#drawing the flesh made my insides squirm it was terrible

[krahlerdraws]

It couldn't last.

Companion piece to this one

[ja3minz]

warnings. fem!reader, voyeurism, public fingering, light humiliation and manipulation kink, finger sucking. ment. jeno, renjun, hyuck.

this was wrong.

this was so very wrong, and you knew it. there was this churning feeling in the pit of your stomach, a stinging sensation in the base of your thumbs that told that you were doing something terribly immoral.

well...you weren’t the one doing it. technically.

the metaphorical devil on your shoulder tried to reason, and you made a small, annoyed noise to yourself. two long fingers had practically made their home inside of your core; index stroking your sensitive bundle of nerves slowly but it was still enough to put you in a haze.

you squeezed your thighs shut, puffs of hot breath leaving your lips in quick succession. the culprit only hummed in response, a shameless grin spreading over his face, brown eyes glinting with what could only be described as playful defiance. na jaemin had you exactly where he wanted you.

“you’re doing so good, sweetheart.” jaemin whispered, his head buried in the crook of your neck. “such pretty little noises you’re making for me.”

you whined in response, and you sounded so meek and submissive; you hated it. you never once in your wildest dreams thought that jaemin of all people, the boy who just a day ago was happily introducing himself to your parents, would be the one to have you in such a predicament. cuddled up on the couch with him, a throw blanket rested over both of you, while jeno and renjun sat mere inches away from you.

there was a part of you that remembered growing up with nct dream, watching them walk their path to achieving their dreams of becoming idols. you remembered meeting jeno and jaemin back when they were in the mickey mouse club, all of you in the same age range with goals of making it big.

so, the fact that you were inside of their dorms being fingered by their best friend and bandmate while they were supposed to be watching movies almost felt sacrilegious.

but you didn’t dare tell jaemin to stop.

so he continued, index finger lazily massaging your soaking wet core as if nothing was happening. he even managed to keep a straight face, staring at the screen and turning to crack jokes with jeno every so often. he wasn’t even blushing! how the hell was that fair at all?

you were filled with so much shame, and yet at the same time the thrill of being touched so explicitly right in front of people made your heart race.

every time his fingers would dip to gather some of your essence, teasing at your begging hole, it would take every ounce of you not to scream. you wanted to drop to your knees and beg him to just fuck you stupid, right in front of everyone. you wanted him to go faster, you wanted his mouth on you, you wanted his hands all over you.

goddamnit, you just wanted to cum.

“nngh...t-tease…” you mumbled, furrowing your eyebrows in frustration. jaemin only chuckled softly in response, other hand rested on your thigh; fingers drawing patterns over the expanse of it. “but you sound so cute.” he giggled against your ear, kissing your cheek. “you’re so good for me, doll, you’re doing so good.”

to the naked eye, jaemin was just being overly affectionate. which was in his nature truly, so jeno and renjun didn’t bat an eyelash at him canoodling with you the way he was. if only they knew what magic his fingers were working underneath that throw blanket.

“should i let you cum right here? hm?”

panic began to rise through your chest as jaemin picked up his speed, he kept an eye on his friends, index finger rubbing your clit in quick circles; or as quick as he could do without getting caught. you dug your fingers into the flesh of his arm, whimpering softly as you shut your eyes to try to focus. you were trying your absolute best not to let your thighs tremble, but it was useless at this point.

“jaem, no...n-not here. please, not here.” you pleaded with him, voice a broken whisper. jaemin hummed, his middle finger slipping inside of you before you could stop him.

you inhaled sharply, which caused jeno and renjun to turn to look at you. “you okay?” renjun tilted his head at you and you scrambled to come up with an excuse, nodding your head rigorously.

“yeah! i’m okay! i, uh. i just...accidentally scratched myself too hard. g-gotta cut my nails later.”

renjun narrowed his eyes at you for a moment before nodding, seemingly buying it, and you felt like your heart was gonna come tumbling out of your ass at any minute.

jaemin giggled again, nibbling on your earlobe. “nice save, baby. you’re adapting well.” he teased, and you were so angry you wanted to scream. as a ‘reward’ he curled his middle finger inside of you and you were losing your mind.

you bit down on your lip so hard it hurt, head falling and resting on his chest. “please...please please please please…” you whispered.

“shh shh. c’mon, baby, you can handle it.” jaemin whispered into your ear. “you’re doing so good. so good, my baby, you’re gonna earn your orgasm. i’ll make you feel so good.”

you bit back another whimper, eyes falling shut again as you tried to calm yourself as best as you could. you felt like one more prod was going to send you right over the edge. “nana...i c-can’t…”

“you can.”

jaemin’s voice was dark and demanding, and it made you shiver. “sit still.”

minutes went by, and they felt like hours. the movie had finished and the boys had a long conversation about how boring it was for it to have been a horror movie; you were unable to contribute much as you weren’t paying much attention to it to begin with.

the plan was to order food and watch something significantly better, which in jeno’s mind was some obscure murder mystery he had found on netflix. jeno had left to go to the bathroom, renjun getting up to make popcorn and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“jaem, for fuck’s sake.” you finally burst out, whimpering and whining as you buried your face in his chest. “you’re so fucking mean, i hate you.”

jaemin laughed as he slid a second finger into you, surveying the area and making sure the coast was clear before curling both fingers and ramming them into you with such speed you were sure you were going to pass out. after at least an hour of slow teasing, the sudden onslaught of pleasure was almost over stimulating. you threw your head back, eyebrows furrowing and eyes crossing while your thighs instinctively shut around his hand. it was too much for you, so much that you began to try and squirm away from him only to have jaemin give your thighs a firm slap.

“keep them open.”

“n-no, you’re gonna...m-make me…”

“that’s the plan.” jaemin glanced up again, making sure to keep a lookout. “if you don’t cum before they get back, you’re gonna have to wait another hour or more. possibly until they fall asleep, which could take all night. you’re very impatient so i know you don’t want that.”

oh, god you hated time limits.

you were sure you had, at best, 30 seconds or less before jeno or renjun returned. the last thing you wanted was to be caught mid orgasm by either of them. what would they think of you? their friend reduced to some disgusting little whore being fingered on their expensive couch?

something about that turned you on so much more, though. the adrenaline of trying not to be caught, chasing your orgasm as fast as you could. “you’d better hurry…” jaemin sounded almost sing-songy in your ear, fingers still fucking into you at speed your brain couldn’t comprehend. with the palm of his hand rubbing against your clit, you were melting into his arms.

you stuffed your fingers into your mouth in a feeble attempt to keep yourself quiet enough that they wouldn’t hear but your poor brain was fried, all you could think of was jaemin and how good his fingers felt inside of you.

‘fuck, i have to cum now. i need it, i need it so bad. they’re gonna see me, fuck. oh, god, they’re going to catch me. this is so fucked, they’ll never see me the same if they catch me. they’ll think im such a slut, i have to hurry!’

suddenly your jaw went slack, the burning knot in the pit of your stomach finally unraveling. there was an explosion of white, followed by splotches of every other color in the rainbow as you convulsed in his arms. you found yourself biting down on jaemin’s collarbone as you hid your face in the crook of his neck trying not to scream while he cooed in your ear.

“theeere she is. that’s my girl, i knew you could do it. i knew you could hold out for me, baby. fuck, you’re so beautiful, that’s it. thaaat’s it, fuck my hand. god, you’re amazing.”

you whined desperately, trying to push his arm away as he continued to rub at your over sensitive clit. your chest was heaving, tears clinging to the corners of her eyes and then you heard footsteps. jeno had returned first.

he sighed, sliding his phone back into his pocket before glancing around the room; locking eyes with you. you looked out of breath, panting in jaemin’s arms while he smiled down at you with a loving look in his eyes. “what the fuck are you two doing?” he asked bluntly with a laugh.

you startled, giggling nervously out of instinct. had he seen you? did he know what was going on?

“i showed her this funny video donghyuck sent me.” jaemin answered calmly, removing his fingers from their warm spot inside of you. “she started doing that thing where she laughs until she cries.”

god, he’s way too good at this.

you lifted a hand to wipe your tears and gave another giggle, playing along with his story. “the stupidest shit makes me laugh, it’s really awful.”

jeno scoffed a small laugh, falling down on the couch. “yeah, tell me about it. your humor’s so fucked, one weird sound and you’re giggling about it for weeks.”

‘home safe. god, how did i get out of this.’ you thought as he and jaemin delved into a conversation of stupid memes and how weird the internet’s humor had become.

renjun returned with popcorn and the food jeno had ordered, giving jaemin the chance to fully retrieve his hand as they had their backs turned. “messy girl.” he whispered to you, smirking as he showed you his two fingers coated in your juices.

you felt like your face was on fire, watching him dramatically encase his own fingers within his mouth; licking your cum clean off them before turning to grab the ramen he had ordered as if nothing had happened.

you started incredously at the back of his head, in utter shock at just how brazen your boyfriend truly is. you hated that you weren’t sure if you could control yourself the next time you were left alone with him. you were half considering taking him to the bathroom to take his cock into your mouth and give him a taste of his own medicine.

you decided to keep your composure, though. trembling hands reaching for the peach flavored drink you ordered while jaemin practically burst with pride when renjun began to tease you for your shaking hands.

[yanderart]

He caught you when no one else did; defeated you when no one else could. Whether you liked to admit it or not, Eraserhead had clearly proven his worth.

So why didn't you prove yours, little villain?

Another portrait for my POV yandere series, this time of Aizawa. Got a few people requesting me to draw/write for him so hopefully y'all enjoy it 🖤

Below the cut, as customary for the series, is a longshot one-shot that delves further into the backstory (Aizawa x Villain Reader, nsfw, dark themes, 8k).

TWs: dub-con, graphic smut, Bad Bondage Etiquette, degradation/humiliation, brat (villain) taming, cumplay and slight bimbofication. Scumbag Aizawa is real.

— — —

   The day you met Eraserhead, looking back, saying your worries had been misplaced would be an understatement. With not being apprehended and losing street cred at the very top of your list, it was decidedly easy to skip over any of the other big red-lettered warnings.

   You first felt the tickle in your nape while you carried your acquisitions across downtown Musutafu, accompanied by the familiar presage of someone watching your every movement. The city around you was bustling, as was the norm, as loud and meandering in its complaints as a chronically diseased elder, yet the alleys you took as shortcuts grew quieter and quieter with each step. 

   It was eerie, alarming, and a platitude of other adjectives you shamefully chose to neglect. 

   “So this is the great V/N in the flesh,” the lazy cadence of someone calling out your alias froze you mid-step, the way his owner dragged each syllable telling you he hadn’t yet decided whether you were worth wasting his breath on. 

   Your body was responding before you even had a chance to properly process the threat, running on instinct and muscle memory as you twirled to face the mysterious man and prepared to...

   “Cute dress, kid.” Eraserhead in the flesh stood barely a few feet away, glowing scarlet orbs illuminating his preternaturally blank expression and transforming it instead into a visage of pure intimidation. “Didn’t pitch you for the frilly type.”

   The growing panic in your chest put a hitch in your breath as you stared back. Yet you couldn’t help but still try, fruitlessly hoping—hands clenched, nails puncturing your own flesh as you tried to force your dormant quirk awake. And all for naught, considering your efforts were only repaid by the hatchet of your sinking realization being buried even deeper. 

   Although, the Pro-Hero also appeared to notice your meager attempts, taking a few steps closer to your form with a condescending gleam in his otherwise somber features. 

   Before you were conscious of what you were looking at (and before you had half a mind to attempt a quirkless attack on the hero), you observed the weapon wrapped around his neck unfolding fluidly, the extensions of fabric reaching out to envelop you in a forceful embrace that left your arms tucked to your sides and your back uncomfortably straightened. 

   “Better to trap you before you get any wild ideas. It’s your fault you’re in this position in the first place anyways,” he was taunting you, prodding you and poking you as you found yourself completely at his mercy, uselessly struggling much in the same way many of your victims had surely felt in their last few moments at your hands. 

   "Eraserhead," his pseudonym resembled an insult on your tongue, your rage and resentment making for rather colorful enhancements. "Don’t you have anything better to do than trapping helpless girls with this weapon of yours? Didn't peg you for a pervert."

   Usually, you managed to reign in some of your nastier attitudes, channeling them into your quirk and the violence you could inflict with it…

   But tied up and under the influence of his own ability as you were? All you had was pettiness. 

   "You can dress up as a civ all you want. Won't be fooling me." He took several steps, closing the distance between you two with barely the hint of a smile morphing his stern expression.  

   You could see the faint stubble on his handsome face from this up close, blood-shot eyes that refused to blink as they studied you in ample detail. Could even see the scar carved onto one of his cheekbones, a textured promise of the fight he had survived and now wore as a medal. 

   Such was your luck, that the Pro to finally catch up with you had to be this rugged scumbag. 

   "I'm not even engaging in any criminal activities, Eraseridiot." Your insult was terrible, but you were never much of a verbal sparrer. Not when you could use your fists instead. "What are you gonna send me to the pigs for? I know my rights."

   And you did. So when the condescension on the lazy hero's face turned into a full-on expression of mockery as he approached your "bag of acquisitions," you audibly gulped. Goddamn stalker couldn't have been following you for that long? Could he? 

    If only you knew. 

   "Then," he held up the bag with an indolent brand of interest, the contents dangling tauntingly from his clutch. "How do you explain this over here? I reckon even dirt like you knows what stealing qualifies as." His other hand dived for the contents and before you could voice any protest, cheeks blushing furiously, a slow hint of a chuckle was bobbing his adam's apple. "It would be a fun thing to peg you down for, though."

   That damned weapon of his didn't give out an inch as you started to furiously struggle, becoming instead impossibly tighter with each futile attempt at freeing yourself.

   "You fucking psycho, is this your sick way of trying to pick me up or something?"

   But your quip did not deter him at all (if anything, it spurred him on). The hand inside the bag tensed for a moment before he was retrieving the sole object inside. To say mortification was written all over your face would be an understatement. 

   A dark pantyhose now hung from Eraserhead's nimble fingers, not a second being wasted by the Hero before he proceeded to bring it up to his face, carelessly stretching the garment until you could see every single one of his features through the sheer material. The way the moonlight caught in it, bouncing off and bathing his patronizing face, made for uncomfortably intimate imagery. 

   (Yet a part of you, one you would never admit existed if further questioned, also could not help but notice the striking attractiveness of it all, making you want to squirm for completely different reasons while the man continued to exert his quirk on you through the fabric of your fucking lingerie.)

   "Gotta say, didn't take you for a pantyhose kind of gal either. Girls like you…" He uttered the last part more like an afterthought, tossing the bag aside before his hands continued toying with the tights absentmindedly. "Are suited for something like fishnets much more."

   By that point, you were sure he was just playing with you. You were such a harmless joke, restrained and showcased like a prize for his viewing pleasure.

   "Reckon you must own quite a few pairs, uh?" He continued egging you on when you failed to give a timely enough answer. 

   (Perhaps the fact that he so easily guessed that detail should’ve been your first real warning, too.)

   Yet you couldn’t help how his condescension and the downright dirty way he stared at you sent dark shivers up your spine, the threat he represented turning strangely alluring under the dim street lights illuminating you both. 

   As a villain, you had robbed, murdered, set people ablaze, and even stolen a popsicle or two from some crying kids. So why were Eraserhead's words having such an effect on you? Why did, a part of you deep down, seemed enthused by the awful way in which he was speaking to you?

   "You don't have any proof I stole them. I just threw away the receipt after I bought them. Very environmentally unconscious of them, too, when electrical ones are a thing."

   Now you were just rambling. What an adorable sight. 

   "Hmm, never thought I'd hear "environmentally unconscious" being uttered by a two-bit criminal." He stopped stretching the lingerie for a moment, thoughtfully scratching at his incipient stubble with his free hand instead, "Are you really trying to sell me the good samaritan angle?"

   To his credit too, he seemed genuinely puzzled by your approach for an instant. Guess even an experienced pro like him still had room to be shocked. 

   "I'm not trying to sell you anything, imbecile." The snobbishly controlled tone of yours was back, the shaking of panic subsiding while you held onto your only hope of leaving this confrontation unscathed. "And my rights clearly state you need proof to apprehend me. Need causality to exert your quirk on me, too, or you would be the one breaking the law." 

   Now, Eraserhead wasn’t annoyed per se. You could tell from what little he had already spoken (and from the myriad of cautionary tales you had been told) that little could rattle the man at all, but your comment definitely appeared to intrigue him. It made you feel like an animal being studied, pinned down, and ready to be dissected for his own morbid curiosity.

   "Isn't this just rich?" His tone was almost lethargic, words dragging on with a faint rumble. "Are you going to run off to the police, then? Tell them how a Pro trapped you and tried turning you in for a very obvious act of theft?", his eyebrows were raised, eyes more awake despite his monotone voice carrying on. "Be my guest then."

   Because of course you were all bark, no bite and he was more than willing to call you out on your shit. So instead of continuing down that route, you decided to veer for a new approach, switching from your assortment of insolent tactics. 

   "Do you get off on this, then?" Your voice morphing into meekness while you adopted an expression of distress, bottom lip jutting out with the sparkle of thinly veiled sarcasm glimmering in your eyes. "Do you like thinking of yourself as the Big Bad Hero, maybe?" And you could tell by the way the incipient smile froze on his lips that your question had caught him off guard. Made you wanna press even harder, "Do you like the idea of taking a defenseless little girl into an alley and showing her just how bad you can be? Maybe planned on teaching me a lesson, is that it?"

   His frown mimicked yours now, no longer any hints of cruel enjoyment on his part. His eyes still glowed red, but he was now squinting ever so slightly, zeroing in on you not only due to the limits of his quirk but also due to the words rapidly continuing to escape your impudent mouth. 

   "Does Eraserhead like to fuck his lays into being law-abiding citizens? Is the power over someone else what really gets you off, perhaps?"

   It was like a spell was cast on the both of you. He couldn't drift his attention, his eyes couldn't stop scanning your face — quickly flickering from the hatred coloring your gaze to the slight quiver of frustration shaking your lips. The hand which he still used to grab your stockings was now a closed fist, knuckles growing pale from the poorly contained strength.

   "Bet you plotted this entire thing, you creep. Wanted to take me behind an alley and show me my place." Your taunts were becoming increasingly more risqué, the anger blurring your sense of preservation—and the hint of something else too, a secret excitement you were unwilling to recognize. "Wanted to have me all submissive and obedient under you, surely. Show me what a scary hero cock can do, is that it?"

   But instead of earning another entertaining grimace, you had a first-row seat to the rapidly darkening expression on his face. Eyes squinted at the same time that the bandages settled even tighter around you, cutting off your breath for a moment before relenting just enough not to suffocate you. 

    And that's when you first felt it for the first time, just when your jests died on your lips and you drank on his foreboding reaction. The grip of Eraserhead's quirk, more constricting than any ropes, wavering faintly around the prison he had constructed around you; the distinct buzzing in your hands returning for a mere instant before flickering out again.

   Now that was interesting.

   "Should watch what you're saying," the pro-hero sounded gruff, voice tinted by a new kind of intensity.

   Like a shark smelling the smallest whiff of blood, you couldn’t help your instincts urging you to dial down. 

   "Always knew you hero types had a hard-on for the power trips. Bet you were using all of this as a decoy. Is this when you strip me and hold me down? When you plow me into the floor of this alley and tell me to "behave or else"?" 

   You knew your jabs were going too far, getting too brazen… yet as much as you enjoyed making the Pro visibly uncomfortable, once he decided to close the distance between you two there was little you could do to stop yourself from flinching. A fire inhabited his expression, the vivid brightness emanating from his stare not only intimidating, but downright frightening too.

   "Are you trying to rile me up?" His hand gripped your face with force, bandages shifting until they were enveloping your neck, holding you up and forcing you to reciprocate his glare, "What do you think will you achieve by antagonizing me even more, V/N?"

   You just looked at him through your eyelashes, still somehow managing to play up the innocent act through the layers of fear settling in. And as expected, it only served to further his irritation, calloused fingers digging even deeper into your cheeks and coaxing the claws of terror to continue trailing their nails all around you. 

   "I’m just trying to understand you, Eraserhead." The way you smiled at him was defiance personified despite it all, your tongue wetting your lips while you caught his eyes following the movement. There was the slightest give of his quirk again, a fluctuation in his concentration informing you that you were finally on the right track. "And I think, given the fact that I haven’t been cuffed yet, that we can both still come to a mutual agreement."

   Fingers twitched around your jawline, muffling your words while your sides were squished together harshly. But even manhandling you, the Hero couldn’t hide the spark in his eyes, an interest you foolishly believed to be ignited by your former comments. 

   "So you are indeed trying to rile me up then." It was an assertion, not a hint of doubt in his leisure intonation. 

   Instead of replying this time, you just slowly blinked his way, observing your imitation of meekness reflected in a gaze that refused to abandon yours. It had been so long since you last tried to play coy, so long since you needed to depend on anything besides your own strength and ruthlessness. You couldn’t help the thrill you got from playing the role. 

   "Think you’ll get me distracted enough to break away, I bet." He was whispering directly against your skin after getting dangerously closer, the heat from his cushioned lips provoking an involuntary shiver. "Do you believe nobody else tried this approach before, little villain?"

   You gulped, feeling caught before you even had time to properly set the stage. 

   "I wasn’t..."

   "Weren’t what, trying to seduce me?" There was a sense of levity hidden somewhere under his timbre, stored between words that kept dragging on in a mantle of aloofness. "Or did you not mean any of your words?"

   When you didn’t reply, you could feel the cruel smile resurfacing against your earlobe. 

   "If I lift your dress right now, do you think I’ll have my answer?" His question sounded almost casual, as weightless as your alias had been when he first called you out. 

   Your heartbeat sang in your chest, an anxious hummingbird trapped inside your ribcage. Because you knew the answer, you both did. 

   When the hand still clutching your bunched hosiery came up to press the fabric against your thighs, you could not help the gasp that escaped you.

   "I bet all those things you were just saying…" His tone drifted off as the stockings were slowly guided up the vastness of your legs, fingers barely grazing you through the thin layer of the stolen undergarments. He was thoroughly teasing you, enjoying the manner in which your expression contorted in response. "You just want me to do them to you, don’t you?"

   Even if you would’ve wanted to object, the pressure of his nylon-covered digits finally reaching your dampened panties was enough to kill any possible refusal. He traced the outline of your slit, soft touches running across it with deceitful lightness, and your mind became positively staggered as you were rendered overwhelmed by his actions. 

   You didn’t have to worry about his next move for long, either, because barely a moment’s notice passed before his entire palm was eagerly covering your crotch. And the new way in which he groped you was demanding, the heel of his wrist putting just enough pressure to drag a shamefully loud mewl from you. 

   The douchebag even had the gall to laugh at your reaction, the sound of his mirth prompting you to writhe even harder as he continued to feel you up through your rapidly soaking underwear. 

   "Knew you’d be a slutty one." His breath was hoarse against the side of your face, the stubble on his jaw scratching against your skin in a way which made you wonder how it would feel pressing elsewhere. "So fucking wet, it must hurt being this eager."

   He didn’t specify what exact kind of pain he meant, whether your growing need for release or the insufferable blow all of this represented to your pride. Somehow, though, you had an inkling that he was referencing both. 

   "Wanna show me just how needy you are?" His words echoed with each laboured breath of his, one of the few signs you had that he was clearly very much into the whole affair despite his detached demeanor. "Maybe you could show me more of your adorable little cries." 

   As Eraserhead rutted his palm against you another time, you found your hips lowering down to chase the feeling much to your own chagrin, more moans making their way out of your panting mouth while he coaxed you to sing the notes of his preferred melody. 

   It was true that you hated his guts… but another fact was that you hadn’t had action in a long while either. Even with the threat of imprisonment hanging over you, you could not deny how desirable the idea to get to cum against that veiny hand of him was, to grip those muscular shoulders as you reached the perdition he was so tantalizingly offering. 

   Decidedly forgotten was your plan of you being the one distracting him. For fuck’s sake, you really were a needy whore. 

   "Why not show me how you cum for me in this alley, if you’re really that desperate?" His words kept getting cruder, his tongue tracing a languid stripe from your earlobe down to the side of your neck, a beautiful path of distractions threatening to dip your sanity even lower. "Be the dirty little villain that I know you are, doll."

   But just as soon as the stimulation was hitting you a second time, so it suddenly disappeared. One second fingers were flexing against your tender flesh, coated by your arousal through the layers of fabric separating you and fluttering with the promise of an impending release, and then the very next instant you were left to whimper (a villain like you, actually whimpering!) in the unbearable wake of their absence. 

   When your eyes searched for the Hero’s again, in his blown out pupils you could only dare interpret part of the enjoyment he was getting from watching you scram for his touch, beautifully bold handwriting spelling out arousal for all to read.  

   Watching you so easily betray your own ego after all of your lip service? More than simple music to his ears, it was an entire sonnet. 

   "But, now that I think of it, you were the one trying to walk away free from this. So why should you be the one getting pleasured?"

   Even in your precarious situation, you couldn’t help rolling your eyes. 

   "Are you fucking kidding me?" Apparently, your discomfort at being denied was enough to forego your better senses.

   The bindings contracted around you in quick response to your insolence, your neck being craned even further and your arms mishandled until they were behind your back instead of at your sides, a sharp pain blooming from your shoulders as you struggled to adjust.

   Treated like this, he really did make you feel like a helpless little doll. (Goddamn, that thought alone was enough to have your juices gushing again, the trails of your excitement starting to make a mess of your inner thighs.)

   "You don’t get it, do you?" He asked in a despondent voice, unblinking eyes still refusing to abandon your face as he elaborated, "you should already be on your way to some second-rate villain prison, cuffed and muzzled and someone else’s problem."

   At his reminder of what you believed to be your impending fate, the mocking pout on your face transformed into a retelling of real horror. Because your spotless reputation was the one trick in your book that had managed to give you a sliver of notoriety over the rest of the unremarkable criminals, much more significant than any quirk or grandiose crime. 

   So for someone like you to lose that? You might as well hang up the villain costume and retire, for all anyone would care. (And yes, you had been called an attention whore a lot throughout your life, but who could blame you when you couldn’t help but thrive on it?)

   Sensing your spiraling thoughts, the Pro raised his eyebrows in an almost pitiful stint, as if he was truly empathizing with the agonized look of your face. 

   "I know you don’t want that, doll." As his declaration dragged on, the grip that had been steadying your jaw was swapped instead for the peculiar feeling of damp fabric —your pantyhose being pushed against your cheek and spreading your own juices around, all while Eraserhead intently studied the new wave of disgust coloring your features. "So why not show me that even a villain slut like you can behave? Give me a reason to believe that and..." The slickered garment was now pressing to your closed lips, your eyes starting to water with the weight of the humiliation you were being made to endure. "Maybe then I’ll consider letting you go."

    You knew he was lying, had every right to doubt the sincerity of his promise and, in its place, conclude he just meant to take advantage of you in your desperate state and then leave you for the pigs to find anyway. 

    You knew all of that, and yet you still opened your mouth and allowed him to do as he pleased. When he worked the pair of soiled stockings inside, you had troubles recognizing the pathetic sight being reflected your way from the wild hue of his gaze. 

   For someone who had always prided herself in being a predator, you had never looked more like prey.

   "Fuck, that’s it, doll." He pushed the piece further with his fingers, forcing you to stretch your lips until your jaw started to hurt from the strain. His fingers swirled inside, pressing the soaked material against the flat of your tongue and instructing you to eagerly lick it.

   You had never felt as debased in your entire life, being forced to choose between savoring your own arousal while tied up in an alley or ruining a reputation you had fought so earnestly to maintain. 

   (And yet your thighs were pressing together now, attempting to create some meager friction to alleviate a yearning that did nothing but shift, demand, grow.)

   "Look at you cleaning up your own mess," he almost sounded proud of you as you kept dutifully sucking, his other hand brushing your hair away from your shoulders in a strangely consoling way. "Seeing you all obedient like this, one could be fooled into thinking there is yet hope for reform."

   By the time the Hero finally took his hand away, bunching up the stockings before fitting them into one of the hidden pockets of his dark costume, you thought you could discern a mocking smile through the clouds of tears.

   "But now, now, doll… are you gonna keep crying or do you wanna try and take proper care of me next?"

   Not finding it in yourself to raise your voice again, you instead opted to wet your lips hesitantly as you awaited for him to elaborate further. There was a question dying to be asked, struggling somewhere alongside the myriad of insolent retorts and insults you wished you could swing the Hero’s way without being harshly reprimanded. 

   "I wouldn’t call that proper exactly," a chuckle reverberated from the back of his throat, gravely and dark as he misrepresented your movements. Fingers still slick from your saliva caressed your bottom lip, massaging it in a way which played straight into the undermining tilt of his words. "Although I’m sure you must be dying to wrap your pretty lips around my cock. Would give you a good reason to stay quiet, uh?"

   You really had been intending not to fall for his obvious goading, not trying to give the Pro anymore reasons to be harsh with you (or even worse, give him an excuse to leave you alone and to a fate worse than his company ever would be). 

   Had tried so hard too, but the cocky villain in you could only take so much degradation before it snapped. 

   "Goddamn it, are you trying to fuck me or bore to death?" As for the slight quivering in your voice, you dearly hoped he wouldn’t pick up on it. 

   Predictably enough, that slip earned you another harsh tug from the capture weapon, your whole body pulled back until you thought you were about to be snapped. 

   "I was just about to praise you for being all sweet for me, V/N." The switch from his pet names to your alias felt like a bucket of ice being dumped on you, voice a slow drawl while he tugged once more from your bottom lip, but this time harsh enough to have you wincing. "I’m trying to teach you how to be a proper girl, so don’t make me regret it. Or would you prefer to go take a prolonged vacation in a holding cell?"

   He already knew your answer judging by the way his eyes coldly studied you, unearthing the secrets you uselessly attempted to hide with an ease that unnerved you (and, as much as you loathe to admit, fascinated you). 

   When he tugged at your mouth again, nails sinking just enough to be noticeable, you knew he was expecting a verbal answer. And a nice one, at that. 

   "Then fucking get on with it…" Words slurred at the end, caught up in the increasingly somber aura of your captor before you swallow thickly, quickly adding as an afterthought, "Please."

   At that, his scowl receded enough for some satisfaction to find its way back into his grimace.

   The more you struggled, the sweeter your surrender became.  

   "Not perfect, but better," he conceded with a thoughtful hum.

   If you had properly studied just who he was beyond his active Heroism, then you would’ve understood just how accustomed he was to insubordination. If anything, your act only served to make him feel more at home.

   You had barely any time to wonder about whatever he had planned next though, because in an instant that damned contraction of his was moving you around once more, twisting you until you were facing the brick wall of the alleyway with heaving breaths. 

   Your legs were now maneuvered until you were forced to keep them apart just a smidgen, the new inviting space between your thighs surely a most intoxicating promise for the sick man manhandling you. And your back experienced pain afterwards too, harshly pushed until you had no option but to allow yourself to be pressed against the dirty walls; As a result, you found yourself with your ass backed up and for the world to see, the frilly skirt of your dress caught somewhere between all the movements.

   Yet even being roughed up as you were, when a hand reached out to tug your ruined underwear away you couldn't help greedily rutting into it, too worried by the fire gathering in your lower belly to care about maintaining a semblance of the reluctance you would later claim to have experienced. 

   It was almost comical for the Hero to observe the pathetic image you were now serving up on an ornate platter —especially when compared to the list of deviant crimes and horrors your spreadsheet of accomplishments preached. For all intents and purposes, you really were a horrible, messed up individual…

   So it was a wonder why his mind had kept supplying him with the same descriptor ever since he first saw you, the same sweet little word that he thought might as well be written all over your skin for how accurate it described you.

   A cute little doll (soon to be his cute little doll). Despite believing himself to be a fairly responsable Hero, the man had never wanted to play with anything as much as he did with you.

   The sound of a zipper being lowered was alarmingly loud in the emptiness of your surroundings, as loud as a wail to your sensitive ears. When you squirmed below your restraints, nonetheless, you could no longer pinpoint whether it was from unadulterated fear or a sick sense of anticipation.

   How easy it had been to break you, even if you would never recognize it openly.

   "Knew you were into it, and now watch your ass trembling in excitement for me." He was chuckling again, not pretending like the cruelty coating his words had any other intention but to degrade you further. It had been just his luck, to find the one villain who just so happened to enjoy it. "I really hit the jackpot with you, didn’t I, doll?"

   When the lewd sound of one of his fists pumping his cock reached your ears, you didn’t even bother disguising the whines of complaint refusing to be contained any longer. 

   "Stop..." Words spilled from clenched teeth, growled out with an annoyance that no longer sought to defy, "Fucking..." but to demand instead, "Teasing."

   "Hmm, that’s cute. Why don’t you try begging me though?" His cadence was growing as bated as his breath, littered by intermittent curses as his eyes dined on the sight of your glistening core, held up and offered up for him to do as he pleased. "Beg for me to use you, and if you put on a good enough show I might just let you off."

   Another shiver rampaging it's way through your body, an exhilaration that could not be entirely pinpointed. 

   "Please…" You started, rough intonation dripping with venom —But Eraserhead didn't seem to mind the sardonic nature of your pleading though, not as you heard the litany of damnations being spilled from his lips. Your shameful excitement, your bitterness, your hatred… he would feast on it all and do it gladly. "Get on with it, bastard. Didn't anyone tell you never to toy with your food?"

   A low murmur was your only response at first, followed by the lewd sound of his pre-cum covered cock being harshly jerked.

   "Hmmm, aren't you being a bit too demanding…" His steps echoed again behind you, his unoccupied hand coming up to massage your ass with a rather firm grip. "Even with the begging, I don't think you've learned your place yet."

    When he planted a slap in the same place he had been eagerly caressing before, sharp and flaring up your nerves with the sting of pain and humiliation, you couldn't stop your scream from turning into a wanton little moan halfway through. 

   Even if he was hitting you, it still meant he was touching you, and so enticingly close to the place you actually needed tended to.

   "Do it…" your breathing was too heavy to speak in full fluid sentences, body flushed and mind filled with the buzzing of desire. "Do it again, fuck."

   You were still not begging him like he asked, but it seemed like your choice of words still greatly pleased him. Another slap rained on your ass, his big warm palm massaging the same reddening spot right after.

   And he kept going, the spanking echoing through your body and sending both pain and pleasured shivers up your spine—lewd sounds mixing in with the increasing pace of his other fist pumping his cock. Even without directly touching you, your pussy clenched and weeped with each firm hit. 

   "Damn, it's my first time meeting such a masochistic whore." Punctuated by his most painful slap yet, the globes of your ass left trembling and a furious shade of crimson to match his lust-filled eyes. "I can see why you've managed to stay free for so long, little villain." The debasement, paired with the pain of his firm strikes, had you moaning even louder. You couldn't even recognize your own sounds, nor the thrills you felt at this entire fucked up ordeal. "Wonder how many other Pros you showed this beautiful sight to."

   Even through the fog of sensations impeding you from being wholly coherent, though, you still couldn't help but want to set the record straight. 

   "None, fuck…" Words merging into another expectant whine when you felt his hand gripping your flesh again, only this time he was kneading you in an oddly tender way —Urging you on, fingers creeping closer to your needy hole. "I'm not… usually in the business of fucking Heroes. Shit, I hate this…" 

   But you didn’t, and when you were surprised by the warmth of his naked erection barely grazing the sensitive outer lips of your cunt, you couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped you. 

   "Goddamn, V/N, even while you're an ill-mannered brat you still manage to know just what to say." 

   And then the older man was sliding his cock in the juncture of your thighs, teasing your core by pressing against it while grunts began to escape him. You thought you could cry from having him so close yet still not where you wanted him, but then his shallow thrusts against your legs proved to be much more stimulating than you first expected. 

   The fat head of his cock even managed to somewhat stimulate your puffy clit with its movements, pushing in its direction as your essence continued to leak out and cover you both. And It was so absolutely debauched, to think a Hero was using your thighs like a fucktoy while you were tied down and unable to stop it....

   But it felt so good. Even without him actually in you, you had never been this turned on before. 

   "More… ughhh," you were now screaming with the side of your face pressed flush against the disgusting brick walls, needy sounds filling the night and making it privy to your descent into madness.

   Another thrust, this time angled just precisely enough not to caress your pleasurable areas. Punishment, you feverishly thought while you attempted to wiggle your ass, eager to force more of that delicious friction you were quickly becoming hypnotized by. 

   "Now, V/N," his gruff voice had adopted a mocking tone of reprimand as he continued to rut against the soft skin of your thighs. "Haven't I taught you anything, yet? If you want something…" The hand returned to your heated skin, digits underneath you both spreading your pussy enough for the chilly night air to send shivers straight to your core. "You gotta say please."

   And say please you did. Screamed it even, so eager for more and already far beyond feeling any embarrassment. 

   He didn't fuck you, not like you really wanted, but suddenly his thick shaft was sliding between your lips as his capture weapon aided him in angling your body just right, pulsing against your hole while he found a new rythimn. When both of his hands returned, one of them held you back to make the process even easier while the other swiftly joined his cock in tending to your eager pussy.

   So lost were you in the new raw excitement seizing you, in the knowledge of just how messed up you both were for engaging in such debauchery —so distracted that you didn't even notice the faint buzzing returning to your arms, the vibrancy of an old frequency being reactivated and allowed to encapsulate you again.

   (You didn’t notice, but fuck if it didn’t made your orgasm all the sweeter.) 

   You were cumming like that, your moans resembling squeaks, your body feeling closer to a used fucktoy than a human being. The hero kept rutting against you, the joint efforts of his cock and hand mercilessly continuing to abuse your spasming cunt while your cries filled the space with their decadence. 

   You felt dirty, guilty, maybe even a little ashamed as the orgasm briefly gave you a clarity of mind your arousal had clouded.

   And yet, despite it all, it had been the best you felt in years, possibly ever. As the Pro now tugged your hair, forcing you to wrench your neck just enough to look at him over your shoulder, you couldn't help licking your lips in expectation of what he had in store next.

   "You're gonna show me your face next time you come, little villain." He gave you just enough time to nod, eyebrows drawn as your pleasure got impossibly dragged out by the stimulation he still bathed you with. "And you're gonna keep begging me, keep showing me why you deserve to stay free, okay?"

   It was commendable, how collected he managed to sound while thrusting into your thighs like that, the sounds of skin slapping against skin driving each of his words home. 

   "Yes, fuck, whatever you want…" Despite your senses shortly coming back earlier, you were still too far gone to rethink your poor choices. You just knew you wanted more, and so you asked for it. "Just give me more, please."

   So fucking obedient. If your parents could see you know, their failure of a villain daughter being all proper and learning to beg for what she wanted? Well, perhaps saying they'd be proud was a stretch, considering you were also the one getting fucked in the middle of a filthy alley. 

   What you hadn’t expected, however, was just how well your begging would work. 

   Because the next thrust of his shaft was not between your legs, but aimed to finally breach your needy cunt instead, easily filling you up in one go with how utterly soaked in both of your juices you already were. The girth of him had you already clenching with renewed vigor, his hand stopping his assault on your clit just to give you enough time to truly savor the new intoxicating sensation.

   And when your eyes found his again, so drunk on the waves of pleasure you were that you also failed to notice the lack of scarlet coloring the orbs boring into yours, now inescapable voids of dark desire and a type of intense fixation you thought hadn't been there moments ago. 

   (Or maybe it was always there, and you had been too busy with your own turmoil to notice the clues being left by your so-called enemy).

   "Want me to stuff you properly?" His guttural question hit you at the same time as his sharp movements found your tender spot with experienced ease, walls tightening around him while your entire body struggled to continue holding yourself upright, relying more and more on the capture weapon to keep you from toppling over. 

   The binds still hurt from how tightly they wrapped around you, bruises sure to be left on their wake, but by that point you weren't so sure anymore the sting was an entirely bad thing. If anything, it just made the pleasure all the sweeter by comparison.  

   "Want me to fill you with so much cum that you reek of hero cock for the rest of the week?" He laughed while he regurgitated some of your words from earlier, the hand pressing against your lower stomach caressing you with a distinct sense of ownership as he elicited another loud moan with a sharp movement of his hips. 

   Noticing you reacting not only to his actions but to his quips, you could practically hear the self congratulatory smirk as he spoke next.

   "Bet the other villains would love knowing how much of a cockhungry whore you turned into too, doll. Talk about fraternizing with the enemy."

   And he was right, in a way. Because what would your fellow villains think, seeing you being wrecked by one of the most infamous Pros in the business, lowering yourself to pleading and screaming as he rearranged your insides. 

   Would you get called a disloyal whore or just a plain traitor? Not only would your spotless reputation and the myth you had fought to build collapse, but from its ashes your eternal shame could be erected. 

   A shame that would tower over you, looming around you while the eyes of your peers followed you everywhere. You could even picture the jests veered your way, the looks of utter disgust and ridicule...

   Somehow, the idea of anyone finding out only made your screams grow louder, impossibly more fervent. 

   "Fucking… get on with it."

   However, his rhythm was rapidly interrupted after your jab, his cock pulling out almost entirely as your core convulsed with the sudden staggering emptiness it was left to grapple with. More whimpers, struggling against the set of eternally unforgiving ties encasing your body. 

   "But you're making me do all the work, little one" Another slap shook your entire frame as it landed heavily on your still pained cheeks. You were so sore, both from the previous set of hits and from the sheer exhaustion starting to set in, muscles tight and resentful from the awkward positions your body had been manhandled into. "If you really want to continue this, how about you start doing some of the heavy lifting, uh?" Just like before, his palm started massaging the tender spot he had just smacked, fingers digging into your supple flesh being as close to comforting as the Pro seemed capable of. "Show me just how good you can be."

   And you could've argued, truly, could've even attempted to hold onto the last vestiges of your pride…

   You could’ve done a lot of things, but the truth was that when his weapon relented its hold at last, retreating from the underside of your knees and giving in just a smidge for the first time since you had been captured, you didn't waste any seconds before you were chasing after your high with renewed vigor.

   Greedily sinking into him with an obscene sigh, you audibly marveled at the curve of his member being deliciously imprinted in your insides. While you copied the cadence the Hero had previously employed, his grip on your lower belly fluttered, almost like he couldn't decide whether to take control back or allow you to humiliate yourself further with your own zealousness. 

   It seemed like the later prospect won him over in the end though, because he remained almost impassively still as you did all the work needed to bring you both deliriously close to your peaks. 

   The sight must've been spectacular, watching you, renown villain V/N, so thoroughly broken and willing to heed his every command. Impaling yourself on his cock, moaning and continuing to beg him for something you were already taking for yourself. 

   If he died right then and there, he doubted Heaven wouldn't have as much appeal as the scene still unfolding before his eyes. (But again, considering his actions, Heaven wouldn't really be the right place for either of you.)

   You were just about to reach your second orgasm, toes curling inside your shoes, fists clenched and a face that spelt poetic extasis. Angling the way you took his cock, every single movement driving him painstakingly deeper, slamming against a spot that made you imagine the stars falling from the sky all around you, their light being the one bathing you instead of the malfunctioning street lamps. 

   So goddamn close…

   Only to have him pull out again, this time completely. You were clenching against nothing, all stimulation stolen from you, and the bitterness of a ruined orgasm promptly dragged curses and complaints out of you before you could even think to stop them. 

   Eyes searched his, urgently seeking an explanation for his withdrawal only to find his glare fixated instead on that same dirty pair of stockings that had started it all. 

   Eraserhead must have taken the garment out of his pocket sometime while he fucked you, unfolding it from its scrunched up state until the crotch was visibly presented for both of you to admire, dark sheer fabric still stained from a mix of your arousal and spit. 

   When the Pro looked at you again, a beautifully dark smile topped his attractive face. He looked painfully content, the way he studied your own mortified expression reminding you of an artist studying his masterwork. 

   "Only the truly obedient ones get their cunts filled." You noticed then how his other hand was jerking him off again, erection rubbing against the nylon undergarments in a most obscene depiction. Too bad you were too frustrated to appreciate any of it. "I don't think you've… hell, you haven't earned it yet, V/N."

    You didn't even notice you were tearing up from the annoyance until it was too late. And maybe that was what finally did it, seeing you actually crying at his refusal to breed you like the slut you both knew you were, writhing in exaggerated despair as you found yourself feeling jealous of a stupid pair of tights, because not long after your pathetic reaction the man was letting out a pained groan of his own and spilling himself all over the damned garment. 

   But instead of rubbing your wailing in your face after he came down from his own delicious high, last few spurts of cum slowing down to a halt, you were surprised instead by the weapon that had been binding you for the longest time finally retreating.

   As expected, you unceremoniously collapsed to the floor, feet now unprepared for supporting your weight and your entire being wholly exhausted after enduring the roughest fuck you had ever experienced. It hurt all over, although you weren't sure whether your still present longing wasn't what pained you the most. 

   When you looked up to the Pro again, trying to find an answer to the new freedom you were experiencing, you were surprised by having the cum-dripped stockings thrown in your face. 

   And quite literally so, the still wet seed dribbling down your cheek and into your trembling lips, all before you collected enough wits to grab the offending item and pull it down with an expression of unadulterated disgust. 

   "Sorry, doll, but you were pouting so irresistibly," The Eraser user actually laughed, this time the sound coming with an untroubled merriment you did not think he was capable of.

   He actually looked worn out while he tucked himself back into his costume, accommodating the pieces of clothing until all hints from your ravenous affair disappeared. The bandages were wrapping themselves around his neck once more, looking more like an extravagant scarf than the most precise set of inmovilazing gear you had ever endured. 

   However, something about his attitude had you forgetting all about his newest slight, much too worried by a new cause of worry. 

   "Hold on..."

   Eraserhead looked down at you from his place after you raised your voice, urging you to continue as he finished getting himself presentable. The air of nonchalance around him was almost more intimidating than any of the actual threats or vulgar comments he had voiced prior. Almost.

   "Are you…" you swallowed the sudden lump in your throat, voice still raspy and hoarse after what had just transpired. "Are you really letting me go?"

   The man just raised one of his eyebrows at that, eyes crinkling for the first time and looking strangely amused. 

   "Doll, I stopped exerting my quirk on you while I was still teasing you good and proper," he declared bluntly. When his orbs glimmered again, you now felt like an imbecile as you finally realized they had completely lost the reddish hue to them. "So you know what? I thought you deserved to get an out of jail free card for behaving yourself… even if you still need to work some more on your manners."

   To call your shocked expression dumbfounded would be a disservice. 

   When his now bottomless eyes bore into yours for one final time, all you could do was stare back in dazzled shock. Your quirk was back, the Pro himself had just confirmed it, and yet you were still nailed to the spot, still anticipating his next words without even thinking of attacking him in the meantime.

   One little tumble and you were already his brightest pupil yet. He was now so glad to have waited that long, it only made the outcome all the more fulfilling. 

   "You don’t need to be so surprised, Y/N, we'll be seeing each other soon,” He kneeled in front of you for an instant, both hands reaching out to hold up your face in a gesture more resembling a lover than… well, whatever the hell you two were. So entranced you were then, that the use of your real name barely even registered. “It’s been difficult to keep you away from trouble thus far,” his acknowledgment reverberated in the alley, its meaning something else lost to you as you couldn’t help but become entranced by the new peculiar softness he addressed you with, “but getting you like this now, seeing you break so easily… fuck, I’ll mold you right back up, doll, you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about anything else.”

   And just then, for the first time you realized, the Hero’s lips were brushing against yours gently, uncharacteristically careful as he kissed you slowly. Even his hands were tender while they guided you, treating you as if you truly were a doll that could just be snapped with a mere wrong movement. As if he hadn’t just been treating you like a dirty hole for him to use and abuse just short instants ago. 

   But at least he did not seem to care about the mess that was your face at the moment, about the cum stains or the still damp trails of tears. And, for whatever reason, you found yourself returning the gesture in kind, melting into the oddly affectionate touch of a man you were still halfway sure you loathed. 

   Even after he left you, alone and a mess still toppled over on the floor with the shadow of humiliation cloaking your shoulders, your fingers couldn’t help but touch your lips with a bizarre mixture of bewilderment and horror.

   He told me I would see him soon, your mind supplied as you found yourself irreparably fixating your stare on the pair of now completely ruined tights you were still holding onto. The fact that you felt any type of excitement about the notion did not fail to mortify you. 

   God, even for villain standards you were fucked. 

But it was okay, because misery loved company and, with time at his disposal and the right amount of coaching, Shouta was sure he could teach you to properly crave his soon enough.

— — — 

And, 8k of foul smut later, if y’all read through that whole thing... drop by my ask to recieve your congratulatory gold stars! ⭐ (jk but I do appreciate hearing y’alls thoughts, it’s what keeps me halfway productive 🖤)

Last but not least, very special thanks to my best pals @reinawritesbnha​, @snappysnapo​ and @drxwsyni​ (who actually proof read this and helped me out immensely with her Big Brain Feedback. A TALENTED ANGEL). 

[cozycryptidcorner]

Howl

 Werewolf/Reader, lemon, heat cycles, consensual aphrodisiacs

Every six months I release a short from my $5 patreon tier to the general public, and someone’s favorite word was coincidently the title of this piece. Please enjoy this little slice of madness beneath a full moon.   

The moon hangs heavy overhead, a pale, watchful face gazing down at the ritual laid out at her feet. You kneel, washed in her gentle light, your eyes on the fire as a clan elder carefully places an ingredient within a kettle. Crickets scream and wail in the surrounding woods, but you barely pay them any mind as your lover places a pale hand on your knee, rubbing a circle with his thumb as he bites at his lip. You try not to acknowledge his worrying much, if he hadn’t paid any attention to your reassurances earlier, he won’t now.

The potion that the elder boils down smells sickly sweet, like a peppermint cough syrup, but with a stinging bite that sends bright little pricks through your nostrils as you breathe it in. Already without drinking it, you can feel a vibrant thrumming begin to pulse in your blood, a spark of warmth filling your veins. It doesn’t take much longer for her to finish the spell, a soft humming emanating from your lover’s fellow clansman resounding as the elder pours it into a carved wooden chalice.

Then, with one last kiss, your lover stands, moving to the opposite side of the fire where the elder is and spits into the cup. The elder gives you the benefit of mixing the concoction further, singing in a familiar but incomprehensible language. Shivers run down your spine as she and her apprentice approach, their full ceremonial clothing jingling with their steps as they come to stand before you. In a sort of perversion of Catholic communion, the elder holds the chalice in your direction, and you gingerly grasp it as though it were made from impossibly thin glass.

You carefully ignore any sort of inhibitions you might have about the potion itself, drinking it down fast enough to not taste anything that might cause you to vomit it back up. With little respect, you carefully swallow the last gulp, trying to seal up your throat, so you’re not even tempted to give in to any sort of acid reflux, then allow yourself to breathe. At first, you don’t seem any different, but there’s a hard, boiling heat that suddenly wisps out from your stomach and right to your heart, and you think- you feel-

Your lover takes a step back into the forest, the shadows working to obscure him from your vision. Where- where is he going? Why was he leaving? You need him. With a flailing step, chalice dropping from your fingers and completely forgotten, you try to follow, but something fucking drags you back down to the ground. Pissed, you puff out hot, angry breathes, trying to wriggle your way out from the many people working to keep you from your lover, your mate, but it’s many against one, and they don’t let up.

Warm and soft soil cushions your shoulder and face as you fall violently forward, suddenly released, but you can’t fucking see him anymore and it’s killing you. Your heels dig into the earth as you wrench yourself up, choking back panicking tears as you bolt in the direction you saw him leave. The night sharpens as the world breathes in a deep inhale, the sky itself holding still in order to witness the carnal desperation you scream with.

You can smell him, his scent so much like the forest itself, of woodsmoke, of evergreen, a musky kind of fragrance that stands out in the acidic night air. And so you run towards it, faster than you’ve ever moved before in your life, ignoring the way the branches of the brush and trees scratch at your bare arms and the awkward sharpness of the ground as you ignore what your bare feet might be running over. An owl screams in the distance, but you are so keen on your prey that you ignore the call.

Instinct demands that you stop, so you do, skidding on the fallen leaves so sharply that your feet fly out from under you, landing on your hip hard enough to bruise. You feel no pain, only rancid frustration at the inconvenience gravity hinders you with, and you scramble back to a stand, growling with every breath. Where is he? Desperately trying to cling to your last strand of lucid sanity, you try to think, smelling the air once more, trying to find that same taste of male hormones that he had emanated so thickly before he fucking abandoned you.

You hear the water before you even realize you started moving again, a rush of wind caressing your face like the earth herself is aiding your hunt, as though she approves of this union. There, you can just make out the fading scent of your lover, though it grows fainter with every second wasted on thought. A brook runs its course, water slowly wearing millions of oddly shaped rocks down, several making for good stepping stones as you hop across, the splash of cold water managing to draw a bit of the feverish heat down.

Abruptly, you slow down, closing your eyes to smell and to listen. You think you have his direction, but the idea to ambush him as punishment for abandonment fills your body with the simmering ghost of pleasure. You go low immediately, staying close to the trunks of the trees as you quietly circle around the edge of a clearing. And you see him.

Everything inside your body goes full alert, sirens screaming in your head, heat filling your core, muscles tense. You bolt forward, so fast he doesn’t even have a moment to react before you’re on him, the force of your body ramming against him not only sufficient enough to knock him off his feet, but also enough to tip him over the edge of the hill he must have been thinking about going down.

The entire universe spins as you roll against him, grass, leaves, and twigs catching in your beaded embroidered dress, hair, even managing to knick at your skin. You don’t care, gods below you don’t, because as you slow to a stop at the bottom of the clearing, you have him beneath you, gasping for air, his dewy blue eyes glimmering beneath the stars as he regards you with a kind of emotion you don’t bother to process.

You kiss him so hard that your mouth hurts, teeth clacking together, and you’re thriving. Enraged growls snarl from your throat, and you would have ripped his clothes away if he didn’t painstakingly strip then and there. Touching his skin just barely aides in your desperately heated core from exploding, but there is so, so much more you want from him. You need to melt into him, to seep into every pore of his body, to claw his chest open and crawl inside, and he seems to take your furious affection in stride.

His skin is salty as you bite down in the crook of his shoulder, and by the way he keens at the pain, he seems to enjoy it. You press your teeth down closer to his neck if only to show him that he’s yours, and he won’t be running from you again. His hand rises to pet your hair back from your face when you finally deem him worthy of release. Even though you still see red after he tried to fucking abandon you, you’re not so angry that you don’t give those bite marks peppering kisses to make them better.

“I know,” he rasps, stroking the nape of your neck as you whine, “I know it hurts, I’m sorry I ran.”

You forgive him instantly, pressing your mouth and tongue against his in a desperate, heated kiss. Your lover knows immediately what to do, fingers reaching for the strings holding your ceremonial dress in place. It’s an easy thing to strip away, its sole purpose of being beautiful and easy to remove from heated bodies, and you are suddenly delightfully bare underneath the moon and stars. As you bend back down to ravage his chest and collarbone in a myriad of bites and kisses, you find with no small amount of delight that an erection begins to rise up against your thigh.

His hands press up gently to your breast, feeling you out as he has many times before, but you both would agree that this is… different. Better, even, despite the misery you feel because he’s not inside you yet. You kiss him again, gasping for breath on his mouth, as a hot, pinching need flitters through your body like the touch of a red-hot brand. That desire, that instinct swirling in your chest demands he must feel pleasure before you ride him like a goddamn stallion, so you are quick to get to work.

You begin to make a trail of purple and red hickies all along his stomach, sometimes biting hard enough for him to bruise just for the sensation of his flesh between your teeth. After a few moments of teasing him, you barely had the mind to do much more, you finally fall back to the pulsing member you crave so terribly. It takes you a few seconds to take it in, the contours and highlights curving along in the moonlight, long, thick, yours. After briefly contemplating where to start, you begin at the very tip.

He breathes out a shuddering gasp when you roll your tongue over the top of his cock, his fingers tangling in your hair. You feel a shuddering sense of satisfaction at his body’s response, then move down to the base. Up and down, you try to lick and kiss and give tiny sucks all across it as rhythmically and as pleasurably as you can, going deep and low just for the sake of watching him squirm pathetically. It doesn’t take him too long to be drawn to the edge, or perhaps it’s been an eternity, you don’t know, but he rides out his first orgasm in your mouth.

You come back up, mouth still lingering with the taste of his pleasure, and press your mouth against his in a lazier kiss. There’s a kind of mingling desperation boiling in your stomach, but the beast within you is satiated for a few moments at the sight of him becoming undone by your tongue. Your hand snakes back down to check on his steadily stiffening cock, just to see if he’s ready to take you yet. He still needs some more gentle teasing, so you settle down and offer up as many leisurely kisses as he needs to warm back up, while you’re just barely getting started.

He slides into you so effortlessly, your pussy is so wet that it engulfs him like a sheath specially made for him. And oh, god, or fuck, he feels so goddamn good that you start crying. Tears spring into your eyes, and he sits up to cradle you, whispering in your ear that you’re doing such a good job, that he’s so proud you’ve made it this far without cracking. That seasoned warriors do so much less, and you’re so fucking beautiful, wild, and unstoppable.

You suck in your breath, trying not to feel like you’re disappointing your lover, your mate at the show of such soft and fragile emotion, and you begin to grind. The feral need to be fucked slowly begins to disintegrate your sanity, what’s left of your lucidness drip, drip, dripping down into your core and burning into ash by the heat. You roll your neck around, gasping, whimpering, begging, screaming praises to him because he’s perfect, you’re mate is so fucking perfect, you want him inside you forever so you can spend eternity knowing this bliss.

And when your orgasm finally reaches its peak?

It feels like the sky itself shatters into a thousand pieces, raining down the stars, moon, and planets, your body almost evaporating into light as you cry out. Waves and rolls of fiercely bright pleasure curl through your body; you have to wrap yourself around your mate, or else you’re afraid you might break apart. He holds you, he whispers such sweet, soft things in your ears, coaching you through the orgasm to end all others, like he knows how perfect and majestic this one is.

You don’t even feel it when he cums, because the aftershocks are still clenching through your body as you try desperately to recover. He still remains strong, though, anchoring you to the earth as you almost sob with relief, even though he must be feeling that same kind of high you’re on. When it’s all over, he lays beside you, on the dewy grass that glitters in the moonlight, stroking your face until your fever finally breaks.

The next round of kisses are far more gentle and lovely than before, the unbearable hotness inside your core slowly evaporating away now that the spell ran its course. He holds you in his arms so tightly that you don’t think any force the earth mother can throw in your direction will break his grip.

“I love you,” he whispers, “so much. Thank you for experiencing this.”

“Is- is that what it’s like for you? Such madness, every time?” You ask, almost scared of the answer.

“Yes,” he confesses, “with you being the only thing on my mind.”

“That’s terrifying,” you whisper, stroking some of the pale hair from his eyes, “how do you manage?”

He gives you another kiss. “I have you.”

[feitan-apologist]

Feitan x Reader (Not SFW)

Content Warnings: 18+ only, Noncon (dead dove do not eat), kidnapping+imprisonment, whipping, orgasm control, forced orgasm, verbal degradation

AFAB reader

Synopsis: reader is a beginner nen user and has been investigating the phantom troupe. instead of killing them, our smol sadist decides kidnapping them to play with might be more fun :)

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

The moment you regain consciousness, you know something is wrong.

Your awareness comes back slowly, dragging itself up out of a murky haze, and with it discomfort. The first stirring of alarm comes when you try to move your arms. Still shrouded in fog, you strain for a few futile seconds before realizing that your arms are tied behind your back, you think with rope, and you can’t move them at all. The stiffness in your shoulders tells you that you’ve been positioned like this for a while.

Instinctively, you call forth your En, wanting to know where you are and what - or who - is around you. But when you reach for the power that’s simmered under your skin for the past year, always ready, always accessible, something just… doesn’t connect. You still have a life force, obviously, but it feels blocked off somehow, like it’s just beyond your reach, fingertips brushing it but unable to grasp ahold.

The twinge of alarm in your chest has ballooned into panic, and you start to sweat, heart hammering against the inside of your chest. From the feel of it, your ankles are tied to the legs of a narrow table that you’re currently bent over, holding your legs spread open; in addition to your arms bound behind you by an intricate braid of rope that secures you from shoulder to wrist, you can feel something fitted snugly around your neck. As you open your eyes, seeing nothing but a blank, dark wall in front of you, your attempt to lift your head is stopped with a jolt as the short chain attaching your collar to the table snaps taut. And most insidiously, the chilled air brushing against your skin tells you that you’re completely naked.

As your brain processes all this new information, a single coherent thought pops into your head - oh, fuck.

“You’re awake.”

The quiet voice behind you makes you freeze. You stop breathing, every muscle tense, as the voice’s owner slowly steps into your field of vision, and when you see who it is, you could swear your heart stops beating.

“Feitan.” Your strangled whisper, barely audible even to you, prompts the corner of his mouth to rise imperceptibly. The Phantom Troupe’s torturer stands relaxed before you, shirtless, pale chest shining in the dim light. His face is impassive; he seems completely emotionless as he stares down at you, bound and growing increasingly panicked before him.

“You can’t use your Nen,” he says in that soft, unsettling voice of his. “I’m sure you’ve noticed by now. But there’s no point in trying. You can’t escape.”

“W-Why am I here?” you choke out, every muscle in your body still rigid. You can’t stand to meet his gaze; instead, your eyes stare straight ahead, unblinking.

“You were getting a little too nosy for our liking. I was just going to kill you, but when we were going through your computer, we saw some… interesting things in your search history. I was so surprised, a bland little thing like you… I decided it would be a shame to kill you without playing with you first.”

You recoil in disgust at his choice of words. What the fuck?? What is he talking about? Your mind scrambles for a response, but he continues before you can get a word in.

“I can tell you’re afraid.” He removes a hand from his pocket and cups your chin, tilting your head as far as the collar and chain will allow and forcing you to lock eyes with him. He smiles, and your blood runs cold. The look in his eyes is unmistakably that of a predator sizing up its prey. “That’s good. You should be.”

With that word, he releases you, striding back around the table where you can’t see him. You strain your head, trying to track his movements, but the collar gives you a very limited range of vision. “Wait!” you cry, “what are you - please, what do you want? I’ll - I’ll give you what you want, just please let me go.” Your voice comes out terribly weak-sounding, and you inwardly scream, pulling against your restraints with a renewed vigor, desperately trying to conjure forth the Nen that continues to elude your grasp. He snickers, the sound coming from a good distance away, so you jump in shock when his hand caresses your ass a moment later, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You shrink from his touch, shrink from the thought of what your revealing position, bent over like this, implies. No… he wouldn’t… he can’t…

“I already have what I want. I’ve caught you, and now I get to have my fun with you.” There’s no mistaking the glee in his voice, filling you with dread, your mind whirring ever faster toward the inescapable truth of the situation. His hand slips away from your ass, and you hear a faint rustling - he’s holding something, but you don’t know what. The seconds tick past, no indication of movement from behind you, and you find yourself holding your breath in anticipation. Your heartbeat thuds against the table, against the inside of your chest, the utter silence threatening to drown you, the blood roaring in your ears, what is he going to do to me, oh god oh god oh god-

Your thoughts are cut off as the whip cracks across your ass, hard, and you scream - honestly at first merely from the shock of the impact and the loud noise, adrenaline numbing your senses. But a moment later the pain registers in your brain, a line of white-hot fire running across your backside, and your throat tightens, breathing growing fast and shallow. “Feitan, please-”

“Oh, that hurts, does it? I thought you were tougher than that.”

The whip slashes you again, lower this time, leaving another line of heat in its wake. “Stop!” you cry, desperately fighting back the tears forming in your eyes. He laughs wordlessly, letting a long, silent second stretch out before slashing you again, then again, each crack of the whip punctuated by your cries. You strain your head, trying to see where he is so you can anticipate when the next hit will come, but he’s out of your field of vision - the only thing you can see is the blank wall in front of you. He’s varying the amount of time between whips on purpose, you realize, sometimes landing three or four in agonizingly quick succession, sometimes letting long seconds stretch between each one. The anticipation has you shivering, squirming in your tight constraints, not knowing when the next lick of pain will cut into your flesh. He’s trying to get inside your head, amplify your fear and helplessness, make you weak.

And fuck, it’s working. You’ve taken worse than this in training, far worse, and he’s right, you are tougher than this. A whipping should not be enough to have you undone, tears now streaming down your cheeks, body flinching as the blows land across your exposed ass and thighs. Except… training had also never left you with this terrible tension between your legs. The criss-crossing web of angry red marks Feitan’s whip had created were practically glowing with heat, and while the stinging, burning sensation was undoubtedly painful, with the anticipation and the fear and your adrenaline-addled brain… it also felt a whole lot like pleasure.

As the whip landed again, the cry you let out was unmistakably close to a moan. You could hear the delight in Feitan’s voice as he stepped closer, running a hand across the angry flesh of your backside, his cool fingers tracing the lines he’d made. “Like I said, I was surprised at the things you watched to get off. We share many of the same tastes, you know. But between the two of us, we both know which one is the little masochist.” At the word masochist, his hand dips between your legs and strokes the wetness that’s gathered there. You gasp as his fingers find your clit, swirling over it in a motion that draws a moan equal parts shame and desire from your lips. “What a fucking slut you are,” he murmurs, “getting wet from me whipping you. You’re pathetic.” You cry out as he slides two fingers into you, curling them against just the right spot.

“Don’t,” you whimper, “please.”

“Oh, you don’t think this feels good?” Feitan asks. “Fine. Maybe you’ll prefer this.” His fingers slip out of you and you can hear him rummaging with something underneath the table. Realization dawns on you as a telltale buzzing starts up, a moment before he presses the vibrator against your clit. You moan, back arching involuntarily as you press down onto the wand, shame flooding through you a moment later at how good it feels.

“No, stop, don’t… don’t make me-”

“Oh, I’m not making you do anything,” Feitan says, securing the vibrator in place and sliding his fingers back into you. He leans over you, drawing his fingers in and out in a slow, consistent rhythm. “It’s not my fault you’re a little painslut that gets off from me hurting you.” He lowers his head to your bare shoulder, and as you feel his cool breath on your hot skin, you wonder if he is bizarrely going to kiss you. When his mouth meets your flesh, however, it’s his teeth that sink in, eliciting a new, different sort of pain. You can’t help but moan as he harshly works his mouth on you, sucking and biting your skin in a way you know is going to leave a bruise. You writhe, trying to get away from the sensations of pain, of pleasure, the two almost indistinguishable now, overwhelming you. You realize with horror that you’re already well on your way to orgasm - usually it takes you longer than this, but fuck, you can’t help it, you can’t stop the bombardment of stimuli hitting your body, his fingers working expertly inside of you, the burning marks covering your backside, the vibrator inescapably pressed against your clit.

“Please stop,” you beg, humiliated, desperate, you can’t come from what this monster is doing to you. Being degraded like this is bad enough, but you can’t give him the satisfaction of enjoying it.

“Getting close, are we?” Feitan leans further over you, whispering his next words directly into your ear. “Don’t you dare come without my permission. Understand?” When you don’t respond immediately, he grabs a fistful of your hair with his free hand and pulls, hard. You yelp, and quickly stutter your assent, yes, you understand. “Good.” He lets go of your hair, releasing the tension on your scalp, but in the next moment his mouth is on the side of your neck, working his teeth into the soft flesh above the collar. You jerk away but are stopped short by the chain, and he digs his teeth in so hard you’re afraid he’s going to draw blood.

It’s jarring having him so close, so intimate. The faint scent of his hair, the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the wet heat of his mouth - it’s a disgusting parody of the intimacy shared by actual lovers. You close your eyes, squeezing out the tears still freely flowing, and try desperately to dissociate. You don’t want to be here, trapped in your aching body; you will your mind to go anywhere else, to drift off in some fantasy that will let you escape the horror of what this man is doing to you. But you can’t. If it were purely pain you had to endure, you’d be able to do it, you were sure, but you’d never had to contend with someone using your own body against you like this.

The seconds tick past as you writhe and moan and shake beneath him, gritting your teeth, breath coming in short gasps, and then - you can’t do it. Your resolve breaks, you can’t do it, you can’t hold back any longer, you feel like you’re going to explode, and you let the pleasure come freely, gasping as you reach the edge. Remembering his threat, you ask through clenched teeth, “Can I come?” Feitan leans back, huffing out a breath, and you can feel the self-satisfied smirk on his face. He’s won.

You don’t understand when the stimulation suddenly disappears, his fingers slipping out of you and the vibrator pulling away. Your pussy clenches around nothing, desperately seeking the pleasure that was there a moment before, the orgasm still so close. A sound of utter betrayal escapes your lips as you realize what he’s done.

“What? Weren’t you asking me to stop just a few minutes ago? I thought this is what you wanted.” The glee in his voice is unmistakable, and in that moment, you hate him with every cell in your body.

“You fucking basta-Aagghh!” your words are cut off as the whip slashes across your ass again, catching you completely off guard. You sob in anger and pain as he whips you hard, five times in immediate succession. The brief break your tender flesh had been granted only heightens the pain as five fresh marks join the lattice of swollen lines covering your ass and thighs. “Fuck!” you scream, fresh tears springing to your eyes.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Feitan says derisively. In the next instant, he’s pressing the vibrator against your clit again, laughing at the way your body immediately reacts, arching into the stimulation. You can’t fight the whimpers escaping your mouth, every muscle in your body tense and shaking as the orgasm previously denied to you builds back to a crescendo.

“Please can I come?” you cry, and the fact that you already know the answer doesn’t ease the agony as Feitan pulls the vibrator away, leaving you teetering on the edge but unable to push yourself over. You sob as he whips you again, no longer making even the barest effort to hide your pain and frustration. You realize distantly that you’re breathing too fast, too shallow, and your head is spinning; it’s a good thing you’re laid out on this table, because there’s no way you could remain standing right now.

Done with the whip for the moment, Feitan leans over you, sliding two fingers deep into your cunt and rubbing your clit with the other hand. “Do you know how absolutely dripping wet you are right now?” he murmurs. “It’s pathetic.”

“Fuck you,” you reply through gritted teeth, but then he curls his fingers in just the right way, and- “Aaahhh, pleeeease may I come?”

“No,” he replies, voice full of malicious glee, pulling away, and you brace yourself for the whip you know is coming. You’re caught completely off guard, then, when he presses the vibrator against your clit just moments later, and you’re immediately pushed back to the edge.

“OhhhhfuckcanIcome?” you gasp, and when he pulls the vibrator away, the noise you make is one of absolute despair. You’re exhausted from the pain, from the stress, from the edging; you’re dimly aware of how not in control you are, mind clouded over with fear and desperation and the overwhelming desire - no, need to come, you’ve never been this desperate in your life, and while you hate the man standing behind you with your whole being, you’re also utterly dependent on him for the release your body is begging for. “Feitan,” you whimper, “please, I’m begging you, please, stop, I need to…”

“Oh, you need to, do you?” He runs his hand over your ass, fingers grazing over the lines he’s left, dipping lower to teasingly trace over your cunt before returning to their original path. “You’ll just die if I don’t let you come, will you? Is that how this works?” He laughs at your quiet stream of pleases, muttered almost unintelligibly as you shake and cry before him.

His hand disappears, and suddenly he’s in front of you again, crouched down so that your eyes are level with his. His fingers curl into your hair and yank, forcing your eyes open, and you stare at him through a haze of tears. “You want to come? Earn it. And don’t even think about biting me - you won’t live long to regret it.” He stands, hands fumbling with the front of his pants, and you understand as he frees his cock and shoves it against your lips. You hesitate, recoiling at the thought, but as he grabs your hair again and pulls hard, you open your mouth for him.

Feitan doesn’t hesitate to shove his cock down your throat, making you gag and struggle to turn your head away, fighting his grip. He holds himself there for a long moment, then pulls out long enough for you to gasp for air before shoving himself in again. You struggle to control your tongue and lips as he fucks your mouth in earnest, staying just shy of the point that will make you gag but setting a rapid pace that almost immediately has you struggling to take in enough air. You’re torn between a desire to make this as unpleasant as you can for him and just wanting it to be over as quick as possible. Not that you have much control over that anyways - both of his hands are tangled in your hair now, controlling the speed and angle of his thrusts, and you can’t so much as turn your head away.

“Look at me,” he growls. You strain to meet his gaze at this awkward angle, and a jolt runs through you as you lock eyes. His face is twisted into what could only be described as a manic euphoria - eyes wide, pupils dilated, a slight sheen of sweat coating his temple, and a smile of pure, sadistic delight on his face. It’s the expression of someone unhinged from reality - and who’s loving every moment of what they’re doing.

Feitan pulls out of your mouth suddenly, leaving a strand of saliva hanging from your lips to the head of his cock. He surprises you as he releases his grip on your hair and lowers a hand to caress your cheek; the gesture is soft, completely incongruous with the rest of his actions. “You look perfect like this, you know,” he says quietly. You stare back at him in shock, at a loss for words. What is that expression in his eyes? If the thought didn’t strike you as absolutely absurd, you’d call it affectionate.

You don’t have time to say anything, though, as he strides around the table again and positions himself behind you. You let out a choked cry as you feel something hard press up against your opening, and within the next moment he’s pushed inside you. The “No” dies on your lips as he slides in deep, stretching you out, hitting every nerve inside you, and your back arches against your will. You don’t want it to feel good, you don’t want this at all, but the fresh tears that slide down your cheeks as he begins fucking you aren’t ones of pain. Your body screams in pleasure every time he slams into you, rough and fast, his hands gripping your whip-damaged hips, and you’re reminded just how close you were to coming before. The slight gasps coming from behind you tell you that Feitan is getting there as well, and you fleetingly rejoice at the thought that this will be over soon.

The sound that leaves your mouth when he reaches down to rub your clit would have made you ashamed, before. Now, the only thought in your head is of release. You’re at the edge again immediately as his fingers practically attack your clit, rubbing too hard, too fast, it’s almost painful, and you don’t even attempt to ask before letting the orgasm bloom inside you. In that moment, everything falls away. Your entire awareness is focused on the pulsing heat between your legs and his cock still pounding into you, your pussy clenching around every thrust as you come harder than you ever have in your life. You don’t know if you scream or sob or stay silent. You aren’t aware of anything besides how unimaginably, exquisitely perfect you feel.

It’s bliss.

.

You barely notice as Feitan comes inside of you, pushing in as deep as he physically can before eventually pulling out, leaving you limp on the table. You don’t know how long you lay there, eyes shut, mind drifting in and out of awareness as he does god knows what in the room behind you. You like it this way. It’s so much easier not to think.

When he eventually walks around into your field of vision, he’s fully clothed, face covered by a bandana, his earlier expression now replaced with the usual impassivity. He crouches so his face is at eye level with yours and gazes coolly at you. “You disobeyed me.”

“I - what?” you mumble, raising your head.

“You came without asking permission,” Feitan says calmly, drawing a knife from his pocket. You stiffen, eyes wide as he raises the blade and delicately traces your jaw with it, keeping the pressure light enough to not break the skin. “I told you you’d regret it if you disobeyed me. And you did it anyways. You’re even more of a masochist than I thought.”

“No - I - that’s not-”

“Shut up.” The blade is at your lips now, tracing the outline of your Cupid’s bow. “I made a good choice when I brought you here. You’re going to be a very entertaining little pet. Now-” he stands abruptly. “I’ll be back in a few hours. I’ll punish you then.”

You twist your head around as you try to follow his departure from your field of vision, a sense of relief filling you at the thought of even a temporary reprieve. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he says from behind you. You jerk as he clicks the vibrator to life and presses it against your overly sensitive clit, trying to angle your hips away. He only pushes it harder up against you and secures it in place against the table with what sounds like a metal clamp. “Maybe this will make you more obedient.” You squirm, arching your back and wriggling your hips to try to escape the stimulation, but it’s no use - the vibrator is pressed up snugly against you, and it won’t budge. Your stomach drops as you realize how he’s going to leave you.

“Wait!” you cry, mind racing for something to say to make him change his mind.

Your answer is the slam of the door behind him as Feitan walks out.

[professormembranexreader]

Jealous! Membrane x Fem! Reader (Smut)

(Y/N)'s POV

Miguel and I were out at a bar. We were celebrating the success of his latest invention. He chose to go to one that was relatively close to our house. It wasn't until I started drinking that he said he was going to refrain from joining me. Most of the night went smoothly, laughing at jokes that weren't funny in the slightest. But it all changed when a rough hand slapped my ass. I looked over in the direction of the assailant and found a drunk man giggling.

"Heyyyyyyyyy, sweet cheeks~ How about youu and mee get outta this placee... and I show you a good time?"

I stood there, not quite understanding what was said to me. The gears turned in my head as I thought. My face turned bright red as I finally processed what was just said to me.

"Oh! Uhm... ex-excuse me but I'm... I'm..." Miguel came up behind me from the other side of the bar and "glared" at the man. Said man looked like he shat himself. While I didn't intend for this to happen, and you were sorry for the creep,

He seemed to grow anxious the longer we stayed there. Guilt pooled inside my gut. I bobbed and weaved through the busy bar, looking for Miguel. I spotted his zigzagging lock of hair and made my way to him. I was pushed around in the crowd of people, but I eventually got there. Panting, I managed to get his attention.

"(Y/N)! There you are!" He said, concerned.

"Would you... wanna go home?" I asked him, tugging on his sleeve and slightly slurring my words. He took me by the hand, paid the bartender, then took me into his arms.

I was confused, but I let him carry me. Truth be told, I don't think I would be able to walk very well due to my tipsiness.

"Heyyyy Miguel~" I cooed

"Yes, my beloved?" He asked.

"Do you know how... big... yer dick is???" Membrane's face turned beet red. "Like,,, have you measured it????"

"I...er...uhm..."

"I wanna know how big you are, Miguel~" I whispered, finger dragging along his chest. "I need to know how much of you is gonna fit~"

If he wasn't red at this point, you're colorblind. The rest of the short walk home was filled with similar questions; all receiving similar responses.

When we finally got home, he shoved me to the wall, grinding his knee against the pooling heat between my legs.

"Mi-Miguel! Ah~!"

"No tolero ver alguien coquetea contigo." He growled in a husky voice. "Tú eres mío."

How could I say no when I was already in the mood and he was right there, teasing me? I rutted myself onto his knee, pleasuring myself while he took in my form. He ran his big, robotic hands down my sides. The metal made me shiver as I ground myself into him. It felt so good.

Soon enough, it went to the bedroom. He threw me onto the sheets and he threw off his lab coat revealing his customary black turtleneck and slacks. Though, it didn't truly matter what he was wearing, as it quickly ended up crumpled on the floor next to my own clothes.

We were both naked, admiring each other's bodies from afar, when we decided to have a closer look. He lined his dick up to my sipping pussy and he pushed his way inside of me. It was gut-wrenchingly slow to the point that it was painful.

"Damn, Miguel. Can you go any slower?" I moaned out.

He growled into my neck. Adjusting his grip on my thighs, he sharply thrusted into me, balls deep inside my slick flesh. I threw my arms around his neck at the sudden sensation. I'm sure I left marks. But we didn't care. All that mattered was the carnal desire burning inside both of us.

He roughly thrusted inside me, hands gripping my ass with vigor. He pulled out to the head of his penis before thrusting the rest of his shaft back in. He repeated this act over and over again, making me squirm underneath him.

We were both trembling with anticipation. He groaned out my name as I moaned his. I dragged my nails along his back, most likely drawing blood. But knowing Miguel, it probably turned him on. In fact, it was quite obvious the effect it had on him. He let out a husky groan and moaned my name, eyebrows knitting together.

A white hot knot began to tighten in my stomach. "Miguel!" I called out.

"Sí, mi vida?" He gritted through his teeth.

"I think I'm... I think I'm gonna-"

"Shhhh. También mi amor. Un momento más..." He growled into my neck.

"¡Dime mi nombre!"

"Miguel!"

"¡Grítalo!"

"MIGUEL!"

His thick, hot cum spilled inside me, painting my insides white. I had an IUD, so I didn't have to worry too much about pregnancy. Using the last of his strength, he collapsed beside me.

"What... what was the reasoning behind this?" I panted.

"Mmmmm, no motivó." He mumbled, holding me closer in his arms.

"You had to have had a reason." I played with his chest hair as I waited for a response.

"He doesn't deserve to be mentioned, querida."

"Oh, so the reason is a he?" I said, grinning. He squirmed a bit as I continued to play with his chest hair before I finally put two and two together.

"Oh my god. Miguel, were you jealous?" I gasped. He turned a bright pink and looked away. "You totally were!!" I whispered. "You, the great Professor Membrane, were jealous! I can't believe it." I say under my breath.

"Conejita, por favor deja de hablar del hombre terrible." He groaned.

I giggled and pulled his face closer to mine before leading him into a kiss. When we pulled away, all I said was, "Don't worry; your secret is safe with me~"

[ladyblogger-margie]

Motel Adventure - Chapter 2

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x F!Reader

Summary: You’ve chosen Frankie for your Motel Adventure. You’re about to learn that Frankie is filthier and sweeter than you previously realized.  

Word Count: 1749

Warnings: 18+ ONLY (oral M and F receiving, cum eating, unprotected sex, general smut)

a/n: I was really intimated to write for Frankie because there are just so many amazing writers who have already done such an amazing job with him so I hope my contribution is alright! I’m happier with it than I expected to be. 

Back to Chapter 1

Frankie “Catfish” Morales

You watched Frankie look at his own feet and shuffle awkwardly in place. You wished he would just look at you, give you some sign he wants you to pick him as much as you want to. 

Thankfully after a breath, he did. He looked straight at you, his brown eyes open and locked on yours. 

“Fish?” you asked, short, simple, soft. 

He nodded with an unrestrained smile and said, “Of course, hermosa.”

In the room you suddenly felt nervous. You watched him, watch you. Neither of you approach the bed, the only bed in the room.

“Should we call it a night?” he asked. He fidgeted as he spoke, fixing his hair under his hat.

“Sure, do you need the bathroom?” you asked.

“After you,” he gestured for you to go first. 

You took your bag to the bathroom and looked at yourself in the mirror. Sure you hadn’t packed cute pajamas but surely you could improvise. 

You emerged from the bathroom, touched up and wearing nothing but a thin tank top and your panties. 

You felt a warmth in your core as Frankie looked you over, his eyes hungry, the exact reaction you were hoping for. 

“Um,” he cleared his throat, “Do you have a side of the bed preference?”

You smiled at him, “Frankie,” he looked at you desperately, “Do you really want to just sleep in this bed?”

“Christ,” he muttered under his breath before he lunged at you. 

He wrapped you in his arms so tight and clashed your mouths together wildly. His actions unrestrained and passionate. You knocked his hat off his head as you grabbed handfuls of his soft, curly hair to pull him closer to you. 

You led him to the bed and sat him on the edge. You straddled him on his lap and lifted his shirt over his head. Your fingers grazing his exposed flesh, lingering over the slight pouch of his stomach and he flinched. 

“Not exactly in game shape anymore,” he apologized.

“You’re perfect,” you told him.

He tried to argue with you, but you wouldn’t let him, stopping him with a kiss.

“Let me show you how perfect I think you are,” you whispered in his ear, sending a shiver through his body. 

As you slipped off his lap and moved to your knees between his legs, you noticed the long mirror at the end of the bed, and knew he could watch himself take pleasure from you. The knowledge brought a delightful pool of arousal in your panties. 

You kissed his stomach several times before you pulled his pants and briefs down to his ankles. His cock was hardening under your gaze and you were impressed by the size of him. 

You kissed his inner thigh as you gripped his calves, taking your time. You made your way to his balls and took them in your mouth, drawing a hitched breath from him. 

As you sucked on his balls, you felt his stiff cock twitch against your face and you smiled. You locked your eyes to his, and you noticed his pupils were blown wide. 

“You okay?” you asked him in a sultry voice. 

“Y-Yeah, you’re amazing at this,” he said, dropping his head back as you draw your tongue up the bottom of his shaft. You swirled his leaking tip in your mouth, gathering his precum on your tongue. You opened your mouth and pulled back, a string of precum and spit keeping your tongue attached to his cock.

He licked his lips and groaned at the sight of you.

“Fuck,” he muttered, “You like to be a little messy, don’t you?”

You nod and lick your lips before you dive back down to deepthroat his cock, taking all of him through sheer will.

He bends over you and yanks the neckline of your tank top down to expose your breasts and erect nipples which he twists in his fingers. 

You’re desperate for some relief for the building tension between your legs, so you raise your hand to his mouth as you pull off his cock with another obscene string.

“Spit,” you ordered, and he did, soaking your hand which you bring to the hemline of your panties and slip beneath the delicate fabric. You touch yourself, moaning at the relief. 

Frankie freezes beneath you, as you touch yourself and suck his cock. He recovers from the shock and brings a hand to the back of your head, encouraging you to take him deeper until you choke and he shudders. 

“If you’re not careful, I’m going to cum down your pretty little throat,” he informed you. 

You pulled off his cock, your face a mess, and you wiped your swollen lips.

“Do it then,” you tell him as you pump him in your hand and you watch him barely unable to contain himself.

You take your hand off your clit and use both your hands to leverage yourself to take him as deep as you can. You suck hard on his cock and pull his shuddering orgasm from him as ropes of hot, sticky cum fill your mouth and drip down your chin. 

As his shuddering slows, he lifts you from your knees and pulls you onto his lap. He kisses your face all over, lapping up traces of his own cum off your face. 

“Thank you,” he said, holding your face in his hands and you smiled at him. 

“You’re really sweet, you know that?” you asked. And it was true, sure you’ve never been that sloppy before and the sight of him licking his own cum off your face awoke something new and primal within you, but he was still in the end, Frankie, sweet, gentle Frankie. 

You lifted your tank top back up to cover your breasts, but he stopped you. 

“You don’t think I’m going to leave you unsatisfied, do you?” he asked.

“You don’t have to, I had fun,” you said with a shrug. 

He licked his lips at you, “Hermosa, don’t even start to talk like that. I know I don’t have to, but I want to. I need to taste you.”

You trembled under his intense gaze, your breath shallow and you couldn’t do anything but nod. 

“Lay on the bed. I want your head to hang off the end so you can watch me eat that dripping cunt until you can’t see straight. Understand?” He told you. 

You moaned and laid out as instructed, watching yourself upside down in the mirror at the end of the bed. You watched Frankie hover over you and yank your tank top off over your head. Then he took the soft flesh of your breast in his mouth and sucked a love mark to the supple skin. 

As he covered your skin in bites and kisses, up and down your body, you ran your fingers through his curly hair. You rubbed your thighs together, the tension unbearable. 

“You've been such a good girl for me,” he whispered into your skin, “If you’re a little more patient, I’ll take care of you. Can you do that for me?”

You whimper and still your legs, “Yes, I’ll be good.” 

“That’s my good girl,” he said into the fabric of your panties. He sucked your clit through your underwear and you arched your back in bliss. You watched yourself upside down in the mirror grip the bedsheets and tremble under his mouth. 

He pushed your panties to the side and ran a finger gingerly through your slick folds. He brought the finger to his lips to taste you.

“You taste so good,” he praised you, “Sweeter than I imagined.”

You squirmed under his words, relishing in his admission that he had thought of how you tasted. 

Without further delay, he lost himself in your sweet heat, his nose pushing against your clit as he tongue fucked your entrance. 

His eyes looked up and saw your eyes closed in bliss and he stopped. Your eyes fly open, seeking explanation.

“Eyes open, hermosa, I want you to watch,” he said, cocking his head, pulling your gaze. 

When you nodded, he sucked your clit in his lips and slipped a finger to stroke your fluttering walls. 

“I’m-I’m gonna cum,” you stuttered, overwhelmed. He didn’t stop as he brought you through your peak. He took his time lapping up your juices as you calmed your breathing. 

When he crawled up your shaking body you could see his moustache wet with your slick and when he kissed you you could taste yourself on him. 

You reached between your bodies and found he was hard again. You smiled into the kiss as you pumped him in your hand and lined him up at your still fluttering pussy. 

“I love you,” he whispered into your ear as he pushed into you. His voice was quiet but there was no doubting the resolve in his words. 

You ran your fingers through his thoroughly dishevelled hair as you said, “I love you too.”

Then he made gentle love to you. He stretched you fully but carefully, his movements slow and deliberate. He whispered simple praise and words of adoration against your skin, and kissed you along your collarbone as you wrapped your legs around, holding him close to you. 

The simplicity of the act only added to the intimacy of the moment. You felt that your bodies were connecting to the same level you souls were now intertwined. The end of the road for mutual pining, resolving in reciprocation. 

He pulled another orgasm from you, this one less binding, but you felt it almost melt and reshape something deep inside you beyond anything you’ve ever felt before.

He came quickly after you, pushed over the edge by your orgasm induced clenches. He pulled out of you slowly and kissed you. 

He got up and returned to clean you up thoroughly and delicately. Then he tucked you both into bed together, kissing every inch of your available skin as he did. 

As he fell asleep in your arms, you ran your fingers through his hair and hummed to him softly. Nothing recognizable or even very good, but something low and comforting. You forced your exhausted eyes to stay open and watch him sleep curled up against your chest. 

Outside you could hear the storm rage terribly and you silently thanked the rain, praying for it to hold strong and keep you stranded in this little room of paradise just a little bit longer. 

Back to Chapter 1

[impala-dreamer]

Silence

SPN FanFic

~Y/N is feeling a little antsy, but sadly, Dean's in the next bed and Sam's not having it. Or, is he?~

Sam x Reader, Dean

1,665 Words

Warnings: NSFW! Smut. Playful bet. Some slightly rough stuff. Private Slapping. Ahem. It's Smut, OK? It's dirty.

A/N: Just something I dug out of Wip Mountain. Hope you enjoy. This totally didn't happen to me in real life... Nah... ;)

My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon ~ Find My Original Works on Amazon

Y/N draped her hand gently over Sam’s cotton-covered chest, letting her fingers sneak underneath his arm, careful not to tickle him too badly. She was ever conscious of his sensitive spots and used them only when it was to her utmost advantage. Now was not one of those times.

He wasn’t asleep, just still, and Y/N felt him shift against her, turning slightly to fold his arms around her. His lips grazed the top of her head and she let out a sigh against his neck.

“You awake?” she whispered, knowing full well that he was.

Sam made a little noise of admission and turned fully onto his side to face her. The bed was smaller than usual, the entire motel room was, honestly, but she didn’t mind being so cramped. Not when she was cramped with Sam.

“Good.” Y/N bit her lip and dropped her hand from his side, slowly dragging her fingers down his hard body and hooking them into his boxers.

“What’re you doing?” he asked under his breath, a smile painting his words.

Y/N snuck inside his shorts and cupped her hand. “What do you think?”

His giant hand closed around her wrist and pulled her quickly from the promised land. “Y/N/N, come on…”

Her whisper was fierce but low. “What! Come on, Sam. I’m...ya know. Let’s… ya know.”

“Not tonight,” he sighed. “Save it. We’ll be home tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to save it. I want to do it now.”

“Dean’s right there,” he said firmly, nodding towards the bed behind her.

As if on cue, Dean let out a loud, rumbling snore and Y/N shook her head.

“Who cares? He’s asleep.” She tried to twist her wrist from his grasp, but he held her tight.

“He’ll wake up,” he warned. “You’re too damn loud.”

Y/N gasped in exaggerated offense. “That’s a lie!”

“Is it?”

Even in the dark, she could see his sassy frown.

“OK, fine. I’m loud. But I can be quiet.”

Sam kissed her forehead and patted her shoulder condescendingly. “No, you can’t.”

“Wanna bet?”

He laughed quietly. “Fine.” His grip on her hand released and Sam pushed her shoulder, forcing Y/N onto her back. “But one noise, I mean...a single peep out of you and I stop.”

“Got it, Chief,” she teased, already squirming in anticipation as he settled against her.

Sam lay a huge hand on her stomach as he stared down into her eyes. “I mean it. Not a sound. Absolute silence.”

Y/N took a deep, calming breath and sealed her lips shut. She nodded quickly and tried to hide her smile.

Sam dropped his chin and hovered over her lips for a moment. “Good.”

His kiss was slow, deep, the kind that shut her eyes and made her hips roll unconsciously. She let out a long breath when he let her go, lips parted and reaching up for his.

Sam grinned and nodded approvingly before moving on. The hand on her stomach slid further south, fingertips grazing the top of her pelvis teasingly. Y/N sucked in a breath and held it, waiting, praying he’d drop the inches and realize how terribly wet and needy she was already.

He kept his cool, pawing at her gently, barely touching her skin as his lips pulsed at her jaw. This breath howled in her ear like an oncoming storm; hot and loud, knocking out everything else.

A tiny rumble hit the back of her throat, but Y/N quickly swallowed it down; her eyes flying open as she caught herself before disaster struck.

Sam noticed her flinch and smiled against her throat. “Silence,” he reminded her in the barest of whispers.

She swallowed hard and tried to stay calm, but as soon as she found the peaceful lake in her mind, Sam’s giant hand slipped down to cover her pussy, pressing firmly upwards against her. Her thighs slammed shut on his wrist and her teeth gnashed painfully.

Pride beamed in his eyes as Sam sat up a bit to look into her face, watching the pained twitches of her eyes and jaw as he snuck his fingers up inside her shorts. Skin grazed damp flesh and Y/N’s eyes rolled back.

“Oh, that feels good, doesn’t it?” he teased; deep voice barely above a breath.

Y/N bit her tongue and nodded as his heel rubbed at her clit.

“I bet it does. You’re soaked.” Sam’s middle finger pushed inside her cunt and Y/N’s shoulders lifted from the bed.

Her lips were bruising from her own teeth, cheeks near to bleeding as Sam slowly fucked her on his expert fingers, working her up into a silent frenzy.

Somewhere outside a car was starting, a hungry motel resident fed quarters into a broken vending machine, the neon sign buzzed loud and bright. But inside room twenty-seven, all was silent but for Dean’s snoring and Y/N’s slow but heated breaths.

When Sam felt her spasm on his fingers, he pulled away, gently urging her to lift her hips as he pulled the shorts down around her knees. The bedsprings creaked as he squirmed out of his boxers and fit between her legs, still kicking away cotton and trying not to rock the bed frame.

Her eyes were wide, her lips parted, but nothing came out. Sam smiled and licked at her open mouth, tasting her heat, watching as her eyes fluttered closed. She kissed him hard, lifting her hands to wrap around the back of his neck and hold him there as his hips pushed her thighs apart.

“Don’t...breathe,” he told her, slowly rocking his hips forward to press his cock against her. “Silence.”

Y/N took a quick breath and held it, her entire body tightening as Sam dipped into her slick cunt. She dented her bottom lip as she held in the moan, wanting so to scream out and let him know how big he was, how good it felt to be wrecked by his monster cock.  

She let out a hiss by accident as he bottomed out suddenly, the depth of his thrust nearly stopping her heart.

In the next bed, Dean stirred, rolling over onto his stomach and wiping his mouth on the pillow.

Sam looked down with a disapproving glare, but Y/N distracted him with a wet kiss, drawing him closer as her fingers tangled in his hair. He hit his stride, snapping his hips with mind-numbing force, edging her closer to another pop of pleasure.

Y/N did all she could not to make any noise, biting at Sam’s lips as well as her own, holding her breath until her lungs strained, clawing at his neck and shoulders as a distraction. Odd thing was, the more she kept the noises inside, the more her body reacted to his touch. Every muscle was shaking, every nerve on fire. She wanted to cum again, to scream and moan and ride his cock until her brains leaked out of her cunt. But she kept it all inside. Holding back as long as she could.

Sam watched her internal struggle with keen eyes. The more she held back, the more he pushed her, wanting to win, wanting her to break and cry out. He wanted to hear her scream his name, feel her body clench and twist against him as she howled into the dark.

Cheating, or maybe just because he was ready to blow, Sam dropped his right hand down between them and rubbed soft but fast against her swollen clit.

Y/N slapped him hard, trying not to make any noise, nearly breaking her jaw as she clenched her teeth tight.

He rubbed a little faster as he thrust and Y/N lifted her lips to Sam’s, biting his tongue harder than either would have liked.

Dean coughed in his sleep and turned his head, burying his face in the crook of his elbow.

Ripping away from her entrenched fingernails, Sam sat up on his knees and grabbed her hips, pulling them upwards. The new angle made Y/N choke around a cry but Sam wasn’t done yet. With a devilish smirk, he brought his hand down onto her clit, slapping her quickly. She bit the insides of her cheeks; the familiar taste of iron hitting her tongue.

Another crack of his flat palm and Y/N lost it, squeaking out a pained cry as she came, squirting around his cock.

Dean rolled over again and Sam clamped his hand down on her mouth, pushing her into the mattress as he finished; keeping her silent once more as he came.

Y/N licked her wetness from his palm while Sam came down, finally setting her free and rolling back onto his side next to her.

“I told you I could be quiet,” she said, gasping. “Fuck. It’s exhausting behind so quiet for so long.”

“You did pretty good,” he agreed, punching his pillow before falling onto it. “But you lost.”

Y/N startled. “What! I did not!”  

Sam shrugged and nodded. “You did. You screamed at the end there.”

Her eyes narrowed with accusation. “You slapped my clit!”

“Because that always makes you scream.”

Y/N huffed. “So this was rigged from the jump. You asshole.”

“For fuck’s sake, can you keep it down!” Dean’s annoyed voice boomed through the room as he shot up and hit Y/N’s ass with his pillow. “I’m trying to sleep.”

She turned, embarrassed and grinned innocently. “Sorry?”

“You two need to get your own room next time,” he grumbled, snatching his pillow back and cuddling it against his chest. “Sitting here talking about slapping body parts and all your nastiness. Just screw or shut up about it.”

Sam and Y/N exchanged a silent laugh as Dean grumbled himself back to sleep.

“OK,” Y/N whispered, “I guess we both lost.”

“Nope,” Sam argued with a slick smile. “We won.”

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[sjjdkdkwo]

A sort of continuation of this? (Because reading this alone doesn’t make sense otherwise) But I ended up liking the idea and thought a little more on it.

Stephen panted as he ran through the labyrinth of tunnels and rooms that made up Tony’s hidden lab beneath the cabin. By now he knew the entirety of the workshop like the back of his hand, and after about thirty minutes had come to the conclusion that every exit in the lab had been sealed shut from the inside. That had left him with only one option, get to the mainframe and figure out a way to shut down Tony from there. Reaching the clear solid doors of the control center Stephen reached out to see if the door would open and found no success. Realizing that Tony must’ve figured out his plan and had sealed the door accordingly, Stephen muttered and incantation. To his growing horror however, nothing happened.

 “No…” Stephen uttered, voice unsteady under his growing panic.

 He granted himself another attempt and again produced nothing. He growled in frustration as he tried again, watching as his hands shook harder under the pressure that took over his mind and soul. After six or so futile attempts he straightened and decided to forgo magic all together and take another route in getting in. Stepping back about 30 paces he squared his shoulders and took a deep breath before heading toward the door at full speed, and rammed his shoulder right into it.

 He cried as the cuff on his shoulder produced a striking bought of pain then trailed down to his hands causing them to tingle and twitch. Sliding down the door he heaved a heavy sigh before getting back up to try again. This time when his shoulder met the door, it opened. And sent him barreling into the room only to collide with the floor and smack his head hard against the surface. He groaned from his spot on the ground, head throbbing along with a terrible ringing in his ears. Before Stephen could even attempt to get up though, the door behind him sealed shut with a soft hiss, before the distinct sound of a lock clicking in place could be heard. Stephen’s eyes widened as he whipped his head around to stare at the door in silent dread.

 It had been a trap.

 “Please. You don’t have to do this.” He called out weakly to the empty room around him. “We can talk it through, I promise I’ll listen to you.”

 “That’s funny, that’s exactly what you said last time.” Tony’s hollow voice echoed throughout the lab. Stephen shuddered at the sound. “Only to ignore me for five months straight after.”

 “I’m sorry, I lost track of time I—I didn’t mean to neglect you. “ Stephen said.

 “And yet you did.”

 “Please…” Stephen pleaded again.

 “Please what? Please let you go on with your useless research—” Tony’s voice sneered. “—Just you can turn everything back to normal and get rid of me in the process? Did you really think I’d take that sitting down? You brought me here Stephen, now your stuck with me.”

 “This wasn’t how this was meant to go!” Stephen grit out and clenched his fists tightly. “I should’ve read through the spell better. But I didn’t, and I’m sorry for that.”

 “Not sorry enough to let me live.”

 “We can find a way. I can try; let me look through it again. There has to be something there!” Stephen said, his voice frantic even to his own ears.

 “I don’t know, Stephen, you really hurt my feelings.” Tony’s voice said, something akin to mocking underneath the dejected tone he used.

 It was enough to snap something inside Stephen, causing him to abandon any thoughts of parleying and bargaining with the hologram and instead fueling him with anger and hate.

 “Your feelings were a mistake!” Stephen snarled. “All you are is a cluster of lens and lasers that got up and walked!”

 Stephen laughed scornfully into the open space, wobbling into an awkward standing position as he leaned over workbench beside him. “The only reason you can do anything else is because of me.”

 Before Stephen could blink, the hologram appeared in front of him. Stephen tried not to let his uneasiness show as he took him in. Unlike before, the once steady image of Tony faltered sporadically in blinding white sparks now. In between every few seconds that passed, there would be a sudden glitch, altering the image of Tony into something more sinister and grotesque, almost monster like—something completely inhuman. Stephen wondered if it was purposeful.

 “And here I thought you’d lost that ego of yours after your little accident.” Tony made a string of tsk noises as he came closer. “I guess some things never change.”

 “What do you want?” Stephen asked, exhaustion overlaying his words.

 Tony shrugged, his whole body morphing with the glitch this time and revealing a gaunt haunting figure to Stephen.

 “I thought that was obvious by now. All I want is you.”

 From somewhere in the lab Stephen could make out the sudden noise of something slithering and buzzing toward him. As he looked all around him for the source of the sound Tony chuckled. There. Inching c loser and closer was a small black pool of nanobots. Stephen didn’t have time to move away before they were instantly crawling onto him, wrapping around his neck, arms, and legs before solidifying completely into tight restraints. There was something wrong about them though. There was an odd energy around them, dark and forbidding, like a hazy mist around the nanobots. Almost suspiciously like…

 “Magic.” Stephen breathed out in shock.

 Above him Tony hummed, chuckling again as he paced the area surrounding Stephen.

 “Oh yeah. Neat, huh?” He said, “Who would’ve thought the use of magic and science together could be so…right. Certainly not the real Tony Stark, I’ll tell you that much.”

 “How?” Stephen whispered.

 Tony sighed and Stephen looked at forward to find him reaching out a hand before making a tight fist. Stephen let out and agonizing cry as pain resonated through him from the sudden electric shocks the restraints ran all around his body. But there was something else, a deeper, more stifling pain, coming from somewhere inside Stephen himself—as though it was emitting from his very being. For a brief second Stephen feared he was going to be torn apart from the intensity of being tormented both externally and internally. He could hardly breath when it stopped all together and let his head loll forward. There was a long moment of silence before he found he could speak again.

 “I don’t understand.” Stephen mumbled.

 Tony groaned loudly and titled his head back in one swift movement. If he’d been a real person, the angle would’ve snapped his neck in half. Rolling his head back forward he shook it as made his way in front of Stephen, and looked at him with a dull expression.

 “I can’t believe I thought you were smarter than this.” He said.

 “You shouldn’t be able to do that, it’s not possible.” Stephen said through gritted teeth. “How are you doing it?”

 “I had a lot of spare time to catch up on my magic reading.”

 “Stop messing with me! Tell me now!” Stephen yelled, trying to squirm out of the nanobots hold to no avail. Tony only watched, his blank stare boring into him. It seemed he decided he’d had enough of Stephen’s struggling, as he crept back and lifted a hand again to produce a ball of energy above him palm. Stephen cried as a sharp stabbing sensation passed through him when he did.

 “All magic has a source. Every magic user worth their salt knows that.” Tony began. “Your magic comes from the Vishanti, Cyttorak and a number of other sources, some of it even from within your own energy.” He toyed with the energy ball in his hand, twirling it idly between his fingers. “Your late master drew magic from the dark dimension… my magic has a source too, albeit a rather unique one.”

 Stephen said nothing as he followed Tony’s words and movements closely. In the back of his mind he tried to sort out exactly what the other meant as he spoke, drawing blank every time he reached for any sort of explanation.

 “When you gave me sentience, the spell you used didn’t just require you to use your magic, Stephen. Something had to be given in return, like always.” Tony turned to look at him, a cold and calculating look on his flickering face. “Something already alive that could produce enough energy to create an entirely new life. Something from inside of you, something like—“

 “A soul.” Stephen answered quietly, eyes wide and unblinking in his new understanding.

 “Exactly.” Tony replied nodding. “In order for you to give me a soul, you had to give up your own. Part of it at least.”

 Another realization struck him then, and a cold chill passed through him as he looked at Tony.

 “That’s why my magic has been failing.” Stephen murmured disbelievingly. “Because you’ve been draining all of it.”

 Tony smiled then, something wicked and sick taking form on his face. “Bingo. Friday, tell our lovely guest what he’s won.”

 “You got it, boss.” Friday’s voice called out, lacking trace of personality from her tone.

 Stephen felt his stomach sink. She wasn’t supposed to be here, she’d begged him to shut her off until Tony had returned safe and sound. And even if she had been activated against her will, she shouldn’t have sounded the way she did. Stephen had made sure to grant her sentiency too, after all.

 “No, you can’t—”

 “Doctor Strange has won the lovely company of some new companions.” Friday said.

 Stephen couldn’t another word out as he stared in terror when Tony began to produce dust like particles seemingly from thin air. A wave of pain washed over him as he looked on, and he could feel something run down from his eyes and nose but couldn’t give it a second thought in that moment. He chocked back a scream as the meager fragments floated through the air and circulated around one another before coagulating into a sickening mixture of flesh, bone and nickel-titanium alloy.

 “Stephen, allow me to introduce you to Mark III, Mark VII, Mark XLII, and last but certainly not least, Mark LXXXV.”

 Tony spread out his arms as he stood in front of the, what should have been, once destroyed Iron Man suits. Stephen fought the urge to retch as he processed the abominations before him.

 “You shouldn’t be able to do that—even with my magic, you—“ Stephen gasped out, shaking his head as the figures behind Tony moved in a maladroit manner. “The only way you could is if you had—“

 “The infinity stones?” Tony countered.

 From behind him more nanobots appeared and swarmed around him, stacking atop each other in a structured manner as they began to form an unstable suit around the hologram. To his side more of the nanobots came, this time carrying the source of Stephen’s nightmares for the past fifteen years. Creeping over each other the nanobots lifted the harrowing gauntlet toward the suits hand before resting over it and clicking into place.

 “Surprise.” Tony said, laughing when he noticed Stephen’s despairing look. “What’s wrong? Are you upset that I managed to do what you spent years trying to accomplish, in just…oh I don’t know, seven months?”

 “How?” Stephen found himself asking again.

 “I simply followed in the footsteps of my predecessor, only this time I added a little magic.”

 A thought passed through Stephen’s mind.

 “Friday.”

 Something cold flashed through the holograms eyes.

 “You know how the soul stone works, yes.”

 “Then you loved her too.”

 “Maybe, but I loved you more.”

 Stephen let out a pitiful noise, curling in on himself as he fought the urge to cry for the AI he’d come to befriend in many other timelines.

 “Don’t tell me you feel bad, Stephen. What happened to being nothing but a cluster of lens and lasers that got up and walked?” Tony sneered.

 Stephen didn’t dignify him with an answer, and if he found that it was because he actually couldn’t think of one, Tony didn’t need to know.

 “So what? What’s your plan now?”

 “I’m going to give you everything you want.” Tony said, smiling at Stephen before the flow of magic and energy from the stone surrounded him. “Starting with bringing back all your friends.”

 Beneath them, the floors shook violently before they cracked open from the pressure and uncovered the dirt that lay before them undisturbed. It wasn’t long before that stirred too, clumps up dirt pushing out from the ground as a string of decomposed arms flung out after. They reached out to grab onto the earth around them and pulled themselves from the ground, rotting heads and bodies following them and out into the open air. One by one every fallen hero Stephen had seen brutally murdered crawled out from the grot and trudged up to meet them. At the front, the skeletal remains of Tony Stark trekked forward and directly to Stephen. When he reached him he settled in front of him and let out a blood-curdling shriek. His Hologram howled with laughter.

 “Maybe I was wrong, Stephen. I think he does still like you after all!”

 Stephen craned his back as the corpse inched closer, the nauseating smell of rot making Stephen gag as it tried to grab at him.

 “Enough.”

 The corpse went still, just before it could get at Stephen’s face.

 “I told you I’d give you everything you wanted, Stephen.” Tony said, floating above the carcasses. “Why don’t we try this again? Starting from the beginning.”

 Before him, Tony began to change. The hair he lacked began to grow, and his sunken face began to round with fresh tissue and muscle, along with the creation of new eyes. Stephen stared mesmerized as the man before him became revitalized with newfound cognizance as the light behind his eyes flickered back to life. Only to be shrouded in confusion and panic at the sight of Stephen.

 “Stephen? What’s going on? Where’s Thanos?” Tony asked frantically, shouting when he turned around and was met with the horrible sight of his own hologram and it’s creations. “What the hell is that!?”

 “What do you think, Stephen?” The hologram asked, staring soberly at him.

 “I think you’re a monster.” Stephen said hollowly.

 The hologram shook his head. “No, Stephen.”

 He paused before speaking again.

 “I’m human.”

[vesperstalksclones]

Wrecker x Mando Femme OC

The Naked Truth

(18 +) explicit

So this is a gratuitous smut snippet of a Wrecker centered Bad Batch story, post Order 66. But of course, I'm writing the juicy parts first lol. I wanted to post because who knows if I'll finish it, and tumblr needs some Wrecker smut! So, following is unprotected sex, a difficult first coupling, ample fondling, and one surprisingly gentle guy, which is still pretty rough since he's built like a draft horse.... and hung like one... 😳

Quick synopsis:

(OH please pardon my lazy editing, I forgot to go spell check my Mando'a, so I kriffed up a few things 🤨)

The crew have been hiring themselves out to make $$ to fuel the Maurauder, buy supplies, etc. They take a job as armed support for a Mandalorian cell on a rather obscure outer rim planet, who have been clashing with the local crime syndicate. He meets Kessa-Lan, a stoic female warrior with a knack for explosives and an excellent rifleman. Of course our big goofy boy is smitten instantly, but her voice! Its all husky and full of pepper (think like Demi Moore) and he is going to die from loving it. But.. she refuses to take her helmet or armor off in his presence, but not because of strict code; Kessa was injured badly several years ago when her village was attacked by several of the crime family's enforcers. The burns resulted in the loss of her right arm, and her neck, shoulder, and face on the right side are terribly scarred. She has no ear on that side, and half her face is covered by cybernetic skin, with a replacement eye as well. She grows her hair in to thick braids, woven with beads and mementos, so that the locks can hide some of the disfigurement. She is ashamed and afraid that he wouldn't be so enamored if he saw her properly. So some stuff happens… pew pew, boom, pew, etc,etc. Wrecker ends up captured by the crime syndicate's local cell, with a few of Kessa's Vode, and he recognizes their sigil as the group who destroyed Kessa's village and harmed her so terribly. He manages to trick them into bringing him to a meeting hall alone, so they don't use the others as human shields to keep him in check. He taunts the leader in to a one on one fight (they think he's heavily sedated) and when they've uncuffed him, he visits some terrible hell on the three odd dozen elites, but suffers serious injuries in the process. The Bad Batch finds him and rushes off planet to an old friend with a bacta tank and the medical skills to save him. Upon returning, the Batch proceeds to obliterate the criminals and Wrecker seeks out his love interest, hoping she is at least a little bit happy to see him.

 

       OOOOO Here's the good stuff OOOOO

Wrecker Circled her silently, looking her up and down with a quiet intensity. A few times he stilled, and she felt the calloused pads of his fingers ghost over a scar or a patch of freckles. Stopping behind her, his hands came to rest on her shoulders, thumbs caressing for a moment before they slid to her wrists and gently lifted her arms to the air. She felt him shift, no doubt examining them as he had done the rest of her, running his fingers along the lengths, assessing the differences between the one, flesh and bone, and the other, cold cybernetics. 

"Beautiful." He whispered so low she could barely make out the word.

"Hmmm?" 

"Beautiful, Mesh'la." He reached for her wrists again, raising her arms higher and positioning them around his neck, "You're a dream come to life." 

She leaned against him as his lips brushed her undamaged shoulder, nibbling a gentle path towards her neck. 

Retracing the path along her arms, he splayed his fingers wide and his great hands smoothed along her sides and over her hips, climbing up over her abdomen and ribs in slow circuits. When his lips reached her cheek, she turned her face, catching them with her own, and he wrapped his arms tightly around her torso, pulling her as flush against him as he could manage. He sighed into her mouth, kissing and licking at her softly. 

For a moment Kessa was able to appreciate that no matter how brutally strong this behemoth may be, he had an inherently gentle heart. She had half expected to be flung down and ravaged by Wrecker the moment she bared her skin to him, as eagerly as he had flirted with her and as hungry as his eyes always were. She certainly hadn't expected this sensual caressing as he savored her in his arms. Despite the tautness of every muscle she could feel against her back, and the slight tremor in his hands, he held himself quiet and steady.

He broke away from her, turning his gaze back down her body, thoroughly enjoying the view. He slumped backwards, leaning against the crude table, hands full of her breasts as he arched her against him, and she hissed as he toyed with the dark peaks of her nipples. He experimented for a few moments, weighing her in his hands, varying the force of his grasp, rolling and pinching at the buds until he found just the right movement to make her whimper.

"That's right Sugar, sing for me so I know what you like…." he growled low in her ear, his voice growing impossibly deeper. One of his massive paws had crept to the juncture of her thighs, and he traced the crease thoughtfully. "Spread your legs, Dala. I want to touch you". 

She obliged, wiggling her hips as she did so, feeling his hard member ride up against the small of her back. Wrecker hummed in appreciation, as his fingers crept into her warmth and, finding her slick and eager for him, dove right in. Seeking out the bundle of nerves at the front, he stroked with two fingers, trapping the delicate flesh and sending marvelous tingling sensations through her belly. 

"Remember… my tongue was here before…" he whispered, ".. but you hid the rest of you then, all tucked away in that armor and that helmet… killed me to have to listen to you through a moderator." The two fingers flexed and curled, and then plunged inside her, and she clamped around them with a ragged moan, her jaw dropping open from the sudden intrusion. " Kriffing hell! That's nice!" he gasped into her neck.

He thrust into her eagerly, dragging his thumb across her clit each time, spurred along by Kessa's mewls and cries. 

"Fuck! That voice ad'ika! Just listening t'ya could finish me!" He scraped his teeth along her jaw, and she could feel him trembling against her, his breath warm and moist at her ear. "So many times, all I could think was what you'll sound like when you take my cock."

She squirmed, rocking her hips and riding his hand. "Ah.. Wrecker! I want you inside me cy'aire, please!"

"Not yet, doll. Ladies first, then we'll see what happens." He couldn't ignore the burst of sensation brought on by her plea, begging for him to stuff himself between her thighs, and he couldn't help but to roll his hips against her, finding small satisfaction in rutting against her lower back.

"So tight, love. I'm giving you another…" he ground out hoarsely, before adding a third thick finger to her besh, groaning in satisfaction as she arched against him with a sob. "I'm so 'fraid I'll hurt you." 

He felt her relax after a few thrusts, her slick running down the back of his hand. Her sounds were growing more frantic, and she was moving against him with purpose… "Are you there Sugar? Give it to me doll, come for me…let it go..." he pleaded gently.

She pulled his hand roughly to her breast, and he massaged and plucked at her roughly, causing Kessa to yelp and tighten around his knuckles. He stroked her only a few more times before she stiffened and shuddered, giving a broken cry. Wrecker watched in awe as the climax washed over her features, feeling her body contract around his fingers, her nails scraping at his shoulders. He could have wept at the sight, her lashes fanned over her dark cheek… the slight chatter of her teeth as her head lolled against his shoulder.. She drew out such profound feelings in him, his beautiful, pepper voiced, warrior goddess… that is if he wasn't so insanely desperate to pound her 'til her bones rattled.

Chest heaving, Kessa made to move away and he withdrew carefully. She turned and plastered herself against his chest, beaming up at him, one soul-less cybernetic eye blazing red, the other an explosion of green and gold and brown, a swirl of starlit colors as stunning as the glowing gas nebulae he had seen in his travels. 

 "Now!" She gasped, breathless still, "I want you on top of me!"

"Hmmmm.. mesh'la I don't dare."

Her eyes widened in confusion.

"Kess'ika, there isn't a soft surface anywhere in here; I'd beat you to hell darlin. I know my strength and I know how stupid I'm gonna get." 

He rose from where he leaned against the rough work table, considering it carefully.

"But this'll do, I'll break this instead!" He shoved it back hard against the wall with a soft chuckle and turned to reach for her. She came to him eagerly, and he scooped her up, grinding her against  him a few times with a satisfied groan, and he deposited her on the surface. 

"You're ready for me?" He asked, drawing himself close between her legs.

"Um-hmm. Wrecker, take this off." She demanded gently, tugging at the skin tight black shirt he wore. He obligingly peeled it upwards and felt her hands on his skin before it cleared his shoulders. Flinging the garment away he admired the look on Kessa's face as she explored his chest and abdomen. 

"These look terrible." She whispered, her fingers ghosting over the newly healed blaster wounds. 

He gently butted his head against hers. "They're worth it if it means you sleep better at night." He grinned as he kissed her; she framed his face with her hands, deepening the kiss, and when he opened for her, Kessa's tongue brushed over his, making him see stars. 

He jerked his trousers down his thighs and pressed her backwards upon the bench. Wrecker grasped her knees, spreading her wide before him and rolled himself against her, gliding his rigid cock through her wetness for good measure. She pushed up on her elbows, watching him thoroughly wet himself, before fisting his member and aligning himself with her opening.

Seven hells, he was big, well proportionally correct anyway for a man the size of a mountain, and she realized his purpose in using his fingers first... it would have been difficult without some preparation. He pushed against her, gritting his teeth with strain. Her jaw fell slack as he stretched her, his rounded head easing its way in. 

"Is this alright cy'aire?" He hissed. "Hurts?"

He paused, shaking against her as he struggled with his overtaxed libido. 

"Yes, love, I'm alright," she held his gaze, wanting him to see clearly that she wasn't lying for his benefit. She groped for his hands where they held her hips tightly, clinging to them for stability. He continued to push in to her, pausing to withdraw and return to claim another inch of her space. Her muscles burned as she took him, but it wasn't unbearable and each gentle motion felt better than the last. 

"Give me all of you, Wrecker. I'm ready," She gasped. 

He watched her for a moment, sweat beading on his forehead from the tension, and then flexed his ass and plunged forward, landing flush against her thighs and she wailed under him.

"Fuck! Kessa, I'm sorry! I'll stop…" 

"No! Wrecker don't you dare!" She dug her nails into his wrists. "Just hold still a moment." She drew a deep breath willing her protesting muscles to relax, as he gently kneaded her hips.

"Kessa, we don't have to do this, love..."

"I'm ok cy'aire. It's just.. it's been a long, long time, and you're… well… you!" She gave a tug at both arms. 

"Again, just start slowly, I was made for this, you know."

"To be mated by a bantha??"

She burst out laughing, and his eyes rolled back in his head from the contractions it caused around his cock. 

"Jengo's bones woman! Kriffing HELL that feels amazing!"

"You said before you liked my voice enough to get off on it," She quipped, a coy look settling on her face.

"No doubt."

He stooped and kissed her hungrily, before bracing his palms on the table and tentatively moved his hips against her. Gradually he withdrew and then returned, filling her to bursting. She felt him drag against the most deliciously sensitive places, and each one sent hot electricity up her spine. Catching his honey brown eyes, she nodded and he quickened his movements, breathing raggedly from the sensations. 

"Kessa… " he uttered her name again and again, like a prayer. " Oh… Kessa... Gods… you feel so good, woman.. I can't…  I can't believe .. you let me … touch you like this!" Wrecker gasped, punctuating his words with sharp thrusts. "Wanted you for so damn long. Want you for myself… keep you…  My woman.."

"You'd better ruin every other cock for me then" she replied, the words turning in to breathy moans. 

With a sound somewhere between a groan and a snarl, he roughly gathered her up in his arms, his kiss pressing her into the table, his thighs slamming forward harshly against the wooden edges - and they were vaguely aware of the sound of something breaking. She mewled into his mouth, clawing at his back and neck, desperate to pull him closer than he already was. 

"Are you going to come on my cock, love?" He growled. She couldn't do much more than whimper. "Come on mesh'la, scream for me. Wanna feel you!" He reared up, cradling her hips in an iron grip as he rammed into her, feral noises curling from deep within his chest. Kessa dug her nails against the table, watching his member disappear within her again and again, shining with her slick. She knew that she only ever wanted him. No other man should ever have her this way. 

"Wrecker… I love you cy'aire, only you.. I'm yours however you want me.." she cried as her tension built, her release looming. "Come inside me cy'aire, I want you to…" something shattered within her and her climax washed over her. The world turned upside-down and the stars exploded in her eyes, and she screamed, just like he'd asked..

Seeing Kessa coming undone beneath him, her hot tight muscles contracting around him proved his undoing. A hard thrust, and another, and the third had him surging into her, her cries ringing in his ears; a more beautiful sound he had never heard, and his own climax claimed him, drawing blackness across his eyes. 

He didn't quite faint; he was still sailing on the ripples of the best orgasm he had ever had, and his vision slowly came to focus. Kessa was watching him with a look of immense satisfaction, like a proud loth-cat who had just eaten the proverbial song bird.. He was trembling still, with the occasional harsh shudder as she continued still to tighten and relax against his softening cock. 

He reached for her chin. "Kessa, did I hurt you sweetheart?"

"Yes." She groaned. "It was amazing. Do it again."

He wasn't quite sure what to make of that, when she grabbed his neck and pulled him down for a wet kiss.

 "I meant what I said. Wrec."

He grinned crookedly and kissed her back. "We need to find a proper bed darlin'. 

Pretty sure this pic is by Mollo101; whose Star Wars art is AMAZING!! Sorry so dark and melancholy, but there is a lack of Wrecker fanart out there!

[blog-sliverofjade]

Of Doms & Subs 19: The End is Just the Beginning

Pairing: Angus Hopper x OFC

Summary:  What’s a submissive female to do when she fights her nature and goes on the run as a Lone wolf to avoid being assimilated into a pack?

Word count: 2213

Of Doms & Subs Master List

Ellie anticipated a panic attack.  It had been some time since she’d been underneath a man, and she expected to feel trapped as she had so often with Will.  Maybe it was because there wasn’t much difference in their sizes but was more likely due to the fact that he was the polar opposite of Will.  Unlike her ex-husband, he’d shown his teeth from the very beginning.  Was that only four days ago?  Her wolf didn’t care; she’d found their mate.  She let herself settle into that easy bliss and release her human hang-ups, if only for a little while.

Mickayla had warned her that her sex drive would crank up to 11, but no warning in the world could have prepared her for this.  A few minutes of a semi-naked make out session and her body felt wound to the breaking point.  Heat washed over her like waves lapping at a shore.  Excitement, wonder, and love burst inside her, deliciously sharpened by a hint of fear.  The kind of adrenaline charged fear she felt when free climbing, knowing that no anchor kept her from falling.  Only she wanted to dive off the precipice she teetered on and fly.

She disentangled her leg from his to cradle him between her thighs.  Even through their underwear and his pants, he undoubtedly felt how damp her panties were.  Though she was too far gone to feel embarrassed.  A button on his shirt scraped against a nipple and her breath caught.  Angus released her mouth and she nearly whined at the loss.  The usual sternness dominating his features had melted away and he appeared vulnerable for the first time, soft even.  His thumb brushed over her swollen bottom lip.  She caught his wrist to press a kiss to his palm, which made him smile.

Cupping the side of her neck, Angus turned his attention to her breasts, heaving as she panted.  The white mounds moulded easily to his hand even as they overfilled it; he lowered his head to a pert nipple that was practically sitting up and begging for attention.  She jerked towards him as if a jolt of electricity shot through her.  He licked and laved the rosy bud to a stiff peak and then moved to the next one.

When she settled again, he slipped a hand between her legs and brushed her clit.  Her back bowed at the light touch.  When did she become so sensitive?  Was it the werewolf thing?  Or was it because it’d been so long?  He dipped a finger into her slick petals.  Oh God, she was dripping.  Her hips tried to follow him on the withdrawal.  The need painted across her face resembled a grimace of pain.  He stilled and pulled back to look at her.

“Are you all right, mo cridhe?”  The hand on her neck moved to stroke her hair.

“Yes!” cried Ellie, squirming around his finger.

“Are you certain?  We can stop.”  Angus began to withdraw, but she gripped his wrist with supernatural strength, keeping him within her walls.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” she panted.

“Oh?  What am I doing?”  The hunger on his face was at complete odds with his innocent tone.

“You’re trying to give me an out,” she scowled.

“Well then, while we’re on the subject,” his dark eyes were lit with his sly humour that she was learning how to read, “Do you want this?  Because I swear to God I’ll not stop until your legs are quivering and the neighbours are very well aware of my name, to say nothing of the pack.”  She bit her lip, torn between arousal and mortification.  His finger shifted ever so slightly and either she’d closed her eyes or her vision had short-circuited due to the pleasure from the minute movement.

“If you stop, I will bite you,” she hissed, glaring up at him.

“That’s hardly a deterrent.”  The gleam in his bottomless eyes filled her mind’s eye with flashes of fangs and entwined bodies that had her tossing her head back, exposing her throat.  He nipped at the velvety flesh and she thrashed under the overwhelming pleasure that washed through her, whining softly.  He smiled into her pulse point and added another digit, crooking them and beginning to pump in and out.  The knot low in her belly wound tighter and tighter.  She gasped when he hit one spot in particular.

“Ah, there we are,” he whispered in a voice like dark chocolate and velvet.  Rocking on his hand, she gripped one of his shoulders like it was a lifeline, nails digging into his skin through the shirt.

Her silken walls fluttered around his fingers and her mewls grew louder.  He and his wolf were one in their smugness.  Her reactions made him wonder if her ex had ever seen to her satisfaction.  The thought that he would be the one to give her such pleasure had him grinning ferally.

“Tha gaol agam ort, m'eudail.”  Long ago, he’d taught himself to use his voice like a tool: he could crack it like a whip or light fires in people’s hearts.  Or he could intimately caress someone.  She’d seemed particularly affected by it, especially when she first submitted to him.  The carpet still smelled like her.  “Cum for me, a leanbh.”

There was no need to draw upon his dominance, even if he was willing to use it in bedroom games.  He curved his fingers again and she bowed off the bed with a scream that only died out when she ran out of breath, but her orgasm continued, drawn out by his deft hand.  Blunt fingernails dug into his thigh.  Though they would heal in moments, he purred internally at the possessiveness of it.  In turn, he bit the juncture of her neck and shoulder, almost breaking the skin, but not quite.  He laved at the small hurt as she came down, his strokes slowing.

Sitting up, Angus drank in her ample curves, her arms flung around her head, and unbuttoned his shirt.  She drew one leg up so she could turn and ogled him in kind from a better angle.  He stood and reached for his belt; white teeth nibbled a slick, pink lip.  The way she watched him, as if in need, was a seduction unto itself.  A faint clink of the pants falling to the floor and he was nude before her.

Werewolves quickly learned to shed any discomfort they had with nudity, but pink still spread across Ellie’s face, slackened in awe.  He smiled with certain amount of male satisfaction in knowing that she was with him because she wanted to be, and not because she wanted to jump the hierarchy.  Knowing that she worried about the pack and for him, even challenging his arguments, filled him with a pride and admiration.

“Hmm, I’m not terribly familiar with the mating habits of wolves.”  Her voice was husky from screaming and hunger.  “But how long are we supposed to stare at each other?”

“You’re going to have to learn to watch that mouth,” he rumbled and slunk across the bed with eyes that glowed wolf.

“Oh?”  The shape of said mouth as she formed the sound made him wonder if she would manage such arch coyness if that same mouth was wrapped around his cock.  In reply, he sank his teeth into her bottom lip, lapping at the crimson beads that welled up.

“You bit me.”  If she was trying for indignation, her tone was far too breathy to be effective.

“You threatened to bite me first.”  His shrug was met with bright laughter.  She spread her thighs in welcome and he settled into the cradle of her hips, which pressed up against him when his length fell against her crease, brushing her clit.  Panting, she threw her head back with a low moan.

Looking into her caramel apple coloured eyes when she could focus again, he pressed into her wet heat.  Impatient, she wrapped her legs around his hips and squeezed him deeper into her channel.  He resisted and chuckled at her frustrated pout.

“This is our first time together,” he smiled, propping himself up on one elbow and stroking her cheek with the backs of his fingers.  “There’ll be plenty of time for animalism in the second round.”

“S-second round?” she blinked.

“Supernatural stamina means a refractory period of minutes.”  He took advantage of her open mouth to caress her tongue with his, pushing deeper into her until he was fully sheathed.  She snaked her arms around his neck and writhed under him, trying to coax him into moving faster.

Ellie rolled her hips, savouring the perfect fit as if they were made for each other, returning his kiss with interest only to pull away with a gasp as he moved again.  He rocked into her aching core, kneaded the meat of a thigh curled around him, and the way he licked his lips was downright indecent.

Their slow, smooth rhythm soon had her squirming with bliss; Angus watched with a face slack in awe and lust, an expression which she no doubt mirrored.  Yet he maintained a firm grip on his self-control and she wanted to snap the leash.  Clenching around him as tightly as she could, she dug her feet into his marbled ass for leverage to drive herself up his shaft.  He snarled at her impatience.  Once, she would have shrank from the aggression; instead, she did it again and arched her head back to flaunt the line of her throat.  The way he’d reacted whenever her neck was vulnerable hadn’t gone unnoticed.

With a roar, he sank his teeth into her sensitive flesh and slammed into her, the bed thumped into the wall in time with the snap of his hips.  The knot in her lower belly snapped and she came with a scream, gouging furrows in his corded back.  He didn’t let up, pounding into her quivering pussy, forcing her to climax again and again until it all blended into one.  Only after she was a trembling wreck did he delved as deeply as he could, pulsing as he filled her to overflowing, their combined fluids painting her folds.

They lay there for awhile to catch their breath, still connected, foreheads pressed together.  She shook occasionally, her inner walls fluttering around him.

“I think I love you,” whispered Ellie.

“You’re still capable of thought?  Then I haven’t done my job properly,” he smirked.  She laughed throatily; he kissed the bite mark, which was already fading.  “If you change your mind and want to leave, I’m not sure I’m strong enough to watch you walk away.”

It wasn’t a flowery speech, or a grand declaration of his affection.  He all but admitted weakness.  To her.  A wolf who’d been told since her Making that she would never have any power in their world.  And an Alpha had placed himself in her hands.  That knowledge stole her breath, her thought, and most of all, her heart.

The next day, Angus mobilized Ian, Jim, Mickayla, and Shane to pack up her little apartment.  They picked up her brother, Peter, from Vancouver (Washington, not British Columbia) to help.  He’d volunteered even after she’d confessed that she turned furry every full moon.

“She’s been through hell.”  Peter’s growl was worthy of a werewolf, unaware that she overheard through the open window as she packed.  Apparently, not all of their attributes were public knowledge otherwise he would have lowered his voice.  “If you hurt her, I will pump you full of silver.”

Ellie peered down into the packing lot where they were supposed to be loading the SUV.  Her brother loomed over Angus, using his larger size in a blatant attempt at intimidation.  Angus nodded solemnly, and she had to stifle a laugh.  Her Alpha could eat him for breakfast.  Literally.

Later, she thanked him profusely for not murdering her brother for his temerity.  He said something about “not disciplining foolhardy pups” for trying to protect their family, but he accepted her gratitude with fervour.

Her meager belongings looked shabby in Angus’s- their- condo, even with her new, albeit small, wardrobe.  Yet he didn’t bat an eye at her tablet with the cracked corner, or her ancient   laptop, instead placing them next to his own shiny devices to charge.  Nor did he hesitate to place her dog-eared novels next to his first editions.  He returned her keys and her lime green jalopy received a place of honour next to his Tesla.

The following days passed in a whirlwind and before she knew it she was standing in a conference room of sorts in the pack’s warehouse.  Framed by a skylight, the luminous face of the full moon watched from above while she ritually consumed his flesh and was bound to the pack.

While they prepared to shift, several members handed cash over to Mickayla.  Ellie arched a brow in her direction.

“They thought you’d mate our fearless leader tonight,” she shrugged and forked over a portion of the winnings, which disappeared into a back pocket.

“There’s no need to rush.”  Ellie’s smile lit up her face as Angus came up from behind and wrapped his arms around her.  “We have forever ahead of us.”

Tha gaol agam ort, m'eudail - I love you

[igirisuhito]

Title: Makeup Relationship(s): Matsuda Yasuke/Enoshima Junko Rating: Mature Summary: Enoshima tries out some of her makeup on Matsuda. Naturally, he hates this. Trigger Warnings: Childhood trauma, mockery of trauma, Emasculation (not in the physical way), Ball crushing, 

[Ao3 Link]

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

“Keep your ass still! If you keep wriggling like that I’ll stab your eye out!”

In a show of defiance, Matsuda squirmed again, pulling his face further away from the wand. “At this point that would be preferable.”

Enoshima responded by grabbing hold of his chin firmly, pressing those awful red claws into the soft flesh of his cheeks. She mounted herself into his lap, pressing her knee close to the boy’s crotch as she brought the mascara wand back to his face.

It would be an interesting scene to have walked in on. Numerous palettes and types of makeup strewn across the bed, having been pulled from Enoshima's makeup box in a frenzy. The box had also been abandoned on the floor in a fit of triump when she had finally found what she was looking for.

How she roped him into this? Matsuda didn't know. He had been stretched out on the bed, casually reading manga, Enoshima touching up her nails beside him. Next thing he knew she was crawling over him, telling him to sit still and let her try her mascara out on him.

Matsuda yelped, unable to pull himself away from the near painful pressure near his groin. “Oi oi oi, that fucking hurts ugly!”

“Shut up and take it like a man!” Unable to contain the giggle that spilled from her lips, Enoshima gently wiped the wand against his eyelashes. “You’re gonna look so pretty once I’m done with you!”

There was another groan from Matsuda as he relaxed his body in submission. Enoshima was most elated by this response, and focused all her efforts on painting the inky black liquid onto the boy’s eyelashes. Not having to restrain him certainly made the process much easier, even with Matsuda’s grumbling and pouting.

The brush ran smoothly over his long lashes, making them look even longer and darker than usual. Enoshima had envied his eyelashes since they were kids, constantly commenting on how “A nerdy boy like you doesn’t deserve them”. The memory was incredibly vivid in Matsuda's mind. She had been so close to his face, and how embarrassed he was because of it. Puberty had been a terribly awkward time for him, and Enoshima sure hadn't helped with how comfortable she was with touching him.

“Stop blinking! It's almost like you don’t want to look like a pretty girl!”

The shrill voice pulled Matsuda from his pleasant little memories. He blinked a few times as he focused his vision, much to Enoshima’s frustration. Upon focusing, the first thing he noticed was exactly how close her breasts were to his face. He gasped, tearing his face from Enoshima’s grasp to look away.

He could feel the warmth rising in his cheeks as he very adamantly tried to not let his eyes follow back down the path towards her boobs.

What the fuck am I doing? If I act like this she’ll just tease me again.

“Were you looking at my boobs, Yasuke?! You little fucking pervert!” There was a drastic switch, Enoshima’s aggressive and rude personality being swapped out for doe eyes and a pathetic face. “I’m being so kind as to do your makeup, and you repay me by looking at my boobs.”

“I’m not looking at your tits!” Matsuda hissed, Squeezing his eyes shut tightly and shaking his head. “It wouldn’t even matter if I was because they’re small, and I’m not into little girl tits.”

“Ha! Look at you! You’re in denial! You sure didn’t think that when you were fourteen.” A loud cackle escaped Enoshima as he leant closer, reestablishing her hold on Matsuda’s face. She pulled his face to look at her, coming nose to nose with those piercing blue eyes. A soft gasp slipped through Matsuda’s lips as his hands grabbed Enoshima’s thigh, squeezing tightly in a desperate attempt to get her to shift some of her weight back. Instead, she doubled down, pressing her knee further into his crotch.

“Y-You’re crushing my--”

“Admit it, Matsuda Yasuke. You were looking at my boobs. Admit you think they’re sexy.” “They’re not sexy. J-Just get off you stupid bitch!”

Enoshima paused for a moment, all emotion dropping right off her face in a sudden episode of seriousness. “I’ll tell all of Hope’s Peak that you’re gay.”

The fact she pretended like it was something so damn serious just made Matsuda even more angry. “You and I both know that wouldn’t mean shit!”

Unwilling to admit defeat, Enoshima pressed her knee in harder. “You know how easy it would be to get you thrown out of this school.”

“That hurts so fucking bad Jesus Christ." Screwing his face up in pain, Matsuda cried out. "Are you trying to sterilise me?!”

Enoshima's held no sympathy for him, beginning to cackle like a witch as she tossed the mascara aside. She leant onto her hands, forcing all of her weight onto Matsuda’s crotch, finding herself delighted with the resounding yelp.

That yelp descended into a high pitched screech, with Matsuda grabbing her arm tightly enough that he burned little red crescents into the pale skin.

“P-Please…” He choked, lowering his head so that Enoshima couldn’t see his face.

Still giggling away to herself, Enoshima leant back a little, the position allowing her to grab ahold of Matsuda’s chin again. “What?! Are you fuckin’ crying?!”

Matsuda bit his lip, squeezing his eyes shut in hopes of hiding the fact they were watering from her analysing gaze. However, that completely fell apart when she kneed him hard again, and Matsuda couldn't help himself with the sudden burning in his eyes, throat, and groin.

It felt like his guts were being ripped out more and more with each passing second, the pain and pressure searing through him. There was no stopping the tear that leaked from the corner of his eye, gliding down his burning cheeks.

“You are crying!” Practically squealing with delight, Enoshima dug her bright-red claws into his skin again, causing more tears to spill from Matsuda’s eyes as he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. “Oh that’s so precious, I haven’t seen you cry in forever!”

“J-Just stop. Get off.” Matsuda croaked, wrenching his face from her grasp so that he could turn his face away. “You said you wouldn’t laugh.”

Enoshima couldn't hold back the cackle that slipped past her lips. “Yeah, when we were kids.”

As soon as she said that, Matsuda completely descended into loud sobs that made him shake and twitch.

“Jesus, are you seriously that worked up over it?" She could hardly contain her confusion as he brought his hands to his face, wiping at stray tears. "Just because I squashed your puny little balls?”

Crawling off Matsuda's lap, Enoshima observed closely with a wide grin stretched over her face. She knew exactly why he was this upset, why it was tearing him up inside. His tears kept streaming down his face, smudging the mascara and leaving dark streaks down his cheeks, which only worsened when he attempted to wipe them away.

“Get out of my house.” Matsuda choked out, barely able to keep his voice from wavering.

“Woah woah woah! You’re just going to throw out a pretty girl like me just because you pissed your pants?” Enoshima giggled, putting a hand over her mouth in a shocked gesture before leaning in close to Matsuda’s ear. “Does it bring you despair that I’m no longer a child who’s willing to be pushed around by your shitty attitude?”

Matsuda shunted her off, not looking back as he slid off the bed and made a beeline for the bathroom, leaving Enoshima to roll over and gaze lovingly as he left

The door slammed loudly behind him, leaving Matsuda in a dead silent room, gasping and sobbing as he leant back against the wooden frame. He was so unbearably humiliated, sure. But even more than that, he was scared.

Scared of the monster Enoshima Junko was becoming.

"Well, I know where I'm not wanted! I also know when to call it quits and give up, unlike some people! " Enoshima yelled out to him in a singsong voice. "I'll see you tomorrow, Yasuke-chan!"

Matsuda grabbed his shirt, feeling his chest ache and airway tighten up. This wasn't right. This wasn't okay.

What kind of person was Junko becoming? Every year she became more and more sadistic, hungry for chaos and entertainment, fed up with Matsuda trying to lead her down a better path.

Being a model whilst she was still in high school, it was hard enough on the average psyche. But it didn't feel as though Enoshima were the victim of the media, of society. No, she was the prey. Climbing her way up the ladder, gaining more and more power and influence daily.

He had to stop this. He had to fix her. With his invitation to Hope's Peak, he could obtain the funding to research further into why this was happening to her, how to put a stop to it. And maybe he could find a way to cure his mother's disease, finally.

His breathing had calmed from ragged gasps into deep, shaky breaths. Matsuda let go of his shirt, making his way to the sink with shaking hands. He leaned onto it, glancing up at his reflection in the mirror

Those dark streaks down his cheeks made him look like a girl who had been dumped on her special day.

He grit his teeth tightly, turning the tap on hard before beginning to wash the marks off his face, rinse the burning from his eyes.

No matter what cruel things she did, he would not give up on Junko.

[solesurvivorpaigeargot]

Loving Stupid - Chapter One: Sanctuary [Fallout 4 Fanfiction]

HELLOOO Tumblr! Now that I’ve got this blog up and running, I wanted to do what I could to expand the exposure of my fic and get it around to new readers. While it’s already up on Fanfiction.net , it seems to me that the majority of the community prefers Ao3 or reading directly here on Tumblr. So, I figure why not post it over here as well? 

Though a heads up that this first chapter was first written entirely for personal enjoyment, and then a friend I showed it to encouraged me to expand upon the story cause they wanted to see more of the ship. XD It’s uh... lil spicy. Or lemony, depending on how old you are and how far back your fic vocab goes.

Story Title: Loving Stupid

Story Summary: Paige [Sole Survivor] and Hancock venture into the Glowing Sea in pursuit of a lead on the Institute, when a catastrophic equipment failure forces them to separate. 

Rating: MATURE

Content Warnings for this Chapter: Sexual content, drugs, alcohol, cursing

Content Warnings for story overall: Sexual content, drugs, alcohol, cursing, violence, blood, injury, needles, limb mutilation

Genre: .... erotic romance-adventure? IDK shit goes down and there’s some spicy scenes, but also a lot of character building and relationship stuff. I’m bad at genre assessment. Open to suggestions XD

.:_Sanctuary_:.

“So these are your digs, huh? … can't say it's my speed.”

“Not historical enough?”

“Nah, it's...”

Paige watched Hancock's face twist as he struggled to pick out what word fit his distaste, ghoulish features creating sharp valleys along fault lines in leathery skin while the shiny dark of his eyes appraised the home she'd built atop one of the empty foundations of Sanctuary Hills.

It wasn't anything special, wooden planks coaxed together into floors, walls, and roofing with nails and elbow grease. This was the only settlement where Paige had a place that was specifically hers, where she kept the little knickknacks and oddities she collected; all dutifully looked after by Codsworth-- ever dedicated to his task two centuries after it had been assigned to him. She'd given some life to the wooden bones of the shack, however; recycled fabrics became rugs and curtains with only mildly clashing patterns, and she even managed to cobble a number of worn out flannel shirts into a workable set of sheets for a double-wide bed that was, in truth, just a pair of smaller mattresses pushed together to pretend they were a queen size.

What could she say? She liked to sprawl.

Generators lit up Sanctuary at night with bare bulbs, and her little shack was no different. It brought yellow light against the dark, and reflected off a multitude of glass bottles, lined up on the shelves of a bureau she'd rescued, mostly intact, from the home of a long-dead neighbor. Whiskey, vodka, wine-- she jokingly called it her liqueur cabinet, despite the thing not having doors to lock the alcohol behind.

She'd done her best to make this a where place she could sleep soundly, when she was in the area. It was little more than a bed, a roof, and a lot of junk on shelves; insulated from the outside world with some sewn-together fabric scraps... but stepping over the threshold always made her feel like she'd entered a sort of... bubble. Not safe-- nowhere was safe-- but... quiet.

She could pretend, here.

“Comfortable.” Hancock decided, grousing out the word. “Damn near cozy-- you put this together?”

“With my own two hands.” She informed him; trust Hancock to find an issue with comfort-- then again, she couldn't blame him. Comfortable people had a habit of being complacent people, and they both knew that was where a lot of ugliness could happen... but his opinion didn't stop her from stepping inside and divesting herself of the pieced together armor that she layered over a set of somewhat over-sized army fatigues, reclaimed after clearing an old base of ferals. There was a wooden bin by the door for that stuff; she'd have to strap it all back on in the morning... but for now she was grateful to take a load off, starting with an enameled metal helmet.

“I've watched those hands beat faces to a bloody pulp. I didn't figure they could sew.”

She scoffed at him, rolling her eyes as she heard him trudge inside anyhow, metal door closing behind him, and set herself to the straps that kept her secured within the bits of metal and leather that frequently kept her alive on the road. Left arm first, a metal shoulder piece coming loose, and the whole ritual making her feel as if she were shedding skin.

She didn't tell him that she might have been a housewife a few centuries ago-- that was a different life. The idea that someone could live so cushy as to devote themselves to home-making and nothing else was a fever dream in this age, and while Hancock probably had enough chems in his pockets to attempt imagining it, she didn't feel like trying to paint the picture for him.

She didn't want to know what he'd think of her, knowing just how... comfortable she'd been.

“I'm a woman of many talents.” She snarked instead as another heavy piece of metal thumped into the bin, freeing up the shoulder beneath to roll and stretch. “Don't worry about getting used to it-- this is a one night stop. First thing in the morning, I'm seeing to the upgrades on the armor, and then back on the-- ah--”

Hands-- surprisingly strong hands despite withered skin that clung to spindly bones. She didn't know how that worked-- Hancock wasn't a big man, and the ghoulishness made her think he'd be frail... instead he'd hefted a flamer onto his back when he set out with her, and carried it from one end of the Commonwealth to the other without complaint. Finding those hands suddenly assisting with undoing the straps at her sides so that her chest piece could come loose was a surprise; simple and sure movements causing the scavenged military combat armor to come loose and slide forward. Without an anchor, it slid forward until the hard edge of the back plate caught on her neck and stopped it from simply falling to the floor. Meanwhile, Hancock's hands had slid in along her ribs, pressing firmly into the rough fabric and reminding her that they were, for the first time in a while, blissfully alone.

“I'm aware of that.”

Her lips pressed together-- a low sigh was expressed with his rough whisper in her ear. She swore he knew how much that got to her, despite her very deliberately not telling him. It was a struggle not to react, not to lean back as he reeled her in, those spidery hands easily finding their way upwards beneath the hanging breastplate and his chin perching on her shoulder. He'd pulled them together, his body against hers, and punctuated the move with a mischievous chuckle.

“Sometimes a little too talented-- doin' everything yourself, despite having a public servant waiting in the wings.” He teased her. “Let a ghoul help, eh sister?”

It wasn't entirely unexpected, nor unwelcome, but his eagerness was something that caught her off guard. She usually had something to say, something sly to come back with, but for some reason all she could focus on was the ticklish clutch of her gut as his fingers gathered up the material of her shirt in their traveling to her bust, squeezing fitfully enough to expose an inch of skin at her belly.

“Hancock--” She muttered, squirming slightly, but not in earnest. “C'mon, we've got the whole night--”

“That's right.” He agreed, but it was with an entirely different tone. One hand remained up, keeping her tight to him, while the other traveled down. The thin ribbon of skin that had been exposed was soon graced with the specific texture of his skin; rough, but not terribly so. Like callous, only it was all over; somewhat leathery and unique. His entire palm invaded through that opening, hard against her belly as fingertips sought out a path further south. “We've got the whole night-- and I didn't plan on wastin' any of it...” His fingers were ruthless once they found purchase, shoving past the tight fit provided by a belt she was wearing. “Did you?”

Her breath shuddered. No part of her wanted to tell him no-- the rush was enough to make her ignore the metal edge digging into the back of her neck, and forget how doggedly exhausted she'd been after their long trek here... particularly lugging her own weight in lead along the way.

In her hesitation, he'd gotten far enough to make a more intimate contact-- damnably persistent, like ivy finding the cracks in brickwork to wheedle its way in.

He pressed in against her, too certain to be deterred by straps and clothes. Barriers had been passed without any show of manners, knowing her well enough that if he was unwanted she would have thrown him off by now... and getting a sweet gasp as his reward.

“There we go.” His smile was evident in his tone-- no, not a smile, a grin-- a smug, shit-eating grin. She could imagine how it looked on his face, and knew he'd be wearing it for hours just to make her glare at him.

It didn't matter. Everything he'd done so far was just testing the water in his puckish, incorrigible way. Now he had her, and his wrist twisted as he worked that hand just a little further into her pants before slipping a fingertip against soft flesh. The motion was a sort of rocking of his hand, sliding the single offending finger down between sensitive lips before drawing back upwards with the tip pressed in, working up a little warmth in general and offering up a little tantalizing pressure to wake up the sweet spot for later, stroking her like that as his hips pitched against hers to turn her away from the bin next to the door and instead face her against the closed portal they'd entered through, reinforcing that he had her.

Without thinking, her right hand came out to brace against the door. Cold metal barely registered, just that it gave her something to push back against as he leaned in harder against her back, idly kneading her breast as he stroked her beneath restrictive layers of cloth and leather.

“O-oh... damnit, Hancock--”

“I was thinking fuck it, actually.” He smirked, still right by her ear for that quip before finally leaning back the necessary inches and releasing her breast to help her get her armor the rest of the way off, falling to the floor with a hard thud instead of getting placed in the bin. Pitching his shoulders back, hips pressed forward, grinding against her to advertise himself against her rump. “... just like this...” He added, losing a little breath as he suggested it, that free hand of his coming right back as if magnetically drawn, this time landing at the top of her hip and sliding upwards to expose a few more inches of skin-- his palm on her back, pushing with his surprising strength to encourage her to bend forward.

Bend over, actually.

She got his meaning, groaning softly as his stroking remained steady. She didn't resist the push, her hand shifting against the wall as her body dipped lower and her own free hand fumbled with the latch for her belt. The strip of leather resisted her, frustrating her fingers for a few agonizing moments as the sensation of his hand brought on another faint sigh, slipping against her with more ease as her body reflected her own eagerness; building with the anticipation. Then, finally, she managed to yank it just the right way for the latch to loose, the pressure of having his hand shoved in where it was such a tight fit relived, and further tugging releasing the subsequent button and zipper before they became obstacles... and before her hands became utterly uncooperative.

The loosened hem could be yanked down on his side, exposing more precious skin to the evening chill that crept in through the walls. Gnarled knuckles hooked on the hem, and fingertips got her underwear in the same dragging motion that demanded quick access. The lower she bent, the more he leaned against her, miming what would come in due time. It wasn't until he had her ass bare, pants and underwear drug down below the swell of her hips, that he finally pulled his own body back the inches necessary to attend to a few layers of fabric himself... but he didn't let off touching her as quickly. The hand that exposed her lingered, fingertips ghosting the sensitive skin just below the curve of her rump and sending a tingle across her skin, before his weathered palm pressed up and squeezed hard, his thumb sliding up to the top of her hip while his fingers rotated down. Finally, he finished up the groping with a light swat, chuckling behind her.

“Fuck you look so good like this...” He marveled, and she could hear layers of fabric moving against each other. “I just wanna wreck you.”

“Shut up and-- nnnnnnnh--”

She couldn't see him, but she felt him; hard and hot against her skin, pressed first between her thighs before he adjusted himself upwards. His finger's rubbing of her had paused, that hand simply anchored there as, from the rear, he worked himself against her, dragging the tip of himself this way and that until he found just the right angle to slick himself up with her excitement... and making her crave him in the process as she flexed her hips back towards him, trying to make it easier for him.

Somehow, some fucking how, she'd gone from exhausted to needy in the span of only a few minutes. It was the kind of eagerness that usually belonged to the young and dumb-- insanity she thought she'd left behind in her teen years, but he always found a way to draw it out of her.

She had no idea how he did that, but she never wanted it to change.

“Yeah?” His voice had dropped, the word barely differentiated from the heavy sigh it was carried out on. “C'mon, you can moan for me... no one's gonna hear you this time...”

More of him, pressing between wet lips-- and then more; there was resistance, going for it quick like this always meant it was a little rough, but it was the kind of sensation that left her gasping aloud as she went from craving that feeling of him to having him sink into her and remind her just how good it felt. Imagination, memory-- it always fell short, not quite living up to what it was in the immediate reality of the moment. Friction and heat, bound up in an intimate need-- just as addicting as any of the chems he slipped into her pockets whenever he thought she looked strung out.

Out of reflex, her jaw clenched tight, denying the urge to moan aloud and her body clenching around him instead. Both hands had applied themselves to the wall, and her breath shook as teeth ground together, resisting.

“Oh shit-- fuck-- if you squeeze me like that, I'm gonna...”

His hips bucked forward after a short draw back, the hand he'd been using to guide himself against her now finding its way to anchor at the crease that formed between her hip and her body as she bent against the wall, yanking her tight against him with the same motion before coming to a sharp stop. She could feel him inside, throbbing and thick, and the jolt made her jaw drop open for a short exclamation to escape her.

Buried, he began to rub her from the front again, abandoning the long strokes he'd used to warm her up and instead zeroing in on where she was most sensitive. Where his opening moves had all been about pressure with maximum contact, he changed tactics to only flick across her with the tip of his finger, instigating another tightening of her body as her resistance to making noise produced a shudder instead.

“D-don't--” She finally managed to murmur. “Oh God-- Hancock, you don't have to--”

This was a quickie-- an opener. She didn't expect this kind of attention; he always made up for it later, after a little Jet got him going again. This was usually the part where he took her by the hips with both hands and went to town, but instead he held her to keep them both tightly together, all while--

“F-fuck--” A whispered curse, kept lower than a murmur, followed by a greedy breath. He wasn't letting up, despite her telling him he didn't need to bother. She tried to push herself back against him, to antagonize him, but his fingers only tightened their grasp on the side of her hip as he leaned forward over her, ensuring that he was the one in control.

A defined clutch passed through her, centered at her core.

“Oh fuck-- mmmm--!”

“There you go... c'mon, let it out...” He coaxed her, rocking himself back in another short motion before jolting back into her again, letting out a guttural sound of his own as he did so. “Lemme hear you...”

It was an old habit to hold back, to grit her teeth and hold her breath-- anything to keep quiet. Her own fingers, once splayed open against the metal door, curled inwards into fists as the sensation built up, deep and desperate gasps getting drawn in through her nose as her jaw remained tightly closed, lips pressing hard against each other as she hummed and swallowed. Her head dropped down, his touch taking more and more of her focus.

Old habits were hard to break, but he was a new habit. One that liked to push at her old habits and see how long they'd stick.

Toes curled inside her boots, eyes closed without thinking. There was no thinking-- no, just her perception of him; the weight of his body against hers, the grip of his hand, and sound of his breath, all as her body underwent jolts that made her hips continue to try and rock back against his, one of her hands eventually lifting and banging back onto the door as the sensation turned briefly sharp, jaw loosing for a raw gasp between her lips and a guttural groan. “F-Fuck Hancock, you're gonna--- oh-- oh-- shit--”

“Rub you raw?” He completed the thought she was trying to articulate, drawing in a heavy breath of his own. His own hips rocked now, a minimal motion of a man that could barely help himself. “Wouldn't... wouldn't dream of it... just love the way you squeeze...”

The rocking changed things, introduced that delightful sensation that scratched the ineffable itch he'd aroused in her. Pressure and friction as he kept up his assault on her sensitivity made her knees wobble with a threat to give out, breath viciously driven out of her lungs in a single erotic moan.

“Fuck...” He murmured emphatically. “Sing for me babe... it's so pretty...” He encouraged her, pressing his face against the back of her neck as he kept a steady tempo. He was fully against her, laid over her back and abandoning his grasp on her hip to reach forward, those thin fingers of his stealing beneath the buttoned blouse of her fatigues and taking a demanding grasp on her breast; stalled only momentarily by the worn elastic band of her bra. The heel of his hand ground upwards at first, pressing in against her ribs, before he was pulling on her again, ensuring she remained anchored against him as he kept up the rocking motion he'd adopted over more conventional thrusting.

“Ah... ah shit... shit- shit-- J-John, oooooh... oh fuu...”

She lost the thread of why she'd been protesting in the first place. Her jaw fell open, and another moan came out; louder as everything began to come together. The movement, his insistent grasp, that very specific sense of fullness within her body and the craving it both satisfied and aggravated at the same time--

“Yeah?” He breathed against her ear. “You gettin' there, sweet thing? … good... I wanna feel it... And once you're over the edge, I'm gonna rail you until I burst.”

A thrill ran through her, like electricity that danced along her spine. Now that he'd articulated his intention, she wanted it, too.

“C-close...” She whimpered, nodding her head faintly. “J-just like that... l-little higher... rub a little higher... little circles around my-- oh- oh god- there- fuck yes-- there--!!”

Feverishly murmured coaching that directed his stroking where the craving was strongest sent her further than she expected to go, her head and chest dipping lower as her elbows bent and her forearms joined her hands in being braced against the door, a defined shaking running through her person as she went up to her toes and the rubber soles of her boots dug into the floor, further flexing her hips back in the desperation to have that sense of fullness as her body seemed to anchor itself on where they were intertwined. More than just laying open, her jaw stretched for her cry out with the rush.

His grip on her changed. He wasn't leaned over her anymore, but pitched back as both of his hands found their way to her hips.

God, she could feel him; the meeting of their bodies dominated her brain as she felt him throb within her shortly before he changed to much more active motions. There, again, was that surprising strength as he drew back and adjusted himself just low enough to begin taking her roughly, groaning between sharp breaths as his hips shocked against her rump with every thrust.

Her body was still squeezing, still rippling from what he'd just put her through, aware of the force in his every motion as he drove into her tightly clenched core.

“A-aah... aaanngh--!!”

A hitch, and his voice gave out for a more primal noise, his motions growing more hurried as she felt his nails digging into her hips. There'd probably scratches to attend to later-- not the first time. His breath juddered, followed by a gasp before it was held a moment. All at once, everything came to a halt, a shuddering swell moving up through his flesh that came shortly before a certain warmth spread within her; passed from him to her.

He claimed a sharp breath after, followed by a relieved exhale as his hands loosened. He didn't release her just yet, but he wasn't clutching quite so hard anymore.

“...shit that felt too good...” He muttered faintly as she tried to regain her own breath. One hand and forearm remained braced on the door, but the other had released to reach backwards for him, flexing her fingers to show she desired another kind of contact, and getting one of his hands in return for the non-verbal gesture. Once intertwined, she squeezed him, and let out a faint and almost girlish giggle.

“Too good...?” She quested, surprised he'd ever entertain the concept.

“Damn right.” He lobbed back, squeezing in return. “It's the kind of good a guy gets addicted to... Gotta find us some privacy a little more often.”

Don't have to tell me twice.

This was about the point where bodies needed to come apart; signaled by their hands drifting away from one another after that comforting squeeze... but that process was interrupted.

There was a knock at the metal door Paige was braced up against.

“General? Do you have a moment?”

… Preston, your timing is a disaster.

She recognized the voice in a heartbeat, and it was exactly the sort of person who had previously voiced his disapproval of her and Hancock's partnership... and he didn't even know about the more intimate details of said partnership. There was a shock associated to hearing his voice at this particularly compromised moment, one that made her face flush as she was excessively thankful for the solid door between them.

More thankful that he hadn't shown up a few minutes ago, when he might have heard a thing or two through that door.

Behind her, she more felt than heard Hancock's muted chuckle.

“I'm a little occupied at the moment, Garvey.” Paige answered back through the door; not entirely a lie. “Is it urgent?”

“Just a couple questions I'd like to ask, that's all.” Preston's voice answered back. “Security concerns.”

That was code for yes, it's urgent to me. Preston had been very particular about security ever since she assigned him to it. Making him wait would prompt more questions later, and possible lost trust with him and his group.

Despite very much not wanting to, it sounded like she was going to need to put her clothes back on for a little while.

“Just a minute, I'll be right out.” She informed him.

“Yes, sir.”

“Awee...” Hancock quietly cooed, easing himself away from her. “No cuddle time?”

Finally able to straighten up, she shot a look back at him that encouraged him to shut his face before she broke some part of it in lieu of his mostly missing nose... before cracking a smirk. “There's a bathroom behind that partition--” She directed him quietly, muting her voice to lower the chance it would carry. “No hot water, but it's clean.”

“Heh, ritzy.” Hancock smirked back. Looking at him, she was able to see exactly how ruffled his coat and blouse had ended up, with trousers only shifted just enough out of the way to get away with what they'd just done. He hadn't made any motion to arrange himself back into those trousers, though, appearing all too comfortable to just let it all hang out. “Is that your way to telling me to put it on ice? Cause if anyone needs cleaning up right now, it's you.”

He was right; she was a sticky mess between the thighs, and standing upright allowed for dripping between her legs. Usually she would have insisted on some clean cloth and water to manage that with, but at the current moment? She reached down and simply pulled pants and underwear back up, zipping, buttoning, and straightening both bra and blouse until it was impossible for anyone to know what they'd been up to by simply looking at her... and with only him aware of the specific nature of what was probably going to end up staining her undergarments.

“I'll make you clean it up, later.” She informed him playfully. “It's your mess.”

“Oooh... dirty.” He chuckled. “Don't threaten me with a good time.”

Her look hardened, making a motion at him that encouraged him to shoo-- the last thing she needed was to open the door and have Garvey catch a glimpse of her companion with his dick out. Hancock pouted at her, but ultimately obeyed.

With a sigh, she turned herself back towards the door, hesitated a moment, and then finally grasped the handle to push it open and head out.

Doing so was not unlike a splash of cold water to the face. Twilight was a good hour past, and the night sky was filled with stars without a single cloud to obscure them. There was a stiff wind tonight; enough to snap Garvey's trench coat against his legs and make the man pull up the swell of his scarf a little more to protect his nose and cheeks.

Going from the relative comfort of her little home-made haven, as well as the heat of her recent encounter, into the abrupt chill of the night with a sharp wind in her face could have only been more of a shock to the system if it had been raining.

As she emerged, Garvey looked back to appear in profile to her. The man was always at the ready, laser rifle held upright over his chest and his eyes brightly aware despite the dark of the night. Paige's shack was at the far end of Sanctuary; away from where she'd built housing for the other residents, as well as where she'd set up crops, power generators, and water. Looking down the slight hill her shack sat upon at Preston meant also seeing the lights of the settlement beyond him; the faint yellow glow of something that could almost be called a town as the back-drop to his silhouette and shining gaze.

“Garvey.” She greeted him by his last name; it felt more professional, what with him always insisting on calling her General since she'd helped him revive the Minuet Men and retake their old headquarters. “What can I do for you?”

“Like I said, I just had a few questions...” He answered, peering further up and towards the shack. She couldn't see his face; her abode featured no outdoor lights, and with the glow of the settlement behind him his features were cast in shadow. “... where's the ghoul?”

The ghoul. She could practically taste the disapproval on that one.

“Hancock is taking this chance to wash some of the wasteland out of his clothes.” She responded. “Is your security concern about him?”

“No, no, of course not. If you trust him, that's enough for me.” Preston assured her. “But, uh...”

“Out with it, Garvey.” She ordered sternly.

“I was manning the watch when you came back to Sanctuary, General-- I saw you brought back your power armor, and it looked like you were carrying a heavy load of supplies. I know you'd tell me if anything were coming for us here, but... I didn't see any of it go out with the traders, and that made me worry. So, I've gotta ask; do you think something nasty is coming up this way?”

She blinked. Preston thought she was stockpiling for an incoming threat. She almost wanted to laugh aloud, but couldn't manage it. Instead, she stepped down from her place above him on the hill, coming to stand at his side while still looking out at the settlement.

“No,” She answered him. “Nothing's coming here. I'm preparing for a journey into dangerous territory... I need to upgrade my armor before we head out, and we needed a safe place to rest our heads before we committed. I want every advantage we can get under us before we go.”

A pause. Whatever he expected to hear, that wasn't on the list.

“... General, you know all you'd have to do is say the world, and I'd--”

“I'm going somewhere you can't follow, Garvey.” She responded flatly. Of course he wanted to go with her, probably wanting to convince her to take him instead of Hancock. He considered himself more capable, more trustworthy; the better choice on all fronts.

She'd disagree with him outright, but Hancock also had a very specific advantage over Garvey that would leave him no grounds to argue on.

“I'm going into the Glowing Sea.”

Silence. The pause stretched out for several beats, no doubt as Preston processed what exactly it was she was saying.

“... I see. The armor will protect you from most of the radiation, and your companion is immune.” He observed. “... smart choice.” He added, begrudgingly, before asking, “But why are you going in there? Even with the armor, you're going to need to be carrying your weight in medicine to even have a hope of making it back alive...”

“It's important. That's all I can say right now.”

A month or two ago, she might have told him. Before getting involved with the Underground Railroad, before encountering a synth and the person they were trying to replace at the same time and very nearly killing the wrong one during the confrontation, before learning exactly how the institute dealt with people they didn't want to have around anymore... But now? There was doubt in her mind, about almost everyone. Was Preston really Preston? Or was he just another set of eyes and ears for them? If she mentioned a defector, hiding out in the Glowing Sea, would they somehow beat her to that defector and kill them?

She couldn't risk it. This was her line on Shaun, on her son. Right now, the only person she trusted was the one who was going with her; Hancock... and even he didn't know exactly why they were going.

Granted, he hadn't asked.

“... You're sure about this?” Preston quested quietly.

She scoffed. “... barely.” She answered back. “But it's the only way forward I have right now.”

She'd already decided on a direction. Her doubts didn't matter anymore.

“Then I suppose the only thing to do is wish you luck.” He sighed, turning to face her and taking a hand off the stock of his laser rifle to offer it to her. She, in kind, turned to him and took it, sharing a firm shake. “Whatever you're facing, if there's anyone who can survive it, it's you. You already provisioned?”

“Been buying out all the Rad Away and Rad-X I can find.” She confirmed. “Cleaned out every trader between here and Diamond City. Tomorrow morning I take all the lead I've collected and upgrade the power armor to withstand the radiation... and then we'll be suiting up and heading out.” She paused, withdrawing her hand from his. There was something else that had to be said; something she'd been hoping to save until they were on their way out, so there'd be no space to argue about it... but now was probably the kinder time to say it. “Garvey, if I don't come back--”

“You're coming back.” He interrupted.

“If I don't,” She pressed. “You'll be back in charge of the Minute Men. You can't hesitate from that. We've got enough supplies to last a day out there-- maybe two or three if we find a place to shelter that's not soaked in rads, like a cave or a pre-war bomb shelter that's somehow intact. If I don't come back to Sanctuary within that time? You need to take over properly and keep up the fight.”

He was quiet. He didn't like it.

“... I don't know if I can live up to what you've done for us, Paige.” He admitted, softly. “But... if it comes to that, I'll do my best by you.”

“... that's all we can do out here, Preston.” She affirmed in kind. “I know you're the man for the job.”

“Let's try not to find out.” He rebutted.

That time, she let out a faint laugh. “Don't worry.” She told him. “I'll be doing my best, too.”

__________

Chapter One: You are here Chapter Two: [hasn’t been posted to Tumblr yet, will add link when I’ve got it up... oor you could just go read the story so far on Fanfiction XD]

If you enjoyed reading this, please consider reblogging it to help me find a wider audience! <3

[notapaladin]

if i was born as a blackthorn tree

There is no plot here. There is not even a smidgen of plot here.

...There is, however, lots of Teomitl getting tied up and having a very good time with it (also something in there about shows of trust/etc), so have fun with that. Smut, as usual, below the cut!

Also available on AO3.

-

The wind was screaming outside, heralding a storm, but inside Acatl’s house it was still and quiet. The torches barely even flickered in their holders. Teomitl exhaled slowly, eyes sliding shut. He felt like his heart should be racing—it had, when he’d proposed this, and Acatl had been flushed and hesitant and full of are-you-sure’s and is-this-really-alright’s—but instead it lay calm and steady in his chest, each beat steady as a drum. There was no need to worry. He was safe. Acatl would take care of him.

The cords tightened a little around his wrists, and Acatl slipped two fingers between the cotton and his skin to test the fit. His touch was warm on Teomitl’s skin—warmer still because this was, at the moment, the only place they touched, even though he knelt between Teomitl’s spread legs. His voice was soft. “Alright?”

He rolled his shoulders, considering. Yes, he could move—having his hands tied above his head wasn’t so much of an impediment, not for a trained warrior—but that wasn’t the point. The point was, just for tonight, to put himself and his pleasure entirely at Acatl’s mercy. To make sure that his honorable lover, who put his full trust in nothing short of the gods themselves, knew that the gods weren’t the only ones worthy of the honor. To demonstrate faith, and willingness, and commitment. Let me show you how well I intend to obey you, he’d whispered then, and Acatl had made a sound that would live in his mind forever. The memory made him shudder, made his cock throb, and it took a moment for him to find his voice. “Yes.”

“Good,” Acatl said, and kissed him.

It was entirely possible that he’d meant to make it sweet and tender. His lover was good to him like that. But if that was his plan, it only lasted a moment; Teomitl hummed when their lips met, and then Acatl was deepening that kiss and turning it into something hungry, something with teeth. All Teomitl could do was arch into it, letting his mouth be coaxed open for Acatl’s tongue and gasping at the sting when he caught his lower lip between his teeth. “Nnh, Acatl…” More, he wanted to say. Touch me more.

“Mm?” Acatl broke their kiss, mouth red and eyes heated. “What do you want, Teomitl?” He’d kept a hand where Teomitl’s wrists were tied, and now he squeezed lightly.

He took a breath. “Touch me.”

One finger trailed lightly—too lightly—over the inside of his wrist. It almost tickled, but then Acatl used his nails and it stung just enough to be interesting. “I am touching you.”

“Not like that.” They still weren’t touching nearly enough; he felt his pulse pound with the sheer awareness of his own skin. He wanted to draw his knees up and wrap his legs around Acatl’s waist, but he forced himself to remain still. He’d sworn to let Acatl set the pace, and if that meant he was in for a torturously slow time...well, he wouldn’t complain. Not with the way Acatl was looking at him like something precious.

His lover’s eyes gleamed. “...Mmm. I see.”

Fingertips traced the veins in the underside of his forearm and down to his elbow, the faint scratch of nails making him shiver. He almost wanted to close his eyes, the anticipation too much to bear, but he didn’t. Acatl’s eyes were still locked on his, and those cool and calloused fingers were continuing down over his shoulder now. When nails dug into his collarbone, he gasped.

And Acatl smiled. “You’d rather I leave marks, don’t you?” He drew his nails slowly down over Teomitl’s chest, hard enough to leave red lines behind; they would fade within the hour, but he’d know they’d been there. Even now, they sparked over his skin. “You’d tell everyone they were from Mihmatini, but I’d look at you, and you’d know. They’d be our little secret.”

He shuddered, and this time he couldn’t stop himself from squirming in a way that slid the inside of his knees along Acatl’s flanks. It didn’t go unappreciated; he saw the way Acatl’s eyes darkened, the way his half-hard cock pulsed a little stiffer. “I,” he panted. Wouldn’t tell anyone—want to tell the truth—want to let even the gods know how well you treat me—but he couldn’t say any of that, because Acatl chose that exact moment to scrape his thumbnail over one nipple, and it left his mind blank.

“Ah!” It just kept going; after a moment Acatl started to devote his attention to the other one too, circling those sensitive little nubs of flesh in ways that sent raw pleasure sizzling down his spine. It was all he could do to keep his bound hands where they were; his legs were beyond his control, calves pressing against Acatl’s ribs in a desperate and futile attempt to urge him on. He sucked in a breath. “Fuck you, Acatl, you know how much I—nnh!”

Acatl was just as hard as he was, but seemed entirely unwilling to cease tormenting him. Indeed, when Teomitl snarled at him, his voice took on a tone of dry amusement. “You enjoy that.”

And then he lowered his head and replaced his fingers with his tongue. Teomitl was shocked into a cry of pleasure, back arching helplessly. The first scrape of teeth on already-primed flesh made him keen, shuddering down to his bones with the effort of staying still—of being as obedient as he’d sworn to be, of not twisting out of the ropes and taking control. I promised I wouldn’t. I promised.

But gods, Acatl was relentless. When he found something Teomitl enjoyed, he’d keep it up until they were both sated, and with Teomitl unable to retaliate he was perfectly capable of drawing it out all night. His tongue was molten, soft but not soothing in the least, and the way the position made loose hair spill over Teomitl’s flanks only added to the assault of sensation. Even when he lifted his head, hot breath washed over Teomitl’s skin. “You’re more sensitive than I thought.”

“Because you’re teasing me—oh.” Acatl had never really stopped paying attention to his other nipple, and now he pinched it hard. With the pain came a surge of heat, something that was only intensified when Acatl’s other hand slid down over Teomitl’s ribs to his hip in a single smooth caress. Fingers squeezed, once—and stopped.

“You wanted to be at my mercy,” Acatl breathed. “You wanted me to do exactly this—to be selfish, to sate my desires in you. But if you truly want me to stop…”

“Don’t you dare,” he snapped. “Just...nnh…” That thumb was still idly circling in its spot, but it wasn’t enough. He rolled his hips, and Acatl—that bastard—didn’t move at all. His other hand stayed right where it was, nails digging lightly into his ass. Teomitl’s pulse hammered in his ears such that he almost couldn’t hear the way the wind still howled outside. Please, he thought breathlessly. Please.

Acatl drew in a breath, and for a moment he thought he’d won. But then he spoke, and his words dashed Teomitl’s hopes of release. “Oh, I won’t. There’s so much I want to do with you, after all.” His voice lowered to something very nearly a growl. “You’re always so eager to touch me, to run your hands all over me; it makes me feel a bit rushed sometimes. I never get a chance to explore you. Now you’ve given me one and asked me to take advantage, what else do you think I’ll do?”

He might have ventured a few ideas, but the rough and wanting and hungry edge in Acatl’s voice was eroding his ability to think. His entire world had narrowed down to the mat under his back, the tension in his wrists, the throbbing heat of his cock and everywhere Acatl was touching him. It was all he could do to gasp, “Gods, Acatl-tzin…”

“I can think of a few things.” Acatl sat back and studied him, head tilted. Though he was a little flushed—some embarrassment had never truly left—his voice was steady. “You’re so vocal. I’ve always wondered how you’d react if I were to truly take my time...mm, here, perhaps?” Fingers trailed down the inside of Teomitl’s thigh, just where he was sensitive, and he shuddered. “Or here?” Another touch, feather-light, to the curve of his throat. “Or if I prepared you to my satisfaction, never mind how much you demand that I fill you. I could spend hours with you, love.”

He made a noise that was definitely a whimper, low in his throat. He could see it dizzyingly clearly in his mind’s eye—Acatl’s strong, sure hands and deliciously hot mouth working him slowly, deaf to his pleas. Acatl stringing him out all night, bringing him just to the edge of release over and over, making him sob his name to the heavens before allowing him to come. It wouldn’t matter that he was Master of the House of Darts, that he would be Revered Speaker—Acatl had promised him hours, and he’d keep that promise. But he was wrong about one thing; if he did any of that, Teomitl wouldn’t be demanding. He’d be begging. “Fuck,” he panted.

“...That is the idea.”

It took a minute to sink in. Then he lifted his head, staring at him incredulously, and asked, “Did you seriously just make a joke at a time like this?!”

Judging by the look on Acatl’s face, he was just now realizing it as well. “Not on purpose,” he huffed, and he looked so offended at himself that if Teomitl hadn’t promised to be good he would have sat up and kissed him. He couldn’t help but smile, though, and Acatl smiled back. “You’re a terrible influence on me.”

“...But you love it.” He knew it was true; there was no way Acatl would have given him so much of his time and energy if it wasn’t. When Acatl laid a hand on his heart, he thought he might melt.

His lover’s eyes were soft and affectionate. “I do. But that’s not what you want tonight, is it?”

He sucked in a breath, about to agree—no, I want you to be selfish, I want you to claim me completely—but then Acatl’s mouth lowered to his neck and all he could do was whine in helpless arousal. It had taken no time at all for his lover to discover just how much he liked any sort of attention there, though their need for discretion meant they usually had to be careful. Tonight wasn’t a usual night. Lips pressed just under his ear, and he shivered.

“Oh.” With his wrists bound he couldn’t touch, couldn’t tangle his fingers in the shimmering obsidian fall of Acatl’s hair to keep him where he wanted; all he could do was arch, breathing hard, as the gentle, insistent pressure of that hot mouth grew sharp. Each little nip or rough hum drew an incoherent noise from him, a wordless little sound of encouragement. “Nngh...Acatl…” He knew he was whining. He didn’t care, not if it meant Acatl kept going.

Teeth settled at his neck just above his collarbone, where not even the most well-tied cloak could possibly hide it, and bit down. Hard.

“Acatl!” His lover’s name ripped out of him in a scream, and the tiny part of his brain still capable of any thought at all was glad that the howling wind would snatch it away. The rest of him was swimming in sensation, half-grinding against Acatl’s stomach in a vain search for any kind of relief. It hurt, it hurt, but all the pain just burned through his veins and left shaking need behind.

Acatl growled as the wet heat of his tongue swept over the place he’d just bitten—then his mouth moved, sucking at the tender skin in a way that would be guaranteed to bruise, and Teomitl gasped. It might have been his lover’s name, but he was rapidly becoming incapable of even that. Everyone will see. Everyone will know. “Ha...harder—ah!” There was that flash of pleasure-pain, and for a moment he thought—hoped—Acatl had broken skin. Make me bleed for you. Give the pain to the gods. I deserve it. But there was none of the shimmering heat of living blood meeting the air, and that was almost a disappointment. Almost. “Gods, gods, Acatl…”

“Hmm?” He could feel the vibration of that sound through his skin. When Acatl lifted his head, his eyes were sharp and bright as a jaguar’s. “Oh, do you want more?” He was clearly trying to sound uninterested and just as clearly failing; Teomitl only had to look down between their bodies to see the deliciously evident proof of that.

But he’d been asked a question, and he knew Acatl expected a prompt response. “Yes,” he rasped out. “Yes, please.”

Acatl sat up, and Teomitl mourned the loss of that lean body stretched over his. He didn’t mourn for long, though; lips trailed delicately over the inside of his thigh, and he let his legs fall open with a half-swallowed moan. Acatl murmured, “I’m sorry. I said I’d take my time with you, but...I’m afraid I can’t resist you for that long. You’re much too tempting.”

And you a priest, he thought fondly. There had been a time when the idea of tempting Acatl to break his vows had filled him with shame, but that time was long gone; now there was only a fierce, filthy sort of pride that Acatl desired him that much. Not that he could dwell on it; there was the sound of a jar of oil being opened, and it sent a hot pulse of anticipation through him. He shifted, raising his hips up a bit to put himself on display. The movement spread him just that tiny bit open, and this time he didn’t bother swallowing the sound that escaped his lips.

It didn’t go unnoticed. Acatl’s eyes went hot as he looked him over, and the fingers that trailed up his thigh were slick and purposeful. “I’d say you should relax for me, but I know that’s a lost cause.” There was a sharp little pinch, making Teomitl gasp as he continued—voice low and heavy with promise—“But oh, you’ve been very good for me so far. You should be rewarded.”

You’ve been good probably shouldn’t have made his cock throb so hard or made sheer want rear up like a striking snake in his belly, but it did. “Acatl—” Then one finger slid in, and Teomitl’s eyes rolled back in his head. There was so much oil that it dripped from Acatl’s hand and onto the mat under them, but that did nothing to dull the exquisite sensation of being breached. “More,” he gasped, but Acatl ignored him; he just kept pushing in, inexorably, up to the knuckle, until Teomitl was trembling helplessly around him. Then he started to move, and by now he knew Teomitl’s body as well as his own; each slow slide of that digit struck that spot that turned Teomitl’s limbs to jelly, pushed a gasping cry out of him, and he nearly sobbed with the urge to move.

It wasn’t like Acatl would let him. The hand not working him open and striking fire along his spine had his knee in a firm grip that kept his legs apart and made it very clear that Acatl would be setting the pace—and the pace he set was achingly slow. “More?” he breathed, and at Teomitl’s frantic nod another finger joined the first, stretching him—but it wasn’t enough. Oh, he certainly felt it; each curl of Acatl’s fingers and slow, deep thrust inside him built up the electric storm of pleasure to something that made his oversensitive skin shudder. But he wanted more than that, wanted to be filled.

“Acatl,” he whined—yes, whined, there was absolutely no room for dignity here—“please…”

A third finger, and now it almost hurt, but the ache was what he needed; he could feel himself being molded by those impossibly skilled fingers, had to shut his eyes in a vain attempt to stem the tide of pleasure. True, it was slower than he liked, but his body didn’t care; his hips rolled entirely on their own, tight little circles meant to get Acatl as deep as possible, and Acatl had to be affected too because he was moving a bit faster, was pumping those long fingers in and out in just the right manner to turn the skittering sparks into a conflagration, and each of Teomitl’s gasping cries came out close to screams. “Ah—harder, gods, just there—Acatl-tzin, please, please, just—more!”

“More of this?” Acatl growled. “Like this, my heart?”

“Yes,” he gasped, and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if Acatl obeyed him he’d come just from this alone.

Acatl hummed, sounding very satisfied with himself. “Alright, then.”

And then he stopped.

The building pressure was cut off so fast that Teomitl’s head spun—for a moment he could only tremble on the edge, breathing hard, and then he snapped, “Acatl-tzin!” in a tone that he’d intended as commanding but which came out more desperate than anything else. Those three fingers were still buried within him, unmoving, and he was trembling around them.

“Hm?” There was a smile on Acatl’s face. It wasn’t a very nice one, and belatedly he cursed himself for forgetting that Acatl could, when the mood took him, be downright mean on the mat. He cursed himself more for liking it.

“Fuck me,” he snarled.

Acatl’s eyes narrowed, voice taking on more than a tinge of displeased authority. “Ask nicely.”

He’d seen a similar expression quite often when he’d still been the man’s student, and it had always been much more stimulating than it ought to have been; he’d forever been torn between the need to please him and the wicked desire to rile him up further. Deployed now, when they were both naked and hard and eager, it only made him groan. “Acatl!” Wreck me. Ruin me. Show me how strong you are.

But that wasn’t a response to his command, and Acatl knew it. “Have you forgotten your manners?” He cocked an eyebrow and oh, that absolutely should not have gone straight to Teomitl’s cock, but it did.

He bit his lip. Acatl’s fingers curled, temporarily scrambling his brain, but then he gasped out, “Fuck me—gods, please—” and Acatl’s eyes gleamed.

Then those fingers were gone, and for a miserable heartbeat he was echoingly empty—but then Acatl was replacing them with his cock, and all Teomitl could do was moan in relief as he was finally, properly filled. His thoughts scattered to the four winds as Acatl pushed in, one smooth and relentless stroke that didn’t end until he was fully hilted. He could do nothing but take it, all his limbs trembling with disjointed heat as he adjusted. It was just so much, after all that had been done to prepare him; when he blinked, there were tears in his eyes. “Nnngh…”

“You feel perfect,” Acatl breathed. “My Teomitl.” He was utterly still, but from the faint tremor in his limbs and the white-knuckled fist he was holding himself up with, it was surely costing him. Teomitl wondered, briefly, just how long his self-control would last.

He met Acatl’s eyes and breathed, “Yours.”

And then he had his answer, because Acatl withdrew only an inch before slamming back into him, hard enough that his head snapped back and his body arched like a drawn bowstring as he cried out his pleasure. Yes, this was what he wanted, what he needed. Be selfish, he’d asked, and Acatl was doing just that. In this he was quiet, but his rough little grunts and snarls were music to Teomitl’s ears. When the right angle made him gasp and clench down, it pulled out a low growl of “Fuck, Teo—ngh, you little tease—” that sent shockwaves through him.

More. More. He bucked his hips frantically, and after a moment they established a rough, relentless rhythm. Each thrust fucked increasingly desperate cries out of him, but when he thought dizzily I have to touch him and went to bring his arms down Acatl’s hand was there, pinning his wrists flat to the mat again. He could have cried.

Acatl’s eyes went hard. For a moment his hips stilled, an infuriatingly tiny bit off from the spot where Teomitl desperately needed his cock to be. “You promised.”

His lungs burned, but he drew in a shuddering breath. “I did.” And I keep my promises. I always do.

“So long as you remember,” Acatl growled, and fucked back into him. Now his hands settled at Teomitl’s hips, bending and molding him into the position he wanted, and where he’d been merely relentless before, now he was ruthless. Every stroke inwards fed the flames into an inferno, building higher and higher until his blood was singing with it, until he could almost taste how close he was to release.

“Acatl.” It was too much, he wasn’t going to last. His voice cracked as he gasped his lover’s name. “Acatl—please, I’m—”

Acatl didn’t vary his pace by so much as a second. The words came out rough with his own hunger as he breathed, “Come on, I want to see you.” It wasn’t a request. It was a command.

It sent him over the edge. He came so hard his vision blurred and his world turned white around the edges, crescendoing pleasure sending lightning through his veins. Higher brain functions ceased entirely; for a moment he wasn’t even sure he was breathing. There was only tight, spasming need and release.

When he could think again he realized Acatl was still hard, and locked his legs around his waist before he could get any ideas about pulling out and taking care of himself. Yes, he’d just had one of the most intense orgasms of his life, but it wasn’t enough. Give me more, he thought fiercely. Give me all of you. I want it all.

And he did. He sped up when he was close to climax, pounding into Teomitl’s body in a way that ought to have hurt—and might have, if each thrust still hadn’t been at that perfect angle to wring yet more pleasure out of him. “Duality,” he panted. “Teomitl—“

And then he was coming, spilling himself so deep inside that all Teomitl could do was sob as his overstimulated body clenched around him. It felt like it went on forever, but eventually Acatl was still save for the heaving of his chest and the long, quiet shiver that coursed through him as he caught his breath.

For a long time afterwards, there was no sound other than their harsh panting and the scream of the wind outside, finally audible again as Teomitl’s heart stopped hammering against his ribcage. Finally Acatl pulled out, and Teomitl moaned as the action sent another little twitch of arousal through him. Even as spent as he was, it still felt good. “Mm…”

Acatl took a breath and let it out in a long sigh, lowering himself to his elbows. Like this, they were close enough to kiss, and his lips were soft and gentle when he did. So was his voice. “That was wonderful.”

“Mm-hmm,” he managed. Words were still just a bit out of his reach, even though the aftershocks of his own climax had faded. And then, too, his wrists were still bound, and now that he was no longer being driven to the end of his endurance with ecstasy it was getting sort of annoying. He grimaced, rolling his shoulders, and Acatl took notice.

“Here, let me…” Untying the knot would have been just as easy, but the sharp edge of obsidian just barely grazing Teomitl’s skin as Acatl sliced through the rope was another little pleasure. “How do you feel?”

“Gggnh,” he grumbled. And then, after a moment of working his jaw uselessly, “Great.” Worn out—gods, he’d feel it in his shoulders and hips for a week, and the spot where Acatl had bitten him would be a rainbow by dawn—but great. It was impossible for him to feel otherwise with Acatl taking care of him.

His lover’s smile was radiant. “I’m glad. I’ll clean us up, alright?”

That meant he had to pull away, and Teomitl missed the warmth and the closeness of him immediately, but then he was back with a damp towel and gentle hands, and all Teomitl had to do—again—was lay there and take it. It wasn’t a hardship. After all that, he wasn’t sure he could move. It was only with effort that he found his voice again. “Acatl, I…” Love you. Want you with me forever. Can’t wait to be crowned Revered Speaker, because then I’ll be a shield for your left hand and a sword for your right, and I swear the entire empire will know how much I honor and revere you.

Acatl settled onto his side, gazing at him fondly. “Hm?”

He felt his face burn. Everything he’d thought was true, but if he said any of it he’d have to say all of it, and he didn’t have enough strength for the speech Acatl deserved. So instead, he cracked a smile. “We should do this more often.”

“Have mercy on me,” Acatl muttered.

And then he chuckled, and Teomitl grinned in response, and then they were kissing again, long and sweet. Acatl’s hands settled at his waist; his own went, finally, into his lover’s hair. “Did I please you?” he murmured when they paused for breath; he hadn’t planned on saying anything, but it slipped out regardless.

Acatl lifted a hand to caress the side of his face, swiping a thumb across his cheekbone. His voice was the most tender thing Teomitl had ever heard. “You did. Very, very much. What you’ve given me...is well worth any risk.”

He exhaled slowly, knowing Acatl wasn’t just referring to what they’d just done. After what he’d nearly done to the Fifth World, he could still barely believe Acatl even liked him, never mind what the man was risking—his position, his very life—by allowing Teomitl onto his mat. And yet he did. Yet he slid his arms around him, holding him through the night. Yet he kept him safe, just as he did the eggshell-thin boundaries of the Fifth World. “...I love you,” he whispered.

Acatl kissed him again. “I love you too. Never doubt that.”

“...Even when you want to strangle me?”

He huffed a laugh. “Even then.”

Teomitl was still smiling when he fell asleep.

[thewinedarksea]

thief/assassin au pt 4

ft. (the mention of) handcuffs and a river. also liel’s flip-floppy emotions. mildly suggestive.

(part 1, part 2, part 3, part 3.5)

Sirens drifted through the air, faint from distance. There were at least five blocks between them and Liel but she walked faster nonetheless, gait casual as she strolled down the chill city streets. 

A cold wind skittered after her, slicing through her thin shirt; she’d been counting on a getaway car to provide warmth, so she was clad only in a pair of leggings and a top made for attraction and not practicality, her toes frozen inside the thin leather of her boots. Another gust of wind and she curved her shoulders inwards, tightening her grip around the hot chocolate cup in her hands. Warmth bled through the cheap cardboard and into her fingers, a mild protection against the temperature. It was the only thing keeping her going. 

Well. That, and the promise of getting revenge on Johann’s worthless hide ten times over. Liel was thinking a lifetime subscription to some truly awful porn mailing lists, maybe a stint in a minimum security prison depending on how long it took for her to get back to her hotel. Half a million in diamonds, ripe for the taking, and she’d had to abandon them all. Idiot kid. She didn’t know what street corner Emory had picked him off of, but he could damn well put him back. 

She stepped off the street and onto a bridge, blending with the horde of pedestrians making their way across. And there, propped up against the railing, her long black coat whipping in the wind, stood Celine. 

Despite the cold and the bustle of people flowing past her she looked unbothered, eyes on the river’s banks, just one of the many citizens taking a break from her everyday life to admire the view.

The sight of her sent a confusing tangle of emotions rushing through Liel: fear, always and ever-present, because she hadn’t survived ten odd years as a criminal without a healthy dose of being able to recognize a predator when she saw one, and wanting, too, sharp and immediate as a knife to the gut. More than both of those though was the annoyance, a matchstick flare that promised to ignite.  

Liel should walk away. She should go back to her hotel, drink a staggering amount of wine, and sink into the suite’s luxurious tub until the water washed away all the frustrations and disappointments of the afternoon. She should. But Liel had just had two weeks of planning go up in smoke thanks to a jumpy kid and an early guard patrol, and all that irritation was just begging for an outlet. Celine would do nicely.

She tossed her cup into a nearby trash can and wandered over, propping herself up on the railing, so close her arm brushed Celine’s sleeve. The river below was a chaotic swirl of dark water, shiny bits of aluminum and old coffee cups caught tumbling in its hold. On its banks the sidewalks teemed with life, awash with shoppers catching up on last minute holiday gifts. 

“I was going to complain about the cold, but I find I’m plenty warm just by being around you.” 

Celine didn’t so much as glance at her, her eyes fixed on one of the cafes lining the waterway. Liel squinted, trying to make out what she was looking at, but saw nothing besides some red striped umbrellas and a few customers enjoying a meal in the freezing cold. Masochists. 

“Because you’re from hell,” Liel elaborated. “Like a demon. Hellfire. It’s very amusing.” 

A faint smirk touched Celine’s lips, but that was the extent of her reaction. No teasing, no clever remarks. Not even an acknowledgement that the last time they’d seen each other Celine had had her hands around Liel’s neck, before they’d shifted to other, less mentionable places. 

The annoyance flared brighter the longer she ignored her. Liel wanted to draw a reaction, to claw some control from her perfect grip. Crack it, like she had the night of the party, Celine’s mouth on hers, gasping and half-breathless, teeth and tongue and sweet words that had spilled like a river from her lips.

Liel smiled up at her, batting her eyelashes in the way that normally made people fall all over themselves to give her what she wanted. 

“What’s a girl have to do to get some attention around here?”

“Try coming back when I’m not working.”

Okay, see, that was just rude. Liel had been working every time they’d crossed paths, but that hadn’t stopped Celine from fucking her over or just fucking her, period. It was called a double standard, and Liel had no intention of letting it get in her way. 

“Ooh, are you on a job?” She slid closer, pressing their sides flush together, and made a production of following Celine’s gaze back to the cafe. It didn’t take long for her to hone in on the trio sitting off to one side, their clothes worth far more than the cafe’s old facade warranted. The woman on the left was definitely packing a gun. 

“A hundred dollars says it’s the one in pink.” A shot in the dark, but it landed, Celine’s expression going even more carefully still. Liel pressed the advantage. “I could make some phone calls. I’m sure the police would be very interested in knowing someone hired an assassin to go after Miss Dior and Co. over there.” 

“And I could snap your neck right now and throw your body over the edge.” Celine’s voice was as cool and dangerous as ice. “But you wouldn’t make me do that, would you pet?”

The fear came back with a vengeance, her annoyance snuffed out beneath the douse of ice water sliding down her spine. It might have been a mistake antagonizing the girl who killed people for a living. A small, small mistake. 

“That does sound unpleasant,” Liel said as lightly as she could manage. “My neck is much prettier when it’s in one piece. Tell you what, I’ll just come back when you’re not working.” 

Celine’s hand lashed out, gloved fingers wrapping around Liel’s wrist as she moved to step away. 

“Oh no,” she said softly. “You said you wanted attention.” 

She was watching Liel now, cafe abandoned for more interesting prey. Her eyes slid over Liel’s body, noting the lack of a coat, the goosebumps littering the bare skin of her arms. Despite the chill Liel felt herself heat up, all too aware that the last time Celine had seen her it had been without a stitch of clothing. From the smug slant of her mouth she remembered it, too. 

“Poor thing. You’re shivering.” She tugged Liel in front of her, her head against her shoulder. Celine was unfairly warm despite the weather, warmth bleeding from her in far more pleasant ways than the hot chocolate had managed. Damage control, Liel reassured herself as she snuggled closer, allowing herself to melt into the heat. She had to protect her pretty neck, after all.

“And here I thought we were getting along so much better,” Celine murmured. Her breath ghosted against Liel’s ear, lips brushing skin with every word. “Threats don’t suit you.”

“Everything suits me,” Liel informed the sky because, honestly, she didn’t have much more to lose. It stared back, a pale, dispassionate gray that put her in mind of a blade. “Also, I’m angry at you.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Celine’s voice echoed in her ear as she wrapped an arm around Liel’s middle, drawing her ever closer. “Why so upset, sweetling? I thought our evening together went very well.”

“You tied me to a bed.” Liel’s legs struggled to hold up beneath the assault of Celine’s pet names, the scent of her rose perfume curling around her, light as a kiss.

“I did,” Celine agreed. “But I seem to recall that you begged me to do it. Quite prettily, too.”

Liel flushed all the way down, cheeks burning red. Memories stirred, flickers of Celine’s mouth on her neck, between her legs, biting at the skin of her thighs. She’d worn the bruises she left for a week, and the memory of them a hell of a lot longer.

“You didn’t untie me,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. One of the hotel staff had found her and boy had that been a particularly humiliating conversation to have. She’d been lucky the maid had proven sympathetic to her tale of a prank gone wrong. Luckier still that Celine hadn’t been cruel enough to call the police.

She could sense Celine’s smirk where it rested against the side of her head. “Consider it your punishment.” 

“For what?”

“You stole a drive from me when we first met.”

“That was three months ago!”  

A few heads turned in their direction at Liel’s cry, glancing away when they saw the two of them entwined. Liel made an effort to squirm out of Celine’s grip, swearing at the lack of give. Pettiness was her deal. It looked way cuter on her.

With an exasperated noise Celine crowded her forward against the rail, bending Liel over until Celine’s chin rested on the top of her head, her body pinned between metal and flesh with no easy method of escape.

“Stay still,” Celine chided. Her grip tightened until Liel subsided, slumping back against her. “That job cost me a lot of money, to say nothing of what it did to my reputation. You’re lucky all I did was tie you up.”

And threaten to kill her, and actually try to kill her. The list went on.

 “Can’t imagine how great your reputation is going to be if you get yourself caught throwing me off a bridge,” Liel muttered.

“Believe me, there are far more interesting things I would rather to do to you.” 

That sounded promising. Interesting typically required alive, which was a step up from a watery grave. Liel wriggled even further back, pressing herself into Celine until any distance between them was eaten up. 

“Elaborate on that?” she asked, sweet as she could manage. 

Across the river Celine’s target stood. Her pink dress, terribly impractical for the weather, swirled around her legs as the wind blew again, a bright streak against the dull pavement. At the motion Celine straightened, stepping away from Liel as quickly as she’d grabbed her. 

The frigid rush of air that crept into the space she left set Liel trembling all over again, colder now that she’d found protection and lost it. 

“Business calls,” Celine said, composed once more. God Liel hated her. “You have my room key?” 

And her bracelet, and half her credit cards. Liel hadn’t taken her gun, though, so honestly she should be heralded as a paragon of self-restraint. She didn’t bring that point up though. 

“I’m still cold.” Scared and pissed off, too, but she doubted she would care about that. 

Celine’s mouth twisted in amused exasperation, and then she stripped out of her coat, wrapping the garment around Liel’s shoulders like a shawl. The fabric was warm, the scent of her perfume clinging to the silky lining. 

“Be a good girl and wait for me in my room.” She leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Liel’s cheek. Her lipstick left behind a mark. “I’ll bring my handcuffs.”

“What if I say no?”

Celine paused in the middle of turning away, an eyebrow raising in mock surprise. “I thought you wanted me to elaborate. Although if you prefer the river, I will have to ask for my key back.” 

When Liel made no move to hand it over she smiled, teeth gleaming sharp in the sunlight. “It’s the Royal Suite. Don’t bother with clothes.”

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

The Guardian’s Oath, Part Nine

See, I told you there was going to be another update coming soon! 

This really isn’t going to make any sense unless you get caught up on the previous chapters, all of which are linked in the Master List. 

Pairing: Feargal Devitt/ Finn Balor x OFC

Word count: 2,429

Content advisory: Explicit sexual content, including some dub-con elements

What followed was the happiest period of my life. It was happier than anything I had imagined because until that time, I had never understood what it meant to be truly happy. For months, I had allowed myself to dream of the possibility of a life as Mrs. Feargal Devitt, of being his wife and of being more like a mother than a governess to William and Sophia. But each new day seemed to reveal a wonder to me that I had not considered, a detail that made my reality so much sweeter than my fantasy. First, it was the radiant faces of the children when we told them that I was to be the Reverend’s new wife, their eyes shining like they had been dreaming of the same thing. Kate was moved to tears and whispered to me that she had long believed that the Reverend and I would be married one day. 

Then there was the novelty of the wedding dress. I was frightened of doing anything too ostentatious, given that I was a servant and that I was marrying above my station and to a widower with two children of his own. However, it was also obvious that I would need something finer than any of the clothes that I already owned not merely for my wedding but more importantly for me to appear at home in my new role as the wife of the town pastor. Miss Graham, the seamstress, helped me choose a modest pattern without embellishments in cream and gold silk moire that felt extravagant even though I knew I was spending less than my future husband had allocated. 

While the people of the town had always been kind to me, I could feel that my position had shifted. I was no longer a servant; I was a member of their society. They spoke to me as an equal and wanted to engage me in conversation. I was awkward at first but I realized soon that I would be given the time to grow into this new role.

Our wedding was small, neither of us having family aside from the children, but it was no less joyous for being so. There was a light fog in the air that cast a soft glow over everything and the chill of the late winter air brought healthy roses to all of our cheeks. My heart raced, scarcely able to comprehend what was happening to me and what my life had become. I found myself overwhelmed by the end of the afternoon and quietly shed a few tears of happiness as I took my first meal as a wife and mother. 

At the end of the evening, Fearagal led me up the stairs to the master bedroom for the first time. Whatever strength had pushed me through the earlier part of the day, I felt it draining from my body with each step. My body felt heavy and clumsy, like I was some sort of imposter in this new role. 

“You’re trembling,” he said gently, cupping his hands around my face. “Please don’t be afraid of me.”

“Of course not,” I whimpered. “I don’t know…”

“I promise I won’t hurt you. I’ll be gentle.”

I nodded, unable to meet his earnest gaze. Of course he thought that I was nervous about what we were about to do because I was some timid virgin. The truth was that I was frightened that when he saw me or when he touched me, there would be some sign that I had been spoiled by another. I had examined every inch of my flesh a hundred times in the weeks leading up to our marriage and I had never found any mark that betrayed my secret but I still wondered if there wasn’t something, something only a man could tell, or something he would feel. As good a man as my husband was, I couldn’t imagine him being able to love me if he knew that I had let myself be defiled. 

He helped me remove my dress, trailing his lips along my neck and over my shoulders as he pushed the fabric back. We continued in this way, easing ourselves from our clothes and allowing ourselves to kiss and taste each new portion of flesh as it was revealed, a sort of game that made the process feel less awkward. The touches and caresses also stimulated something in me, the sort of sensations I had only experienced with Balor, that dark excitement that made my crevice grow wet. As he removed the last of his clothing, he gave me a little smile and posed so that I could see him, all lean muscle and milky skin. He stroked his erect prick as he looked at me and then guided us both down onto the bed. 

I kissed him deeply, moaning a little as I felt his hand slide between my legs. I knew that enjoying his touch was no sin and yet I worried that I might seem to enjoy it too much, or that I might not seem to enjoy it enough and that he would feel insulted. Relief rolled through me as I felt him smile against my lips. 

“You want me don’t you,” he whispered, rubbing his fingers harder along the outside of my opening. 

“Of course.”

I could hear the slick sounds as his ministrations, punctuated by his heavy panting made me grow wetter still. He started to press the tips of his fingers just inside me, pushing a little deeper with each pass. Finally, he withdrew his hand, returning it to his member which he dragged slowly along my soaked flesh. 

“You want it so much,” he chuckled. “I love how excited you are for it.”

I bit my lip and squirmed beneath him, running my hand over his chest. “I love you,” I breathed at him, stopping short before I called him “sir”, as I had before. I wrapped my arms loosely around his neck as he settled between my legs. 

“Lift your knees a little, love,” he guided me. “That’s good.”

He kissed me lightly as he pressed himself inside me, coming to a halt when he was fully sheathed. My breath caught for a second, convinced that he could feel something was wrong with me. 

“So warm, so perfect,” he sighed. “It’s like God built you for me.”

He began to move slowly, much more slowly than I had experienced before, but his speed increased steadily, along with the volume of his moans. He continued to shower praise on me, to marvel at the beauty he saw in my body, at how well we fit together, and finally I was able to relax enough to fully enjoy this new, pleasurable sensation, the way his long prick stroked at the sensitive places inside me, the thrill that shot through me every time he spoke, revelling in the cry he muffled by burying his face in the pillow next to me. I had never felt so beautiful as I did when I felt his body spasming as he released his seed into me that first time, or in the moments that followed as he pressed his sweat-glazed brow against my cheek and repeated again and again that he loved me. 

I must have fallen asleep to the regular rhythm of his breath next to me, for while I still felt wide awake, the room around me had changed completely. I thought I heard my name and sat up in bed, staring around in the darkness to see who had summoned me. Although it was still the same place, the ceiling seemed to rise forever and I could not make out the windows that should have been just a few feet away. I could hear the wind churning outside and the wild crashing of the waves, as if we had somehow been transported underneath the ocean. The air was chilly and filled with that familiar scent of salt and seaweed and the bedding felt damp to the touch. 

I could hear something breathing a short distance away, a throaty growl emanating from it from time to time. Feargal was sound asleep next to me and I had a terrible apprehension of what was in there with us. As quietly as possible, I slid from the bed, shuddering at the sodden floorboards underneath my bare feet. I made my way forward, towards the sound of the other in the room, moving for a strangely long time before I saw him there, illuminated by a soft greenish light that highlighted the dark sheen of his skin. 

Balor was sprawled back on an organic-looking throne of driftwood and stone, his eyes more luminous and dangerous than ever as he observed me approaching him. His breathing quickened and the muscles in his thighs flexed excitedly, drawing my eyes to his engorged cock, already glistening at the tip. He did not need to tell me what I was to do. He had given me the life I wanted and now I had to pay him. How long I would continue to pay, I didn’t know. 

Straddling his lap, I lowered myself on top of him. giving a sharp little cry when he pushed my nightdress away so that he could watch where our bodies joined. His rough hand rubbed at the mound of my sex, massaging the whole area as he pumped inside me, gradually closing in on the aching nub at its center. The pressure and pleasure built in me with such intensity that I thought I might actually die from it and yet I mindlessly pursued the sensation, grinding into the Demon’s hand like there was nothing else in the world for me until I finally felt that incredible eruption, that thing that only this monster seemed to give me. He grabbed hold of me with such force that I cried out in pain, momentarily heedless that my husband was sleeping close by. Frantically, he slammed his hips up into mine, snarling and grunting until he reached his own release. 

Almost immediately, he pushed me off him, sending me onto my back on the floor. He crawled over me, however, laughing a little when he saw a few tears fall from my eyes and lapping them up with his hot tongue. 

His crooked hand cupped my sex once again, pressing the mixture of our juices back into my body as he hissed, “Hurry back to your marriage bed.”

The next thing I knew, Feargal’s hand was stroking my face. 

“You were having a nightmare, love,” he sighed, touching his lips to mine. 

“I was.” As I spoke, I coughed a little, and my throat tasted of blood and seawater. 

*

It felt strange to have Feargal leave to do his weekly visits again, as if nothing had changed between us. Of course, things were to be different, because he had advised the Church that he would be unable to continue traveling at the same schedule as before. He would still be on the road a few days a week but they had advised him that a new pastor would be assigned soon to cover some of the territory he had been serving. In the interim, the Church offered to send a new governess to help me with the children something I found quite funny, although I assured them I appreciated the offer. 

In fact, my relationship with the children was the thing that made the transition to my new role easiest. I had had some fears that they might resent the idea of a servant being elevated to the role of stepmother but they clearly did not. They treated me as they always had and the only discernible difference was that they seemed a little more at ease. It took me a few weeks to realize that after losing their mother at such a young age and then having a series of governesses come and go, their sense of ease was likely the result of relief that there appeared to be some level of stability in their lives. 

I left most of my belongings in the attic, figuring that it was as good a place to store them as any. The things I needed regularly, I brought downstairs. Before Feargal left on his first trip following the wedding, he sheepishly told me that there was plenty of room in the cedar chest in the bedroom. 

“I never finished sorting through my first wife’s belongings,” he explained guiltily. “I don’t mean for you to have to do so, and if you’d rather not, we could buy you a new chest.”

“Don’t be silly,” I chided him. “It’s a lovely piece and I don’t need much space.”

“Anything of value to the children, I moved to their room long ago and her clothes were all given to charity. I’m not even certain what’s still in there but you shouldn’t feel the need to keep any of it.”

He gave me the keys to the chest and once again apologized for making me go through his first wife’s belongings before taking his leave. Since the children were still asleep, I decided to see what was inside the chest, which felt very light when I moved it. 

The two largest items were a quilt in a style I hadn’t seen before and a great coat. I could tell from looking at it that the previous Mrs. Devitt had been a larger woman than I, which surprised me since I was a little taller than average. I did need a better coat and the fabric was in good condition but I was unsure that I felt comfortable with the idea of wearing my predecessor’s clothing around, and determined that I would either have the garment repurposed into something for the children or give it to charity. The quilt was more of a conundrum, in that it had the feel of something very personal. It felt like something that Sophia might like to have at some point but unless we could explain the significance of the colors and patterns, I wondered if giving it to her would be burdening her with one more mystery. 

There was a smaller box filled with shells and stones and beneath that, some carefully folded pieces of light fabric. I took them out to inspect them further and as I delicately spread them out before me, I felt my breath catch. The pieces were a blanket and a baby’s robe and both were embroidered with a single word: Colin.