silence.

A knock on the door.

"Ten minutes, boss."

That same female voice cut through the charged atmosphere, interrupting what felt like an inevitable escalation between you and Silco. His gaze, once locked on you with an almost primal hunger, shifted, overtaken by frustration. He closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling heavily—a sigh that carried more than annoyance. There was a hint of resignation in it.

"Damn it." Finally, he released your wrists, stepping back just enough to grant you the space you had longed for—though now it felt strange, uncomfortable. Silco ran a hand over his face, pushing his hair back in a mechanical gesture, one you'd seen him do whenever he needed to collect himself. The desire that had overflowed mere seconds ago was pushed down, though you could swear it still lingered in the air like an invisible presence.

"Of all the goddamn timing..." he murmured under his breath, adjusting his clothes in a futile attempt to reclaim the composure he held so dear.

You, in turn, rose slowly from the table, feeling the tension in your muscles. Your fingers instinctively moved to your wrists, massaging them. There wouldn't be any marks—you were sure of that—but the phantom of his grip still burned there, hot and real as if his fingers were still on your skin.

"We'll continue this later." his voice now colder as he adjusted the collar of his suit and smoothed out his clothes. The attempt to return to his usual image of impeccable authority was almost laughable, especially after what had just happened. He sat in his chair, picking up the crumpled papers and organizing them with quick fingers, but you could tell he was still irritated.

Then he looked up at you, his expression carrying a clear warning. "You're staying."

The way he said it made your whole body tense. You turned your neck so quickly to face him that you heard the crack of your joints, an uncomfortable sound that echoed through the room. "Staying?" you repeated, as if he had just suggested something absurdly foolish. "Not a chance. One chemical baron is enough. Two is too much."

Silco let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers as if to ward off an impending headache. His patience was clearly wearing thin. Maybe it was the meeting that bothered him, maybe it was you, or—more likely—a combination of both. His eyes narrowed as he straightened his shoulders, reclaiming the unyielding posture that seemed so natural to him.

"You. Will. Stay." the words were spoken slowly and, each one landing like an inarguable sentence. The firmness in his voice made your shoulders stiffen, an involuntary reflex in the face of the authority that radiated from every syllable. "I'm not asking, dove. I'm ordering."

The irony of the moment wasn't lost on you, and his choice of words was a clear provocation—an intentional twist of the very words you had used to confront him earlier. Before you could retort, Silco gestured toward the sofa with a sharp wave of his hand, a silent but impossible-to-ignore command.

"Sit. Behave. And for fuck's sake, try not to stab anyone else."

The sarcasm in the last sentence was almost tangible, but his tone left no room for argument. Silco wasn't in the mood to negotiate. Not now, not when he already had so much—and now you—to keep under control. The tension in the air lingered, but you knew pushing the issue now would be pointless. You rolled your eyes but reluctantly obeyed.

"Good girl." his voice dripping with mockery. "Perhaps I'll give you a reward later."

You bit your tongue to avoid a biting retort, but the phrase kept reverberating in your mind, especially those damned words—good girl.

The door then opened.

The man who entered did so as if he owned the place. Confidence was evident in his stride and posture, but what really caught your attention was his appearance. He was young, with a face that, if you were honest, was attractive—but not to you. Your tastes leaned more toward the man on the other side of the room.

He was remarkable, though. The golden prosthetic jaw gleamed under the light, almost as if designed to demand attention. A vibrant yellow jacket draped over his shoulders in a way that screamed status and vanity. His skin was nearly a living canvas, adorned with black tattoos.

"Silco." he greeted the man with a cheerfulness that seemed superficial but still carried a touch of cordiality.

"Finn."

Silco gestured to the chair in front of his desk, indicating that Finn should sit. He did so, adjusting his coat as he settled in. Meanwhile, Silco leaned against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes burned with that cold, calculated intensity you knew so well.

"I've heard there's been some... chatter," Silco began, his voice low but steeped in professionalism. "About my recent actions. My decision to sponsor a certain protégé."

"Yes, well." Finn chose his words carefully. "It's... unorthodox, to say the least. Sponsoring a prostitute? Not exactly the kind of image we want to project, is it?"

His gaze was sharp, as if trying to gauge Silco's reaction as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and clasping his hands together. "The other barons are concerned this could reflect poorly on all of us. That it might undermine our credibility, our authority."

He paused.

"And then there's the matter of your... personal involvement. We all know what happened with Jinx. The last thing we need is another scandal, another distraction. Especially now, with the situation in the Undercity so volatile."

Jinx. The name echoed in your mind, and you couldn't help but think of a certain someone whenever you heard it. But the question was: Was it the same person? If that was even possible...

Finn opened his hands in a theatrical gesture of appeasement, trying to appear conciliatory. "I'm not saying you can't do what you want, Silco. But perhaps... perhaps it would be wise to distance yourself. To make it clear this is strictly business and nothing more."

The silence that followed was heavy, laden with tension. Even without looking at Silco, you could feel the irritation radiating from him, though his expression remained impeccably neutral. It was clear that Finn was walking on thin ice.

You weren't particularly pleased either. The presence of two barons in a confined space wasn't exactly comfortable, but hearing the way Finn referred to you, as if you were nothing more than an object, was particularly unbearable. Truthfully, you had the impression Finn hadn't even noticed your presence in the room.

"My personal life is my business." Silco finally broke the silence, his voice low and laden with authority. "It doesn't concern you or any other baron."

"I have certain doubts about that statement."

You watched Finn as he repeatedly flicked open and closed the golden lighter he held between his fingers. The metallic sound echoed irritatingly, punctuating the loaded silence. The young man didn't look the least bit satisfied with Silco's response. His eyes gleamed with discontent, though he maintained a forced facade of calm.

You had seen this kind of dynamic before, especially at the brothel, where men with inflated egos competed for control. Both wanted to dominate the situation, and neither seemed inclined to back down. It was a dangerous game, but you'd always had a tendency to get involved in things you shouldn't. Against all logic—and perhaps your instinct for self-preservation—you decided to add fuel to the fire.

Reaching for one of the cigars casually tossed on the table along with the lighter, you stood up from the sofa, your steps light enough not to draw immediate attention. Finn seemed so absorbed in his irritation that he didn't even notice your approach. But Silco... oh, Silco noticed. Of course, he did. He didn't say a word, merely tilted his head slightly, his expression indifferent. But you could see it in his eyes—he was wondering what on earth you were up to.

Holding the cigar between your fingers, you offered it to Silco with an air of nonchalance as you stood beside him. He didn't hesitate. He took the cigar in one smooth motion and brought it to his lips. When he leaned slightly forward for you to light it, your breath almost synchronized with his. And then, you decided it still wasn't enough.

With a small pivot, you turned Silco's chair slightly toward you, and before he could react—not that he needed to, because you knew he would allow it—you settled yourself in his lap.

Silco simply adjusted, shifting his posture so you fit perfectly in his space. One hand rested on your waist, the grip firm but not intrusive, while he held the cigar in the other. His expression remained unchanged, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

The same, however, couldn't be said for Finn.

The young man's eyes finally noticed your presence. And not just that—they scanned every detail of you, from the tone of your skin to your smallest gestures. His face was a mixture of confusion and barely disguised indignation. It was obvious he hadn't expected there to be a third person in the room, much less someone who displayed such familiarity with Silco.

"The situation in the undercity is precarious, I'll grant you that," Silco resumed, completely ignoring the look Finn cast at the two of you and the earlier tension. His voice was as steady and controlled as ever. "But that is all the more reason for us to remain united, to present a strong front to the Topsiders. And now, the last thing we need is petty doubts over personal matters."

Silco paused to take a long drag from his cigar, letting the smoke escape his lips with almost cruel slowness.

"So here's what's going to happen, Finn. You're going to go back and politely inform the others that everything is under control. Understood?"

"Perfectly." Finn replied, with a smile that was a disconcerting mix of amusement and insolence. He seemed genuinely entertained by the dynamic between the two of you, as if watching a particularly intriguing play unfold. "Well, I must say, I can see your point now, Silco. Excellent choice... I have to admit, I'm a bit annoyed I didn't come across her first."

The atmosphere shifted instantly. If the room had been tense before, now it felt as if all the air had been sucked out entirely. It was almost like watching someone willingly step off a cliff. You weren't sure if Finn was suicidal, stupid, or simply incapable of reading the room. Because saying something like that, so openly, in front of Silco... well, that was the very definition of digging your own grave.

"I'd advise you to choose your words more carefully." Silco's response came quickly, but it was dangerous. "My tolerance for nonsense is running thin."

Finn, however, didn't seem to grasp the gravity of the situation. Or perhaps he did and simply didn't care. He laughed. "Don't take it personally. I'm merely complimenting your excellent taste. It's no sin to admire a fine new acquisition."

Finn's eyes slid over you again, this time even more blatantly. It was the kind of look that made your skin crawl, but not in a good way. The difference between Finn and Silco was stark—while Silco's gaze was warm yet never intrusive, Finn's was filthy. As if he was deliberately trying to reduce you to nothing more than a sexual object.

Whatever was holding back Silco's patience was on the verge of snapping.

Without thinking too much—actually, without thinking at all—you acted. Your hands slid downward, moving so casually that it seemed like an innocent gesture. But you knew exactly what you were doing. And, by the way Silco immediately tensed, he knew too. At first, it was just a light touch, almost experimental, but enough to elicit a reaction from him. He couldn't completely hide the rigidity that took over his body.

You rested your head on his shoulder, assuming an almost relaxed posture. Pretending to pay attention to the conversation, you let your fingers trace down his side, caressing him over the fabric.

The table between you and Finn was high enough to conceal what you were doing. From Finn's perspective, you were simply lounging in Silco's lap, like an ornament adorning the baron's throne. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Silco tense even more. Not just physically—his entire body seemed on high alert. The way he adjusted his posture was subtle but unmistakable.

Your intentions with that move were... multifaceted. You wanted to distract Silco from his growing desire to do something that would end in yet another corpse; you wanted to alleviate some of the crushing tension in the room; but most of all, you wanted revenge. It didn't matter if it was for the gas he'd used against you or for Kate's death—something inside you craved a small victory.

And, frankly, what could be more satisfying than turning the tables on Silco in the middle of an important meeting?

Silco's Pov ━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

He should have known that the woman was up to something when she disobeyed him like that. A part of his mind really thought that she would behave herself for once, especially in the presence of another baron since she seemed quite furious when he ordered her to stay. Maybe that was karma punishing him in the form of the woman who tormented him so much.

He could have stopped her. Stopped what that wicked mind of hers was about to do, but still he didn't. He allowed it, and God he wondered why.

Silco's breath hitched in his throat as her fingers brushed against his crotch, her touch light and teasing but unmistakably deliberate. He gritted his teeth, his muscles tensing as he fought to maintain his composure. He could feel himself growing hard, could feel the blood rushing to his groin, his cock twitching and straining against the confines of his trousers.

But he didn't react, didn't move, didn't give any outward sign of his arousal. He kept his eyes locked on Finn's face, his expression cool and impassive, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Inside, though, he was seething. Fury and lust warred within him, a potent cocktail of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. He wanted to grab her, to throw her down on the desk and fuck her until she screamed. He wanted to wipe that smug, knowing smile off her face, to make her beg for mercy. That damn woman.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, to regain control as he took another drag of his cigar. "Now that we've gotten this personal issue out of the way, I think we can talk business. The Chemtanks are ready for testing?"

He forced himself to focus on the conversation, on Finn's words. The other baron was talking about something; answering his question, but Silco couldn't quite concentrate on the specifics. All he could think about was the feel of her fingers on his cock, the subtle pressure and friction that sent sparks of pleasure racing up his spine.

"Yes, everything is in order," Finn replied, his tone carefully neutral. "We should be able to start the tests by the end of the week."

He shifted slightly in his seat, trying to adjust himself, to find some relief from the growing ache in his groin. But her hand followed him, her touch unerringly accurate, her fingers tracing the outline of his shaft through the fabric of his pants.

"And what about the vaporization systems? They changed it to be towards the helmet instead of into the bloodstream"

Silco's heart pounded in his chest as her nimble fingers worked at his zipper, the sound of the metal teeth sliding apart obscenely loud in his ears. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, his palms slick with sweat. He could feel the heat of her breath on his neck.

"Renni is taking care of that part, but she is confident that we'll have a working prototype within the month. And with your approval, we can begin mass production shortly thereafter."

He could feel her fingers wrapping around his cock, her touch sure and skilled. She stroked him slowly, teasingly, her palm gliding over the sensitive skin of his shaft. "Good." it was unclear whether he had said that to Finn or to her. "But we'll need to increase production of shimmer." Finn was saying, his voice starting to get distant and muffled, as if he were speaking from the bottom of a well. "If we want to keep up with demand, we'll need to double our output, maybe even triple it."

"Agreed. Sevika can..." he paused, his breath catching in his throat as her thumb brushed across the sensitive head of his cock. He could feel the pleasure sparking through him. "Sevika can handle that part. I'll ask her to recruit more workers."

Her hand moved faster, her grip tightening around his cock, her strokes becoming more purposeful, more demanding. He could feel the pressure building in his balls, could feel the familiar tightening in his gut, the ache in his core.

"Is everything alright, Silco? You seem... distracted."

"I'm fine."

No, he wasn't.

Silco's breath came shorter, his chest heaving with each ragged inhale. He could feel the pressure building in his groin, the tightening coil of pleasure that wound its way up his spine. His cock throbbed in her hand, the wetness of his pre-cum easing the way, allowing her fingers to slide effortlessly along his shaft.

He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching as he fought to maintain his composure. But it was getting harder, the pleasure overwhelming his senses, clouding his thoughts. He could feel his hips moving, could feel himself thrusting involuntarily into her touch, seeking more friction, more stimulation. Just a little more… Then, just as it came suddenly her hands slid out.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Silco felt the sting of having control wrested from his grasp—a sensation he was far more accustomed to delivering than receiving. The experience of being denied his climax, especially in such an unanticipated manner, reverberated through him, setting his nerves alight with a volatile mixture of frustration and smoldering irritation.

Of all the things that woman could have done, this was not one he had foreseen. Not in the slightest.

With a sharp inhale, he reached for the cigar balanced between his fingers, now nearly burnt to its stub. His anger found an outlet in the force he applied as he stubbed it out against the ashtray, grinding the glowing ember with such aggression that sparks flew into the surrounding air. The scent of burnt tobacco mixed with the acrid sharpness of his rising temper. Damn her.

"Anything else, Finn?" it was a question in name only—a rhetorical barb meant to dismiss rather than invite further conversation.

Finn hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, before responding. "No. That's all for now. I'll have my people send over the updated schematics for the Chemtank prototypes."

Finn lingered for a moment too long, as though weighing whether to add anything further, but Silco's unyielding stare settled the matter. The younger man rose from his seat and made his exit, the faint scrape of the chair against the floor marking his departure.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Silco leaned back in his chair, allowing himself a moment to exhale through his nose, slow and measured. His hand drifted to his temple, fingers pressing lightly against the scarred skin as if to quell the tension building there.

Silco's eyes narrowed as he watched her slip from his grasp, her smug smile a taunting reminder of his own vulnerability. The audacity of the woman, to toy with him so brazenly, to push him to the precipice of release only to deny him the satisfaction of climax. It was infuriating, maddening... and oddly enticing.

Her voice had been laced with an infuriatingly sweet sarcasm that grated on his nerves like sandpaper. "You look frustrated."

He reached down to adjust himself, his mechanical movements as he tucked away his still-hard cock. The action did little to alleviate the ache of denial that pulsed through him, but it served to restore a modicum of decorum.

"Frustrated?" he repeated aloud, his voice low, smooth, and dangerous — a razor-thin veneer of calm. "You could say that."

His hands came up once more to rub at his temples, as though the motion might stave off the inevitable migraine brewing behind his eyes. He didn't want to argue with her. Not now. Not again. He lacked the energy—or, frankly, the will—to engage in one of their maddening back-and-forths.

"What were you thinking?" he drawled, his tone a silken purr that concealed the steel thread beneath it. The warning was clear, though wrapped in deceptive softness. "Teasing me like that, in front of Finn, of all people. Do you have any idea what could have happened if he'd caught on?"

She didn't seem the least bit concerned.

Instead, she moved around the room with the casual curiosity of someone utterly unbothered, the faint sway of her hips deliberate — or was he imagining that, too? Either way, it irked him. No, it infuriated him. His eyes tracked her every movement as she circled the table, fingers brushing against objects with absent-minded interest. She was far too comfortable, far too bold, as if oblivious to the storm she'd stirred in him.

"Nothing?" her tone was almost mocking, far too calm for his liking. "What would he do? You're the Eye of Zaun. You could order anyone dead, another baron even, and no one would stop you. Hell, you could have fucked me in front of him, and Finn wouldn't have done a damn thing."

She turned slightly, just enough for him to catch the faintest glint of mischief in her eyes as she asked. "Tell me if I'm wrong?"

"Things are never as simple as they seem, dove. It's not about what I could do. Any fool with a gun can make an example of someone. It's about keeping up appearances."

She wasn't wrong, per se. His position afforded him certain luxuries, certain freedoms. Those who dared to cross him rarely lived to regret it. Fear was an effective tool, and he wielded it as masterfully as a craftsman handles their blade. But ruling Zaun wasn't just about fear. It wasn't even about power. It was about control.

"Finn," Silco continued, his lips curling into a faint sneer. "May not have the power to challenge me directly. Not yet. But power in the Undercity isn't always about strength. A single misstep on my part, one poorly chosen action or a rumor twisted out of context and I could find myself surrounded by wolves. The other barons would pounce at the first sign of weakness, tearing this city apart in their greed to claim what I've built."

Silco's sharp gaze followed hers, narrowing slightly as he noted the peculiar way her eyes lingered on the ashtray. The mundanity of it all didn't match the focus she gave it. Unease prickled at the edges of his mind — instincts honed by years of treachery and survival whispering that something was amiss.

"Power is a delicate thing." he began, his voice low, methodical, as though he were delivering some carefully honed lecture. "To wield it effectively, one must be shrewd. Brute force alone will only get you so far before the weight of your own arrogance collapses around you. Perception..." he drawled, emphasizing the word, "Is the key. You must understand how others see you, why they see you that way. And then you twist that perception to suit your needs."

He straightened, his lithe form unfolding as he rose from the chair. With unhurried steps, he moved around the table. He stopped just behind her, close enough that she could feel his presence, the subtle heat of him at her back. He placed his hands on her hips, a gesture that was both possessive and unyielding, his grip firm without being bruising.

He wasn't sure why he was telling her this, sharing fragments of the philosophy that had carved him into the man he was now. Perhaps it was arrogance, a desire to make her understand the weight of his world — of his choices. Or perhaps it was something far more insidious: the compulsion to see her molded into something sharper, something dangerous.

He waited for her retort, some sharp-edged barb or sarcastic deflection — but none came. She remained quiet, almost too quiet, her body unnaturally still beneath his touch. Her eyes, however, remained fixed on the ashtray, as if it had suddenly become the most fascinating object in the room.

And that — her strange fixation — gnawed at him.

"And what, pray tell, is so fascinating about my ashtray?"

"Children's scribbles," she remarked, her tone devoid of her usual sarcasm, which only made the statement more unnerving. It wasn't a jab, not a provocation—just an observation. Her eyes lingered on the ashtray, tracing the faint, uneven lines etched across its surface. Lines that, to her credit, most wouldn't have noticed. "Who's Jinx? Your daughter?"

If looks could kill… Silco would have killed her right then.

"She's not someone you need to concern yourself with." his tone was calm, but the underlying menace was unmistakable, a predator's growl beneath a diplomat's poise. "Do I make myself clear?"

"So she really is your daughter." her voice carried a subtle lilt of satisfaction, as if she'd confirmed some unspoken theory. He didn't need to see her face to know she was smiling—he could hear it in the faint inflection of her tone.

The silence was... unsettling. He'd grown accustomed to her sharp tongue, her acerbic provocations. They had become a twisted rhythm between them, a game of verbal knives that he had learned to parry and, on occasion, savor. But now, her silence was a void, one he couldn't read, and it gnawed at him in a way few things dared.

She was lost in her own thoughts — that much was clear. Yet what she was thinking remained maddeningly out of reach, and Silco's patience was wearing thin. The flicker of distrust in his chest grew stronger.

Jinx wasn't a topic he discussed lightly, much less with her. The subject was volatile, fragile — a fracture point he refused to expose. And yet, he couldn't shake the suspicion that the wheels in her mind were turning dangerously close to that particular edge.

"Working in a brothel teaches you a lot of things." she began, her voice slicing through the charged silence. Her tone was calm, even resolute, but there was an unmistakable allure in the way her words rolled off her tongue — calculated, as always. "One of them is that everything has a price. That anyone can be persuaded to see things your way, given the right terms."

Silco inclined his head slightly, intrigued but cautious. He let her continue, sensing the trap she was laying but curious to see how she planned to spring it. "You should know better than anyone, Silco."

"Is there a point to this, dove?"

She met his gaze then, her eyes sharp and unflinching. For a brief moment, neither spoke, the air between them crackling with tension.

"You wanted to renegotiate the terms of our... relationship." she said at last, her voice softer now but no less resolute. She let the words hang in the air, weighted. A faint smile ghosting her lips. "I'm open to negotiations now."

Silco's brows arched ever so slightly, his surprise masked by the practiced neutrality of his expression. The day had already veered wildly off course, oscillating between chaos and control at an alarming speed — all thanks to her. Now, this? He had expected resistance, perhaps even defiance. He had anticipated having to employ more persuasive methods to ensure she stayed within reach. But now? What an unexpected turn of events. Interesting. Very interesting indeed.

Part 6 PS: I don't think I'll be able to post an update before Christmas, so happy holidays and a Merry Christmas everyone! ↓ ┊ TAG LIST ┊ ↓ (Adding people to the list will probably end in some future updates as it is getting too big, so take advantage now to ask to be added. If you want to continue receiving updates consider following me.)

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#silco x reader #silco x you #smut #reader insert #arcane fanfic #arcane #arcane silco #minors dni #no beta we die like silco

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gremlingottoosilly · 1 year ago

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Now, Fallout!AU for Raider!Konig and fem!Reader...

Konig as a raider. Your typical one - wall of meat, muscles, mean motherfucker who doesn't really care who to kill and who to fuck after. It might be from one of the less drug-addicted gangs, most of the shit never works on him anyway. Might be radiation, might be mild mutation - no one cares. He isn't a leader of the gang, never good at working with people and commanding them - but he is good at shooting people and taking their stuff. He is good at spotting and sniping, despite people around laughing at his huge form scrambling behind a stolen sniper riffle. This is how he spots you, actually. A vault dweller - this much is obvious. You can lead him to your stash, a can deep in the ground. Filled with people, vault-dwelling rats - the ones that are too fucking good for this place. Konig thinks he hates them - but honestly, half of the wasteland does. You do look good in that tight suit of yours. Bright blue on the dry yellow of the ground below. he wondered who designed the suits - if people knew that every dumb underground rat would be spotted from at least 3 kilometres away in that bright blue thing. Works for him, though. He flips off the guy who didn't want to spot for his position. His rank in the gang is high enough to just get a guy by his neck and force him on guard duty - all while he is getting ready to catch the little rat. It was a while since he saw someone so pretty - honestly, only Vault dwellers can be considered pretty at this point. Clean skin, moderately clean hair. He knows that if he gets to smell you, you'd have this awesome stench of cleanliness. Would be lovely to push his nose into your hair as he fucks you on his bunk. Might even clean his room a bit so the underworld princess won't be too disgusted at the perspective of being chained to his bunk. A prized property. Pretty helpless thing.

Konig drags you to the compound with ease. You're too startled at the sight of a giant hooded man approaching you with a very mean gun on his hip - not even in his hands, since he is confident he can snap your neck with just two fingers. You whine like a brain calf being split in two at some posh casino far in New Vegas - he brushes his hand over your ass, gripping it. Patting it. You do have a weapon - he disposes of it now, just getting it to his pocket. You freeze when he takes your pip-boy off, snapping it off your wrist with ease. You mouth a little plead with your lips. Konig laughs. You have a Vault location in here - it's funny how such a silly thing is going to be the doom of your people. The gang leader would probably be sad they didn't get to torture you for information, but Konig is making sure the whole gang will be satisfied hearing your moans and cries the whole night. Everyone knows that Konig is a beast - and that if they try to get the leftovers of a pretty Vault girl, they will be used as a target practice next. You do smell good. Konig takes note of breaking into some abandoned building and trying to fetch water and cleaning supplies so you could continue to smell nice. Wants to doll up his pretty Vault snatch - even finds some old, pre-war dresses. Plays house as long as gang allows it. Some of the younger members give you a pitied look, hearing your little sobs every time Konig forces you to move. Some of the older members know that the moans you're letting out aren't the ones of pain. Konig isn't the one to share and to talk, so he never even brags about his girl. Just has her attached to his hip, clinging to his armor since he is the only one who you know here. At least you know him, somehow. At least you know he likes his pretty Vault rat too much to let you get hurt. By anyone but him, that is.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #yandere cod #cod x reader #fallout

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roosterforme · 2 years ago

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Khaki, White and Blue | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: Three different uniforms on him. Three different rides for you. But there's just one man who can get you off with his words, his actions and a well placed thigh.

Warnings: Swears, fluff, smutty thigh riding, 18+

Length: 3200 words

Pairing: Beer Boy and Sugar! Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

Happy birthday to @thedroneranger!

This is a one-shot to accompany my fics Old Habits Die Hard and Right Girl, Wrong Time but it can be read on its own! Banner by @mak-32 Check out my masterlist

Bradley bit his knuckle as he watched you come strolling down the vacant sidewalk toward him in the idling Bronco. He grunted softly as you adjusted your bag on your shoulder, never missing a step in your high heels and snug tweed skirt. You were illuminated by the orange glow of the streetlights, and even though it was Friday, your late night teaching advanced calculus, you looked as perfectly put together as you had this morning.

"Fuck," he moaned when you opened the door and climbed in next to him, your skirt sliding up your thigh as you started to lean closer to give him a kiss.

"What?" you asked, pausing to examine his expression before dropping your gaze down to the insignia pins on his khaki uniform shirt.

Bradley shook his head, voice raspy as he said, "Don't act like you don't know that you look fine as hell, Sugar. You feel like taking a walk to the library? Maybe check out one of the study rooms?"

He leaned in as your pouty lips formed a perfect smirk, but you just nipped at his mustache, pulling away and teasing him every time he tried to deepen the kiss. You laughed softly as he chased your lips when you asked, "What's wrong with right here?"

Bradley froze except for his big hand that he slowly wrapped around the back of your neck. "Here? Parked on campus?"

You just nodded in response as he subtly adjusted himself in his pants, his body responding favorably to his wife as usual. Then you finally kissed him with parted lips, letting him taste your tongue, and you whined when he reached for you, pulling you gently until you crawled across the seat.

"You look good in your khakis with all your pins, Beer Boy," you whispered as you eased yourself down to straddle his right thigh. The interior of the Bronco was mostly dark as you reached for his rough hands and set them softly on the hem of your tweed skirt.

"You're such a fucking tag chaser," he said, trying to hide his grin as you tipped your head back and laughed. You both knew that couldn't be further from the truth, he just loved to hear your laughter. But that melodic sound was replaced with a whine as he pushed your skirt up inch by inch, bunching the tweed fabric until his hands were on your bare skin.

As he drew little circles along your thighs, he let his hands drift back until he was cupping your ass. You were already grabbing at his shoulders as you rolled your hips forward, and Bradley had to run his index finger down nearly to your pussy to even confirm you were wearing one of your tiniest thongs.

"I guess I am," you whispered, rubbing yourself against his thigh. "It's making me hot that you're getting a new pin tomorrow, Lieutenant Commander."

"Fuck," he gasped as your knee nudged his hard cock. He glanced around a little frantically, trying to make sure nobody was walking down this quiet side street. "You know, one of your students or coworkers could see this."

"Mmm," you moaned, grinding yourself down on his thigh until you gasped. "See what? Nothing's going on in here."

Bradley palmed your ass before giving you a little smack and tucking his long index finger inside your thong. He guided you forward on his thigh, keeping a foot of space between your upper body and his.

"That's right, Sugar," he whispered as you rubbed your pussy up and down his khaki pants. "We're just talking here."

You nodded as you bit your lip. "Just talking." When your head tipped back again, showing off your beautiful neck and making your tits strain against your blouse, Bradley had to fight to keep his lips off you.

"You're putting on a show for me, Baby. Feel good?"

Your hips stuttered a bit as you rode his thigh, and he guided you along with his hands on your delicious hips. "Bradley," you whined. "I... oh... oh!"

"Full sentences. Tell me what you need," he said with a smirk as you tipped your head forward to look at him and scooted up in desperation until your pussy met his gold belt buckle.

"Need this... oh!"

Bradley thrust his hips to meet you as he growled, "You sound so fucking dumb right now. I thought you had your PhD."

"Fuck!" You reached for his biceps, holding on to him as your lips parted. You were panting as you shook, grinding against the metal buckle, making soft little gasping noises as your eyes drifted closed. Bradley squeezed your hips tight as you came on the front of his khakis, moaning his name as the roll of your hips started to slow.

He reached for your left hand, running his thumb along your diamond ring as he guided your fingers to his cock where it rested hard and huge against his thigh. "You feel what you do to me?" he grunted. "You feel how much I love you?"

You nodded your head, still coming down from your own orgasm as you squeezed him gently. "I do. I feel it."

Bradley thrust up into your hand as he swallowed hard. "Get buckled in, Sugar," he commanded, and you went scrambling back across the seat, treating him to the sight of your bare ass as you went. Even in the dim light, he could see the slick, wet marks you left all over his pants, and he groaned. "I'll take you home and let you feel it until you're screaming."

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

You'd never been to a promotion banquet before, but you were thoroughly enjoying every moment of this. Your husband was sitting with his arm around you in his dress whites with his new pin on his uniform while sipping a beer, and he looked gorgeous. He was all crooked grin, crooked white hat, and flushed, pink cheeks, and you knew he would give you anything you wanted tonight.

"I still can't believe you wore that," he muttered, pressing his lips and mustache to your ear. "You just tell me when you want to go home, and I'll take care of the rest."

You moaned softly at the banquet table, basking in his attention when his beer bottle met your tattoos. You were wearing the black dress from your college reunion, the one you had on last summer when the two of you had reunited after ten years, and there were cutouts on the sides. Bradley's hands had been all over you that night, and they were all over you again now.

"Beer Boy," you warned as condensation dripped down your skin, but he didn't care. His deep, rumbling laughter alerted you to that fact.

"You've been teasing me all night. You think I don't owe you a little something?"

"What did you have in mind, Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw?"

Bradley looked around the table, nodding to the other officers he knew as he set his beer down and squeezed your shoulder. He hooked his fingers under your chin and kissed you sweetly before saying, "Alright, tag chaser. Let's go for a walk."

Laughter bubbled out of you as Bradley helped you to your feet, lacing his fingers with yours and leading you unhurriedly out of the main ballroom and down a quiet hallway. "Where are we going?" you finally asked when he led you through a propped door next to the kitchens. There were some waiters and bartenders outside smoking, and Bradley pulled you right past them and around to the back of the building.

"Somewhere you can admire my new rank in private, Sugar."

"Oh," you gasped when he pushed you carefully up against the building, caging you in with his body. He took your left hand and kissed your palm and fingertips before pressing them to his new pin.

"And somewhere I can admire you," he added in the softest whisper. "I haven't seen you in this dress since our reunion. It's my favorite thing on you besides my Grateful Dead shirt."

His kisses were so soft, but you clenched around nothing as he spread your legs with his knee and pressed his thigh against you. "It's for special occasions," you whispered as your lips skimmed his. You could hear the conversation and smell the faint cigarette smoke, reminding you that you weren't alone. But that just made it even better when he started to hike up your dress, letting you feel the cool, night air on your bare skin.

"Oh god," you moaned into his mouth between sweet kisses when you felt the scratch of his white pants against your clit. "Beer Boy."

"Hmm," he hummed against your mouth as he gently palmed your bare butt with one big hand, planting his other hand next to your head on the building. He guided you up his thigh, and the pressure against your clit left you gasping. Your hands went to the back of his neck, and he held eye contact with you as you started to rock. "You're gorgeous."

"Bradley."

"And smart. Always so far out of my league," he added, and you clenched again as he kissed your cheek. He was so solid and warm, and your brain was in a fog as he said, "I want you to do it."

"Do what?" you whined, hips rocking against his thigh at the tempo he set with his big hand.

He squeezed you, digging his fingers into the round of your rear end as he told you, "I want you to mess up my pants, Sugar." He cupped your chin. "Mark me up. Get me all wet. Like you own me."

When your head tipped back, you gasped. You nudged his length as you rolled your hips, but Bradley just said, "Keep going. Keep going." You were practically dangling from his neck as you held onto him and wiggled against him, grinding and humping until you were almost there. "That's it," he encouraged, reading it on your face. "Good girl."

That's all it took as your walls fluttered. "Bradley!" you whined, and his lips found yours as you came, feeling yourself gush just like he wanted. "Oh my god." He kissed you harder before you could get too loud, and your pussy was soaking wet as he guided his knee away from your body as you chased him until your front was pressed completely to his.

Your dress fell back into place, and he wrapped his hands around your waist as his crooked grin returned. He was fully erect, hard in his white pants, and you were about to offer to take care of it for him when he said, "Let's get back inside and have dessert while I show off my pants, and then I'll take you home and let you suck my cock."

Still whimpering, he paraded you back inside with his pant leg wet at the exact same height as your pussy.

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

Bradley slept like a log after you sucked him off so long and so well, he even dreamed about you showing off your pretty mouth full of his cum before you swallowed. You'd whispered, "I love you, Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw," to him so many times as he dozed off, of course he was startled when he woke up alone. He grunted your name, hand roaming around your side of the bed before he heard the shower running.

He reached down to stroke his cock with a smile, the thought of your body warm and wet with water cascading down back had him a little hard already. The sweet scent of your body wash filled the air, sending Bradley's legs swinging over the edge of the bed to get to you. But then he froze when he saw his white uniform pants on the floor from last night, and his mind drifted. Friday night, you had his khakis in the Bronco, and Saturday you had his dress whites while he got promoted. You deserved everything this weekend, so he turned toward the closet to dig out his third uniform for your grinding pleasure.

He was grinning as he buttoned up his jacket, affixing his new pin to the front before tossing his blue hat on his head as he heard you call out from the bathroom. "Oh, good, you're up. I had this fun thought that maybe you could-"

You froze in the doorway, completely naked with a pair of clean underwear in your hand, and you bit your lip as you took in his appearance. Bradley watched as you pressed your thighs together, but he knew you'd be spreading them for him soon.

"Maybe I could what?" he asked, voice deep and raspy as you took a few steps closer, closing the distance to him.

You looked up at him, tapping his new pin with your index finger as he stood tall for you. "You read my mind. I was going to say maybe you could change into your dress blues for me," you whispered. "Let me have all three this weekend."

Bradley groaned as you pushed him back toward the edge of the bed where he sat down hard. When you came to stand between his splayed legs, he reached out to wrap his hands around your thighs as you cupped his cheeks and kissed him. Your skin was warm, and when he slid his hands up, he traced your ass with his thumbs, loving how you'd filled out since college.

"It's all yours, Sugar," he said, kissing along your tits and tasting your skin before you turned your back to him. "Oh, hell," he moaned as you planted your palms on his thighs and bent a little bit before slowly wiggling your ass from side to side against the front of his pants. "What are you doing, Baby?" he rasped, heart thudding as he brought his hands up to your hips while you essentially gave him a lap dance. If you wanted to turn the bedroom into his own private champagne room, he was not about to complain.

"Warming up my seat," you whispered, bumping back on his cock. When you turned to look at him over your shoulder, Bradley leaned forward to kiss your shoulder, and you arched your back for him before you straddled his left thigh. "This okay?" you asked as your back rested against his chest. When you glanced at him again, your lips were so close, he had to kiss them.

"Baby, you do whatever you want to me," he crooned, letting his hands drift to the front of your body. He circled your clit with his middle finger and smiled as his mouth found your neck. Your pussy was nice and wet, just the way he wanted it on his pants, and your ass bumped his cock every time you moved.

Bradley took his time, moving his finger at the pace he knew you liked as he sucked gently on your neck and shoulder. "You smell good," he whispered before nipping you and licking you over and over again. With every roll of your hips, he thought about bending you over and fucking the absolute shit out of you, but he'd let you have your fun first.

"A little harder, Beer Boy," you whined, looking back at him as he pressed his finger into your clit until you gasped. Your eyes were half lidded as you planted both of your hands on his leg just above his left knee. "That's so good."

He had only ever been truly good for you. He only ever planned on being good and sweet and everything you needed. When your back arched in pleasure again, you started to rock and grind, treating him to the sight of your perfect ass rubbing his cock. His pants felt snug, and then he thought about how tight your pussy was and he yanked you back against him, making you squeal in delight as he nibbled your ear.

"You got me really wound up," he growled. Every movement had you rubbing up on him while he swiped his finger up and down your slick clit as you babbled. The faster he moved his finger, the closer you got. And the harder you rocked against his cock. "Jesus, Sugar."

"Can't help it," you gasped, reaching for his hand and pulling it from your clit up to your mouth. "I'm so close." And then you licked his fingers before taking them between your lips, rocking back as you humped his leg.

You were his wife, always treating him to the finest things in bed and out, but you were feral right now, whining and moaning his name. He explored the front of your body with his other hand, pinching your nipples and squeezing. You got louder, bumping his cock in a delicious rhythm as you sucked away on his fingers.

He wanted your pussy and your mouth and your tits, every part of your body wrapped around his cock. He wanted it sloppy, just how he knew you could get as your tongue swirled around his fingers. He wanted you every single fucking way.

"Baby," he groaned, your saliva running down to his palm as your back arched again. "Oh, shit."

His hand settled around the front of your neck as your voice rose, a pretty crescendo of a needy whine as you jerked your hips and came on him. "Bradley!" You were loud now, grabbing at both of his thighs to keep yourself seated as you rode out your orgasm, but it was too late for him as your right hand slid back to grab his cock.

Two loud grunts in your ear, and he came, too. Right in his dress blues.

He was still thrusting against your hand when you groaned, "I got your pants soaking wet," as your hips slowed down. When you looked back at him one more time, you whispered, "I love you. Tell me how you want me to get you off."

Bradley could feel the stinging heat rising in his cheeks as you gently nibbled his lips and then stood on shaky legs in front of him. You kissed him and knocked his hat off before you reached for the fly of his blue pants. He had to take your hands in his to still them. "You already got me off," he muttered.

You looked puzzled before you ran your hand lower to his softening cock, and then he saw the realization of what just happened dawning on your perfect face. Your lips parted on a moan that had him reaching to pull your body against him. "That's so hot," you whispered, your voice sounding desperate again. "That's so fucking hot, Beer Boy."

In one swift motion, you pushed him onto his back and straddled his waist, leaning down so your bare breasts rubbed his pins. "You're so fucking hot," he promised as you licked the side of his neck and whimpered, letting your pussy rest on his uniform jacket now.

"How fast can you get hard again?" you asked, taking his wrists in your hands and pinning them above his head before your lips returned to his neck.

Bradley grinned and closed his eyes, enjoying your little whimpers next to his ear. "With you on top of me, Sugar? I'd say pretty damn fast."

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

I love these two, and I think Sugar deserved a nice weekend. Congratulations to Beer Boy! And happy birthday, Jay! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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roseandxanderfics · 3 months ago

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"Innocence in the Storm" - Noah Flynn x Shy Reader

Summary: Shy and innocent, you’ve always kept to yourself, but when Noah Flynn starts showing up in your life, his mix of cocky charm and unexpected gentleness slowly pulls you out of your shell. As you let your guard down, a deep connection begins to form, but Noah’s protective nature and your growing feelings make everything more complicated than it seems.

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The world had always felt like a series of loud noises and bright flashes of movement for you—an endless parade of people, voices, and things happening around you. You weren’t shy, exactly. You just found comfort in the quiet corners, tucked away from the chaos of the world. It wasn’t that you didn’t want connection, but the idea of letting someone in made you feel exposed in ways you weren’t ready to face.

Your safe place was your own little bubble. Or so you thought. That is, until Noah Flynn showed up.

Noah was everything you weren’t. Loud. Confident. Reckless. He was the kind of guy who walked into a room and immediately commanded attention, his rugged charm and cocky grin making it impossible for people not to notice him. It didn’t hurt that he had the bad boy reputation that only seemed to add to his allure. You had heard the rumors—Noah was a rule breaker, a guy who didn’t care about consequences, the kind of guy who’d throw a punch before he’d apologize.

But that was just the outside. The part that scared you and intrigued you all at once. What you didn’t expect was that Noah Flynn—cocky and untouchable Noah—would be drawn to you.

It started like this: you were sitting in your usual corner of the cafeteria, picking at your lunch, trying to keep to yourself. You weren’t antisocial, but you liked your space. The last thing you expected was for Noah to sit down across from you, his trademark grin flashing before he spoke.

“Hey, didn’t think I’d find you here,” he said, leaning back in his chair with that casual ease of his. His eyes, dark and playful, caught yours as if he were daring you to look away. You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling a little too exposed under his gaze.

“Oh, um…” You stammered, surprised he even knew you existed. “I just... prefer this spot.”

“Hmm, I can see why,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Nice and quiet. I’m used to the chaos, but I respect a good corner seat.”

You couldn’t believe he was talking to you, let alone sitting with you. His presence felt overwhelming, but not in a bad way. There was something about him that made your heart race, and it wasn’t just his obvious charm. He had this cocky edge, but also this unexpected gentleness when his eyes lingered on you a little too long. You caught yourself wondering, Why me?

“Do you always sit by yourself?” he asked, his curiosity sharp. He was definitely a little too observant for comfort, but you didn’t mind it—at least not at first. He wasn’t being rude, just... well, Noah. Cocky, yet somehow endearing.

“Yeah,” you muttered, a little self-conscious. “I, uh, don’t mind the quiet.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning in just a little. “Don’t mind the quiet, huh? I don’t know if I could do that. Guess I’ll just have to get used to hearing your voice now.”

The playful way he said it made your heart do a little flip. You weren’t used to attention, especially from someone like Noah, but there was something about him that made you feel... not so alone.

As the days passed, Noah continued to make subtle, yet consistent, appearances in your life. He started sitting with you at lunch, his teasing remarks always leaving you flustered but somehow drawn in. At first, you thought it was a joke, some kind of game to him, but the longer he stuck around, the more you began to realize it wasn’t. He wanted to be there.

Noah had a way of making you feel seen in a way that made you uncomfortable at first. The way his eyes would always linger on you, how he’d give you a half-smile whenever you said something, as if he were paying more attention to you than anyone else in the room. He was cocky, sure, but when it came to you, there was this strange gentleness that you didn’t expect from someone like him.

One afternoon, as you walked to your next class, you felt a hand on your shoulder—Noah’s hand, warm and slightly rough against your skin.

“You look like you’ve got a million things on your mind,” he said, his tone light but filled with concern. You tensed, your breath hitching as you glanced at him. Was it that obvious?

“I’m fine,” you whispered, giving him a quick, forced smile, trying to hide how nervous you were feeling.

“Yeah, you look fine,” Noah said, his voice tinged with humor. But then he paused, his smile turning softer. “But if you ever need to talk... or, I don’t know, just need someone to distract you from whatever’s going on up there”—he tapped his temple—“I’m here. Okay?”

You blinked up at him, unsure of what to make of his words. He wasn’t the type to offer comfort, not in the way you were used to. But there was something real in his eyes, something that made your heart skip a beat. “Thanks,” you whispered, unsure of how to respond. Noah Flynn, the guy who was known for breaking hearts, was being kind to you?

Noah caught your hesitation, his usual cocky smile slipping for a moment. “Hey, I know I don’t exactly seem like a guy who’s into soft stuff, but I’m not an asshole, alright?” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, looking almost vulnerable in a way you hadn’t seen before. “I just don’t want you to feel... alone.”

For the first time, his guard was down. He was still Noah—still cocky, still confident—but you could see there was a part of him that cared. And somehow, that made everything feel more complicated. You were used to keeping people at arm’s length, to not letting anyone too close. But with Noah, it was harder to do that.

As the weeks passed, your interactions with Noah became more frequent, and you found yourself looking forward to them. The more time you spent together, the more you realized Noah wasn’t just cocky and confident. He was protective—more than you’d ever imagined. And it wasn’t just the big gestures. It was the little things, like the way he made sure no one bothered you in the hallways, or how he’d walk you to your classes just to make sure you were okay.

And then there were the moments when his cockiness mixed with something softer. Like the way he’d tease you just enough to make you blush, but then offer a genuine smile when you looked like you were about to shrink away. He was gentle in his own way, but he didn’t know how to let his guard down fully. Not yet.

You were starting to let your guard down, too, piece by piece. Every touch, every lingering smile, every moment spent in his company made you feel like you could breathe a little easier, as if the world wasn’t so overwhelming when he was around.

One evening, after a late night at school, you found yourself walking out to the parking lot. It was cold, the air crisp and biting, and you were lost in your own thoughts when you heard Noah’s voice again.

“You heading home?” he asked, his tone more serious than usual. He was leaning against his car, arms crossed, his eyes scanning you in that protective way of his.

“Yeah,” you said quietly, shifting from foot to foot, suddenly aware of the way his gaze was locked on you. “I was just... thinking.”

He smirked, but there was something soft in his expression. “You think too much, you know that?”

You half-laughed, but the sound caught in your throat when Noah stepped closer to you. “I can help with that. If you want.”

And just like that, in that simple gesture, he made you feel safe. Not in the way you’d expect from someone like him. But in the way that, for the first time, you didn’t feel like you had to run. You didn’t have to hide.

“Okay,” you whispered, letting him in a little more. “Okay.”

He grinned, his usual cocky smirk making its return, but there was something deeper behind it now. Something that made you want to trust him, even if it was terrifying.

And as he reached for your hand, you didn’t pull away. You let him hold it, feeling the warmth spread through you, and for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, Noah Flynn wasn’t as bad as everyone thought.

#noah flynn x reader #noah flynn #kissing booth #kissing booth x reader #jacob elordi #jacob elordi x reader #cute #fluff #comfort

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moons-and-mobility-aids · 4 months ago

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Not Subtle

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: Sirius is a bit submissive at times. He has no idea. Tags: disabled!reader, fem!reader, no use of y/n, emotional intimacy, soft sirius moments, sirius is lowkey a service sub tonight, remus and james being quietly observant and supportive, established relationship, comfort fic vibes, tactile affection, fluff, hurt/comfort, domesticity in shared spaces, warm firelight feelings, unspoken love languages, reader is cherished in quiet ways, sirius melts under gentle attention, soft dynamics with subtle shifts Word count: 1.4k words Series Masterlist

The fire in your room crackles, casting a warm, comforting glow against the stone walls. The scent of burning wood permeates the air, mingling with the musty smell of old books and parchment. It's late—much later than most students would dare to be awake, but there's something calming about the castle when it's quiet, when the only sounds are the distant hooting of owls and the flicker of flame.

Your boys have gathered here, choosing the familiarity of your private quarters over the impersonal dormitories. Their postures are relaxed, bodies sinking into plush armchairs and against soft pillows, their expressions open and unguarded in the peaceful silence that only true trust can afford.

James is perched on the edge of your bed, his fingers absently tracing the intricate patterns of the comforter. A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, revealing a hint of the mischief that so often lights up his eyes. You've seen that look many times before, usually followed by some grand adventure—or trouble.

Remus is settled in the armchair closest to the fire, a book resting unattended on his lap. The flickering light casts shadows across his thoughtful features, accentuating the lines of concentration etched on his forehead. But even he seems more at ease tonight, and his gaze, though steady and watchful as always, holds a touch of warmth.

Sirius settles on the floor by your feet, his back against your legs, head tilted just so. His hair, shaggy and unkempt, falls over his shoulders, catching the warm glow of the fire. You reach out without a thought, fingers threading through the dark strands, feeling their soft texture against your skin. He leans into the touch with a contented hum, always one for physical affection. But there's something different now—a willingness to let go, to trust in the hands that hold him.

"Feels nice," Sirius murmurs, his voice low, almost a purr. He rests his head against your thigh, body pliant, tension seeping away as if drawn out by the heat of the flames. His grey eyes, half-lidded, meet yours, and there's an unspoken understanding there—a shared truth neither of you needs to voice.

Your gaze moves to Remus, who watches from across the room, taking in the scene before him. His eyes meet yours over Sirius' bowed head, and the corners of his mouth lift in a small, knowing smile. Your heart beats a little faster, a silent acknowledgment of the shift happening right under your fingertips. It's subtle, this change in Sirius, but undeniable. He may not even realise it himself, but there's a natural submissiveness to him tonight, slipping into place as easily as a well-worn cloak.

"Can you pass me my water?" Your voice is barely a whisper, but he's attuned to it, always listening for the faintest sign of your need.

He looks up, his movements immediate and fluid as if he's been waiting for this command. "Of course," he replies, rising from the floor. There's no hesitation in his step as he retrieves the bottle from where you left it on your desk. His eyes never leave yours, even as he extends the water towards you—a silent question hanging in the air between you.

Your fingers brush against his as you accept the bottle, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Thanks," you murmur, the word almost lost beneath your breath. Yet he hears it, the tension easing from his shoulders as if your gratitude alone anchors him.

James chuckles from where he's sitting on your bed, the sound rich and warm despite the circumstances. "You’re a sucker, Pads," he teases, though the affection in his tone belies the jest.

"Only for you lot," Sirius mutters, and there's a casual shrug of his shoulders that belies the gravity of what he's just admitted.

It's a small detail, perhaps, but not insignificant. You've known Sirius long enough to see the truth in his actions—how readily he jumps at any suggestion you or the boys make, how quickly he responds to even the smallest indications of need. James catches your eye and shares a smile that speaks volumes. It's so second nature for Sirius, this instinct to protect and provide, that he likely doesn't realise the extent of it himself.

At last, Remus sets his book aside with a soft thud, rising only to stretch before sinking down next to you on the bed. His arm drapes naturally across your shoulders, pulling you into a comfortable lean against his side. He presses a warm kiss to your temple, lingering for a moment longer than necessary before pulling away to address Sirius, who has returned to your feet.

“Pads,” Remus says, his voice low and calm. Sirius looks up instantly, the way he always does when Remus speaks to him like that. “Come up here, yeah? No need to sit on the floor.”

For a moment, Sirius appears taken aback, as if the idea had never occurred to him, but then he nods, the faintest hint of relief flickering in his eyes. He rises, unfolding his long limbs before settling down again, this time between you and Remus.

Your hand finds its way back to his hair, fingers threading through the dark tresses as he rests his head on your shoulder. He lets out a slow, deep breath, his body going slack against yours. The tension that's been winding its way around him all evening seems to unravel bit by bit, replaced by a quiet contentment that seeps into every corner of the room.

James watches from across the room, a fond smile playing on his lips. "You're not subtle, Pads," he chuckles, but there's no bite to his words, only affectionate amusement.

Sirius cracks open one eye, peering at you, then James, then Remus. Confusion flickers across his face, but it's fleeting, replaced quickly by contentment. "Don't know what you're on about, Prongs."

"Of course you don't," Remus comments with a soft laugh. His tone is teasing, yet threaded with the warmth that speaks volumes of his fondness for Sirius, especially in moments like this.

Your smile widens, a glow of contentment spreading through you as you feel Sirius' head grow heavy against your shoulder, Remus' warmth seeping into Sirius, and the distant presence of James, ever watchful, ever caring. A peace settles over the four of you—a peace unique to this space you share—and it's a tranquillity you wouldn't trade for anything.

Your fingers find their way beneath his chin, tilting his face up to meet yours. His eyes lock onto yours, a stormy grey that trusts you implicitly even as it questions the world around him.

"Sirius," you breathe out, leaning in to press your lips against his. It's a soft kiss, lingering and full of promises unspoken. He leans into it, his hand finding your wrist and holding on as if the connection between you is as vital as the air he breathes.

When you pull away, his eyes flutter open slowly, the look in them hazy and unfocused. It's a look you've come to know well—the dazed aftermath of a kiss that's more than just a meeting of lips. You brush your thumb across his cheek, feeling the stubble there prickle against your skin. A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth when his breath hitches ever so slightly.

"Love you," he murmurs, the words barely audible but carrying the weight of everything he doesn't say.

"Love you too, babe," you reply, pressing another kiss to his forehead before pulling away completely.

Your gaze shifts to Remus, who's observing the pair of you with an unreadable expression. His fingers trace small circles on Sirius' forearm, a silent promise of understanding and comfort. Sirius leans into the touch as though it's second nature, his shoulders relaxing incrementally.

The four of you sit there in silence, save for the crackling fire that fills the room with warmth and soft light. The world outside falls away, leaving only the flickering shadows and shared company, and in this moment, the rest of the universe ceases to exist.

#Poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders x you #Sirius black x reader #Sirius black x you #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #james potter x you #james potter x reader #marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfic #meant to be: hogwarts era

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gemmawritess · 3 months ago

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Twisted Reality

Summary:Yet another night of having to comfort Donnie when he ends up at your front door in the middle of the night. Warnings:Mentions of Frank the rabbit, fluff A/N:Wowow my first fic for Donnie Darko done! I still despise writing titles ffs. As always sorry for any mistakes and enjoy! WC:640

Cold air filled your room with a rush as you gently swung your window open. The night had a somewhat eerie vibe to it, as the clouds swallowed the moon and stars. Your room was somehow uncomfortably hot for a cold night, so you opened your window and returned back to your invitingly cozy bed, ready to fall asleep. It was quite a late night; something just kept you up, but finally sleep seemed to be in grasp as you let your head fall onto your pillow. The exact moment you fluttered your eyes shut, you were met with frantic pounding on your front door. With a sigh, you padded out of your room and made your way to the door. The sound of muffled sobs and mutterings of "Frank"—you recognised that it was your neighbour Donnie. This had been going on with him for quite a while; you knew how much he struggles with his mental illnesses, but it seems to be getting worse now that he has started seeing hallucinations of a six-foot rabbit called Frank.

When you managed to unlock your door and get it open, Donnie immediately rushed into your arms while sobbing. When he rushed into your embrace, you carefully kicked the door shut again, then proceeded to wrap your arms around the boy as he sobbed his heart out. "Hey Donnie, do you wanna come back into my room? It might be a little bit more comfortable?" you offered, hoping that if he recognises your room, it may calm him down. Donnie gave a small nod against you and stood back, waiting for you to lead him. You started to pad your way back when you realised Donnie had suddenly gripped onto your forearm, with his eyes darting around like he's actively being pursued. "It's okay, I won't let anything happen," you murmured to him, reaching over to gently rub his hand that was still holding you.

Even in your bedroom, Donnie did not let go of you, his sobs slowly starting to subside as he waited for you to lead him onto your warm bed that shelters him from Frank. You climbed onto your side of the bed against the wall and tried to gesture for him to come and lie down with you, and he followed your command immediately. Without any hesitation, he tucked himself into your side, holding your waist, trying to ground himself in the moment with you. "Is he here right now?" you whispered, letting your hands run through his slightly damp hair, trying to ignore the sweat. "Right in the corner, he's taunting me," Donnie whispered back, gazing into the corner, trying to hide his shaky breaths. You followed his gaze to the empty corner—who knows, maybe in some other twisted reality you could see this rabbit as well, but you can't, so the best you can do is try to ease Donnie's nerves.

Slowly, sleep started to tug at Donnie as his sobs stopped and his rapid breathing was starting to turn into soft snores. You carefully rubbed circles onto his back, hoping this was somehow soothing him as he rested his head on your chest. You're pretty sure no one else knows about these nightly encounters you have with him. Sleep was dragging you down with Donnie as your fingers rested on his back, rising and falling with his breath. You don't know how long this routine will go on for, but in some selfish way you savoured it. You savour the vulnerability he displays with you, the way he craves your embrace, and the way that no one else knows about these "special" moments—no matter how fleeting they are. You fell asleep holding Donnie securely, while the knowledge that you'll wake up alone and yet again fall asleep holding him held your mind.

A/N:Is this a safe space to say I'm lowkey scared of Frank like something about him just creeps me out

#x reader #geeeemmmmmmm #donnie Darko #donnie darko 2001 #donnie darko x reader #donnie darko fanfic

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rexxdjarin · 1 year ago

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A Twisted Fantasy

Commander Wolffe x F!Reader One Shot

Summary: Wolffe is a little (a lot) pent up and he knows only one way to truly unwind until he can get home to you. Word Count: 2k Chapter Warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ RATING, dom!Wolffe (is there any other kind lol?), p in v sex, light bdsm themes and spanking, male masturbation reference Notes: I was inspired by our boy finally posting tf up in the trailer🤍 crossposted on ao3

My head is fucking pounding.

Wolffe thought.

Probably atmospheric changes bothering my eye again.

As their transport hurtled through hyperspace back home to the Triple Zero, he was truly just thankful to be on solid ground and in breathable air. On extended tours like this, Wolffe was always on edge and testy. He missed the comforts of his barracks back home. He missed nights off at 79s with his brothers. Most of all, he missed her.

It had been so long he could barely detect the scent of her on the panties he kept from his last time with her. So many long rotations of burying his nose in them hoping they’d help him get off. Though, it was less and less satisfying the more he messed with them. With his mission completed and his squad probably recharging in the mess, he probably had time to ease his tension the best way he knew how.

Wolffe switched off the nav he was only casually following their course on and stood up. He glanced around the room only finding it filled with the men who should be on duty tonight. With a curt nod, he turned on his boot heel and left the room.

Tension pricked up his spine as the anticipation built up for his favorite night time activity. Well second-favorite. He reasoned with himself. As he marched down the hall toward his quarters, he scowled the way he always did when he needed to signal to his men to leave him be. The few he did see as he passed by clearly got the message, as they did nothing more than salute formally and go about their business.

Good. He could only wait so long to take the edge off.

His fists clenched so hard that his knuckles cracked beneath his gloves as the thought of her seeped deeper into his mind. How she blinks up at him like a tempting little vulptex when she wants him. The soft petal colored lips he can kiss whenever he wants to quiet her bold mouth. The wafting floral scent that drenches him in her for rotations afterwards. He fucking needed her.

He shook himself from his daydreaming as he approached his quarters. Urgently he entered his chaincode and stepped inside, sealing it shut behind him. He let his shoulders sag and tipped his head back, sighing dramatically at the relief flooding him already. In a flash, he set his helmet on his equipment crate and shucked the rest of his armor onto the floor beside it, stripping himself down to his black bodyglove.

His muscles screamed with overuse and the ache behind his eyes became even more noticeable without the excess weight of his helmet on his head. He eased himself down into bed and slumped into his pillow. The rest was soothing, even on the shitty excuse for a mattress they were all given. In a few moments, he was finally comfortable again.

Although, as the post-mission tension he had been feeling subsided, the overwhelming urge of sexual frustration rose to take its place. His body had already decided this was impossible to ignore, his cock hardening between his legs with every second that passed. The dull ache gave way to the familiar loaded throb that he’d come to welcome in his adulthood. It grounded him and gave him something to look forward to when he returned from a mission.

He sighed with satisfaction as he peeled down the waistband of his bottoms and let his now uncomfortably stiff cock fly up. He let out a huff, wrapping his hand around the base and giving it the gentlest tug to get himself started. The mission, the stress, the pain all melted away as he began a slow rhythm he liked.

His mind wandered and thoughts of her poured in, like they always did. One dirty little thought in particular began forming. He couldn’t remember if he had dreamed this once before or if it really happened, but it excited him either way…

Her body splayed out on his dark gray sheets, the fabric pooling around her waist and hiding just enough of her breasts to keep things entertaining. He always loved how she looked from behind for obvious reasons, but from this vantage point above her he felt powerful. She looked so unsuspecting and helpless, like prey just waiting to be pounced on.

His cock twitched and bounced with excitement from above her, knowing mere moments from now he’d get to fill her up with it. She looked back at him almost in desperation, her eyes begging him more than her words ever could.

Wolffe chuckled sadistically, slowly easing himself down to press his chest to her back. She keened for him, her back arching to brush skin to skin the way she craved. She turned her face hoping he would give her the mercy of a few fervent kisses, but not tonight. He couldn’t. His cock was throbbing so hard it hurt.

He leaned closer, pressing featherlight kisses up her shoulder blade to the side of her neck. Grunting and swearing as he let his hips grind against her ass. She felt so good against him, her skin so soft and warm receiving him as he brushed himself against her lewdly. Teasing himself was torturous, but he enjoyed a little of that now and again. Certainly drove her crazy though.

Each roll of his hips brushed hers deeper into the mattress beneath her and massaged her clit perfectly. The sound of her gasping and whimpering for more only made him want to go faster. Her hands reached back to grip into his curls and the tugging at his scalp made heat course down Wolffe’s spine like nothing else.

Fuck. He swore, countering with a love bite in the crook of her neck that everyone would see in the morning. She moaned and pulled tighter making his skin erupt in goosebumps at both the sensation and the sound of her pleasure. She trembled beneath his weight, probably already close to cumming from the friction alone. She was like that when he was gone for a long time, anything he did made her insatiable and it made the sex unreal.

He suckled deep hickies into the thin skin around her jaw and teased her mercilessly as she moaned pitifully for him. He didn’t care. He was impatient and in control and he needed her wet, so she could take all of him easily. He rutted his hips between her cheeks over and over again, holding his hands around her ribcage to hold her steady beneath him.

Wolffe kissed up to her ear, his hands slotting into the dip of her waist to hold her as he slowed his grinding. “Are you ready to take me, darling?” he muttered softly, grazing the shell of her ear with his teeth. “I won’t be gentle, but I can’t wait anymore.”

She mewled pathetically, “I’m ready. I need you. Please, Wolffe.” The sound of his name in her little desperate moan made him snap. With a kiss to her shoulder, he lifted himself back over her and spread her thighs apart. Sticky warmth coated her inner thighs and he groaned as he slid his length through it with ease.

His eyes fluttered as he prodded at her entrance, the head slipping through and splitting her open as he followed through. Wolffe hissed, her heat searing pleasure through him instantly. He snapped a few shallow thrusts to part her walls around him and she cried out moans that would keep Wolffe stimulated for years.

As her walls enveloped him, he started his grueling rhythm, his hips plowing into her as deep and as hard as he could. He growled in satisfaction, the burning heat swelling in his lower belly sending him into a frenzy. “You take me so fucking good.” He capped his compliment with a swift smack to her ass.

She swallowed her cries, curling her fingers into his sheets and nodding vigorously. “Always, Sir. Always.” She raised her hips, giving him a better angle, which he took immediate advantage of. He wrapped both his large hands around the small of her waist for better leverage and shoved himself deeper inside her.

“Awwh, that’s a good girl.” He gritted his teeth, her grip on him tightening markedly at his claim. “So fucking tight I can barely move. You missed me, haven’t you? Need me to come home and open you up just like this.” He laughed, letting his strokes shorten as he rocked into her a little harder.

“Mhm. It’s not the…same…without you, Sir.” she muttered, turning to scream into the mattress as he sped up. Wolffe shifted to curl his hands into the nape of her neck and turned her head away from the muffling covers of his barracks bed.

“Ah ah, let them all hear you say that, darling.” He curled his hand into her hair and twisted it around his wrist, pulling just enough to feel good. “Give me a little something to be proud of.” he huffed, the exertion admittedly starting to get to him too. His skin was boiling hot, a sheen of sweat coating his entire body as he slipped against hers. Her ass bounced against him, slapping against his thighs as he pounded her into the mattress beneath them.

“Fuck me, Wolffe.” she begged, her hands frantically searching for grip as he hit a spot inside her that made her scramble. “Right there, again. Harder…I can take it, Commander.” she baited him, rolling her hips back into him.

Wolffe dropped down to rest on his forearms and let himself press his body into hers. She writhed beneath him as his cock speared into her at a lower angle. Her walls fluttered around him and Wolffe knew from experience she wouldn’t last much longer. He groaned lowly as his own orgasm began creeping up on him too.

He bit down on her shoulder and let his hips drive as fast and deep as he could manage. “Know just how you like it, filthy girl. Fast and rough. Let me do whatever I want to you…” he grunted between exerted exhales as he kept up his pace. Her moans got breathier and she nodded in agreement. “Let me ruin this little cunt for anyone else but me.”

She cried out a pitiful “Yes.” Wolffe felt her muscles beginning to tense and her walls collapsing around him. His throbbing cock was suffocating inside her and he shuddered as pleasure began its slow trickle down the length of his own body. He could no longer control the snapping of his hips, the air in his lungs or the strength of his bruising grip on her perfect body.

His ears filled with the delightful repetitive “Yes, yes….yes, Wolffe…fuck, yes.” Her soft curves and sweat-slick skin pressed against his, her walls trapping his cock in her warmth, her face frozen in permanent ecstasy as the high crashed into her. He pressed his forehead into her shoulder and pulled her hips into his as he locked in, shuddering from head to toe as the crest of his own orgasm dragged him under.

His groans died in his throat as he emptied each spurt of pleasure inside her. He lost count of how many times he shot molten hot ribbons into her heat. He panted, the overwhelming pleasure leaving him so delightfully and completely spent. He collapsed on top of her, rolling them both over to cuddle her close while he regained his ability to breathe.

Wolffe let his large palm rest on the soft plush of her lower belly, just over where he’d filled her completely full of him. She was already asleep, far too tired to stay conscious after something as intense as they usually were together. He’d hold her close and keep her safe, even if she wasn’t awake to experience it, for as long as she needed him…

He blinked away the haze of orgasm and came to with a mess on his hands. With the headache and all the tension completely gone, the pull of sleep was inevitable, finally. He cleaned himself off and laid back into bed, knowing that by the time he woke up in 0600 hours he could make that fantasy a reality all over again.

notes: hi I love him your honor I will probably add taglist and upload to ao3 later but I just wanted to get this posted bc im excited about it.

#commander wolffe #commander wolffe smut #commander wolffe x reader #commander wolffe x you #commander wolffe nsft #the clones #the clones smut #the bad batch

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