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muntitled · 25 days ago

Text

Tic-Tac-Toe

Pairing: The Salesman x Fem!reader

Summary: Every Wednesday your schedule consisted of attending classes during the day, and satisfying the needs of a sadist through the night.

Warning: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Violence, Kidnapping, Isolation, SociallyAnxious!Reader, Blindfolds, Stalking, Knives, Blood, Gore, Stockholm Syndrome, Smut (+18) mdni, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Insertion, Fingering, Rough Sex, Erotophonophilia, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Dacryphillia, Sadomasochism, Gunplay, Deepthroating, Breeding Kink, Unprotected sex

A/N: Hell is empty

4k Words

You're strapped in a chair, like always, and you are blindfolded because he doesn't trust easily.

It's terribly annoying.

At any point of during and after your little 'arrangement' you could have called the cops. Doesn't he understand that?

Every Wednesday, you're taken from the warmth of your apartment, and you're delivered right back at 00:00 on the dot, every Thursday with barely an inch of life left in your bones. You'd either always come back wet, with semen sliding between your thighs, or with mysterious marks- old and new- crawling underneath your sweater. Whatever mood he was in, he'd always leave you feeling sore.

It should have bothered you.

The thought of seeing this large, domineering shadow-in-a-suit every Wednesday should not overwhelm you with all these feelings of excitement. Instead, you should do like all the mentally ill girls do and just get some fucking help.

But you want him to trust you, for some reason.

Which was utterly ridiculous considering the fact that to him, you were something akin to a porcelain wind up toy for his amusement. You had no business requesting he remove the blindfold aspect but still, you asked anyway. Toy's couldn't be trusted, could they?

"I'd really appreciate it if I didn't have to wear one of these everytime I visit your place." He removes the blindfold, and in a second, your vision is filled with nothing but him. One moment you were in the cozy warmth of your dorm room. Curled up on the couch while your roommate spends her youth effectively- out with boyfriends and friends and everything you didn't have. You answered the front door when you heard his special knock, like you always do. You walked with him to the cab. You let him put on the blindfold. You said 'I'm fine’ when the taxi driver got a little too nosy and you let him lead you away from your boring life.

If only for a few hours.

You'd let him do whatever he wanted for those few hours because such surrender was almost sacred. You forfeited your safety in his hands, to do with it whatever he pleased and in that, you found rest. Whatever happens, happens.

Forget this room- what was essentially his personal dungeon, windowless, red and boasting various torture objects- your eyes are only on him.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't feel the need to kidnap me anymore? We do this every Wednesday," You become more childish around him and he lets you. Like you forgot you are a fully autonomous university student. There was power in that too. "Surely we've established some sort of trust?” He doesn't respond to you immediately. You crane your head up at him, hungry to lock eyes with his cold, empty slits that enchanted you body and soul.

You are in love with him, perhaps.

That's a logical response isn't it?

You laugh almost.

Listening to yourself try to rationalize your fondness for such a horrible man.

Said horrible man is silent. All you hear is the clicking of his dress shoes as he moves to the leather seat directly across from yours. Your eyes scan over all his movements.

The right corner of his lip quirks up. A small coffee table creates the only distance between you and he bends over to pour you both a generous glass of Brandy on the rocks. You don't drink it. Ever since he's been bringing you here, you never do. He knows this, yet still he pours.

"This relationship isn't about trust." He says finally. Something inside you, that is perhaps a little broken, actually purrs at the sound of his voice. You're hyperaware of your thighs squeezing together on the leather seat. They're spilling out of the sundress you purposely wore today.

Lots of your clothes were for the function of comfort. Your body was full and curvy and not always something to be advertised, unless you wished it to. Tonight, you wanted to show off as much as possible.

A thick leather band is keeping both your wrists locked to the armrests, while he sits back, free and so irrevocably in charge it should scare you. It should. But the sick and incredibly deranged thing is that it doesn't.

Outside, the rain is beating down on whatever building you're in, casting a thick veneer of grey all across the city.

But inside this velvet room... your heart is hammering inside its cage as you watch him undo the buttons of his crisp suit. A black one today. Jet black like his hair.

Although-

"You've got more grey in your hair than last week." You can't help but say.

He tilts his head in inquisition. "Are you insulting me or complimenting me?"

"I'll leave that up to you to decide," you shrug your shoulders as much as you can under these limited restraints. At least he hasn't restrained your ankles this time. Progress. "In here, you're the boss. Right?"

He takes a sip of his drink until finally, you've finally locked eyes. Your bare toes curl and your back arches slightly as you sit a bit straighter in your seat. Like you're in a lecture hall, although he is far more interesting than any of your professors.

"I'm not as young as I used to be," he finally says as he takes one more sip of his drink before bringing his briefcase onto the coffee table. Its presence is ominous and so horribly loud for an inanimate object. It kickstarts all your dormant nerves, revving up all the rest of your senses that have yet to catch up to the fact that you were facing the man of both your desires and nightmares once again.

"Who have you told about our arrangement?" The question causes you to roll your eyes. He watches the petulant movement with that same, silent smile and blank eyes. He unclicks the briefcase. Your stomach lurches and your thighs squeeze together. Pavlov's dog.

"Every time you ask me-" an object clinks onto the table. A butcher knife.

You try to pull your eyes away from the objects he's placing on the table, one by one. "Everytime you ask me if I've told anyone about our arrangement-" another object. A wooden spoon beside the knife. "Everytime I tell you the same thing."

Your throat closes when he uncovers a dildo. Bright pink and fucking menacing. "Carry on talking." He says, snapping your gaze away from the objects lining the table.

"I don't have any friends." Your voice is wobblier. You try to deny the sight of the rabbit vibrator, "It's the reason you picked me." You clear your throat as you hoped to clear all the nerves beginning to fog your mind. "Someone could've followed me here. B-But I don't really know anyone enough to care." The final object that clunks onto the glass coffee table and this time, you're unable to look away.

"Are we ready to begin?"

The metal revolver laying quiet and undisturbed beside the rabbit vibrator makes everything else on the table look like children's toys. Even the butcher knife.

You pull at the restraints, your legs quivering slightly as you shift and writhe in the seat. He studies you as closely as you were once studying him. You can see the excitement begin to flood his eyes at the physical manifestation of your discomfort.

"Now you're getting it." He nods sardonically, taking another sip from his glass before placing the briefcase on the floor beside him. "You were a little too happy to see me," he joked, letting out an airy exhale of laughter.

"You wanna hazard a guess as to what we'll be playing today?" He's smiling, genuinely. With that look in his eyes you can tell he's hovering in the clouds. Meanwhile you've begun to feel real fear. No matter how regular these visits might become you'd never get used to him. It's impossible. Not when he found new and daring ways to torture and pleasure you every single week. You couldn't get used to something as brash and unconventional as him. Like the conditions of a child in a broken home, he kept his tactics inconsistent so that every week is a new hell or perhaps- depending on his mood- heaven.

"If I guess wrong?" You swallow thickly and something dark in him settles. He spreads his legs more, there's a twitch inside his lips before he smiles again.

"Well, guessing isn't the game, so you'll be fine."

You nod your head... assessing the objects. There's menacing objects and household objects. Even just looking at them you can tell what they all have in common.

"Am I going to have to insert-"

"You're not guessing." His voice booms. He rests his elbow on the armrests, his hands corded with veins seem itching to do something, you're not sure what. "I said guess." He commands.

"Hide and seek?"

He snickers, "A favourite-"

"More like your favourite." You snip back, "I couldn't sit down the whole week." You frown at the memory. That week he'd brought you to an abandoned warehouse, letting you run the entire perimeter full.

"It's in your best interest to keep coming to our sessions-" he reminds you, snapping you back into the present.

"You're paying my university fees, I'm not complaining." You nod, before plastering a thin smile on your face, "All I have to do every week is prostitute myself to a literal sadist-"

"Have you given up on guessing today's game?" He didn't like you making him hyper aware of the fact that this dynamic, whatever it is, is considered objectively bad. And so you're not surprised when he swiftly moves past the topic.

He leans forward. His large hand disappears under his chair before uncovering a small whiteboard. Four lines- 2 horizontals are running across 2 verticals, creating 9 blocks. He stands up, while your eye is still focusing on the board. From your point of view it sits underneath the row of objects on the table. You don't even realize your right wrist strap is being untied.

"Colour?" He asks, pushing a crate of whiteboard markers towards you. With your now free hand you pick the pink one.

He snickers. "Predictable." He whispers before placing a large, domineering hand on your head. He presses down your braids, patting you like a stray he's rescued from the cold. You stare aimlessly ahead, fearing you won't be able to contain everything you've begun to feel for him if you lock eyes now.

"We're playing tic-tac-toe," he relents. His hand lingers on your head a bit longer before he's stepping away.

"With a twist, I presume?"

"Clever girl," he nods, walking back to his seat. "So you're aware of the objects."

"Place a gun in front of a girl and she's going to notice."

"Paranoid girl." He tsks before leaning forward.

"You want to start or should I?"

"Wait-" you swallow, "What happens if I win?"

He smiles that dazzling, debonair smile.

"You pick which one goes inside you."

Lightning cracks across the sky. A chorus of thunder roars all at once like some kind of phenomenon and your lips stutter open.

"Th-That's insane I-"

"I shouldn't have to remind you that you came here out of your own volition. "

"What happens if you win?"

"Then I choose." He says.

Your eyes skate over the object. It doesn't take an ivy league graduate to hazard a guess as to which of the objects he's itching to stick inside you.

"There's a fucking knife here-" You're trembling. Tears are pooling in your eyes. It doesn't even matter that you're a somewhat decent tic tac toe player. It doesn't matter that you're confident in this game. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.

"And there's also a spoon," he nods, neutrally, "And a vibrator, and a dildo. Etcetera. Etcetera." He leans forward, unclicking his whiteboard pen, "your words are just words, Darling. You're just listing things. Start," he says, with a deadly lilt in his voice. "Or I will."

You scramble to uncap your marker with one hand, all while he watches with dead and black eyes. You knew that whoever starts the game was placed at a big advantage and so you're nearly scrambling to place that dignified X in the center block.

"Clever girl." He says once again, drawing his blue 'O' directly beside your pink 'X'. You aim for the block above him. He blocks it. You aim for the block beside the center. He blocks that too.

Your victory comes too quickly. You barely feel it as you strike a line vertically through the blocks. 3 X's.

Relief washes over you but it's overcast with doubt. Like you're celebrating in trepidation as you watch him stand up.

"Congratulations! Which do you choose?"

"I can pick anything?" You ask, staring up at him, bright eyes wild with the adrenaline that comes with wanting to preserve your organs.

"Anything you want, my little winner."

You begin to lean over. His eyebrows quirk up when you wrap a small hand around his wrist.

"I pick that." You say breathlessly. Your eyes zeroed in on his hands at his side. And you watch as he walks towards you, as if compelled by an unforeseen force. His palms are calloused underneath yours and you blow out several unstable breaths as he stands above you. So imposing it's breathtaking.

"You sure?" It's the way he asks it that has you second guessing. And perhaps he sees the caution seeping into your eyes because there's excitement lurking in his. Before you're even able to formulate a response, his hand is locked tightly around your esophagus, vacuuming all pathways shut until you're writhing for air.

"A fine, fine choice," He's becoming more and more riled up the more you writhe in your seat, trying to scrounge for a single breath of air. He doesn't let you. Instead he moves behind you, before leaning down.

If you could breathe, you would shiver at the feeling of his lips behind your ear. "Here we go-" he whispers, before reaching around your torso with his free hand before forcing your legs open. The second he lets his three digits stab into your cunt, he uncurls the grip on your throat as you make a horrid sound somewhere between a moan, a scream, and a haggard gasp. "FUCK- Sl-Slowdown-" you knew better than to request something like that. All you hear is a snicker from behind you as pain blossoms all across your nether regions. He's not gentle. He's not kind. He doesn't allow you to adjust to his fingers before he's scissoring them inside you, causing a blood-curdling scream to rip itself out of your throat. Your back is arched and you're trying to get away from him but the fucking persists.

"You've been wet like this for me the entire time?" He sounds absolutely demented, behind you, "You wanted this didn't you?" He bites at your ear as the first tears begin to pool at your eyes, "My little winner."

"P-Please stop-" His fingers are restless inside you. Curling and uncurling. Scissoring and stabbing as if wanting to open you up and split you all the way in half.

"What a pretty little pussy, huh? Look at what a mess you're making."

"When-" you can't form words. "When- Stop?" It's all you're able to say as your nails dig into the material of his suit.

"The sooner you cum the sooner it stops."

You doubted your ability to cum under these circumstances. He's setting an ungodly pace and it's all so hurried and in a frenzy, it's like your brain does not have time to understand if you even like what's currently being done to you.

"What- Do you want you want my help?" you begin to shake your head. "I'll help you, baby-"

His other hand reaches over and pinches your clit.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your orgasm is quite literally forced out of you. Your hips writhe and your ass tries to leave the seat as the first feelings of pleasure rip through you by force. "That's it, Clever girl," he coos, still curling his fingers inside you, "That's my Clever girl." He says once more before stilling his movements. For a second you just sit there, trying to collect your breath while he's still inside you. All at once, his hands are removed from your body.

He grabs a handkerchief from his breast pocket and you watch him clinically wipe his hands before erasing the marks on the board with the same cloth. A very clear boner pushes against his black slacks yet still his face is calm.

"Alright, My turn to start-"

"WHAT!? B-But I won." You scream, absolutely seething with desperation.

"You know everyone who plays 'X' has a significantly higher chance at winning-" You say with your eyes narrowed. He nods.

"And you know that too, which means we each should be granted alternating times to play ‘X’. Regardless if you won or not." You slump in your seat, suddenly far too aware that your bare cunt is exposed.

"Don't mope." He says, "It's not cute." Before drawing his 'X' in the center.

You close your legs, sitting upright with a new zeal of self preservation as you grab ahold of your marker.

You draw your pink 'O' underneath his.

You both play many more rounds. All ending in ties. This is how you play- with a frazzled grip and closed legs. A shiver every now and then overcomes you with the gravity of your aftershocks. His snickers bring your eyes up to his. He speaks as he makes his move.

"You're so focused on blocking," he sighs, "You're not even trying to win anymore-"

"I'm not letting you stick a knife in my cunt." You nod in finality before blocking another move.

"Not even if I say please?" He asks, making a faux pout.

"Fuck off."

"In that case, I have to win."

Your heart kickstarts as he pushes his pen to the board. Images flash across your mind. Blood splattered across his gorgeous face. Your blood as he fucks the sharp end of a knife inside you. You nearly vomit while he speaks. “Easy as-" you block him.

"Tic-" you block him again.

"Tac-" you block him some more

"Toe- I Win."

A victory that somehow escaped your vision. He strikes a line diagonally through the squares and your stomach sinks. He stares at you from across the room. His eyes so deeply satisfied you can feel it radiating off of him in waves.

You lower your teeth to the other restraint, violently trying to free your left wrist from its oppressive hold. And you watch as the devil slowly rises.

Your heart aches. Your brain is sent into complete alarm as your flight or fight kicks in and your sympathetic nervous system fires.

"Now, which one would look pretty inside you?" He drags his fingers along the objects, undoubtedly an act of taunting. You stomp your feet on the ground. You try to push the chair underneath you but it's plastered to the floor.

"Please!" Tears are running thickly. They cloud your vision. You don't even see the way his smile falls enough for him to rub over the bulge in his slacks.

"Fuck," he says gravelly as he relents and picks up the gun. "You're so fucking pretty when you're scared out of your fucking mind. You know that?"

You shake your head as he nears, wondering if this might really be the end. Has your body become too worn out by his games? Has the time for him to discard his toy finally dawned on you both? Is he all grown up with no need for such things as toys?

"PLEASE-NO-"

"Open your mouth." He's standing in front of you, your head directly in front of his raging bulge.

You shake your head, trying to move away but he rips your face towards him. "Listening to me is the only choice you have to make it out alive, Baby. You wanna live, don't you?" He's nothing but a tall figure, with the overhead lights shining around his head like a halo. Your face right by his bulge.

"Little girl needs to go to school." He nods, eyes fluttering shut, "She needs to complete her studies and get a good job so she wouldn't have to meet with scary men like me- Fuck-" it riled him up to no end to have you scared of him. You suppose it triggered a part of him that craved attention. He needed to feel like he existed and if that was reeped from fear then so be it.

"Stick the barrel in your mouth," the bottom of his hand coaxed open your jaw, and, as if on autopilot, you listen. Perhaps there is a way out of this. Perhaps you should just listen.

"That's it... Fuck," he brings your free hand up to rub his erection "That's it, Baby, stick it inside your mouth." Cold metal hits your lower teeth, "Stick it in like you would a cock." He says, looking down at you intently as your tongue unfurls and you suck the barrel in. "Shit-" he places his other hand on the back of your head before forcing you to take the gun deeper down your throat. He's trembling. Far too badly. And so is his finger on the trigger.

"Fuck, you're such a fucking whore, you know that?"

You're gagging and flailing around the barrel, saliva slides down.

So desperate to please him.

In your hast you don't even realize your left hand that had been restrained is now free. Your eyes are closed.

Please him.

Just please him and you'll live.

"That's my brainless girl..." he praises and that rouses something in you. It has your hips bucking against nothing.

"Such a stupid girl..." he continues, "You're gonna ride me, aren't you? You're gonna fuck me so good-" You're not about to tell him that sex wasn't supposed to be apart of this game. You're not stupid.

You faintly hear the sound of a belt unlooping. A zipper siding down. "You're making me so happy, baby." He admits before effortlessly lifting you from the chair until you're straddling him.

You're free.

When did that happen?

"F-Fuck, I need you to ride me." His head is leaning back against the chair. His tie hangs messily from his shirt that has two buttons undone.

You're free.

"Don't try anything," he warns, as he lifts you enough to pull his cock out of his pants. "Matter of fact. Keep it in your mouth while you ride me-" He slams you down onto his cock the very second those words leave his mouth. He's fucking into you with recklessness and fury and violence. His hair falls in his face but the gun is too heavy, without a hand there, it nearly slips from your mouth.

He's careful to catch it, forcing the barrel back in your mouth as he places a hand on your ass, controlling how your ass bounces on his lap. The gun offers motivation like no other. It has you arching your back and swirling your hips as you tighten your cunt around him.

He sticks the gun down too far and you gag. "You trying to get me to cum, huh? You little slut-" you nod, the tears still spilling as pleasure begins to stream through your brain. It has you excited by the prospect of being held at gunpoint. You realize with grave certainty that you've arrived at the point of no return.

"What a good girl- fuck-" he's ramming up into you, his hand on the gun twitching like his cock does. "I'm gonna fucking cum- FUCK-" he does and your orgasm immediately barrels into you at the exact same time. You try to ride him, to milk it as much as you can, to continue to make him happy.

"Such a stupid fucking slut-" he whispers, eyes hooded as his hips still spurt cum into you.

Your ears perk. You see his finger on the trigger move. You squeeze your eyes shut as you hear a click.

"Such a silly girl." You hear him say. "Don't worry, Baby, it isn't loaded." You're still in your body. You're still alive, on his lap, your sundress unfurling around you both.

"Not yet anyway."

#squid game #squid game x reader #squid game fanfic #squid game smut #the salesman #the salesman x reader #the salesman smut #dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat #squid game salesman

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gremlingottoosilly · 1 year ago

Text

I met a guy in the Summer (dilf!Konig x fem!Reader)

Your boyfriend is an asshole. Luckily, his hot dad just returned from deployment. CW and Tags: Cheating, dub-con, size kink, daddy kink, age gap(reader in 20s, Konig is early 40s), Konig is a pervert, slightly obsessive Konig, love(and lust) at first sight, fingering, dom!Konig Word count: 3713 AO3

“Just one more game, babe, don’t be a buzzkill. I don’t want to end at a loss.” You didn’t want to be a buzzkill, of course. You simply wanted to be a good girlfriend, have some domestically cozy date, and for your boyfriend to at least try to put an effort into being with you. It wasn’t much to ask for, really. You hoped so, at least. You didn’t want to be an annoying, nagging girlfriend who only ever waits for another reason to yell at him, but your patience started to run thin.

You spend the past three hours either listening to his apathetic rambling about the shows he watched – really, you wanted to invest in stuff he liked, but an abnormally large amount of animes he talked about had 1000-year-old girls who looked like they were 10, wearing inappropriate outfits, and you started to raise the alarm.

You also watched him play – and also listened to his rage quitting and angry voice messages to his team that, honestly, made you slightly anxious. You never liked loud people, people who were so easy to rage about something as silly as some colorful video game with too many characters to look after.

So, like a good girlfriend would – you wanted to be a good girlfriend, he was such a nice guy before you started dating, and you need something to think about besides the tremendous amount of study work you are doing for college – you decided to go and look for snacks. Maybe bring something for him as well.

— I’ll find something to eat, alright?

He didn’t respond at first, so you shook his shoulder. Your boyfriend took off his headphones with annoying look on his face, half-turning to look at you. You gulped, suddenly feeling like a child in front of the principal – not a feeling that you were supposed to feel around your partner, but with him, you somehow constantly felt like you were being judged.

— Nah, stay here. I don’t want my father to see you.

— Ah…your father is at home?

You never heard anyone else being at the house – big house, you must admit, and it’s embarrassing almost how you never thought about his family. He lives with his dad, apparently, and the depth of your relationships can only be judged by the fact you literally didn’t know what his father’s name was.

— Returned from his fucking deployment. He’d ask too many questions about you.

— You didn’t tell him about me?

Ah, now you’re hurt a little bit. You knew it wasn’t anything serious or too committed yet, but you intended to make this work. To try and fix all the problems you can without ending things abruptly.

— He never asked. Not like he cares too much, but…

An apathetic dad, huh.

You started to slowly piece together the puzzle that was your boyfriend’s horrible boyfriend skills. Now, you want to meet the man who conceived him and kick him in the nuts for creating such an unlovable human being who somehow captivated your chronically lonely heart.

— If you don’t want me to come and meet him, I can go home.

He doesn’t answer because his queue is finally coming to another match – you simply nod, knowing everything you need to. You can grab a little snack for yourself, fuck off to your dorm and rethink your life choices while your roommate is getting pounded by some gruss British bloke with an accent that makes your ears bleed.

You have dignity, and right now, it has asked you to get some snacks from the kitchen.

*** Now, the only thing König wanted after returning from deployment was to take as many hot showers as he could, shut his bastard of a son up, and get some delicious food waiting for him in the freezer. He was already home for a few days, but adjusting is always hard when you basically fucking hate living at your own house. Of-fucking-course, his son was watching the house while he was away – and now he can’t even think of a good excuse to set him off to his mother. Too old to do this, and split custody never really worked when not even one part of the relationship wanted to take care of the kid.

König closes the door of the refrigerator – of course, his son took every good thing that he stashed for himself. With a groan, the colonel fights the urge to finally throw him out of the house – a thing he needed to do a few years ago, just when he celebrated his 18th, but some sentimental part of his heart instead promised to help with finding a place close to the college. No good deed goes unpunished.

With a groan, he takes a few steps from the fridge – and then he almost stumbles across an angel.

Scheisse

Now, König never thought of himself as a predator who prefers running after college girls who might as well be his daughters. He never thought of himself as a gut who liked them young – his wife, god forsake her name, was his age when they started dating, and he hardly had any sexual encounters with a person under 25 in the past few years. Well, not like he had any sexual encounters in the past years, but…

The thing is – he never thought he liked girls with wide eyes, pouty faces, and trembling hands who were holding a bag of his cookies that he carefully stashed away from his son.

You are wearing something cute, a nice skirt and an adorable pink cardigan that looks so cozy and warm and soft, and he fights the urge to grab your skirt and simply lift it, You’re dressed up for a cute coffee date, and König has to double check if he isn’t dreaming and no one has decided to play a prank on him and send him a cute callgirl.

— Oh! Sorry. It’s yours, isn’t it?

You give him his cookies back – but not before your fingers fished another salty caramel goodness out of the bag, and you bit it. He looks at your teeth, at your lips, and glimpses of your tongue – god, he is an old, dirty bastard because even his baggy pants aren’t enough to hide his boner. You have no right to look this pretty for a man who hasn’t seen a woman in three months and hasn’t had sex in the past few years.

You lick the crumbs from your fingers – it’s such a deliberate action that he can’t believe he actually sees it, and it’s not even something from porn he used to like.

— Ja. You can have it.

He would give you the code to his bank account if you asked for it.

— Thank you, sir. I’m…well, I assume if Paul didn’t introduce me to you…I’m his girlfriend. Nice to meet you.

You lick your lips and take a step back, pressed against the counter. He looks at the sway of your hips, a bit of crumbs on your shirt, and almost brushes it away with his hands. It would be a good excuse to touch your chest – but he can’t be like this, he has to keep his urges under control, or else his son will never forgive him.

Yeah, like he needs a better reason to throw his useless son from his home.

— Girlfriend? He never spoke about you.

You look sad, and he immediately curses under his breath. For a moment, you look too fragile – too real. He can’t handle this look on a woman, especially as pretty and young as you are. You bat your eyelashes, even involuntarily, and he already prepares to give you the keys to his home just so you’d stop with such miserable expressions. He has a spare bedroom.

He has his bedroom with a bed that would be enough for both of you.

— Ah. Um. We’re…I guess we’re not at this stage yet.

— Knowing him, you’ll never be, Schatz.

You look at him immediately – you’re offended, angry, and sad at the same time. There is a certain stubbornness in your eyes that immediately makes him want to simply scoop you in his arms, lift you, and drag you straight to the altar – and here he thought that his impulses over getting married would be over after his first divorce.

— What do you mean by this, sir?

You look uncertain now, he can see this in your eyes – and really, knowing his asshole of a child, he is almost sure that Paul never once got you off, either physically or emotionally.

Now, König never once considered himself to be a good man. He has killed countless people, overthrown many governments, and made shitty jobs for shitty people way more than saving hostages to help the good guys – and in the romantic field, it’s even worse. Wife, unsatisfied with his controlling tendencies and inability to feel normal love for a human being – and a son who hates him because, in fact, he never once wanted to have a kid.

He looks at you and sees a pretty young thing, still in college or freshly out of, probably without a stable job and normal social standing – a good girl won’t be with his son if she isn’t stupid or extremely desperate for a relationship.

The thing is, König is also extremely desperate for another warm body next to his, to feel a woman beside him, to love and obsess over someone – he looks at your pouty lips and shaky hands, at the way you bite the corner of your glossy mouth, and he almost wants to drop you on this very table and fuck you until you’re crying under him. He can’t do just that, of course. It would probably make you extremely uncomfortable and scared, but…well, quite frankly, his son doesn’t deserve you.

König is.

— I won’t sugarcoat it, Schatz. My son is a Scheiß Arschloch…fucking asshole, that is. I’m surprised he brought home someone as cute as you.

You feel embarrassment collecting in your body. Paul’s dad is a…interesting man.

Tall, broad, very muscular – even his baggy house clothes aren’t really concealing his extremely interesting physique from your eyes. He looks yummy and tasty, and you fight the urge to eye the bulge in his pants because you’re a good girl, you don’t look at your boyfriend’s dad like this.

König has greying ginger hair, locks already curling slightly at the lack of cutting, and you fight the urge to sit on the counter and get your palm in his scalp, massage his head gently, and pull him closer for a kiss. You feel like a dirty, horrible woman – your boyfriend is in his room, probably enjoying his time on your “date” while you’re lusting over his father.

Then again, this date already felt like a disaster. This relationship, too.

— Paul isn’t all that bad, sir.

“He at least has a nice dick,” you wanted to add but stopped yourself. Paul is tall and somewhat strong – if he weren’t sitting at his computer all day, you would call him even muscular. And he has a nice dick, yes, even though he had no idea how to use it. You liked the idea of laying with him, of spraying your jaw trying to fit all of this in your mouth, but his kinks and his sex skills being directly taken from porn…not really your thing.

You look at König and wonder if they are similar in all of the places. He is his father, after all.

König catches your gaze locked on his bulge and smirks.

God, if he knew his son had such a cute girl, he would ask her to come earlier. He is two weeks off deployment and probably won’t take another long contract for a few months because they just upped his retirement payings, and he can afford to slack off a little bit, only visiting the home base for some training and instructions for rookies.

He can afford to retire and never worry about money again – but he needs someone to make his days less boring, right?

You look like a good candidate.

— I’m sure my son was convincing, but I know him better than anyone. He doesn’t deserve you, Schatz.

He is shitty at flirting, it’s not his forte – he can flaunt his money, maybe, show you in his wallet and bank account face first. He can just straight up ask you to be his sugar baby and suck his cock instead of doing your studies, but he can’t flirt and manipulate to save his life. Lying isn’t something he is good for, this is why his wife has left.

— I…not sure we should be having this conversation here.

You’re a good girl, and it’s infuriating. He knows that having someone in his bed shouldn’t be the end goal for his leave, but he wants you, and by the look on your face, you aren’t opposed to the idea. König doesn’t understand if he likes that you’re so reserved about it or if he wants you to be a bit more slutty – but he captures you in the space between the kitchen counter and presses you with his body.

— You want to see the bedroom then?

Pushes you so close his knee gets between your legs – it might look involuntary like he didn’t exactly want for it to be placed here, but you aren’t dumb, you know what he wants from you. Like a good fucking girl, you’re too shy to give it to him right about now. God, sometimes he hates being so nice to people around him.

— Sir, this is very…

He got you caged in his hands, body trapped in his embrace – you jerk your head upwards a little bit, staring at him like a small bird in the hands of a predator. He isn’t a strong man in regard of morals, he doesn’t see anything wrong with fucking his son’s girlfriend – if the girl is up to it. And if she isn’t…well, he better make sure she is.

— What is it, Schatz? Paul won’t hear us in his headphones.

You know just how wrong it is, and you almost want to escape – his dick grinds on your pelvis through his pants, and you’re horrified to see how big it is. Excited too, of course, he is bigger than your boyfriend ever could be, and you don’t want to be a slut, but, oh well, not like you were in a committed and serious relationship anyway.

Paul was seeing your friends more than you ever saw them – it’s probably a sign that you should settle for someone older. You did enjoy Lana Del Rey's songs, after all.

— I don’t want to break his heart.

— He doesn’t have one.

You’re lost when he pushes his lips to kiss you over and over again – a surprisingly good kisser, and you give in because it was the first time in forever a kiss made you feel this good. His lips are sending electricity down your spine, you want to moan just from his knee, pushing on the softness of your cunt through that adorable skirt you liked so much – you feel so small like this, so tiny in his hands, you…

God, you feel like a slut, and you like it.

Soon enough, you answered the kiss, your lips meeting his in a dance that made you feel hot, that made you feel like your boyfriend never could. Never thinking of yourself as someone who can fall so easily into the hands of an older man, now you know that he got you right where he wanted.

You push your hand on his pants, trying to get the control back – but he stops you, a giant hand enveloping your wrist and pushing you back. With a surprise on your face, König just wants to kiss you all over. God, you’re adorable, and he knows that you deserve way more than being fucked on the rough kitchen counter while your so-called boyfriend is too busy dickriding his friends in some useless online game.

— Not now, princess. You deserve better than being fucked on the kitchen counter, ja? It can come later.

“Later” sounds like a promise, and you bite back your moan when he keeps pushing his knee against your cunt, making you throb and clench on nothing. He is such a gentleman, you can’t help but compare him to his son – and his fabulous ability to make you feel dirty after fucking you in the backseat of his car and tossing you to your dorm with your pussy still wet and messy after you didn’t cum.

You sob, not from sadness, but from pleasure mixed with some weird, unnatural for you emotions – you feel weird, strained here like this, but you hug his neck and whisper something in his ear. Something, dangerously sounding just like “daddy, please”

König is blushing, and he looks fucking adorable.

— Daddy, ja? God, you’re dangerous, liebling. Going to get me in trouble with my son later.

He laughs when he kisses you again, his hand slipping in your panties only to find them completely soaked – he knows you deserve a nice pillow and soft sheets under your body, and he pushes you up so you can hug his waist with your legs. You rely on him like a cute pet, and you’re so perfect in his hands he curses himself for not seeing you before.

He is going to ruin you for anyone but him. Put so much cum in you, it will make your tummy bulge – make you his precious sugar baby, pay for your dumb college and make you move to his bedroom instead of some shitty dorm you probably share with four other people.

He can be good for you – but he will ruin you for anyone else, anyone appropriate, every guy your age who clearly doesn’t know how to treat a lady right.

— So wet for me…such a filthy thing, I didn’t know my son dated a whore.

— N…not a whore, please…

He kisses you on your forehead, silently apologizing. You feel his crooked, scarred smile, and you push your face up to kiss him – you want to touch him so badly it makes you feel stupid.

— Sorry, Schatzen. Not a whore, a good girl for her daddy, ja? So nice for me, too fucking young…

— W…we really shouldn’t… — Tshhh, don’t think about it. Thinking will only hurt your pretty dumb head. — I’m not…

— Quiet, little one. Let daddy handle everything.

He kisses you over and over, his fingers playing with your pussy – meaty digits digging in your hole, making you whimper from sudden intrusion. He is big, bigger than anyone else, just two of his fingers are enough to spread you as much as normal cock would, and even though you’re used to taking Paul’s size, you just know that his dad would be much, much bigger. He is going to split you open, and you will love every fucking second.

It feels so wrong, you still aren’t sure if you want him to touch you like this.

It feels so right, he is experienced and eager, pushing every button to make you squirm in his grasp. Your orgasm comes embarrassingly quick – maybe because you haven’t gotten off in ages, only miserable masturbation sessions and poor attempts at faking your orgasm made it feel real. Paul never cared enough to actually get you off – but now…

You aren’t ready for him. You squirm in his grasp when the pressure becomes too much, and he soothes you, two fingers still buried in your soaked cunt. You feel so dirty, so wrong right now – you are cumming on the fingers of your boyfriend’s absent father, and you love every second of it.

Post-orgasm clarity makes you whiny and sobby, and you whimper in his shoulder when he gently lifts you in his hands. God, you’re adorable, and he knows that he just scrambled your brain with that orgasm – it’s good, really, he might just want to keep your pretty head nice and empty for him. Not like you would ever need to think in his presence, the colonel can handle everything in- and out- of bed.

König holds you close, not allowing you to scramble away no matter how embarrassed you are. You are his precious thing, with a pouty face, and he will do everything in his power to make you squirm on his fingers again and again before he makes you his wife for good.

So impulsive, maybe this is why his son is such an asshole – taking the worst traits of his father.

— Don’t cry, Schatzen. You’re okay, it felt good, didn’t it?

— W…we shouldn’t have. Shit. I’m sorry, it was a m…god, I need to tell Paul.

— I’ll tell him.

— No! — I will tell my asshole of a son that you’re my girl now, ja? And then I will take you to the bedroom, so we can fuck.

— I need to return to my dorm.

— And then I will dine you properly, okay? Sorry, Liebling, I know I should court you before all of this…but we can afford to go a bit off board, ja?

He is smiling, so smitten and obsessed over just having you cum on his fingers once – you don’t have the heart to say no. Never did. You’re a good, proper girl, and Paul was never treating you right anyway. You feel dirty, yes, but somehow, it is almost right.

He peppers your face with kisses, like a dog lapping its tongue all over your skin – you’re so concentrated on the warmth of his strong, seasoned body that you don’t even look in the direction of the doorway to the kitchen.

Paul, however, looks straight at you, disheartened and shocked.

— W…what the fuck, dad?! König laughs, kissing you once again – deep, hot, with tongue and loud, sloppy sounds of your mouth pressing into one another. You’re stuck in place, still caged in his arms like a precious little pet you are.

— She’ll make a good step mom, ja?

You don’t even register his hands slowly caressing your fingers as if he already tries to check the ring sizes.

#cod #konig x reader #yandere konig #konig #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #yandere cod #konig mw2 #reader insert #yandere x reader

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yieldtotemptation · 4 months ago

Text

ALWAYS ft. Hanni

hanni x male reader smut

9k words

This used to be your least favourite part of the day.

Waking up alone, to nothing but an alarm that’s far too loud, a bed that’s way too firm, a dorm room that mocks your financial instability with its harsh coldness.

And that somehow, was the best-case scenario.

Beating getting kicked out of a library after passing out face first in a textbook, or booted off your best friend’s mouldy couch when his girlfriend wanted some alone time.

Or even, in your worst moment, getting yelled at by some stranger when you’re discovered on their bathroom floor in a pool of what you prayed to God was your own vomit.

All things of the past, since her.

Since Hanni—waking up was everything.

It starts, like it always does, in a tangle of limbs.

Most mornings, with Hanni’s face buried in your chest, cradled in your embrace, small puffs of breath tickling your neck. Others, with her back to you; pulling your arms around her, using the heat of your body like her coziest blanket.

One time on top of you; an exhausted smile plastered on her face, still basking in the afterglow of the night before.

She wrapped herself around you, refused to let go. Like there was a possibility that if she held you tight enough, she could bring you into her dreams.

That was the first day you truly saw her.

You talked about your pasts, your futures, shared your deepest vulnerabilities, made a million quiet confessions.

And when Hanni whispered: “I never want to go back.”

You pulled her closer, kissed her, and answered: “You’ll never have to.”

Since then, every morning always started with you holding her. Feeling her softness, her warmth, the calm rise and fall of her chest, as her exhales became your inhales and your breaths mixed together and synchronised.

This is how it had to be—how you both needed it to be.

So—now:

Nights and mornings since that promise; the sound of a guitar slipping into your ears.

It’s a recording she made for you, setting it as your alarm to make waking up a little more pleasant, to make sure the first thing you thought of when you opened your eyes was her.

Unnecessary, ultimately, seeing as the first thing you see when you wake up is her. Or, to be precise, her arm poking out from under the blankets, flailing about blindly.

“Off,” Hanni mumbles, fumbling around the bed, the nightstand, your face, seeking the offending device.

You stretch over her, a blanket on top of her blanket, and hunt down the invisible enemy that dared to interrupt your girlfriend’s peaceful slumber.

A muffled “thanks”, and she takes the opportunity to snuggle even closer.

There’s the smile quirking at the corner of her lips. Her nose, nuzzling closer into your chest, searching for your heartbeat. That pleased hum she’s making, letting you know there’s no place she’d rather be, like she’s completely content to stay all cozied up and warm for as long as you’ll let her (forever, if possible, please).

It’s hardly a tough sell—face the cold shower, the crowded buses and trains, the boring lectures that the rest of the day holds.

Or, stay wrapped up in the sanctuary of your (Hanni’s) bed. In fitted silk sheets, weighted duvets, plush pillows. Wrapped up in Hanni; in her very soft, very warm, very naked body.

It’s a no-brainer, really.

The rest of you, the more honest part of you that’s resting somewhere between her belly button and her thighs, seems to agree. It’s got a mind of its own, stirring to life, responding to the heat of her skin and the gentle pressure of her body; the familiar lines of her curves and the lavender scent of her hair.

She notices, of course.

It’s hard not to feel it, nudging against her, steadily growing with each passing beat, saying, ‘Hey, remember me?’

A kiss over your heart, a giggle into your sternum, and she’s up—sort of. She rolls onto her side, still in your embrace, but enough so that you can see the wry smile gracing her face, her sleepy eyes fluttering open to meet yours.

Chalk it up to whatever you want—relationship goggles, the honeymoon phase, or just the sheer joy of finding someone who actually cares about you—but when Hanni's looking like this, it's hard to believe you’re not dreaming.

The morning light kissing her rosy cheeks. The gentle pink of her full lips. Midnight silk hair curtaining her face. Her eyes.

A sweet, completely innocent question: “Having a good morning?”

She shifts, slightly.

An oh-so-incidental move that has the blanket sliding off her shoulder, down to her waist. It’s an invitation that you take, a proper wake-up call, from her collarbone to the curve of her hip. Softness and warmth, a stark contrast to the cold that whispers from the edges of the bed.

Hanni—your Hanni—leaving you with the implication: ‘Can I make it better?’

“Classes,” is all you say, because you have to at least acknowledge the responsibility, play the farce that you would actually abandon your (again—very warm, very naked) girlfriend for the sake of academia.

“It’s cold outside,” is her astute observation.

“Mhm.”

“It’s warm in here.”

“Right,” you nod.

“So,” she starts, bringing her hand up to your cheek, walking you through the incredibly simple, blatantly obvious logic. “Do you need any other reason?”

“Are you offering me one?”

Lips purse then pouts in that endearingly cute, Hanni way. “Does it help that I’m naked?”

“One would think that more clothes would be appropriate, considering the weather,” you posit, like you weren't already convinced long before she even opened her mouth. But, it’s still fun to pretend that her persistence doesn’t melt you every time.

“One would be wrong.” Hanni edges closer, her bare skin gliding over yours, so you can properly assess the merits of her argument. The tip of her nose brushing against your own, the softness of her breasts passing along your chest, and her hand at your cheek, then your neck, your stomach, and moving lower, and lower. “Body heat, you know?”

Her hand gets lower still. You swallow. “Yeah.”

“Like when it’s freezing and people get lost in a snowstorm.” She finds you, reaches into the waistband of your sweatpants, wraps her fingers around you, wakes you up.

“Or when girlfriends are trying to convince their boyfriends to stay in bed all day long,” you groan out. “Again.”

“Exactly,” Hanni says, a breezy air of finality, proud of herself for making you see reason—or rather, feel it.

You kiss her forehead, conceding the victory to her, and she scrunches her nose; preens. It’s a subtle movement, the kind that you’ve come to recognise as her victory dance. She squeezes your body closer to hers, her cheek squishing into your chest, her other hand wrapping around your neck, her legs curling up around your calves. It’s like she’s absorbing your affection, turning it into warmth she’ll keep with her for the rest of the day.

Her hand winds up and down, these long, lazy motions. Smooth and tender, stroking the length of you, her thumb tracing the vein that pulses along the side. She’s not in a hurry; not anymore anyway. Just, enjoying the moment, enjoying being with you, enjoying how obvious you are with your sighs and shivers.

“‘sides,” Hanni adds, taking a break to kiss around your jawline, your neck, your shoulder. “You deserve it. A perfect day of nothing.” She sounds so hopeful, so earnest, and there’s a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the friction of her hand on your skin. “We can order junk food, watch awful horror movies, and…”

“Just us.” A finger under her chin to tilt her head up, to capture those half-moon eyes with yours, to kiss her sweetly, deeply, remind her that she’s all you need to make a perfect day. “I wonder what I’ve done to earn this.”

“Not what you’ve done,” Hanni says in the breaths between your kisses. “What you’re going to do.”

With that, she uses all her weight to push you, rolling you onto your back, climbing over you with a grace that leaves you breathless.

She straddles you, legs draped over your hips, small breasts bouncing just a little with the motion. There’s mischief lighting up her eyes, that playful glint that precedes all good things. The blankets fall completely off her with a dramatic flourish, leaving her bare and exposed for your eyes to drink in.

A pause to appreciate her—to really look at her. From her flushed cheeks to the tips of her toes. Every curve, every darkened freckle, every soft, sweet inch of her—yours to adore, to touch, to explore.

And then, she winks.

You can’t help but laugh.

Hanni joins you, giggling in uncontrollable fits.

It’s the ridiculousness of it all, of Hanni—the girl who blushes when you hold her hand in public—straddling you with a wink and a promise of a day of pure carnal indulgence.

You both laugh until your cheeks hurt, until the tension breaks and you’re just two people in the cozy bubble of her bed, sharing a stupid, silly moment.

It takes a beat, but you both somehow recover, gasping for air between giggles. She settles herself, placing her hands on either side of your face, looking down at you with all the adoration in the world. Her touch grounds you, brings you back to the present.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” You ask, when you’re finally able to speak. “This is what you really want to do all day?”

“Well…” Hanni muses, sinking down to your waist, running her fingers over your t-shirt, stopping when she has the hem in her clutches. “A bit of this.”

She starts rolling your shirt up, sliding the cotton over your stomach. The cold air of the room kisses your skin before the warmth of her mouth replaces it. Her soft, plump lips meet your body, the small indent of your belly button.

Simple, innocent, playful. Hanni.

“A bit of that,” she continues, her hands keep moving, lifting the shirt higher, tugging it up and up, exposing your chest to her eyes, her lips.

She finds her target, a tongue over your nipple, paying you back for what you’re no doubt going to be doing to her later; flicking over your chest to make you hiss.

“A bit of me,” she adds, words vibrating against your chest, leaving goosebumps as she rises higher.

You lift your arms, allowing her to pull your shirt off your body, trapping you for a moment so she can suck at your neck, mark you as hers, and hers only. As if you didn’t already wear it on your face whenever she’s around.

“Doing a lot of you.”

Her eyes rake over you—your chest, your stomach, your abs. Lingering a touch too long, making her cheeks warm; colouring them with a soft blush that spreads from her neck up to her ears, hinting at the thoughts racing through her mind.

And then you're kissing her.

It’s gentle (your kisses always are) but that doesn’t make it any less passionate, any less intense.

She kisses you back, lips sliding over yours, the softness of her tongue tracing the line of your teeth, moaning your name in short stutters into your mouth.

It feels so right, so natural. The way she fits against you, feels on top of you, the perfect puzzle piece you’ve been desperate to find in a world full of mismatches.

It’s far too early to say it, but you know it—have known it.

You love her. Love how she lives in the moment; how even when you’re worried about the future, about deadlines and tomorrows, she can bring you back to the present and make things simple. In the least selfish way possible, she makes it about her.

(And that’s all you need).

It builds and builds; these slow, dragging kisses, these admissions of things that you’re not quite ready to say. Until you’re both well and truly needy for a touch more heat, as much of each other as you can possibly get.

You can’t hold it anymore, so you don’t bother trying.

With a firm grasp, you take Hanni’s hips in your hands, your thumbs pressing into vanilla skin as you pull her upward. It’s strategic, pull the best parts of her (which could be any part, really) closer, prove her earlier guess right by introducing her breast to your lips, her nipple to your tongue.

A million times you’ve repeated it and it won’t be enough—she’s so soft. Melting at your touch already, so responsive, letting you know she’s feeling it with every hushed gasp and shiver of her tight body.

One hand is filled by her other breast, a supple handful, spilling between your fingers, carelessly massaging as your mouth latches onto its twin. Her heart races, hammers against your palm, quickening with every passing flick, with each chaste suck between your lips.

Your other hand snakes lower, caressing the smooth plane of her stomach. You drag your fingertips over the ridges and valleys of her abs, down towards the juncture of her thighs.

She squirms.

Moans a little louder.

Scrapes the back of your scalp and pulls you in.

You’re insistent, your touch feather light as it grazes over the whispers of hair; trailing all the way down, down, where you ghost over her mound, tease her clit to make her gasp.

“Like that,” Hanni moans her approval, answers you with hips rocking against your hand. “So, so… nice.”

Your hand dips down further, parting her folds, sliding through her slick, greeted with the warmth and wetness of her opening. Soaking your hand, inviting you to delve deeper.

“Hanni,” you mouth around her nipple, “you’re so wet.”

“O-of course,” she manages, shuddering as you dare to ease a finger inside, pushing into her and pushing out a cry that fills the room. “It’s you.”

“It definitely is,” you confirm, stroking her walls with slow, deliberate care, feeling her tense around you with each movement. “And I’m just getting started.”

Her body arches, curves into you, tilting her head back and feeding you more of her; her breast into your mouth, her pussy on your fingers. You look up at her, feel her, memorise every little noise she makes, every twitch of her body as you touch her. Her breath skips as you start to move your finger in and out, a quiet pace to make her hips dance.

“This is a good idea.“ You’re pushing in deeper, adding a second digit to the mix, stretching her just so. She’s tight around you, always so tight, enveloping you in her heat, and there’s the urge to go even slower, to savour every moment. “Staying in all day. Making you feel good.”

Her legs tense, toned thighs flex as you curl your fingers up, pulling towards you just right to hit that spot that makes her mouth hang open, that makes her whine. There’s a plea in there, a silent request for more, for everything.

And you give it to her, because it’s what she deserves, because it’s what she’s asking for, because she’s yours.

She’s getting tighter around you, walls squeezing in. A prelude to something beautiful, something only you know how to give her, a skill you’ve picked up in this very same bed.

“God,” Hanni’s breaths are turning into short gasps, she’s so needy for it, for you. A slight tug of your hair, pulling you off her breast, forcing her nipple to ‘pop’ from your lips. She sinks down, further down onto your hand, her breasts dragging against your chest, her skin sticking to yours. “You’re such a tease.”

Her lips hang in front of yours, pillowy cushions begging for its partner—needing you to kiss her, now. You claim her mouth, let her be as loud as she wants on your lips; these delightful sounds when your hand moves faster, more insistent.

Arms hold you, wrap around your back, hugging you tighter, needing you to be as close as humanly possible. Hands everywhere—massaging your back, gripping in your shoulders, tangled in your hair, grabbing at your biceps—no matter how much of you she has, it’s just not enough.

Pliant is the other word to describe Hanni; so easy in your hands, like clay waiting for your touch. Waiting for you to mould her into whatever you want, even though you prefer her as she just is—all her perfect imperfections, beautifully flawed, wonderfully Hanni.

Another finger pushes into her; three now, moving in a steady rhythm, that slow, cautious manoeuvre that’s become so familiar. Sure, you could do it with your eyes closed, bring her to the brink and back with touch alone, but you’d miss the way she looks at you—the tears at the corners of her eyes, the tremble in her lips; like you’re her saviour, her everything.

“Hanni, you’re so—” you can’t put it into exact words—gorgeous, pretty, lovely—you test them out, but they all fall short, leaving you hanging until—

“Yours,” Hanni finishes, and that’s all you need, all you need to hear to make a vow to do everything in your power to keep her happy, to keep her here, to keep her—“always yours.”

She’s rocking on your fingers now, taking charge of her own pleasure, setting the pace that you so willingly match. It’s a give and take, and you take the chance to kiss at her neck, to nibble on the shell of her ear, to whisper to her all the things that create these little tremors in her thighs, that make her grip you tighter and tighter with each stroke.

She feels so good, so warm, so wet. Your hand is soaked, knuckles coated in her, making these noises. The muffled pop of skin on skin; the soft, sticky sound of wetness being parted; that satisfying squelch as you go in deep.

Hanni’s so close. So, so close.

Unwinding, melting in your palm; and that look. The way she smiles when she’s on that edge, because she’s so happy to be there, so happy that it's you that has her to be feeling this good.

But then—it’s the suddenness that gets you—she goes rigid, stops moving, begs, “Wait, wait, wait.”

It’s so unexpected, but you still do stop, fingers lodged inside her, pulsating with the urgency of her orgasm that’s just a heartbeat away.

She needs to hang onto you, to hold onto something as the world starts to spin again. Her pupils are blown wide, her cheeks a rosy pink that makes her look like she’s been running a marathon, sweat glistening over her, bathing her in this glow.

You look up at her, a soothing kiss on her cheek. “Problem?”

“No,” Hanni manages a gasp, reassuring you with a shaky smile, still doing her best to catch her breath. “I mean yes. I mean… It feels too good.”

You tilt your head. You smirk. “That’s a problem?”

“You always do this, you know?” Hanni chooses her words carefully, trying to break out of the haze of having almost been there, so she can properly articulate. “Make it about me when it’s supposed to be about you.”

You stifle your laughter against her neck, letting it vibrate through her skin. It’s her earnestness, really, that gets you sometimes; her concern for you, even now is too much, almost comical.

“I’m serious!” Hanni protests, though she’s betrayed by the wobble in her voice, that part of her begging to just let you do your thing and push her past the precipice. Her eyes flutter shut as she breathes in deep, trying to compose herself. “I want to make you feel as good as you always make me feel.”

Logic that you can’t argue with, not when it’s wrapped up in that sweet, sweet smile. You still attempt, though, “Hanni, making you feel good—”

“Makes me feel good—yeah, I know how it goes,” she finishes the line for you. “But, just. We have all day, so—"

There’s a point that’s finished by her kiss, specific in its tenderness, stealing whatever witty reply you had ready from your mouth.

“Let me start by taking care of you.”

It’s like you said—Hanni Pham, making it all about her, in the least selfish way possible.

You relent, bowing out to her whims.

“So, what do you want me to do?”

“Nothing,” Hanni nods, satisfied with your compliance. She takes your wrists into her hands, guides them away from her body to keep them at your sides. “Just relax.”

It’s a strange feeling, letting go, letting her be the one to dictate the pace, the rhythm of your morning. You watch her, watch the way her eyes wander over you. She’s fascinated, like she can’t make up her mind of where to start.

But she does, eventually.

Her gaze settles on your arousal, standing proud and waiting underneath your sweatpants.

“How about I start—” a light kiss on your lips, and she’s slinking down to your waist, tugging at the string of your pants, “right here?”

A kiss on your stomach, just above your navel, her fingers slipping between your waistband and your skin. They pull at the fabric, dragging it down with care until it’s pooled around your thighs. Your cock springs free, and there’s this gasp she makes—like she hasn’t seen it a hundred times before.

“You’re so big.” Hanni’s in awe, her voice hushed, reverent almost. It’s always been something she says, something that makes you blush—swells the ego that you like to pretend you don’t have. “I still have no idea how this fits inside me.”

“It fits perfectly, remember?”

“Mm, I know, but—" she can’t find the words, so she settles for the next best thing, “damn.”

She’s smiling—always smiling—and you can feel her breath on you, light and sugary, these little pulses of anticipation tingling through your skin.

You hold your breath, waiting for her touch, waiting for her lips, waiting for her to finally take you in.

But she doesn’t. She’s just looking.

“Hanni,” you say, giving your cock a teasing flex, brushing it against her cheek. It’s a light prod to break the spell, to remind her of the task at hand.

“Oh!”

It’s getting unbearable, your cock just inches from her mouth, straining to reach her lips. “You’re driving me crazy.”

“Good.“ She presses another kiss to your skin, a little nibble to your inner thigh that makes you jolt. Her hands skim over your legs, pushing your sweatpants down further and further, down your thighs, over your knees right until it’s stuck at your ankles, thwarting her attempted sensual seduction.

She makes this frustrated 'argh!’ at the minor struggle. Very cute. Also a little ridiculous.

"Help, please?” She looks up at you, expectantly.

You acquiesce.

“Aha!” Hanni cheers, slightly louder than she may have intended, having won her battle against your pants. She catches herself, blushing, flashing a cheeky smile.

God, you’re going to fall in love with her all over again.

“Oh right. I mean, are you ready?”

So casual in how she says it, covering for her fumble. It makes you want to laugh—except you can’t, because before you can even open your mouth, she’s already leaned in, pressing her plush lips against the tip of your cock.

Lightly, so light it makes your hairs stand on end. A calculated tease, right hand around your cock, stroking your length. Her left reaches up, laces her fingers with yours. A squeeze, a preview of what’s to come.

You can’t help but twitch under her.

It's her lips, mapping a trail of kisses down your shaft, leaving a warm, sticky mess of pre-cum that she’s quick to lick away. It’s how she’s looking at you—so focused, like she’s been learning, been studying you, creating a personal database of everything that makes you tick.

But above all else it’s just the simple fact that she’s doing this for you, because she cares about you. Because she wants to make you feel good.

It’s all of it and it’s working.

“This is much nicer, isn’t it?” She asks, not really expecting an answer, because she knows it’ll be a resounding yes.

She’s playing with you, not giving you exactly what you want, but just enough. Her hand wrapped around the base of your cock, stroking you from root to tip, thumb circling your head with enough pressure to drive you insane.

It’s pain and pleasure wrapped up into one perfect package, and you’re not sure which one you prefer.

You let her know as such: “Actually quite torturous, to be honest.”

“But it’s the good kind of torture, right?”

“There’s a good kind?”

“We’ve got all day to find out,” Hanni teases, taking a fistful of her own hair in her hand, looping it into a tight, messy bun; preparing herself—giving you a final chance to do the same.

Hanni takes you into her mouth.

It’s not a sudden plunge, not a surprise attack bringing you straight to the back of her throat—it’s a slow, slow descent that has you gritting your teeth and biting back a groan.

It’s hot. Wet. Heavenly. You can feel every inch of your cock being coated in her saliva, her tongue dancing around your shaft, her cheeks hollowing out, her lips creating the most exquisite suction.

When she reaches as far as she can go, fills her mouth with as much of you as she can take, she starts to move back up. Slowly, so you can feel every little bump of her tongue, every little drag of her teeth.

Her hand joins in, moving in tandem with her mouth, stroking the parts of you she can’t reach. She’s trying to find the perfect balance, trying to find that sweet spot between too much and not enough.

Hanni’s no pro at this, her technique is in no way perfect—but she’s so willing, so keen to please. She takes her time, getting used to the feel of you in her mouth, her eyes peeking up at you every so often to gauge your reaction; studying your face for any sign that she’s doing it right, that she’s doing it well.

It’s adorable, really.

And oh, so hot.

You give it to her again, reassure her, “So good, baby,” because it is—your hips buck involuntarily, pushing deeper into her mouth.

It takes her off guard, but she does her best to adapt; she’s trying not to gag, trying to take it all in. She’s a fast learner, your Hanni.

Your compliment serves its purpose—she’s getting more confident now, her tongue gliding along the underside of your cock, tentative, exploratory. It’s clumsy, yes, but it’s cute, and most importantly—it feels good.

She’s concentrating, her attention entirely on your cock; her lips sealed tight. Each time her head bobs down, she takes you in deeper, millimetres, but still, deeper and deeper.

And it’s the sound of her sucking you in, getting sloppier, filling the room with those noises, the soundtrack to your morning. She’s getting bolder, finding her rhythm, building her pace. It’s not precise in any way, shape or form—sometimes she’s a little too rough, sometimes she misses the beat—but the effort.

A harsh suck has your cock popping out of Hanni’s lips, strings of her saliva still connecting her mouth to you. She looks up at you, wanting to check in, still needing that hit of validation, “Is this—is this good?"

You stroke her hair, let her lean into your touch. "Unbelievably. You’re doing great.”

“But I can make it even better, can’t I?” She asks, the determination setting in her features, and she’s staring straight into your eyes, hopeful, “Tell me. Tell me how you want it.”

It’s not a demand—it’s a question, a plea for guidance; she’ll do whatever it takes (whatever you want) to get you there. And it’s the sight of her, straddling your thighs, kneeling before you; those full lips hovering just about your cock, her hand lazily pumping away, keeping you there.

Somehow, you manage to get the words out, a rough whisper, “Take me deep, Hanni. As far as you can go. Take me all in. Show me how much you want it.”

It’s the instruction she’s been waiting for; she’s nodding before you’ve finished, so willing to oblige. It’s that part of her that you’ve discovered, the part she might not even know herself. But it explains so much.

(Hanni: the teacher’s pet, always needing to excel. Competitive, desperate for the highest grades in school, the top evaluations in training; desperate for you to tell her that it’s her and only her.

That’s what makes her successful. That’s what makes her eager.

And now that you’ve put the challenge before her, she can’t wait to prove herself.)

She takes a deep breath, swirls her tongue around the tip of your cock, dipping her toe into the water before she dives right in. It’s like she’s playing it out in her head, memorising the taste of you, the smell of you, the feel of you; mapping out the best way to take you all the way in right before she breaks you.

“Ready?”

“Always.”

And she goes for it.

Her mouth opens wide, eyes locked on yours, and she takes you in again.

Deeper, throat tighter.

Her eyes water a little, and she coughs, retreating. But she’s unfazed—still smiling, still eager.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s okay.”

You stroke her cheek, act like it’s not already far more than you can handle. “Take your time, baby. No need to rush.”

A deep inhale, and she's trying again.

It’s a process, her getting used to you, your size, your taste, the way you make her throat bulge. She’s slow, tentative, but with every stroke, with every gulp, she’s getting closer. Her cheeks hollow out more, her eyes water a little less, and she moans.

You can feel the anticipation building in your chest, your balls, the sweet ache of your orgasm just around the corner. And she can feel it too, your body tensing under hers, your breaths turning shorter, sharper.

The fifth time, she hits the back of her throat, and she stops—holds herself there, panting. It’s a moment of victory, a declaration that she’s got it right, that she can take all of you, just like you asked. Your cock is nestled at the back of her throat, there’s more tears now, but she’s smiling with her eyes, looking up at you through her lashes.

It’s so intense. You groan. Your hips jerk. “Good, baby, so good—don’t move.”

The look on her face, the satisfaction, the pride.

She swallows around you, working the muscles in her throat, pressing her tongue flat against the underside of your cock; it’s too much.

“Ha-Hanni—keep doing that—keep swallowing—it’s perfect—so perfect—”

It’s a struggle, but she does it, takes it all in, holds it there—just for you.

Her hands are at your thighs, grasping—not enough to hurt, but enough to let you know she’s there, that she’s with you. She coughs, gags, sputters bits of drool down your cock, but she keeps going.

And then, she pulls herself up, needing the air, pulling back with a long gasp; leaving a mess. Your cock slides out of her mouth, springing from her lips; her cheeks a vivid shade of red, glistening with lines of tears—beautiful, just indescribably beautiful.

“Was I good?” She’s asking out of courtesy, really. You’re sure whatever dumb look you’re wearing on your face is more than enough to confirm it.

But you nod and choke a ’Yes’ anyway, because you’re a gentleman, and words of affirmation are just as sweet as the act itself.

“I can do better.”

And before your mind can even catch up to what she’s saying, she’s sucking you back into her mouth. Now that she’s proven herself, she just has to push it even further, show you just what she’s capable of.

This time, she’s more assured, more confident. Her hands are at your hips now, holding you still, like she’s worried you’ll get away.

You won’t, of course. You couldn’t even if you tried.

Hanni’s bobbing her head; these long, deep sucks that have your fingers tangling in her hair, have you urging your hips to meet her mouth. Her eyes are watering more, she’s gagging more often than not, but she doesn’t stop, she just keeps moaning around you, keeps going and going.

She takes her hands off your hips, sliding one down to the base of your cock, holding it steady as she works you over and over. The other finds your balls, balancing them on her fingertips, rolling them around her palm. She’s figuring it out, figuring you out far too quickly, and it nearly has you coming undone.

And through it all, she’s grinning.

It’s a twisted, slightly pained grin, but it’s a grin nonetheless. She’s found her new favourite hobby, and she’s determined to show you just how much she enjoys it.

“I love this,” Hanni slurs against your cock, not really to you, not really to herself, just saying it out loud because it’s true. “I love being able to do this to you, making you feel so good.”

She’s saying these things, these simple words like they’re not dangerous at all, like whispering them against your cock is so harmless, like they don’t have the power to completely destroy your resolve.

“I love that it’s me,” Hanni keeps going, even when her tongue is occupied with licking you, lapping up your balls, the underside of your shaft. “I love that I’m the one who makes you feel this way.”

Gone is the shyness—she’s so smug now, so proud of herself, so in love with the fact that she has you exactly where she wants you: in her mouth, at her mercy.

It’s in the way she’s sucking you, her eyes closing, her hums of pleasure every time she takes you in—as deep as she can. She’s getting hotter on top of you, just from having you in her mouth, from taking you into her lips again and again.

Grinding herself into the mattress, needing a bit of friction, needing more. And that’s when she pulls away, panting for breath.

“Hanni?” You ask, finding your voice, letting go of a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.

“It’s too much,” she admits, breathless, her hand still wrapped around your cock, stroking you gently, almost apologetically. “I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s too much.”

There’s a shift in the air—in Hanni. Usually, typically, soft. Now wild, desperate.

She’s climbing up you, back on your hips, her wetness smearing onto your skin, her thighs trembling on either side of yours.

"I need it, I can’t wait anymore. I just can’t.”

The suddenness, the urgency in her voice (in her body). Hanni, flushed, practically shaking with need.

“I need you—now.”

It’s so tempting—you could give in easily. And yet, there’s something in how she’s asking you, how she’s using innuendo in place of propriety, dancing around saying what she really wants in plain, explicit terms.

It’s not enough.

She’s already got you on the edge, so close you can almost taste it. But you need to hear it from her. Your sweet, adorable girlfriend, saying something so dirty it’ll make your knees buckle.

So, you sit up, shifting slightly so she’s still straddling you, face to face. Cradling her cheek with one hand, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes; so you can look at her—take in all the tiny beautiful inflections that make her your Hanni.

“What do you need?”

Always with the blushes, but she holds your gaze, not breaking it even when you run your hand back down south, reaching to slip a finger through her folds, finding her still so wet and swollen. She gasps, but she doesn’t look away.

“Tell me, Hanni,” you coax, your finger moving in gentle circles, watching her face, watching the way her pupils dilate, the way her breath catches.

Hanni stutters, “You—I want you—need you—". But you just chuckle, slow down the pace of your finger, giving her a taste of the frustration she’s unintentionally been dishing out.

“Not quite specific enough. What part of me do you want?”

She’s biting her lip, squirming under your touch—she’s not used to this. Not used to anything outside of the usual playfulness, the sweetness; the gentle strokes and soft whispers. But something has you feeling different today.

Maybe it’s the excitement of trying something new. Maybe it’s how unusually forward she’s being. Or maybe, just maybe, part of you has always wanted to hear her beg.

She blurts it out: “Your—your cock!”

“And what do you want me to do with it?” You press, stroking her clit now; her chest heaving, these tiny whines escaping her, and the way she’s looking at you. Like she’s getting ready to pounce.

“Please—just—please, I need—”

“Need me to slide it in slow?” You suggest, kissing her neck, her perfect, porcelain skin. “Give it to you nice and deep?“

Hanni’s rolling her hips on you, grinding herself against your hand, trying to get through to your cock, trying to will it to enter her.

“Go ahead, be honest.”

She’s bothered. Annoyed—almost angry, if that’s even possible for her. Like how could you? How could her kind, loving boyfriend go out of his way to put her in such agony.

“Tell me, baby. What does Hanni want?”

“I—I need your cock inside me—I want you to—” Hanni swallows takes a deep breath.

A final push: “Say it.”

“Fuck me, hold me and fuck me. Deep, hard, slow—however you want just fuck me now.”

The words come out in a rush, spilling out of her lips. Even she’s surprised as she’s saying them, in disbelief that she’s even capable of saying something so filthy out loud.

But she’s not taking it back, she’s not apologising.

No, she’s taking hold of your hand, moving it out from between her legs, and replacing it with your cock, daring you to stop her.

Like you could ever.

You push in, inch by delicious inch, watching her face contort, features twist, feeling her stretch around you.

It’s the same every time—it feels like the first time all over again.

Her eyes squeeze shut, mouth parted in a wordless plea, and you’re moving so slow. So slow that she’s whimpering, begging, hips trying to push you deeper. But you keep it steady, setting the tempo, let her get used to the feeling of being made whole by you again.

“Oh, oh, oh—” Hanni pants, trying to keep her voice down, but it’s pointless. She’s failing already, loosening a strained 'fuck' when you bottom out, when your cock is finally, completely inside her.

You hold her like that; your arms around her, hugging her tight, her breasts squished against your chest. She’s so small in your arms, so soft, so warm; her pulse racing against your own, lapping it twice over.

“You okay?” You ask, placing a kiss on her shoulder.

“More than okay,” she sighs, holding onto you, moulding her body onto yours. “More than okay—just need a minute to adjust. Don’t worry about me—you can—you can make me feel good.”

So, you do.

Lifting her body off you, unsheathing your cock from her warm embrace, until only the tip is trapped in her wetness. Then: guiding her back down, a touch quicker, harder, deeper. And there’s that gasp as she takes you back in, as you fill her.

You’re moving with purpose now, her walls tight and wet and hot around you, clenching and releasing in time with your slow, deliberate thrusts.

Hanni’s breasts bounce in front of you, up and down with every pump, small peaks begging for attention. You’re kissing them again, sucking one into your mouth, suckling on the pink tips.

“So beautiful,” you’re repeating it, speaking it into her skin, because it’s all that’s on your mind as she takes you in. “You’re so beautiful, baby.”

And she looks it too, even though she’s not even trying; with her hair falling out of her bun, sticking to her face with sweat and saliva, her mouth hanging open, swollen and red from your kisses, her body writhing and jerking with every thrust.

Yet she remains focused, eyes glued to yours, like she’s afraid if she looks away she’ll miss something. Like if she doesn’t keep watching, she’ll wake up and find out it’s all been a dream.

But it’s not.

It’s you and her, in this bed, the sun peeking through the curtains, her naked body riding yours, hotter and hotter with each pass.

It’s you and her, together, wrapped up in each other making love like the world outside doesn’t exist.

It’s you and her, and it’s—

“So perfect—you feel so perfect,” Hanni finishes your thought for you, finishes each of your thrusts with her own hips; opening her body up to you, welcoming you in deeper with each stroke. “I think I’m gonna cry it feels so good.”

Her legs lock around your back, heels digging into your spine, until you’re fully seated inside her; so deep it feels like you’re a part of her. With a whine that’s half pleasure, half need, Hanni braces herself on you, rolling her hips on your cock, grinding down, taking as much of you as she can.

You grip her tight, one hand around her back, the other under her ass, fingers squeezing into the soft, tender flesh. Bouncing her up and down, watching her face as she takes you, as she keeps repeating ‘so perfect’.

And you know, you know she’s not just talking about the physical—that’s definitely there. It’s how you’re making her feel, it’s the connection. The way you’re looking at her, the way you’re holding her, the way you’re loving her that has her floating.

“I-I think I’m ready,” Hanni whimpers, “I can take it—you don’t need to—don’t hold back anymore.”

With a grunt, a nod, and a choked ‘Hanni’, you’re sweeping her up, keeping your cock buried deep inside her as you lift her. Your hand cushions the back of her head as you lay her down on the bed beneath you, her legs spreading wide on their own to accept you.

A moment to steady herself, to prepare.

A smile. A kiss on her forehead.

And then you’re in, all the way, again. Completing her pussy with your cock; one swift motion that knocks the wind out of her in the sound of your name.

“God—Hanni—”

It shouldn’t be like this—it should be impossible to be this much hotter, this much wetter, this tight.

But she is.

She’s squeezing herself around you, muscles, thighs flexing. Eyes shut, mouth wide open because there’s no way to stop from crying out; and her body, her lovely, perfect body, arching up to meet your every thrust.

You give it to her.

You’re building up speed, stretching her wide, hips moving in that perfect rhythm you’ve discovered together—the one that makes your name echo off the bedroom walls.

Hanni’s whimpering, mewling, whining, “Tell me—tell me how good it feels.”

You tell her everything—how tight, how wet, how perfect she is. You praise her, shower her with very compliment that comes to mind. She eats them up; her lips leaving marks on your neck, your shoulder, her fingers on your back, her hips swallowing you whole.

But Hanni still needs more, needs to hear more. Not just that she’s good, not even that she’s perfect. She needs to hear that she’s only yours.

“Like heaven, Hanni,” you manage, your voice hoarse, strained. “So perfect for me. Only me.”

“Really?” Hopeful. Ecstatic. So turned on.

“Always,” you repeat, the truth echoing in your voice and across her skin. “Always so perfect.”

“Mmm,” Hanni moans, nodding along, soaking in every word that flows freely from your lips.

“You’re so beautiful, Hanni. Your pussy is so perfect.” You kiss her again, a little harder this time, a little more possessive. “I love how you fit around me.”

Her breath catches in her throat, there’s that spark in her eyes, and she’s taking you deeper, urging you on. “Oh-oh. Keep talking—please—keep talking.”

“Made for me, aren’t you Hanni?” You continue, the steady stream of praise and admiration, caressing her as surely as your cock in her pussy. You can’t get enough, can’t get over how perfect she feels, how right it is to be inside her. “Like a perfect glove around me.”

Her eyes meet yours, her smile shy as she whispers your name. Whispers it like it’s a prayer, like it’s the only word she knows (like it’s the only thing that can give her peace).

She’s so close, getting there, it’s in how she’s pulling you closer; with her arms and her pussy. How she’s saying please, with a little quiver in her voice, alternating it with your name when you hit that spot just right.

“This feels so good, but-but-I think—” Hanni’s voice cracks, even now, still so shy, so adorable. She’s gasping, out of breath, trying her best to string the words together. “C-can I? Can I please cum?”

It’s all you need to hear. You kiss her, hard and deep, push into her. “Of course, baby,” you say, “Do it. Do it for me. I want you to cum for me.”

The effect it has on her—how it ripples across her face. She’s so thankful. So, so thankful for your permission, for what you’re doing to her. “Then please—please don’t stop.”

Harder, faster, deeper now—making her unravel beneath you. Hands holding her in place, feeling her, feeling her tense, quake around you.

Keep going, because she’s almost there, because she’s repeating it, that desperate ‘please’, over and over again.

‘Please-please-please’—with every thrust, saying it without saying it, with every clench of her walls, with every little gasp she lets slip.

Because that’s what she is—who she is—at her most honest, her most vulnerable. Pleases and thank yous on her lips, a constant stream of gratitude for you, for being here with her, for making her feel so much.

“Thank you,” Hanni manages, words almost a moan. “Thank you for making me feel like this, for making me feel so—”

But she can’t finish the sentence, can’t find the words to explain the storm that’s building inside her. So she just says it again, rising in pitch each time as the pressure builds. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you—’

Her nails dig into your shoulders, the first time she’s ever inflicted anything close to pain on you; begging you to stay in place, to not move, to not pull out. You feel her need, feel it in your bones, feel it from the heat of her pussy.

“Feels so—” Hanni’s crying, sobbing now, trembling uncontrollably. You’re holding onto her, deep inside her, giving all the time she needs to let it out. “—so good, so deep, so, so much—”

She gasps. She tightens. She screams.

Hanni’s voice breaks off into a keening wail as it all comes crashing over her; and you don’t stop, can’t stop, can’t do anything but keep her tethered to you as she loses herself to her climax.

“Please—don’t pull out—please—don’t stop—please—please—please—”

She shudders, clenches around you, pussy tightening in the sweetest way possible. It’s that look on her face, saying everything she can’t manage to say, everything she can’t put into words—how much she loves you, how much you complete her, how much she needs this.

It’s a wave, pulling you under, and you let it take you, let it sweep you away until you’re drowning in the feeling of her coming apart around you, under the heat of her eyes and the grip of her body.

Her juices all over your cock, her pussy spasming around you, that blissful agony on her face. Hanni’s so sweet when she cums, so damn gorgeous, it just takes your breath away. She’s perfect, so perfect it hurts.

And as she comes down, as she rides out her orgasm and kisses your name into your lips, she begs of you, once last time: “Your turn.”

With strength you didn’t know she still had, her legs pull you in, anchoring you to her. Her walls pulse, her body begs for you to follow.

And you do.

“Give it to me, please, cum for me, love—”

You let go. Let the tension in your body melt away as you thrust into her one, two, three more times. Until you’re releasing, until you’re cumming, until everything’s white-hot pleasure and Hanni on your tongue.

Load after load inside her, a hot, deep stream that leaves you groaning, that leaves her sighing, panting, joyful. Filling her up until she’s complete, until she’s overflowing.

You cum hard and fast, and Hanni tries her best to keep up, tries to take it all, and she’s smiling—laughing even, the joy of making you feel this good lighting up her features.

“H-Hanni—” you try, your cock twitching inside her, your cum spilling out of her and onto the bed, onto your thighs.

She’s kissing you, kissing your neck, letting you make your mess; your glorious mess of cum and sweat and saliva and her.

It feels so good, everything feels so good about her, everything she’s doing. She’s holding you so tight, so greedily, shivering with every throb of your cock inside her, savouring every moment of your release.

There’s a moment of silence, where you just lay there, bodies entangled, hearts racing, breaths mingling. Just looking at each other, basking in the thickness of sex and satisfaction.

And Hanni smiles, so wide it could split her face in two, a smile that says she’s never been happier.

Then, with a sigh, she relaxes, her legs loosening, ankles unlocking behind you. You roll onto your side, pulling her with you, keeping her close. She’s still with you, still keeping your cock inside her, and you can’t help but feel like this is it.

This is home.

“Best. Morning. Ever.”

She laughs. “I don’t want to get up. Don’t ever want to leave this bed.”

“I don’t think I can get up,” you admit somewhere into her hair.

And then it hits you. Something in the air, something in the light hitting her naked body, something in that blissful expression on her face.

It spills out of you before you can stop it: “I think I’m in love with you.”

Her eyes widen a fraction, and she pulls back just enough to look at you, to read your face. “Careful, we’ve got all day for that kind of talk.”

But she doesn’t protest as you hold her tighter, feel the warmth of her body, the smell of the skin, the way she nests into your side. Fitting perfectly—like she’s always been there.

So yeah, you may have said it too early, but whatever.

Today’s the day for breaking normal rules and codes of conduct.

For breaking routines. For her.

For the promise of a long day filled with nothing but lazy kisses, whispered secrets, the sweet taste of her skin.

For staying in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, forgetting the outside world.

For more of this. Of Hanni. Of this perfect, perfect feeling.

So, you stay there. Not moving, not speaking. Just holding onto the moment, as the sun rises higher and higher in the sky.

And as your eyes start to drift close, as you sink into the comfort of the mattress, with her in your arms and on your mind, and you’re thinking this day couldn’t get any better, Hanni whispers:

“Idiot. I’ve always been in love with you.”

#kpop smut #hanni smut #newjeans smut #male reader

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midnite-c6 · 7 days ago

Note

more pink guard!namgyu and thanos au thoughts :P

pink guard!namgyu and thanos who brings timid!reader back into the games after mingle happened, the survived players see you sitting on your bed with eating food that’s completely different to what they have to eat.

pink guard!namgyu and thanos that actually brought your bed closer to the door so all they can keep a better eye on you…

hehe YAY this request rlly made my mindblow cuz like WHY HAVENT I THOUGHT OF THAT KIND OF AU, SO COOL ANON!!

pink guard!thanos & pink guard!namgyu x virgin!reader imagine pt. 2💘

warnings: 18+, dark content, dubcon, gunplay (read at ur own risk!!)

after the last game, that you skipped (because of your two new friends!), they already sent you back to the original dorms of the players. you'd walk back inside, slightly limping as your legs shake... the other players couldn't care less though, infact, they're pretty bummed you're still alive, just means less money.

the two guards really found a favourite amongst the 456 players! they'd assign you a better place to sleep, they'd also give you much more delicious food, and whenever other players try to bother you about it, it's okay! they'll just unfairly kill them in the next round <3. despite being ranked as triangle guards, they're hella irresponsible, but atleast they found their purpose in these games, and that's... you! ❤️‍🩹

just right after lunch, after eating the delicious food they especially made for you, you've been escorted to go to another unfamiliar room, something kind of like a basement..

they'd already take off their masks, the purple-haired one starts to already show his excitement, the black-haired one was arranging the place, trying to make it more cozy despite how it's very far from that. "baby!! i missed you, nam-gyu made that special steak lunch just for you, did you like it, babe?" he'd look at you with puppy eyes, eyes that a lover would make, "uhm.. it was really good! but the players were really angry at me..." he pouted in response. "what?!" "they said it was really unfair. i'm the only who got to eat that type of meal.." his brows furrow, clearly annoyed. "buncha' whining bitches, can't they expect a princess like you deserves to eat deliciously?" "uhm.." these guards were surely good with their words..

"well, don't think about them anymore, baby. we'll make you forget." he shushes you up with his gloved finger, before smacking his lips against yours. fine, he was a good kisser, you admit.

nsfw below!!-> 🫶🏻

honestly, they were taking their time with you, taking turns to sloppily kiss you in the lips whilst grinding their suits against your core and fingering you without any release. it was a hassel to take the pink suit off, clearly. "dude, i've cooked her the steak, i should get to fuck her first!" "uhm.. who said that? i was the one who thought of it." you'd watch both of them argue over you as you lean back against the wall, your clothes stripped infront of you. your body was shivering from the cold un-tiled floor. "you tryna' piss me off, bro?" "nah nah, let's play fair then. rock paper scissors?" nam-gyu groaned, but he'd extend his hand to play a game, best to three. after a few rounds, the black-haired one was the winner, he'd cheer. "yes!! knew the world was fair. sucks to suck, bro." "whadda' fuck! you got to eat her out last timeeee..!" the purple-haired one complained. "just your fault you didn't." he smiled proudly as he started to unbuckle his pants, walking over to you. the other guard went to focus on getting a cross necklace underneath his shirt, popping a pill in his mouth.

you'd look up at the guard closer to you, quite worried in your eyes. "what? don't want to?" nam-gyu raises a brow. you don't answer, but you were definitely hesitant. "i've never.. uhm.. with an actual..." he immediately bursted into laughter. "seriously? you're a virgin? no wonder you were so tight. couldn't even stretch you with my fingers n' all." you lower your gaze to the floor, his eyes were judging you from above.. "a face of a slut, yet an attitude like an angel, i like that." he'd put on his pants again, though he was dissapointed. "don't worry.. i'll prepare you," you wonder if he'd just finger you again, but... he'd slowly take the gun from his pocket, lowering himself to place the barrel of the gun on your clit. you'd jolt from the hard texture, or how it was a literal gun against your cunt. "if ya' can handle this, you can handle me, okay?"

you'd whimper, how were you supposed to fit that? "u-uhm.." "don't be nervous.. hey dude, hold her down will you?" he'd call out for the other guard that was getting high. "why should i? i'm still salty." "i'm not gonna fuck her, she's still a virgin." the purple-haired guard immediately went to the both of you "we're the first ones to touch you?!", he places his body underneath yours so you were sitting on his lap. he'd place his hands underneath your thighs to carefully spread your legs open. "it's such an honor, cutie." the guard infront of you starts rubbing the front of the barrel against your clit repeatedly, the sensation was so weird!! but it was a good kind of weird... and to they're pleasure, you'd start letting out sweet moans, as the gun was being pressed against your sensitive bud, nam-gyu's other hand would spread your cunny open, "fuck, so wet, you'd take in this gun easily." he slowly moved the gun away from your clit... lowering it.. til' it was just right against your hole. "s-slowly- please.." nam-gyu tilts his head. "slowly?" before immediately pushing the barrel fully inside you. you'd let out a loud, shameless moan from how it slid in, or how it was quite longer than you were used to. "h-hey!?" "sorry, i'm a bit impatient." he grinned, sliding the gun in and out, a ruthless pace, even faster than how he was fingering you before.

& with the pace and all that pleasure... you get to release another high from that new experience, getting fucked by a gun, the guard underneath you was uncontrollablly smiling. "can't take it, babe? here..." he'd offer you a pill. "the next games a bit tricky, so you'd need some energy.."

"but if you're too scared to play don't worry, 'kay? just go to the bathroom during lights out and you can repay us while you're there!" every thing comes with a price, except, gladly you're the one cumming. 💘

#squid game #player 124 #squid game 2 #nam-gyu #squid game x reader #squid game smut #squid game season 2 #namgyu #thanos #thanos x reader #choi su bong x reader #thanos smut #nam-gyu smut

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parkerluvsu · 4 months ago

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can u write something about art and reader having high sex 😛😛😛🙏🏻🙏🏻 like idk just like a chill night at the dorm at stanford or something where they smoke a couple blunts and grind on each other idk!!!!!!!!!!!

MOONLIGHT (art donaldson x fem! reader)

sometimes you felt like a bad influence on art.. he wouldn't let anything that wasn't on his pre-planned diet touch his lips before he met you. but from the first puff of your joint under the bleachers of the tennis court, he was hooked. not just on the woozy feeling he got when he took too long of a hit, but on the feeling of having you around him.

the more you two hung out, the more art associated the feeling of his head in the clouds, not with the large puffs of smoke drifting around his room, but you the feeling of you sitting next to him, your legs draped over his. art feels guilty, if he got caught, he'd absolutely get thrown out of the tennis program, and probably never be able to attend a good school again, but on the other hand.. your sweet giggles as you blow smoke into his face gave made him forget all the consequences if he got caught.

the problem with you (and it's not even really a problem to art.. he thinks you're perfect) is you like things casual. sure you've made out with art in a haze of smoke, maybe grinded a bit over his jeans in the back of his overly clean jeep, and he can't even count the times that you've texted him "you up?" at 2am, but he's never been your "boyfriend".

art knows it would be hard to have a serious conversation with you without the guise of just coming over to smoke, so he shoots you a text.

art: hey can i come over? need to relax :)

the buzz of your phone from the desk beside you steals your attention from your math homework, a welcome distraction. you text him back quickly, eager to have an excuse to smoke.

an eager knock on your door comes only minutes later, arts face a mixture of nerves and excitement, like a kid sneaking candy from their parents. art looks as cute as ever in his wrinkled stanford shirt and his checkered shorts, hair tussled from a night at practice. "cmon in artie" his cheeks blush at the nickname as he enters your dorm, making himself comfortable in the cozy chair in the corner. you pull out the box of paraphernalia from under your bed, flower stickers peeling off of the box from overuse. you tilt your head to the side, looking at arts body language, his constant shifting telling you he's trying to seem calm but he really isn't. "what do you wanna smoke?" you ask him, knowing what his answer will be before he even opens his mouth, "whatever you want".

that seems to be arts answer for anything, "whatever you want", sometimes you think if you walked off the edge of a cliff he'd do the same. art was one of those people who followed everything you did, the way you sat, the way you talked, and even your vocabulary, he would shift to be more similar to you. even when he smoked for the very first time, he watched you inhale so deep and hold it in before blowing a large cloud of smoke into the air, he tried to do the same.. but ended up greening out and throwing up in the trashcan next to the tennis courts. the truth is, art would do that all over again if it meant even one more second with you, and he knew it was clingy and definitely too dependent for the casual situation you were in.. but he can't help himself.

me: sure, come over anytime

art is a lightweight in every sense of the word, whenever Patrick would take him to a frat party to get totally wasted, all it took was one red solo cup full of beer to have art stumbling over his own feet. It was the same with weed, it only took one hit for art to start slurring his words, his body pretty much melting into any surface near him. currently, it's the cozy chair in the corner of your room, but you can see his eyes drifting towards the cozy blankets on you bed. "art, you know you can go sit on my bed right?" his eyes widen and he shuffles over, flopping down on the bed in such a way that would make sober-him flush with embarrassment. you giggle as he wraps himself in the blankets, his head lolling onto the pillow. art blearily watches you come sit on the bed too, leaning against the wall for support. the sight of him tangled up in your blankets reminds you of previous late nights spent together, causing a flutter in your stomach that you're a little ashamed of. art leans over to give you the joint back, your fingers brushing together softly. "y'know you look super pretty right now" art says, "n-not that you don't always look pretty but like.. right now especially" he revises his statement, he's always such a people pleaser. you laugh, taking a long hit from the joint before giving him a wide smile. "thanks artie, you're pretty too" you reply, knowing he likes being called pretty, even though he'd absolutely never say it, the way his ears go red gives him away every time.

as the night goes on, and your shared joint turns into a stub, you find yourself closer to art than you thought you were, your sides pressed up against each other as you lay on your backs, staring up at your ceiling. the boring white paint suddenly seeming very interesting until you felt movement beside you, art was tuning on his side and leaning his face on his hand. you blink, "what are you looking at?" glancing at arts eyes that were fixed on your face. "you" art says simply, causing you to shake your head and laugh. "i know that art.. but why?" you ask, pressing for an answer from him. "dunno.. just your face is nice" he says, his face dropping into your shoulder. arts breath was hot against your neck, making you almost want to pull away, but you'd never do that, enjoying the weight of him against you. arts breathing rate increases against your neck and you wonder why until you feel a pressure against your thigh. "art.." he hums in response, only focused on the small sharp movements of his hips. you know how quickly he shifts from being all innocent and sweet to taking what he needs.

you're such a sucker for art, especially when he's high and he can't hide his feelings like he usually does. you shift your leg to the side to help him, inciting an immediate response of his eyes fluttering shut against your shoulder, his eyelashes tickling you gently. the position that you maneuvered into allowed arts leg to slot between yours as well, letting you slowly rock your hips against his leg, the feeling of his bare skin only making you feel more pleasure. before you know it, art is pressing hot kisses into your neck and your arms are wrapped loosely around his neck. "mmmmmfuck" art groans against your neck, even though he's feeling less woozy than earlier, he's still sensitive, just the feeling of grinding against you having him teetering on the edge. suddenly, you feel his hips stutter and a dampness cover the front of his shorts. art holds his breath for a second before his whole body goes limp against you, his fingers not clenching the sheets anymore.

a comfortable silence falls between you, before art breaks it with his soft voice. "can we go again? 'm sorry i just.. i need you" he whines out, still not showing his face. you giggle softly and nod, lifting up your hips to pull off your pajama pants and panties, art doing the same with his shorts and boxers. "how do you want me?" you ask, sending a flutter of butterflies into arts stomach because of the sense of control you're giving him. art thinks for a second, "can you turn around..? please" he asks, a bit of hesitancy in his voice. you nod, turning to face the wall next to your bed, your back facing art. his gentle hands maneuver your legs into a position that's easy for him to slip into you. he does so slowly, more for your sake than his, he thinks if he pushed inside of you too fast he would surely cum prematurely (not like it hasn't happened before).

you feel art shiver against you, his hips pausing when he enters your fully, his balls resting snugly against your ass. art could truly stay like this forever, if he had the patience and resolve.. but he doesn't, his hips snap into yours quickly, the overstimulation getting to him. he wraps his arms around your stomach, holding you close to him, his head yet again smushed into the crook of your neck. every thrust he gives you feels like it's punching the air out of you, art isn't even pulling all the way out anymore, just humping his hips into you the best he can. even in his delicate headspace, art still wants to please you first, his fingers making their way down your stomach before rubbing messily at your clit, his fingers catching on your nub every few circles, causing you to tighten up around him. art is close, you can always tell by how his voice shifts from more coherent to just straight up blabbering, "mgh.. god.. 's so warm.. you're so warm.." "it feels s' good.. it's feels good to you too right?" "gotta be closer to you.. wan' be closer to you" but you snap to attention when he moans against you, "please be m' girlfriend please.. i wan' you to be mine.." you're sure art has no idea what he's saying until he repeats himself, almost sounding like he's about to cry. you nod quickly, "y-yeah artie okay.. ill be your girlfriend.." now you swear he actually sobs, his hips making one last deep thrust before you feel him fill you up, the sensation sending you over the edge right after him.

art stays inside of you for a minute, dating his breath before pulling out, grabbing a tissue and helping you clean up. when you open your eyes, arts looking up at you with his signature puppy dog eyes. "um.. did you mean what you said?" he asks quietly, his head bowing down quickly, as if he didn't want to see your reaction. you think back to your agreement, sure it was in the heat of the moment, but would it really be such a bad idea to say yes? you pause, and arts head droops even lower, expecting the worst. "art you know ive purposely been keeping this casual.. but i.. i trust you now artie, i do want this to be serious" you reach out for his hand, squeezing it gently. arts face lights up like a kid getting the one present they wanted for christmas as he quickly hugs you. "thank you.. thanks, you won't regret it i swear" you smile, pulling the blankets over the both of you, snuggling into arts chest as you admire the beautiful rays of moonlight streaming into your bedroom.

art is easily entranced by the quick movements of your fingers as you roll a joint, it sounds silly but he's always admired the fact that you didn't buy pre-rolls, preferring to be more independent. you lick the paper to get it to stick shut (and art is grateful you were too focused on that to see the way his eyes widened when you did) and root around your drawer for your lighter, a stupid pink one decorated with hello kitty that you got for your birthday. art couldn't help but find it endearing, the way you were so independent and "too cool" for a real relationship, but you still kept all the things that people gave to you, even if they weren't to your taste. the click of your lighter snapped art out of his observations, the light from the tiny flame illuminating your face in a way that made art want to take a picture, the fluttering flame casting an orange glow onto your skin. the strong smell of the joint caused art to become a little lightheaded even though he hasn’t even taken a hit yet, his fingers grabbing the joint from you after a couple failed tries that make you laugh, the soft giggles a soundtrack for the night.

#parkerluvsu #parker.talks #challengers x reader #art donaldson #challengers 2024 #challengers #art donaldson x reader #challengers smut #art donaldson smut

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st7rnioioss · 1 month ago

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۶ৎ TUTOR!MATT x BRATTY!READER HEADCANONS

˚𝜗𝜚 warnings... fluff!!:) few mentions of suggestive content, but not in detail.

۶ৎ ... bratty!reader loves to mess a little around with tutor!matt. she’s aware that she has got him wrapped tightly around her pretty manicured finger, so why not make some fun out of it? she has such a soft spot for him, but that doesn’t mean she can’t tease around.

“maatttt. you look so handsomeeee” you’d smile wickedly, tilting your head to the side while running a finger down his chest, stopping right by his belt. you were batting your eyes at him, watching him swallow hard, turning flustered. “i- uh- i don’t see why not…” he’d submit to you expecting you to either get down in front of you or start unbuckling his belt. but you did neither. “what do you mean? i jus’ think you look good,” and immediately, you’re withdrawing your hand from his waistband, leaning back in the chair to skim over the textbook with a giggle, leaving matt confused, flustered, and shaking his head with a shy smile.

۶ৎ ... tutor!matt loves, loves, loves to take bratty!reader on cute little dates. sure, at first she thought he was cornier than the cob… but she grew to like them. a lot. picnics, coffee dates, stay-at-home (dorm) dates, shopping, lunch dates in the weekends, you name it. he was seriously weak for the way you put down the bitchy facada whenever you were as much as in his vicinity. and it was nice way to leave campus and get some real coffee.

۶ৎ ... they are soooo laaazzyyyyy. on the weekends, matt would usually study his ass off, revising notes for upcoming exams, that really was months away. but after dating bratty!reader, they slump around their dorms aaaallll weekend. no, she’s not a bad influence like that, they sometimes study… but they’re both so weak for dates, cuddling, sleeping, and being lazy together. plus, as long as you turned in your assignments and homework, who’s stopping you?

“maattt… stop, my arm is sleeping.” you nudged him in his chest with a sleepy voice, eyes still closed. matt was lying directly on top of your arm, his chin on top of your head. “sorry, sorry…” he mumbled, awkwardly shifting so you could retract your arm. you’d then proceed to sleep and cuddle for another few hours, rewarding yourselves after studying hard all week to avoid studying in the weekends.

while saying this… they’re definitely revising homework and notes in bed. it’s more comfortable than the library, and matt basically lives in your dorm anyway. plus, it’s cozy.

۶ৎ ... tutor!matt is floored when bratty!reader takes him to one of the frat parties. yes, she has quite a status around school, so she always knew when and where the newest party was thrown. but usually, she didn’t go. she’d rather spend time with matt, knowing he didn’t really enjoy them. but one day was different. she’s gotten him dressed up, as well her herself.

“holy shit.. you look- you look really good,” he whispered, sitting on the edge of your bed, watching you step into the room, clad in the prettiest little outfit. before you could even answer or at least say thank you, he’s standing up and dragging you to the bathroom with clammy hands… you’re gonna get rid of the problem you caused.

۶ৎ ... bratty!reader who at the end of the day loves tutor!matt as much as he loves her. sure, she’s a brat, but so, so soft around him. matt is her comfort space, and he’s aware, so he doesn’t take the few snappy comments she could shoot his way to heart. and she makes sure to show that, always having her lips on his cheek or forehead, leaving a little stain.

“okay, so this quadratic equat-“ he’d be cut off by your lips smudged against his cheek, shuffling closer to him on your bed. “i looove you.. you make studying more fun,” you’d smile cheesily, leaning your head onto his shoulder. with a chuckle and wide smile, he kissed the top of your head, making sure to squeeze your body into a tight hug. “i love you more, angel.”

۶ৎ ... they are suuuchhh all-over sleepers. if anyone came into that bedroom during the night to see, they'd 100% be tangled together. whether it's their legs intertwined, arms around each other, or both. there hasn't gone a single night by where they weren't sleeping in some weird position you weren't even sure they could get out of again.

more tutor!matt x bratty!reader here!

taglist: @jetaimevous @missmimii @mattscoquette @pearlzier @witchofthehour @elizasturn @loveparqdise @delilahsturniolo @phone4pills @sturnsmia @hearts4werka @cayleeuhithinknott @strnilolover @coffeeobsesssed @lovergirl4gracieabrams @ifwdominicfike

#🐇་༘࿐ works #ֹ ⑅᜔ ׄ ݊ ݂ bratty!reader x tutor!matt ֹ ᮫#matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo fanfic

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mommynott · 2 months ago

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Smoke Sesh

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

This is the part 2 of my dealer!mattheo series! If you haven’t read the first part check it out here

More to come for this series and I’m SO excited💋

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, SMUT, chars 18 +, college au, dealer!mattheo, dealer!matt, drug use, weed use, flirting, naughty thoughts

After class ended for the day, you rushed out of the room. Eager for your meeting with Mattheo. You clutched your books tightly against your chest as your mind twirled over all of the possibilities that could come from this...Deal. Would he make a move? On the known shy girl? Maybe you had to have more realistic expectations.

Once getting to your dorm room you quickly changed into a short flowy sundress, touching up your hair and make-up. Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you could feel your heart thump against your chest. You glided your smooth gloss across your lush lips once more before taking off to meet Matt.

The smell of weed reeked through the boy's halls, faint muffled music was heard from Matt’s dorm room as you slowly crept up to his door. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself before knocking on the door. -Tap tap tap- You took a step back just as the door opened, a cloud of smoke puffing out into your face while Theo and Enzo walked out laughing, the Italian shooting you a cheeky wink. “Aye, come in”

Mattheo’s voice was deep yet lazy, you stepped inside, the door shutting behind you. Matt was slumped down on his couch, both arms over the back of it as he manspread. Wearing a pair of grey sweats and a black tank. His muscles on full display for you. Fuck. A half-smoked joint in his right hand just as he brought it up to his lips. “I was wondering if you were actually going to show up little Miss Perfect.” Teasing you, the apples of your cheeks turned a shade of crimson.

“Well…I did ask you for some weed, did I not?”

Snarking back to him, you kept it playful yet friendly as a small smile sprawled across your face. But Mattheo’s? The most cruel and cunning smirk tugged on the corners of his lips. “You did, doll…Here I’ll get you some ready…” He started bagging the dry green flower, putting out the joint I. A nearby ashtray before his chocolate gaze shifted up to yours. “Y’know…Why don’t you chill for a bit? Smoke somethin’ with me.”

Mattheo wanted to smoke with me? Really? You brushed some of your silky hair behind your ear, glancing down to the floor before back over to the stoner. “Uh….I’m-“ Matt’s brows shot up in amusement right as he was sealing the little baggie, cutting off your words. "Why so hesitant?" He asked, the sly grin remaining on his chiseled face before placing the baggie next to a glass emerald bong.

A soft blush remained radiating off of your cheeks, feeling your heart quicken. You swallowed, trying to maintain some level of composure before answering. "I-I’m not hesitant…Just… surprised, I guess." Matt chuckled, leaning back on the couch while He motioned for you to sit down, patting the cozy cushion beside him.

“Nothin’ to be surprised about, doll”

There it was again. Doll. Fuck… the way it effortlessly rolled off his tongue was making you melt. You hesitated for a second before walking over and sitting down on the couch, leaving a small space between you and Mattheo. He turned towards you, taking in the sight of your sundress. His gaze lingered for a moment and you could feel your face growing even warmer under his intense stare. He was clearly checking you out and making it obvious at that.

You cleared your throat, trying to hide your nervousness as you looked at the bong and baggie on the table. Was this really happening? "Well, I've never smoked with my dealer before…" you admitted softly, batting your lashes up to him naturally. Another deep chuckle came from Mattheo while he started to pack the bong. "Even better."

A soft giggle huffed from you at his words while you shifted in your seat, this small movement causing your dress to slightly ride up on your thighs. “You look nice in that sundress…who you dressin’ up for?” Matt’s voice was deep, his reddened eyes down on the bong as he continued to prep it. “Oh…I- no one really.” You stumbled over your words. Surely your face was as red as a tomato by now.

Another lazy laugh escaped raggedly from his throat, lifting the bong to his lips as he lit up the weed and inhaled. His bloodshot honey gaze burned into yours from over the rim of the glass before blowing a thick cloud of smoke to the side. “Here…and just sayin’ you look good…pretty.” Mattheo’s smug smirk never left his face, passing the bong over to you as your dainty hands grabbed it.

“Thanks.”

Replying quickly in a soft tone, you felt a smile itching to form while you brought the pipe to your lips. Lighting up the weed you took a big hit of it before pulling away and coughing up a damn storm. Way to fucking go. “It’s good shit, no?” Matt asked you teasingly, taking the bong from you as he sat it back on the table. “Mhhmmm-“ Dragging out in a hum, you relaxed back against the cushioned couch. The high starting to hit you just right.

Mattheo’s dark eyes were glued to you, taking in all of your beauty. He couldn’t help himself, scooting over closer to you just a touch. Your thighs grazed over one another as you shifted your high stare to his. “You got some pretty eyes, doll” Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. How was this man so damn smooth? “Y-you think so…?” You stuttered out, subtly biting your lower lip. The weed was making you loosen up, bringing you out of your shell.

“I know so.”

He whispered lowly, his gaze dropping to your shiny lips before meeting with your eyes once more. Essentially doing the triangle method. Fuck. It was working. Matt quickly took another heavy puff from the bong, clearing it as the smoke poured out lazily from his mouth. “You’re really nice, Mattheo…” Your soft-spoken voice came out in a cute manner. Mattheo finding you and this whole interaction quite adorable.

“Eh…I’m only nice to pretty girls like you.” Again with the damn compliments, your smile brightened up to his as he stood up and patted his thighs. “Stay a while, doll…Want a drink?” Damn, he actually wanted to hang out? Relax. You nodded your head, feeling your throat tighten from the dryness of the cotton mouth.

“Sure…I’d love one.”

A sea of happy giggles left your lips as you took in Mattheo's dorm room. He went over to his mini fridge and grabbed two beer bottles. Plopping down right next to you once more. This time closer than before. So fucking close to you that the mixed smell of his musky cologne, cigarettes, and weed wafted around you. Fucking hell.

Taking one of the beer bottles, he placed the cap edge on his teeth, popping it open with his mouth and giving you a wink. “Here you go, sweet thing” Another fucking pet name. This man was driving you wild. Sipping on the beer you could feel Matt’s gaze burning into your side profile as he drank his own. You finally turned your head, locking eyes with him. But they were different…dangerous..darkened…mischievous.

Something was brewing in Mattheo’s mind. And what was that you may ask? He was thinking of you on all fours. Taking his thick cock as you scream out his name. Thinking of him smoking a blunt while you lazily road him, the sexy whimpers you’d make. All because of him. And he knew…He fucking knew he’d have you tonight.

Ahhhhhh !!!!! Dealer!mattheo has been SO fun to write, I hope you all have been enjoying!

@mattheoriddles-slutt here’s your update babes hehehe

As always, requests and asks are open smut sluts💋

Divider pinned in my masterlist🌙

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girllblogging777 · 6 months ago

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𝑇𝑈𝑁𝐸𝐷 𝐹𝑂𝑅 𝑇𝐸𝑁𝑆𝐼𝑂𝑁 ⋆·˚ ༘

↳ mattheo riddle x fem! reader short drabble (not related to my series)

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 0,3k

✩✩✩✩

“are you seriously saying you’d pick radiohead over deftones ?” mattheo asked with a shocked expression on his face, his hands clutched against his chest as if he was on the verge of a heart attack.

“i’m just saying radiohead is absolutely NOT overrated and you’re lying to yourself if you think that it is !” you replied, with your tone slightly more angry.

you were currently sitting on the floor of his dorm room, shuffling through his cd collection as he watched you from the bed. the two of you had been bantering for hours about music and everything else you disagreed on as the rain was pouring outside, leaving you in a cozy and comforting atmosphere.

“deftones is much more consistent,” the brunette boy continued, dead set on trying to knock some music taste into you “and white pony is better than all radiohead albums combined.” you gasped, looking up from the cd shelf

“you did not just say that ! what about the bends ? in rainbows ? ok computer ? you can’t say anything about ok computer ! ” you declared and he laughed from his spot against the headboard.

“nope, white motherfucking pony is a masterpiece.” he ignored your previous remarks before you cut him off “it’s good, but around the fur and saturday night wrist-“ you started before he shouted

“stop it ! i won’t hear a word of what you have to say. seriously, how can you be so wrong all the time ?”

“i am not !” the ridiculous argument you two were having was the last thing on your mind when you looked up and saw him nonchalantly leaning back against the headboard, his curls slightly bouncing when he shaked his head.

“yes you are ! you’re the only person i know who managed to have the same music taste as me in artists but not in songs and it’s irritating, i swear.” you scoffed at mattheo’s pissed of demeanor and didn’t bother answering him, leaving you in a comfortable silence for quite some time.

truth is, he couldn’t care less about your different opinions in music. he did, however, care about the way the two of you had been here for hours chatting about anything and everything in the most casual way possible. he’d never felt so good around someone before, and he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that your simple presence was enough to make his head spin. you were siting cross legged on the floor, your hair perfectly framing your beautiful face as you looked through the cds, and he knew he’d give up listening to deftones for the rest of his life if it meant having you like this.

✩✩✩✩

a/n : the next part of the “untouchable” series is a wip but i just wanted to post that in the meantime. please like/comment & reblog !!! love you <3

@iris-qt @reys-letters @mattheosdior @shiftingwithmars @fluffycookies22 @tateshifts @fbvreadingblog @moonlightreader649 @bellatrix-lestrange5 @myunperfektstorys @redeemingvillains @helendeath @elsie-bells @justscrollinthrough @larmesdevanille @jolly4holly @yikesitslush @pizzaapeteer @eneywey @dexoq @icantkeepmyplantsalive

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nzn43 · 10 months ago

Note

Get sleep MT. Those eye bags of yours may better than that clothing Mango brand but you need some sleep!

#cozy dorm answers #avm king orange

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genshingorlsrevengeance · 19 days ago

Note

feixiao. M16A1. Need drunk women who love rambling on about their S/O

(H:SR/GFL) Feixiao and M16A1 drunk rambling on about their S/O

Feixiao is very open with her love about S/O.

Very VERY open as a matter of fact. And that volume only increases when she's drinking.

Whatever S/O wants her to do, they have zero say because Feixiao is not home right now.

And unfortunately(??? Idk I think it's probably safe to assume we'll be into it) for them, PDA conduct goes out the window.

Not that there was much there to begin with it, but now Feixiao is now actively peppering S/O with kisses.

(Feixiao) "You're...so pretty! Have I ever told you how pretty you are?"

(S/O) "C-CAN'T BREATHE!"

If there was someone in the room with them, she'd essentially drag them over and point at them.

(Feixiao) "S-SEE THIS PERSON?! THIS PERSON IS THE LOVE OF MY LIFE!"

And who exactly is going to have the balls to tell the General this is the 30th time they've shown S/O to them?

Well, plenty of people actually, but there's the question of whether or not she's sober enough to hear or cares enough.

The answer to both is no.

Absolutely no one is going to pry her off of them if she has an arm around S/O. Moze, Jiaoqiu, The Trailblazer, and more are powerless before the General.

Thankfully in her drunken state, she doesn't get TOO handsy in public. At least nothing that'd require them to get a room.

That would be when S/O gets her home.

The moment Feixiao sees the main focus of her affection snuggle into bed with her, seeing them smile and laugh because of her?

(M16A1) "S/OOOOOO!~"

(S/O) "Oh good god..."

M16A1 has once again drank herself to near system shutdown with Jack Daniels, and is somehow coherent enough to see S/O.

If they don't respond to her, she'll stumble over to them, both arms wrapped around them before she nuzzles her head into their neck.

(M16A1) "Hmmmmm...warm! You humans are really cozy to get close to!"

(S/O) "Sixteen, please lower your volume a li-"

(M16A1) "Mwah!~"

M16A1 plants a firm kiss on their neck making S/O shudder before almost collapsing on top of them, shouting loudly enough for everyone in the bar to hear, much to S/O's horror.

(M16A1) "IF ANYONE TOUCHES MY S/O! I'LL...I'LL...Uh..."

(M4 SOPMOD II's Voice) "KICK THEIR BUTT!"

(M4A1's Voice) "SOPMOD, don't encourage her!-"

(M16A1) "YEAH! KICK YOUR ASS!"

It's up to S/O to carry M16A1 out of the bar and back to their dorm, due to the noise complaints she gets.

Though at this point, the bartender is well aware of M16A1, and that's not even because of S/O. It's just everything else about her in general.

And in the hallways, she's still going on.

(M16A1) "And the way you frown is- hic! ...S-Super hot!"

S/O can only blush in retaliation, as no words will actually reach her.

M4A1 is with S/O and her sister, helping pry M16A1 off them.

(S/O) "Thanks."

(M16A1) "Nooooo!~ Bring them back to me!"

(M4A1) "Hush, you. I thought I told you not to drink so much tonight!"

(S/O) sigh "...M4, can you help me carry her to my room? I'm sorry to ask you-"

(M16A1) "YEAAAAH!-"

M16A1 nearly falls on her face before her sister catches her.

(M4A1) "Hah, I guess I'd be struggling to wrangle her otherwise..."

(M16A1) "Only thing I'm wrangling around is-"

(S/O & M4A1) "SIXTEEN!"

#honkai star rail x reader #girls' frontline x reader #feixiao x reader #m16a1 x reader #feixiao honkai star rail #m16a1 gfl #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail headcanons #girls' frontline imagines #girls' frontline headcanons

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marauder-misprint · 11 days ago

Text

Gryffindor Wins

Series Masterlist

Sirius Black x Fem!Slytherin!reader

3.5k words

cw: fluff, drinking, smoking

Your ability to pay attention significantly decreases in three classes during the week. Charms, Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Sirius’ presence in a room is more distracting than it ever had been. Apparently, when you are trying to figure out how you feel about someone, they take up more space in your brain. It wasn’t like he was doing anything different than before, besides an occasional glance your way followed by a grin when he found you already looking at him.

Pandora leans her head on your shoulder during Charms and instinctively, you rest your head on top of hers.

“You’ve been looking at him every five minutes all lesson,” she whispers.

“I know.”

“Why?”

You hum, looking over at Sirius again. He’s whispering to Peter. Peter nods along with a slight frown on his face. You’re curious at what they could be discussing in the middle of Professor Flitwick’s lecture.

“Just thinking, I suppose,” you respond to Pandora.

“About… him?”

You are about to answer when Flitwick calls, “Ladies! Please pay attention!”

You and Pandora sit up straight with muttered apologies. You give Sirius another quick glance. He’s also now sitting up straighter, no longer talking with Peter whose face is crimson. You and Pandora got a warning. Anyone else not paying attention would likely lose house points. ‘I should not have to tell you students to pay attention in your lessons,’ Flitwick had said in the past.

So, Pandora’s question didn’t get answered, but judging by the way your eyes still drifted over to Sirius five more times before Flitwick dismissed the class, you were. You kept thinking back to what he said and what Remus said in the library earlier in the week. Sirius was giddy at the chance of a second date. For a boy known for getting around with the ladies, you wouldn’t expect him to be giddy at the mere potential of a second date.

When Saturday arrives, you have no intention of getting out of bed before noon. Sure, you had told Sirius to talk to you after the quidditch match, but you never said you’d go to it. It is an 11 a.m. match in December. Your warm, cozy bed in the quiet of your dorm is much more inviting. To you, the choice is clear. You’ll stay in bed until noon, get lunch before everyone comes back from quidditch and if Sirius remembers, he’ll look for you in the library, where you plan to be reading.

Your plans are thwarted by Dorcas as she throws open your curtains at 10 a.m.

“Why are you still in your pajamas?” she asks, already dressed with her winter robe draped over her arm. “Do you not want breakfast before heading to the pitch?”

“‘M not going?” you grumble into your pillow.

“Bullshit. You always go. Up and at ‘em! Dress warm! If you’re not in the common room in ten, I will dress you myself!”

Then she swiftly leaves the dorm, the door banging shut behind her. You lay still for a moment before groaning loudly. And then with every move, you groan again. Throwing the blankets off yourself and getting hit with cold air? Groan. Swinging your legs over the edge of your bed? Groan. Stretching and standing up? Groan and groan. Once dressed and out of the dorm, you groan louder and louder with each step down the stairs into the common room. Dorcas looks ever so pleased with herself when you arrive exactly ten minutes after she left you.

“Shame you didn’t want me to dress you,” she says with a sigh. “Marls gave me extra Gryffindor gear and I know a certain lion would’ve appreciated seeing you rep his house.”

You roll your eyes before looking at Dorcas’ outfit. Entirely Slytherin gear.

“She gave you Gryffindor clothes, yet you’re not wearing them?”

“Never do,” she says, smiling as you walk out of the common room together. “I won’t be seen in Gryffindor scarlet and gold.”

After a quick breakfast, you walk with the rest of the Slytherins to the quidditch pitch. The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs are being far more energetic than everyone else, as the houses in the match usually are. Your whole group is bundled up to fight against the frigid December air and once you’re up in the stands, you’re fairly certain that you’re not nearly wearing enough.

Maybe I should’ve doubled up, Gryffindor underneath my Slytherin stuff…

The thought leaves your head as quickly as it appeared. You knew your face flushed at the thought but no one notices. It’s far too cold.

“Why am I here? My bed was warm,” you tell Dorcas.

“Because we theoretically like watching quidditch,” she responds with a smile.

“Theoretically.”

Despite the cold, the match is entertaining. Dorcas was right: you do like watching quidditch, even if you personally are rubbish at it. Yet, even with all of the excitement in the air, your eyes keep lingering on the Gryffindor stands. It’s like a magnet, the way it pulls your gaze, and you hate that you know exactly why you keep looking.

Sirius is standing in the front of the stands with Remus and Peter. The trio is cheering on their fourth member as he passes the quaffle to his teammates, only to have it thrown back to him so he can chuck it through the goals. James was single-handedly leading the Gryffindors to victory; they got so far ahead that they would’ve won even if their seeker didn’t catch the snitch.

The Gryffindor stands erupt in cheers as the Hufflepuffs counter with groans. It seems like within seconds, the entirety of Gryffindor house has left the stands and floods the pitch to greet their players. The Slytherin stands empty much slower. No one is in much of a hurry to face the herd of Gryffindors, despite it still being cold. Eventually, you reach the ground and are able to weave through the slower walkers since you are on a mission to get into the warm castle. As you pass the Gryffindors, you can’t miss Sirius clapping James on the back. Remus and Peter are talking with other Gryffindors.

It’s not until you get inside that you realize you’ve lost your entire group. You figure Dorcas went to congratulate Marlene on the win, but the boys and Pandora are nowhere to be seen. You walk slower. Maybe you just walked too fast in your determination to be able to feel your fingers again.

Students pass by you. No one pays you attention. You wonder where your friends could have gone off to. Surely you weren’t walking that fast.

Then the face you had been watching for most of the match appears at the end of the corridor. You can’t help the small smile that appears as he makes his way towards you.

“Congrats on the win,” you say before he pulls you into a hug and spins you around in the middle of the corridor.

You look baffled when he sets you down. You hadn’t been expecting that from him.

“I didn’t do nothing, but thank you, love!” He’s too cheery to notice your expression. He puts his hands on your shoulders. “We’re celebrating in the common room. I know, I know, parties aren’t really your thing, but I’d love it, adore it, be thrilled, ecstatic, ten thousand and one percent delight if you came.”

You narrow your eyes at him ever so slightly before you consciously soften your expression and tilt your head.

“Who said parties aren’t my thing?”

His eyes go wide. “Oh, um, dunno? Just heard it somewhere and it makes sense. You always seem to be leaving them.”

“You have to show up to parties to leave them.”

“So, will you come tonight?” He looks so hopeful.

You pause and tap your chin as if you’re putting deep thought into it. Honestly, you are thinking more deeply on who had told him you didn’t like parties, and wondering why that bugged you.

“Will Dorcas be there?”

He barks a laugh. “Marlene’s on the team, darling. She’ll be there, but if you were hoping to come with her, I’m ‘fraid you might too late for that.”

“She’s already there, isn’t she…”

“Yup.”

“Then what’s the password? I’ll show up.”

His face lit up, somehow appearing happier than he had looked moments earlier when he spun you around.

---

The party is in full swing by the time you get there. No one seems to notice the portrait open and close, or if they do, they don’t care. The party is livelier than the previous ones you’ve attended. You found the drink table quickly, glad to have something to hold while you look for people you actually know. You’re not exactly thrilled when the first one you see is Remus. He doesn’t smile when he sees you, but he approaches you all the same.

“You actually came,” he says coolly.

“I was personally invited,” you reply just as coolly.

You knew Remus was looking out for his friend, but you didn’t think that gave him the right to try to push you away from Sirius. Especially when it had been Remus who said you should get to know Sirius.

Remus doesn’t respond. He turns away from you and disappears into the crowd of students. You frown. You hadn’t minded him too much until now. He was one of the more quieter Gryffindors, yet still quick with a sharp comment or witty remark. And he decided that you weren’t to be trusted because… you were hesitant to go out with Sirius?

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by your name being yelled above the noise of overlapping music and conversations. You look for the source, who is upon you before you could form any kind of reaction.

“I’m so, so, so, so, so, so, so glad you came,” he slurs into your ear, having pulled you into a hug. Sirius appeared to have been celebrating the win for a while.

You give him a smile when he lets you go.

“You invited me, and despite the rumors, I do like a party.”

“Come on, my friends are over here.”

He grabs your hand and leads you to the other side of the room. Lily, Mary, Peter, James and Remus are having a loud conversation when they come into view. You sigh a breath of relief when you see there’s an open spot next to Lily, which you take. As expected, Sirius sits next to you. You don’t mind that no one really acknowledged your arrival. It means that there are also no comments about how close Sirius was sitting to you. If he had sat down first, you wouldn’t be sitting as close.

James is retelling portions of the game as if everyone there hadn’t witnessed it first hand only hours ago. You assume that they are all humoring him for the sake of his embellishments and the drinks in their hands. At some point, Marlene and Dorcas appear and stand in the middle of the group.

“I think it’s truth or dare time!” Marlene announces, holding onto Dorcas for balance.

The group murmurs agreement.

“Wait, I need a refill!” you say, standing up. “Anyone else need one?”

“If you’re offering!” Peter says, leaning forward to hand you his cup.

A few more cups get handed to you before Lily offers to help you carry them. While refilling everyone’s cups, you also grab a bottle of firewhiskey from the table.

“So we don’t have to get up again,” you tell Lily and she laughs.

The group had shifted slightly while you were momentarily gone so that they are sitting in a circle on the ground, taking up more space than before. You and Lily hand out the drinks before taking the spots reserved for you between James and Sirius. It’s decided that the bottle of firewhiskey that you grabbed will be the spinner. Marlene spins it first, declaring that since she suggested the game, it’s only right. It lands on Peter. He picks truth.

“Boo!” Sirius yells at his friend. “Lame way to start!”

“Have you ever broken a law?” Marlene asks.

“Yes,” Peter answers quickly.

The way he’s staring at Marlene tells everyone that he’s telling the truth.

“Wait, what?” Lily gasps. “What did you do?”

Peter shakes his head, laughing. “That wasn’t my question.”

You swear the girls are freaking out about it more than the boys. The four of them are just laughing and trying not to choke on their drinks when they think they’ve composed themselves enough to take a sip. Peter spins the bottle and it lands on Mary. You lose track of how many times the Gryffindors have spun the bottle. It doesn’t land on you for a while. Instead, you get to enjoy the secrets and stupid actions of Sirius and his friends. You finish your second drink and open the firewhiskey to fill your cup.

“Our spinner!” Marlene whines.

“I’m giving it back,” you say sweetly, placing it back in the middle once the top was secured again.

“Humph.”

Marlene spins the bottle and it lands on you.

“How fitting!” Dorcas laughs.

“Truth,” you say. You weren’t sure you were up for the kind of dares they were handing out.

“Who was your first Hogwarts-crush?” Marlene giggles.

Immediately, you start laughing. In retrospect, it is funny. At least, to you it is.

“Well?” Lily asks, nudging you.

You take a second to compose yourself so you can wheeze out, “Evan Rosier.”

“Isn’t he-” Mary starts.

“Dating Junior?” you finish for her, your laughter taking over yourself again. “Yes, yes he is.”

After a minute, you spin the bottle and it lands on Lily.

“Hmm… Truth.”

“What’s the longest you’ve gone without showering?”

“I think a week? My family went camping so it wasn’t an option,” she says and goes to spin the bottle.

The game goes on. James hugs a second year and tells him that he’s going to do great things. Dorcas reveals what she thinks her biggest red flag is. Peter finishes his drink and then throws his cup across the room. Dorcas, having gotten spun again, licks the bottom of Marlene’s foot and proceeds to gag. Lily, James, Remus, Mary, Marlene, James yet again and then Sirius.

“Truth.”

“Merlin, y’all are picking so many truths!” Mary complains.

“Please, it’s James. I don’t need to be stripping down to my boxers right now,” Sirius defends his choice.

“But you could be,” James says with a wink.

“No. Truth me, mate!”

“What would you rate your kissing style?”

Sirius cocks his head. “Like on a scale of 1-10? 10, obviously.”

You roll your eyes. Then you turn to where you think the music is coming from. It’s your favorite song. You slam the rest of your drink before jumping up. You hold your hand out to Sirius.

“Love this song. Let’s dance!”

He grins at you as he takes your hand, letting you pull him into the crowd of people dancing. It doesn’t take long before you decide you’re far enough away from the group. You’re chest-to-chest with Sirius as bodies seem to be pushing on you from all sides. Sirius, having sobered up slightly, is timid in his dancing for a moment. He takes in the grin on your face, how bright your eyes are and the way you’re singing along to the song at the top of your lungs without a care in the world. When the song changes, he finds the confidence to put his hands on your waist and you move closer to him. His breath catches in his throat. He doesn’t mind you this close, but it still throws him off for a moment.

After a few more songs, you put an arm around Sirius’ neck to pull his face down closer to yours. He stops breathing for a moment. Is this it? Were you going to kiss him?

“I need air!” you say into his ear to ensure that he hears you.

“Oh, okay,” he replies quickly, hoping you don’t see the flash of disappointment on his face.

He follows you out of the common room. You pass Remus and smile at him. You can’t help but notice he looks out of place standing at the edge of the common room, no longer taking part in any of the festivities. But right now, you don’t care about him. You had alcohol flowing in your veins, a pretty boy following you and the high of a good party. Remus reaches out to stop Sirius once you pass him.

“Padfoot,” Remus warns in a low voice.

“Moony,” he replies, his voice just as low. “I’m going with her.”

“You look like a lovesick puppy.”

Sirius pulls his arm out of his friend’s grip. “And so what if I am?”

Remus shakes his head with a sigh. “Make sure it’s reciprocated before you get hurt.”

Sirius rolls his eyes before heading out of the portrait. You’re waiting for him, leaning against the stone wall with your eyes shut. The quiet and coldness outside of the common room is refreshing. You open your eyes when you hear the portrait close.

“Got those cigarettes?” you ask with a sly smile.

“Always.” He pats his pants’ pocket.

“Good.”

Your smile grows as you grab his arm to stabilize yourself. Your smile directed at Sirius plus the way you’re holding onto him makes him feel like he’s on cloud nine. This is something he could get used to. If he could get you to do it without being drunk, that is.

He lets you lead the way to the Astronomy Tower, not that he would’ve chosen anywhere else to go. Sirius has to support your weight more when you reach the metal stairs near the top. Why did alcohol make students seek out the tallest tower in all of the castle? He supposes it has the best aura to it, especially when drunk.

You take your place at the railing, holding your hand out for one of the cigarettes.

“I thought you didn’t smoke, or drink,” he teases, handing you one and lighting it for you once it’s in your mouth.

“Oh, I don’t,” you say with a smirk.

You stand in silence for a while, each with your own cigarette this time. There’s no taking turns, no brief touches of fingers, no risk of accidentally dropping it in the hand off.

Then Sirius points to the sky.

“There’s the Leo constellation, so Regulus is… right… there…”

You hum and he traces his hand across the sky.

“And there I am, in Canis Major.”

You giggle. “You’re right here.” You poke his shoulder. “In the Astronomy Tower.” He looks down at you and you poke his nose. “With me.”

He pokes your nose. “I think you had too much.”

You hum again. “Maybe so. But you’ll get me back to the dungeons alright.” You said it so confidently.

You rest your head on Sirius’ shoulder as you stare up at the stars. You had taken Astronomy with Sirius for five years; had you been sober, you might’ve scolded him for thinking you didn’t know your constellations and the stars that were his and his brother’s namesakes. But you weren’t sober so the nice moment between you got to exist untainted.

“Yes ma’am,” Sirius says in response to your assertion that he’ll escort you to your common room.

Which he does. When you’re ready to go, you take his hand and interlock your fingers. Something blooms in your chest as you do so, but you don’t think anything of it. Sirius has to remind himself several times that you aren’t sober. If you were, he might’ve stopped to kiss you right then and there. Instead, he makes sure you get back to the Slytherin Dungeon. Having sobered up a bit in the evening air, you’re less reliant on him for balance but you hold his hand the entire way down. You mumble the password and the door to the Slytherin Common Room appears. You open the door, take a step and turn back to Sirius as you stand in its threshold. You have a dumb smile on your face.

“You are pretty, Sirius. Handsome, dashing, attractive. And a good time.” You pause, laughing to yourself briefly. “Maybe I should write to you over break.”

You hum and disappear into the common room, leaving Sirius dumbstruck in the corridor as the door vanishes. He knows he should move quickly. He needs to get back to Gryffindor Tower unless he wants to get caught out of bed after hours while smelling like alcohol. But he can’t bring himself to move. He stares at the empty wall where the door had been. He makes a mental note to take you on another real date before everyone leaves for break in a little over a week. A real date where you were sober and could maybe admit that you were a Sirius person.

tags: @2dloveshp, @yearninglustfully, @made-for-oliverwood, @ilovejamespottersomuch, @hisparentsgallerryy, @itsseaberri, @corawithfanfiction, @devilslittlehelper, @jllyunn, @barnes70stark,

tags: @crowleythesexydemon, @flow33didontsmoke, @navs-bhat, @louweenier, @l0g0phobe,

@ellouisa17, @theendofthematerialgworl, @marina468, @bmyva1entine, @ravisinghs-wife

Love me some late night chats on the Astronomy Tower

#marauders #marauders fic #marauder-misprint #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black fluff #slytherin!reader #slow burn

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uniquethingtastemaker · 29 days ago

Text

Vil x Reader -- Body Swap Pt 1

Summary: You and Vil swap bodies near the beginning of VDC.

Word Count: 4k+

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Character Arcs

Author's Note: Merry Christmas. There's more to come. This is what I have so far. It's great. Buckle up and good luck. I'm not going to give you any other context. You're welcome

Tags: @solxamber @marsinrain

You open your eyes to a dark room. You feel strangely alert. There’s no grogginess or desire to stay in bed. It’s unnatural. What time is it? You fumble around the nightstand, searching for your phone.

You click it on. It blinds you for a moment and you squint. 4:01 am, it reads. It’s not your lock screen though. The background is a dark purple with a familiar dripping red apple in the center. It’s framed in swirling gold. It’s a variation of the Pomefiore crest. This has to be Vil’s. Who else would have this lock screen? But why is it in your room? Did he leave it when he checked everyone’s rooms? It seems unlikely given his personality. Either way, you need to give it back. He’ll wake up in a frenzy if you don’t do it now. You’d rather deal with a half asleep and grumbly Vil than an awake and frantic one.

You sit up and place your feet on the floor. There’s a pair of plush and cozy slippers underneath your feet… You don’t have luxurious slippers. You furrow your brow. Something’s off.

Nonetheless, you slip on the comfy shoes and shuffle to the light switch. You flick it on.

The first thing you notice is the mirror. Vil’s reflection stares back at you. You raise your eyebrows. It copies you. You glance at your body. You’re wearing the dorm leader’s expensive silk pajamas. You pinch yourself and wince in pain. This is real. You’ve somehow swapped bodies with the Queen of Pomefiore. You have to solve this.

You spin around on your heels and stride out the door. Your slippers pad down the hall. You knock on a specific door and wait. It doesn’t take long for the occupant to answer.

“Roi de Poison?” Rook questions, his voice still rough from sleep.

“Let me in,” you command.

The vice leader steps aside as you to brush past. He turns on the light, closing the door.

“You know I’m not Vil,” you state, turning around.

“Oui,” he confirms, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“It’s [Y/N],” you answer.

Rook raises an eyebrow.

“Your gait is the same, Trickster,” the hunter tells you with a nod.

“I’m not surprised you know,” you comment, “Do you know what’s going on?”

“Non, I’m just as baffled as you are. I’ve never heard of a magicless person and mage swapping bodies,” Rook replies, before looking curious. “Did you come to me because you want to get this sorted before Beautiful Vil wakes up?”

“You’re sharp as ever, Rook,” you confirm, “Yes, he’ll flip his lid once he finds out. I would like to prevent that.”

“I agree, Trickster. It’s for the best. I assume you have a plan,” the hunter replies.

“Of course, we break down Crowley’s door and demand answers,�� you tell him.

Rook laughs, “Such an aggressive tactic from our lovely Trickster! I’m most honored to see such a beautiful and unique side to you. I will do all I can to help.”

“Including my hair,” you add.

Rook lights up. “I’m glad you’ve already thought of that, Trickster. I was going to offer my assistance.”

“As long as I have a reference photo, I can recreate Vil’s makeup. I’m well-versed in skincare, so that shouldn’t be a problem. That being said, do you have any recommendations on what toner and serum to use for Vil’s skin today?”

You lean in to let the hunter get a better look. Rook’s eyes widen before he breaks into a delighted grin.

“Trickster has amazing foresight!” he praises, before examining Vil’s skin. “I would suggest the Shrinking Toner to reduce pore size and the Luminous Serum to brighten the skin.”

“Perfect. Thank you. Get ready and come to Vil’s room to help me,” you instruct before leaving.

“Oui!” Rook agrees with enthusiasm.

You shake your head with a smile, striding down the hall in Vil’s comfy slippers.

——————

“Bang on his door,” you instruct.

“Oui! Trickster’s suggestions are straight to the point and no-nonsense. It’s so different from how you usually behave. It’s magnifique,” he compliments.

“Yes, yes, hurry up. We don’t have all day,” you urge.

You wait before the thudding of footsteps is heard. The bird man opens the door with ruffled feathers. He’s wearing dark indigo flannel pajama bottoms and a ratty white t-shirt with black crows and feathers.

“What is all this racket? It’s 4:45 in the morning. Couldn’t this have waited?” Crowley scolds, before pausing to register who’s in front of him. “Mr. Schoenheit and Mr. Hunt, what are you doing here?”

“It’s [Y/N]. Vil and I have somehow switched bodies. I want answers before he wakes up in hysterics. It would be in your best interest to let us in,” you demand.

Crowley is stunned but steps back. You sweep past him with regal elegance. Crowley raises an eyebrow at your demeanor. Rook slips in, standing beside you. The headmaster closes the door and puts a hand to his chin.

“A mage fueling a magical phenomenon for themselves and a magicless person isn’t unheard of. The caster has to be extremely powerful, but Mr. Schoenheit fits the bill,” he muses.

You stay quiet as Crowley thinks.

“The only thing I can think of is wish magic. Do you have a strong wish?” He asks.

“Yes, I wanted to perform on stage in front of an audience,” you reply.

The headmaster nods before consulting Rook, “Mr. Hunt, you know Mr. Schoenheit well. Is there anything he desires more than anything else?”

“Oui, Roi de Poison wishes to break out of his role as a villain,” he answers.

“Everything fits the requirements for this phenomenon to occur,” Crowley murmurs before speaking up with a clap. “I know what happened!

“Sometimes when two people close by have an intense wish that can be solved with one solution, the ambient magic grants them an opportunity to obtain both wishes. Once both wishes are fulfilled, the magic will revert to normal,” he explains.

You’re silent, before turning to Rook.

“My wish won’t be fulfilled until VDC ends. I want to perform on stage, so I’ll be filling in for Vil,” you inform.

There’s a flash of deep concern before he covers it with a familiar encouraging smile.

“I have no doubt you’ll be able to fill in for Beautiful Vil! I will support you in every way I can. As the resident Vil expert, I can help coach you,” Rook offers with an elegant bow.

You cut his movements off.

“I’m Roi de Poison for now. I expect to be addressed as such. I won’t tolerate a slip of the tongue. I suggest you start practicing in private. I’m sure you know what will happen if you don’t,” you punctuate with an icy voice.

Rook jolts with wide eyes. His hands fly up into a surrendering pose.

“Oui, Roi de Poison, I will heed your command,” he complies.

“Good, I expect nothing less from my vice leader,” you state, before addressing Crowley. “That’s the most helpful you’ve been since I’ve arrived here. I suggest you get your act together before your negligence is exposed. If people learn of my living conditions, my fans will riot.”

Crowley looks at you, gobsmacked. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times.

“Are–are you threatening me?” He stutters.

You narrow your eyes.

“The only thing I’m threatening you to do is your job. If you don’t want your reputation to go down the drain, I suggest renovating Ramshackle Dorm. I’ll even be gracious,” you say, emphasizing his signature word. “I’ll give my portion of the VDC reward to fund the operation.”

The headmaster stares at you in shock. Your eyes sweep the older man’s form, evaluating him.

“You also have… questionable tastes. As a sponsor, I will be consulted before the designs are finalized. It’s nonnegotiable. Thank you for your assistance, headmaster. Rook, we’re leaving,” you command, before sweeping out of the room.

——————

You lower yourself to the ground, dismounting the broom. You prop it against the wall.

“Trickster, you’re a natural! You fly and handle your magic like Beautiful Vil. It’s elegant and powerful. It’s a beautiful flurry of flowers in a windstorm,” Rook compares.

You raise an eyebrow before stating, “Thank you, but I’m more concerned about passing as Vil.”

“Oui! You’ll fool everyone!” Rook reassures.

You drop your Vil act and answer with a smile.

“I’ll fool everyone except for you. You’re too observant,” you correct, sitting next to him. “Thanks for helping out. I wouldn’t be nearly as good if you didn’t correct my walk and give me pointers to handle this body’s magic.”

“Of course, Trickster. You’re a wonderful and talented person to work with,” he answers.

“You are too,” you return with a smile.

The two of you fall into comfortable silence. Your eyes slip close and allow yourself to breathe. It’s been hectic these last three hours. You finally have time to process. Your breath slows, as you slip into a meditative state. It’s something you picked up a few years ago. When you meditate, you’re less reactive and more grounded. When you finish, you hear an ear-piercing shriek.

“That’s our cue,” you comment, standing up.

“Oui!” Rook agrees, following your lead.

A herd of elephants thunders down the upstairs hallway. There’s a muffled shout.

“Don’t yell in my ear, henchman!” Grim yells.

A door slams open.

“What’s wrong?! Are you hurt?!” Deuce cries.

You and the vice leader arrive at the foot of the stairs.

“I expect you to back me up,” you tell Rook, slipping into your Vil persona.

“Of course, Roi de Poison, let’s give them a show,” he grins with a bow.

You nod and ascend the stairs. More footsteps join.

“Is everything ok?” Kalim’s voice resounds, “Jamil’s good at first aid if [Y/N] is hurt.”

“Yo, why do you keep staring at yourself?” Ace questions with mild irritation, “Has Vil infected you? Are you freaking out over a breakout or something?”

Epel pipes up, “You’re kiddin’. Ya woke us up for nothin’? I could’ve slept for another 30 minutes if ya didn’t start hollerin’ like a rooster.”

You breach the stairs with a disapproving expression.

“Epel,” you snap, “Watch your language and accent. If you want to reach your full potential, you must speak with eloquence. No cutting corners. You have to practice in private.”

The group whips around to face you. You stride up to them. They part, allowing you to peer into your room. Vil gapes at you like a fish out of water.

“Close your mouth. It’s unbecoming,” you tell him, before addressing the others. “We’re having an emergency meeting downstairs. I expect all of you to complete the skincare routine I detailed last night. Once you're done, meet Rook and me in the living room.”

The group shares a few concerned looks, before dispersing. You turn to the person occupying your body.

“That includes you,” you add before walking away.

Once you’re out of earshot, Rook reveres you.

“That was the most worthy performance! You live up to your namesake, Trickster. You’ve tricked the others,” he gushes.

You chuckle at the clever wording and sit down on the sofa. Picking up the papers Rook organized, you flip through them.

“Thank you for giving me written documents about Vil,” you voice, “I suspect you know more about him than he does.”

“Oui, Roi de Poison has told me that multiple times,” he confirms with a chuckle.

You shake your head with a small smile. Rook’s far better than any of your perverted stalkers and hate fans in your original world. At least the hunter has good intentions and is helpful. You don’t mind his strange antics. You skim through the documents while you wait.

The first one to arrive is the youngest Pomefiore student. You zero in on him, looking for a fault.

“Your slip up was improper and your attire is too,” you criticize, “Your vest is wrinkled and your bow is crooked. Rook, take Epel to steam his clothes.”

“Oui!” He complies, ushering the boy out of the room.

You sigh. You disagree with Vil’s methods. They’re inefficient and callous. Thankfully, you only have to play along for a little while. You can tweak his character after you’ve proven yourself.

The Clown Crew announces their arrival by sounds rather than sight.

“How dare they kick me out?! It’s my room too,” Grim complains.

He comes around the corner with Ace and Deuce in tow. You skim over the two Heartslabyul students, before doubling back. You stand up and stalk over. The three freshmen freeze as you bear down on them. You grab Ace’s face and click your tongue.

“You should’ve thought better than to forgo my skincare routine. You underestimate my expertise,” you sneer, releasing his face. “You missed toner, serum, and sunscreen. You're going to do it again. What are the steps?”

“Cleanser, toner, serum, moisturizer, sunscreen,” Ace lists with dead eyes.

“So you’re capable of absorbing information. Learn to apply it in the future,” you scathe, “Get out of my sight. When you come back, I expect you to have done it right. I don’t need someone on my team who can’t follow basic instructions.”

Ace backs up, startled. The Scarabia students step in. Your attention shifts to the newcomers, allowing your friend to flee.

“Did Ace get in trouble?” Kalim asks, glancing back at the dashing freshman.

“Indeed, he decided to skip some steps in his skincare routine,” you confirm with distaste.

Kalim comments, “I would’ve forgotten too if it wasn’t for Jamil.”

“I’m sure you would have,” you retort with an eye roll.

Rook’s voice comes around the corner.

“Oui! Monsieur Multi is one of the most helpful people I know. He truly is a master of multitasking and many skills. He’s deserving of his title,” the hunter compliments.

The vice leader reveals himself along with the shortest Pomefiore student. You assess Epel and deem his appearance acceptable. The sunshine student turns to Rook with a blinding smile.

“Yeah! Jamil’s the best. He’s way smarter than me and super helpful. He also cooks the most delicious food,” Scarbia’s leader praises.

You tune out their ramblings, returning to the couch to refocus on the documents.

Vil runs with Jack Howl, his childhood friend, every morning at 6 am. They’ve cancelled until VDC has concluded.

Vil knew Jack as a kid? That’s unexpected. You didn’t even think they knew each other. They’re in different grades and different dorms. However, you’re unsurprised that Vil chooses to work out and run with him in the mornings. The actor seems like the type.

Your body walks in. You glance up to scrutinize Vil’s appearance. Before you can look very hard, Ace sweeps in front of him. He passes the disguised dorm leader and your focus turns to the redhead. Observing his skin for a moment, you find it adequate and retract your gaze.

“Sit and let’s get started,” you instruct.

Rook takes his place beside you. The others find a seat. Once everyone is settled, you address them.

“Vil and I have switched bodies,” you state.

The group pauses.

“What?” Deuce blurts out.

“I said Vil and I switched bodies,” you punctuate.

“You switched bodies?” Kalim clarifies.

You let out an irritated sigh. “Is that not what I just said?”

Ace speaks up. “Wait, who did you switch bodies with?”

You give an unimpressed look.

“Who else but the person who screamed bloody murder, waking everyone up?” you suggest, looking at the culprit.

All eyes turn to your body.

“V—Vil?” Kalim questions hesitantly.

The dorm leader nods but doesn’t say anything. He continues to glare holes into everything around him. Rook jumps in to ease the tension.

“Trickster and I found out what happened!” He exclaims, reclaiming the crowd’s attention. “We broke down Crowley’s door and demanded answers.”

“You broke down the headmaster’s door?” Deuce repeats, stunned.

Ace smacks him upside the head.

“I can’t believe you’ve survived this long considering how dumb you are,” Ace quips.

“Hey!” Deuce shouts in defense.

Your voice cuts across, silencing them.

“It’s an exaggeration.” you clarify, before launching into a summary of the situation.

“Vil and I won’t switch bodies until after VDC. With that in mind, I will take up the mantle as leader,” you conclude.

Vil bolts up from his chair.

“You can’t do that! You have no right!” he opposes.

“If you want me to perform in an important movie instead, then we’ll be here longer,” you state.

“That’s not what I meant,” Vil growls, “You can’t act as me!”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Why not?” you question.

“You’re going to mess up,” he snaps, “You have no credentials! I have a reputation to think about. You can’t just parade around in my body. I have so many schedules and habits. You won’t be able to remember them. I refuse to have my body deteriorate because of your incompetence! Unlike you, I have responsibilities. I’m the head of Pomefiore, the leader of this team, and a third-year student! There’s no way you can act as me. You’re unqualified!”

Vil’s voice grows and grows until he’s shouting by the end. His chest heaves up and down. He glares daggers into you. You stare at him with no reaction.

It starts as a quiet scoff in the back of your throat. Then, a small shake makes its way into your shoulders. A chuckle slips out. From there it turns into a wicked laugh, before crescendoing into a demonic cackle. You double over from the force of your howls. You can’t get enough. He’s playing right into your hand.

It takes a minute to calm down. When you recover, you glance at the others. They stare with disturbed concern and unease. You chuckle to yourself again. You sit up with a sinister smirk. You stare into Vil’s eyes.

“You should think twice before criticizing someone,” you advise.

‘Someone who’s in your body,’ you silently finish.

You wait for the implication to sink in. It takes a moment, but Vil’s eyes widen in horror. You put a hand up to stop his line of thinking. You just want to scare him.

“Don’t worry. I won’t do something so barbaric as threatening your body or reputation. As a former top-charting idol, I understand the importance of a well-maintained public image,” you inform, “As for the third-year curriculum, I’ll allow Ace to confirm my credentials.”

Ace gives a wary look before his mouth quarks in a mischievous smile. He doesn’t mind putting Vil in his place.

“Yeah, if you haven’t noticed, but by some miracle Leona’s test ranking has gone up. That’s because of [Y/N]. They've been teaching and tutoring Leona, since his overblot. They’re up to date with the homework,” Ace brags.

Without waiting for a response, you gesture to Rook.

“And your evaluation of my magic?” You request.

“It’s strong and similar to Roi de Poison’s. I was surprised at how quickly they picked it up. They’ll have no problems posing as you in terms of magical ability,” Rook details.

Vil is still, staring at Rook. You can practically hear the thought swirling in his head: He’s being replaced. You decide to push him over the edge.

“I don’t think I have to give my resume for my acting, but I’ll ease your mind. I’ve done a few jobs here and there. I was most well-known for my favorite roles: villains. In light of that, you’re quite easy to play,” you reveal.

There’s a moment of silence before Vil screams and lunges. On instinct, you grab his throat. Vil halts with wide eyes. You take the opportunity to push him back against the wall. He regains his bearings and slashes at your face. You give Vil’s neck a short squeeze. He gasps and his hands fly to your’s.

His fingernails claw into porcelain wrists. It stings, but you ignore it. You snatch his hands and raise them above his head. You slot yourself against his body and restrain him. Now, you wait.

Vil struggles. He attempts to bite, kick, and scream his way out of your hold. He’s not thinking. Vil doesn’t remember there are other people here. He’s just focused on you. You don’t flinch and you don’t react. You wait for him to lose steam.

He becomes desperate with your unresponsiveness. Vil throws everything he has into fighting back. Tears of frustration and anger stream down his face. He’s loud and messy. It’s so different from the put-together, dignified Vil. All he cares about is lashing out and hurting you.

By the end of the one-sided battle, Vil is heaving, unable to breathe enough air. His body slackens, falling limp. His head is tucked into his chest, hiding his face. He stills and falls silent. His body is still coiled with tension. You finally speak.

“How does it feel?”

Vil tenses beneath you, but doesn’t say anything.

“How does it feel being on the receiving end of your behavior?” you try.

Vil’s head snaps up.

“I don’t act like that!” he growls, gritting his teeth.

You keep your eyes on Vil but address Epel. Your tone is softer.

“Epel, is this how you feel when Vil insults and criticizes you, then he forces you into compliance just because he’s stronger than you? Is this how you feel?” you question.

There’s a brief period of silence. The only thing you hear is Vil’s labored breath.

“Yes,” Epel replies.

You stare at Vil.

“This is how you act. You poke and prod people’s weaknesses. You’re annoyed when they become upset and resistant to your advice. So, you strongarm them into submission, citing you’re doing it to help them. The reality is you’re hurting people and accumulating their ire. You wonder why people keep treating you like a villain. Wake up and face your reality, Vil,” you state.

You let him go, stepping back. You turn to face the others. Shaking off the lingering tension as much as you can, you perk up to address them.

“We’ll have rehearsal as usual. I will lead the team. I expect the same dedication you’ve demonstrated so far. My teaching style will be different, but still effective. I look forward to working together,” you tell them, before looking at Epel. “Epel, I have a special project for you. I’m going to solve Vil’s problem for him. You’ll have a few adventures in the upcoming days. You’ll miss some regular practice, so I’ll privately tutor you.”

Checking that they understood, you dismiss them. You pick up Vil’s backpack and place Rook’s notes in it. You call out to the two Pomefiore students. They wait for you. You finalize details regarding Epel’s “adventures.” The two other students seem wary of your body against the wall. You make a point ignore him.

You escort them out of the Ramshackle Dorm. When you get to the door, Rook hesitates. You place a hand against his back and guide him forward. Vil needs to reflect.

Afterward, you ask for some bandages from Rook.

—----------

“Wake up and face your reality, Vil.”

The words echo and swirl in Vil’s head. He sinks to the ground. Vil sits under the spot where [Y/N] restrained him. His head thumps against the wall and he thinks. Did he become a villain? Did he become the very thing he despised?

He glances at his hands. They bleed. Your hands—he corrects—bleed down your wrists. He sank his nails into your hands when you restrained him.

This isn’t his body. You promised not to hurt his. He’s already failing to maintain yours.

Vil feels empty. A void has opened up in his chest. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s not special. He’s a villain and he doesn’t know what to do.

Without his permission, tears slide down his face. He doesn’t have the right to cry. He forced others to feel this way. He didn’t know. However, it doesn’t change the fact Vil hurt others. He caused more pain to them than he feels now. Vil has no right to cry, but can’t stop the spring shower falling from his cheeks.

Vil looks at his wounded hands and hates himself.

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

Author's Note: Very proud of this one. Let me know your thoughts! If there's any mistakes let me know too. Just make sure to point them out gently lol. I'm working on pt2. Look forward to see some of Epel's adventures in there as well. What are you guys looking forward too?

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chernabogs · 3 months ago

Text

A Rainy Wandering

Inc: Reader/Malleus (99% platonic but we had to sneak those subtle feelings in there at the end. Love me some two oblivious clowns) Second person POV Warnings: None WC: 1.8k Summary: Er so that new Malleus card, yeah? (Or: hey your bff scheduled in a 4 hour gargoyle tour, are you coming, orrrr...?) Also s.o to Alexandra with her literal Field Guide to Gargoyles and founding of the Gargoyle Appreciation Society. My hero rn for this hope they are thriving.

The campus is shrouded in grey as the rain falls at a steady rate around you. You grip your umbrella with both hands to combat against the gentle tug of the wind as you stand at the end of your dorms long walkway, shifting from side to side on occasion to look at both ends of the road. Behind you, the orange glow of Ramshackles cozy inside beckons to you, promising an escape from the rain in the form of wool blankets and terrible reality television. You’re half tempted to go back, but you staunchly remind yourself that you had made a promise, and you were not someone to fall back on your word.

That being said, your friend is about five minutes late, but you can forgive him. He’s never been good at keeping track of time.

You shift on your heels again as you tilt the umbrella back to look at the grey sky. You last all of two seconds before too many raindrops fall on your face and you look back down, blinking the water out of your eye. The motion lets you take note of a pair of boots standing to your right.

“Oh!” You splutter, moving your umbrella again to look at to whom those boots belong. Malleus stands in a very casual, unassuming manner, his own umbrella in hand and his brow quirked in amusement. “How long have you been standing here for?”

You know the answer to that already—probably just seconds—but Malleus’ lips curl into a secretive smile as he shrugs a shoulder. “Long enough to observe you taking a makeshift wash.”

A sour look is what he gets in turn, although yours always lack venom when it comes to him. A quick glance over his form shows you that he’s come prepared for the weather as well. In addition to his umbrella (which is decorated with gargoyles, to your amusement), he wears a black and purple raincoat, gloves, and has tied his hair back in a looped knot you think you've never seen him wear before. Compared to your yellow rubber boots and yellow raincoat, he looks like he stepped out of a high-fashion shoot.

To serve and observe, apparently, is the agenda for today. You missed that memo.

“I need to tie a bell to your wrist so I know when you’re coming.” You grumble as he steps back to the road, leaving you to fall in line with him. His warm laughter fills the air as you begin the first few legs of the tour he’s been talking about for ages.

“Now, I do think I recall you saying that once before,” he muses, tapping his fingers against the metal gargoyle at his umbrella's base. “You have yet to follow through.”

“I think your students would mob my dorm if I were to try and tie anything to you. Maybe I should just put an alarm on your phone instead—as long as you don’t break it again.”

Often this would earn you a look of mock hurt, but Malleus seems far too jubilant at the moment to care about the subtle read you’re giving him. He’s smiling away, as happy as can be as he walks by your side. He even has a little bounce in his step. It almost makes you want to laugh at the sight; how can anyone call him intimidating when he’s looking like a child about to get a present?

“Ah, yes, yes. I have been diligent in keeping my devices in check. Shroud has been of much help in that.” His gaze darts around the campus until he loops his arm with yours and pulls you swiftly to the right. You’re pliant to his guidance, only sighing in response as you let him pull you wherever he sees fit. This is something you’ve come to realize about the nature of your relationship with the prince. Malleus is a chronic wanderer, tending to just go off wherever he wishes, but he’s also mildly codependent. Since you two had firmly established that you are friends—hell, you gave the man a friendsgiving card—everywhere Malleus drifts off to, he takes you like a tether.

“Ah! Our first stop on our tour,” he begins, still brimming with energy. He tries to move his umbrella, only to have it collide with yours in the process. “Actually, before we begin, would you be so kind as to close your umbrella? We can use mine.”

You lean back to look up at your friend incredulously. At well over 6 feet, horns excluded, you doubt that you will remain dry for long should Malleus shield you both with his umbrella. He stares back both unwavering and with expectation in his look. You purse your lips. He raises an eyebrow. You lean back a bit, he replicates the action, his gaze looking you up and down. Daring you.

Oh, girl.

After a second of silent staring with a dash of attitude that the man rarely shows anyone else, you huff a sigh and close your umbrella, scooting closer to him once you do. His expression lights up as you roll your eyes, and he resumes his tangent.

“Thank you, my dear friend. Now, as I was saying, our first stop on our tour! If you direct your attention upwards you will see what is aptly called a screamer gargoyle. The positioning of its body—with hands behind its head and its mouth agape—is meant to remind those who witness it that torment lay ahead if they fail to fulfill a particular purpose. You may see these on the cathedrals in numerous nations, as they were quite popular to evoke terror in worshippers.”

You scoot forward to look past the edge of the umbrella at the gargoyle in particular. True to Malleus’ word, the carved figure looks as though it’s screaming in agony, its eyes directed upwards, and its body bent at an angle. You smirk a little.

“Kind of looks like Ace and Deuce during exams.”

Malleus hums thoughtfully. “Perhaps that is why they put one on a school ground. To remind students of the torment they will endure should they neglect studying and strike deals for grades instead.”

“So mean,” you chastise, even though you were the one to start this train of thought. The two of you continue your trail along the main road. Malleus keeps your arms firmly linked together as he chatters on, stopping on occasion to point out a particularly significant gargoyle, or a grotesque lined against the wall. You reckon this is the most your friend has talked in a while, considering his need to stop and clear his throat with an apology.

You also consider that this is probably one of few times that he’s managed to rope someone into a walk with him like this. Out of the joy his joy seems to bring you, you prompt him with several questions as you tour about, doing your best to remember the info dumping you’re being subjected to. A slip up of calling a grotesque a gargoyle by mistake, which earned you a verbal berating in the gentlest of manners, was enough to make you pay closer attention.

As the rain begins to lighten and the sun valiantly fights to break free, the two of you come to a stop in one of the courtyard areas of the main building. You fish out a granola bar from your pocket as Malleus holds the umbrella, offering him half of it before you look around at the building. There aren’t as many gargoyles here as the other areas, save for one impressive dragon carving looming over the courtyard entrance. You gesture to it in silence, your mouth too full of chocolate and granola to speak. Fortunately, Malleus has become more then attuned to your gestures to know what you’re saying—another reward of your friendship.

“That is one of the older gargoyles present on the campus. Considering that the courtyard we are standing in served as part of the original residence, I would wager that the initial owner of the lands commissioned this.” Malleus taps the base of the umbrella again as he tilts it back to look upwards. A few stray raindrops hit his cheek, making his brow furrow as he inspects the moss-covered structure. He’s looking at the gargoyle, while you’re looking at the expressions he’s pulling. “Most people surmise that the selection of a dragon was done to evoke fear in opponents who may try to take these lands, but I’m of the mindset that it was done to symbolize the wisdom and guardianship the owners held over their subjects. Dragons are, after all, quite wise.”

“So the dragon says.” You reply teasingly as you look at the statue. He’s right to guess that it’s certainly the oldest one you’ve seen. The stone is aged and slightly cracked along the edges. You know that Malleus has a habit of carving statues himself, and you wonder if he’s ever considered trying to repair it. Given his love for all things crumbling and ancient, however, you also wager that the thought of rebuilding something that time has claimed is well against his personal morals.

“My assessment is free of bias, Prefect.” He counters with a mockingly scolding tone to his voice. You know it to be in jest by the way his eyes remain alight with joy. He really is infectious when he’s in a good mood, dangerously so, and a part of you wishes he could stay this way consistently instead of sliding back to the quiet, brooding form he can be when he’s feeling temperamental.

You scrunch up the granola wrapper before shoving it in your pocket with a shake of your head. “Oh yes, definitely no projecting going on here.”

“I will leave you out in this rain.” He warns, tilting the umbrella so that you’re out of its cover. You yelp in protest and duck back underneath, practically squishing yourself against him to keep from doing that again.

“You like me too much to do that!” You argue back as you grip the umbrella handle yourself. He breaks his facade of sternness to laugh as his arm comes around you to rest on your back. The act feels far too natural for the first time he’s ever done it, yet you acquiesce regardless. “Besides, who else will finish this loop with you? Silver is training with Sebek and Lilia is off… well. Doing whatever he pleases.”

Another thoughtful hum vibrates in Malleus’ chest, which you can feel considering the proximity of your bodies in this moment. A sudden awareness strikes you that makes you feel a bit awkward about it all. Out of reflex you nudge his waist with your arm, prompting him to give you some more space.

“I suppose you have me there,” he notes, granting you a half smile as he looks down to your irate expression. He offers you the crook of his arm, and you silently oblige by linking it with yours. He tugs you a bit closer this time around as he beckons to the courtyard exit. “Let us continue, then. I would say we have another hour at least. Oh, I do hope you’re as excited as I am for what’s to come.”

#twst #malleus draconia #twst malleus #he pulls up while ur looking like a duck asking if ur ready for a 4 hr hike wyd #anyway total vomit on this page i just got hyper locked in over his card sorryyyy #twst fanfiction #twst x reader #malleus x reader

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