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bitchlessdino · 7 months ago

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"like i can" (m)

a/n: maybe ill fix it up with a banner after but for now i just need yall to see the vision

w.c. 1.6k

warning: fratboy!chan x older working adult fem!reader dynamic, ex's younger brother, mommy kink, switch!chan, a lot of dirty talk, unprotected sex, possessive chan, oral (giving and rec), praise kink, exchanging cum, probably grammar mistakes

Tagging @the-boy-meets-evil @dirtysvthoughts @okiedokrie @kwanisms @highvern @whipped-for-kpop-fics @wonustars @sluttyminghao for those who was there that helped me or brain rotted me ily and hopefully I didn’t miss anyone

You swore off men. Anyone with a dick would be off limits. Especially Lee men. After your last relationship, dick truly fucked up any potential future relationship for you.

So why the fuck were you on your knees? You had no excuse being there, no excuse for sucking dry your ex-boyfriend’s younger brother. No matter how hot and sweaty he looks after coming home from the gym. You were just there to drop off his asshole brother’s things. And maybe have that lemonade he was offering. And surely lemonade is not code for a mouth full of frat boy dick like when you were in college.

Yet somehow.

“Shit…this is so…wrong…” As Lee Chan fought you off with his words, his hands decidedly thread through your hair, locking his soft kind eyes with you as your lips wrapped around his cock and slobbering over his length that was a surprisingly pleasant size.

“He’s gonna fucking hate me,” he whined, only for his hips to softly piston in your mouth.

Your moans vibrated against his skin, sending waves of nerves throughout his body. Chan was irrevocably enthralled by you and always has been when his brother introduced you to his family for the first time, but never in all his years did he imagine he’d have you in such a position. In any position really.

The corner of your lips stretched to your ears, licking a long thick stripe up his shaft before cradling his cock against your face. “Do you want to stop, pretty boy?”

His lips parted to speak only to close back up, pressing them into a firm line before another moan escaped through them as you kissed his bulging veins. The whites of his nails piercing the leather of the couch he was pinned against as his eyes fell shut, muttering a mantra of apologies for his older brother missing in action.

“You’re such a good boy to worry about your brother. He’s so lucky to have you,” you complimented as you stroked him around a clenched fist.

Chan shook his head, a remorseful frown on his face. “Definitely not a good enough one,” he managed to mutter.

“But look, you’re letting your brother’s ex girlfriend suck your cock but all you can think about how he’d feel. You’re such a good boy.” Your nails claw down his bare torso, from his heaving pectoral to to his clenched abdomen. Someone above put a test in front of him and he was failing. “And too good of a brother.”

He swallowed a lump down your throat, feet glued to the ground, stooping his knees from completely giving out. “This…shouldn’t have happened…it shouldn’t be happening—“

“Then why don’t you stop me?”

He exhaled a shallow breath. “You know why I can’t.”

“Dumb it down for me why don’t you?”

“Fuck,” he buried his reluctance in the back of his throat, hips leaning towards you before they shifted, gaining momentum. “It’s you, that’s why.”

“Me?” You chuckled before putting him back in your mouth, squeezing around his girth.

His hands found claim back on your hair before losing control of his morals, no longer tiptoeing around eggshells and instead crushing them along his path. “Yes, you.”

Your eyes dilate a centimeter too wide when his tense expression melts into one of acceptance, then determination as his body relaxed into your warmth and plummeted down your throat. “It’s always…been you.”

He could no longer resist your advances, letting out a groan of anguish as he emptied in your mouth, cradling the crown of your head to his groin as his stream poured inside of you, his hips faltering as he the white disappear past your lips. Tapping against his hips, he released you mercilessly, ensuing the coughing and the gagging that inevitably came. “You…dirty boy,” you chided, face warm and throat sore.

He softly scoffed, before picking you up from the ground and smashing his lips against yours. “If you’re not holding back than neither should I…Mommy.”

“Mommy?” You grinned.

“Too much?”

“Oh, baby boy. Not at all.” You threw your arms around him, languidly moving your lips, and letting the taste of his own cum penetrated Chan’s senses, only enticing him more. “Lay it all out for mommy. Can you do that for me, baby?”

He gingerly nodded, hand caressing your face with an inspired smile. “Yes, anything. Anything mommy wants, I can do.”

“What do you want, baby?”

He sighed. “I want to taste Mommy.”

“You do, don’t you,” your kiss him playfully, grinding against his cock, feeling him grow under your touch. “Show me how much you want it.”

“Mmh, I want it,” he lifted you off the ground before moving you back toward the dining table planting you flat against the dining table. “I’ll show Mommy exactly how much I want it.”

He tugged off your skirt, flashing your wet panties practically drenched in your anticipation. You heard him take a sharp breath, already inhaling that scent that he knows was now forever ingrained into every wrinkle of his brain.

“You look like you’re about to eat me alive, baby,” You mused.

“And Mommy would be right.”

He pulled you by the legs, emitting a small yelp, before all you could feel was his mouth on your clothed cunt, sucking your wetness through your lace, and his moans against you, living and breathing inside you. Your hands reach either edge of the table before started riding his face, erupting his giggles, “I get to taste mommy’s pussy…I’m fucking dreaming.”

“Mmh, Chan,” you moaned, your fingers pressing into his head and feeling his tongue explore you like the new world.

“Mommy…” he parted your panties to the side, tasting until it’s only raw heat on his tongue and he swallowing every drop.

“Baby like mommy’s pussy?”

You felt him nod. “Mommy’s pussy is perfect…need her cum in my mouth.”

“Work for it, baby.” You laughed.

“Yes, Mommy.”

If Chan’s mouth was law, you’d be a follower. You embraced every caress, every stroke, every thrust of his tongue. The ‘fuck me’ eyes that stared back at you as he ruined you like rain on parade. You braced on the table, hips taking his face, walls fluttering, and breathing in staggering breaths. “Oh my god,” you spoke as if confessing sin, “I’m gonna cum.”

Chan could not stop himself, and what was between your legs became safe haven. You rode his face until you saw stars, planets, whatever the galaxy offered, while Chan’s name echoed throughout the room and bounced off the walls.

He clamped his grip on your hips, fusing himself to you and tasting your climax flood his gums with the sensation of every twitch of your thighs. As soon as they faltered, he found your lips, mixing your cum in his mouth with remnants of his cum in yours, both swallowing betrayal that’s been long forgotten the moment Chan laid eyes on a freshly single you. “Taste that, mommy? Taste good that pretty pussy of yours is?”

“Baby…”

You tugged on his hair, grinding your hips against him and feel that cock slide against your pussy lips and thinking about how you both were still so close yet so far.

You needed it. You needed Chan. You need to feel him stretch you out fuck the shit out of you. You needed him to ruin you on this stupid family dining room table that humiliates you now that the person that introduced you has put an end to things on his own terms. You were gonna get closure your way and no other way.

“I want baby’s cock in me…”

Chan smiles, hands tracing over your curves and lines. “Mommy, are you asking or are you telling?”

“I’m demanding.”

His smile was only more radiant after your tone shift, positioning himself exactly where he needed to be. “Anything for you, Mommy.”

It’s big. It’s thick. But after the feast Chan had, he was sliding through you with ease, testing the limits of your endurance as he vanished inside you. Your voice gave out, hands planting on either of his shoulders as he took you by the hips to drag you against him across the table.

You rest your forehead against his. “Baby...”

“That feel good?”

You nodded. “So good, baby. Your pretty cock pushing in and out my cum.”

He groaned, his hands moving to squeeze your hips, “Mommy, your mouth—”

“Filthy hmm? Like your cock fucking my mouth or how your tongue tasted my pussy?”

He moaned, against your lips, pounding you against him so desperately the table shook and it was a study table from your experience. “Your talking is gonna make me cum, Mommy.”

“Good because it’s all I want: baby’s cum in mommy’s pussy, squirting your fat load inside of Mommy…Make Mommy yours.”

“Mommy, you’re killing me.”

Your nails ran down his back, pleased. Lips tasting the salt in his sweat, and your breath cooling the heat of his flushed neck. “Mommy just wants you to empty out in her, fuck her better than anyone else has.”

“Better than anyone else…like my brother?” He asked in gentle reluctance.

“Would that be hard for you? You think you can’t fuck me like your brother would?”

Violently, he shook his head. “No,” his hips take flight and a moan cracked out of your lips. “I don’t think anyone would fuck Mommy like I can. Especially my brother.”

“Yeah?” You clenched around his biceps. “You gonna make me forget what he feels like?”

“I’ll make you forget his name.”

“Chan…”

“Mommy won’t remember nobody’s name but mine.”

You don’t remember when it was that you arrived at this house but you’d soon realize when you’d come. And come. And come.

And come until Chan was empty, or at least until someone finally came home. But it was the weekend. Your ex was out of town and so was his parents.

So who the fuck knows when that is.

#svthub #dino smut #lee chan smut #seventeen smut #seventeen dino #seventeen #lee chan #seventeen x reader

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loveindefinitely · 1 year ago

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༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

01 — TOO YOUNG TO KNOW IT GETS BETTER

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3.

<- previous part | next part ->

You almost worshipped him.

It wasn’t because of his status – although, that certainly played a role in it all – and it wasn’t because of his bank statements.

No. Phillip Graves was one of the best men you’d ever known.

Or so you had thought.

Turns out, no matter how well he looked after his men – his ‘girl’ – and no matter how charismatic he was, that wouldn’t, couldn't change his roots. And, at those very roots, was decay. Evil in its most purest of forms; a tantalisingly devastating mix of every sin.

The most prevalent one?

Greed.

He was a greedy, greedy man, and he would stop at nothing to have it all. Even if he knew the fall out; even if he knew that he could never go back to the man he once was.

Phillip Graves didn’t care. Not in the slightest.

And it was you that would pay the ultimate price.

Rain beats down your back in heavy sheets as you stand, the harsh night littered with flashlights and car sirens.

It’s cool, just this side of too cold, and it has the hairs on the back of your neck rising with the temperature.

The temperature, and…

“Yup-yup,” the two men to your right call into their comms. You remain silent, but it goes unnoticed. Your eyes are trained to the paved street, rippling with the rainwater, littered with streaks of red.

Blood stains this town, and you haven't done anything to stop it.

“Let’s go.”

Raising your head, you meet the eyes of the operative who, ranks-wise, is below you. Really, you should be reprimanding him for his quip, but you understand the annoyance. You’re being quiet – something quite unusual for your normally direct and authoritative nature.

Tightening your grip around the shiny, water-slicked gun in your hand, you give him a sharp nod in response.

Seemingly satisfied, he turns, and you follow him along the sidewalk of the narrow, stone streets. Shops line either side of the area, their front-windows smashed and the products inside thrown about.

It’s like your heart has launched itself into your throat, the constant thrum of it setting your nerves alight.

“Three-zero, I want you and your two to find those Brits. We’ve got the cops. Copy?”

That once reassuring, adoring voice is now cold, void of any emotion he used to have. It makes tears burn at the back of your vision – if you were a weaker woman, they’d have fallen. Instead, you press down the button for your comms.

“Copy, Sir. Three-zero out.”

The fact that you manage to get those words out is a feat in and of its own.

It feels as though you’re lost at sea, with nothing to hold onto. Buoyant, but barely – every wave threatening to pull you under for good. To smother your silent cries for help, for guidance, for something to keep you grounded.

But there is no sea, and there is no support.

“You two go up ahead, I’ll search the house here,” you say, voice thick with demand. You didn’t have to decide anything right now. You just had to be the leader you were, and do what you’ve always done.

“Copy,” your two subordinates say, moving up further.

With their absence, you find that you can breathe – as if a weight has been lifted off of your chest, and you can finally fill your lungs.

You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re alive.

The mantra helps, surprisingly, and you hold onto those two words like they’re your only lifeline.

Through the thick of night and rain, you can see the door to the house on your left. It’s been left open, which means that either it’s already been searched – which you doubt – or… Someone else has been in there.

Gun secured in your grip, you move to the door with soft footing, quiet enough to not be heard over the shouts of other shadows just a few ways away. The constant pattering of the overhead storm clouds slow, just the slightest, allowing for a bit more sight.

Using your shoulder to further open the door with a creak, you take note of your surroundings immediately.

There’s a flickering light to the room on your far right, a living area, most likely. To your left is a short hallway, but none of the doors alert you of any occupancy. The place has been torn apart, pictures scattered along the wooden floor, shards of glass decorating the space along with it.

It sends a pang of guilt through your chest.

These were families being torn apart by your commander, your company. And for what? What was Graves’ angle here?

You’d been left on base to keep things running smoothly while Graves and unit one worked with the 141 and Las Vaqueros. You knew very little about any of this, and when you’d been called out to Las Almas, to aid with this?

This wasn’t what you fought for. This wasn’t what you would ever support, not in a million years.

But going against direct orders was going against your commander, and your livelihood. Shadow Company was all you’d known since your childhood. Having been hired when Graves was merely a young-upstart with big dreams, you were quickly swept up in the community of it all. They were your family, and Graves was the only semblance of a ‘loved one’ you had.

And now?

Now, he was sending you on a bounty hunt, for two men who, from your limited knowledge, didn’t deserve death. They were the good guys, and although most of your existing bias towards the two was due to rumours back on base, your intuition said that they were good men. And your intuition had never steered you wrong, not once.

Your mind feels like a never ending turbine as you move through the house, eyeing the barren walls and smashed vases.

Exhaling a low, deep breath, you tighten your hold on your weapon. It’s more of a comfort, at this point. Which is odd, considering that its sole purpose is to kill and destroy.

Through the dim light, you manage to find a set of stairs. They’re dingy, and the patterned carpet is mildew-riddled as you make your way to the next floor with slow, careful steps.

You’ve decided to keep your flashlight off, just in case it brings any extra attention to you.

As soon as you make it to the last step, a sense of… wrongness settles in your system. Something’s off, and it’s almost as if there’s an alarm ringing in your ears at the realisation.

Someone’s here.

Grounding yourself, both mentally and physically, you prepare to push through the hallway.

Setting aside your mental dilemma, you remind yourself that the physical battle is far more vital to your life right now. If you lose that, you lose your life.

If you lose your morals?

You just suppose you lose yourself.

The sound of a radio switching on has your senses alerted like a switchboard completely alight.

Stepping into the hallway, your chest constricting, you snap your gaze to both of your sides. With the little-to-no light, you can barely make out your limbs, let alone your surroundings. Your spatial awareness was solid, but with conditions like this? Near impossible.

The entire corridor is shrouded in shadow, the incessant rain outside and the screams of the cartel’s policemen ringing in your ears.

It reeks of death and despair, and your skin is coated in a thin sheen of chilled sweat.

The third door to your left is creaked open, just the slightest sliver, but it catches your attention like a moth to a flame. Keeping your frame encased in the darkest of the shadows, you move with patient, skillful steps towards the door.

A moment passes, tense and nerve-wracking in a way no other mission has ever been.

A breath in.

A breath out.

You push open the door, gun raised, ready for anything –

Nothing.

Quickly checking over the room to your right, you see nothing but bashed up mattresses and blood-stained carpet.

Just as you’re about to turn to check behind the door, two things happen at once.

One, you get slammed to the ground, your head knocking against the hard flooring and sending a burst of pain through your temple, your gun skidding across the floor to your left.

Two –

“Fuckin’ Christ!”

A man – scottish, that much is prevalent – whisper-shouts. You squint, the pain of the sudden fall throwing you off.

Not a second later, however, you manage to roll, shoving him off of you with a grunt. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness, but you manage to make out the impossibly muscled frame of the man who’d just fallen on top of you.

He’s tall, not as giant as some of the men you served alongside with, but tall nonetheless. That’s all of the visual information you manage to gain before he sends an elbow to your gut, evoking a hiss through your gritted teeth.

You wriggle away, kicking out with your right foot and hitting what you think is his chin, considering his pained grunt.

“You bloody bastard,” he snaps, hand wrapping around your ankle and pulling you.

Your responding squeak is likely the most undignified sound you have ever made in your life, but it gives the man pause. Enough of one so as to allow you to wrench your leg back and careen it back into his face.

“Shut the fuck up!” You hiss back, all too aware of the likelihood that your men will show up and shoot first, ask later.

“Are you feckin’ stupid, lass?” He retorts, although his tone is dutifully lower as he scrambles to grab your legs once more, his fist finding your belt and pulling you towards him.

Your attempts to dig your heels into the ground to prevent yourself from being pinned by him are fruitless, his strength undoubtedly superior to yours. That was a fact all too common when it came to your hand-to-hand fights, but luckily, it was just one factor of many.

“Are you?” Your shock is palpable as he gets his other hand around the other side of your belt, using the grip to pull himself over you.

His torso is pressed against your own as he goes to pin your hands, but with one quick manoeuvre, you wrap your legs around his waist and turn.

Utilising your lower body strength, you’re able to reverse the position, your hips pinning his to the ground. In one sweep of your hands, you collect both of his wrists and force them into the carpet. The room fills with your harsh, panted breaths, the outside commotion only a distant soundtrack.

“Yer supposed to kill me now, Shadow,” he says, a torment, a threat.

You swallow, once, an unsure thing.

He’s right, of course. He should be dead by now, bleeding out onto the floor. You should be comming to your fucking Commander, and telling him that one of the men he’s after has just been reported KIA. That’s what should be happening.

So how come it’s not?

“I know,” you say, the words falling through your lips despite the internal conflict in your head. “You should be dead.”

He mirrors your confusion with raised brows, and it’s then that you can feel the blood trickling onto your hand. He’s bleeding down his arm, you realise with a start. He’s wounded.

Flitting your gaze to the floor up ahead, you catch sight of your gun, only a few steps away. One shot is all you’d need. One second, and that mouth of his would never open again.

The sole window in the room flashes with a burst of lightning, and that short second of light lets you catch sight of his features. Blood coats his jaw – from your kicks, maybe – and he’s got dirt caked onto his cheek. His stubble has clearly missed a few shaves, and his mohawk isn’t gelled.

“Still waiting, Shadow,” he says. And although he’s quiet, the words feel like a yell in the tense room. Like a shout directly into your soul, screaming for you to sort your shit out.

You go to respond – with what, you’re not sure – when the man underneath you manages to rip his hands from your grip and swing them around the back of your neck. He pulls you forward, your neck fitting into the crook of his elbow as he squeezes.

When you try to inhale, you end up choking on a cough. He’s strangling you, you realise, with his fucking biceps.

There’s mere moments for you to make a decision before you pass out, or he breaks your neck. Moments for you to decide what the fuck you can do.

Balling your right hand into a tight fist, you punch into his nose, a sickening crack making your teeth slide together. He swears, rapid-fire, a few Gaelic-sounding words slipping out along with them. It’s enough of a distraction to let you wrench out of his hold with a cough, wincing when you claw at his arm and draw blood. Thank fuck for fingerless gloves.

Crawling forward as he brings a hand up to his now-bleeding nose, you’re just a breath away from reaching your gun when his hand grabs into your hair and pulls, eliciting a cry from you.

It’s a dirty move, but this is a dirty fight.

“Fucking – let go!” You grit out, the pain of the tightening on your scalp unique and not at all tolerable.

He just pulls tighter in response, and as you try and reach the gun, your fingers fall just millimetres short. It’s maddening, your emotions out of whack and your mental compass skewed beyond belief.

He should be fucking dead. He should be fucking dead.

So why wasn’t he?

You realise that he’s using his grip on you for leverage, to move himself closer to the weapon. Reaching towards his bare arm, you manage to catch your hand around it, nails digging into his wet skin.

He lets out a pained groan, and it becomes quickly apparent to you that he’s been shot in that arm. Moving your fingers, your index finger pushes into the open wound.

His grip on your hair goes lax, and he stops moving towards the gun long enough to allow you to move on top of him once more, pinning him underneath your weight. You’re both evidently weaker than the last time you were in this position, and you’re about to do something, something, something –

“Johnny? How copy?” An urgent, oddly panicked voice echoes around the room. It’s crackled, in only the way a radio’s can, and the two of you stun yourselves into freezing. His communications have been dislocated, and now they’re loud and clear for both of you to hear. “Johnny, what the fuck is happening?”

“Shit,” Johnny curses, head falling back against the ground in exasperation.

You’re not sure when you’d laxed your grip from his wound, your hand loose around his arm. You’re not sure when you’d subconsciously started avoiding fatal moves.

At this point, you’re not sure about anything at all.

Although it’s hard to see, you’re sure that the two of you make eye contact.

Neither of you make a move.

“Soap!”

Slowly, Johnny moves his hand to the communicator in his vest, pressing the button to allow for his voice to carry over to the man on the other end.

“A little occupied, Sir,” he murmurs, tightly.

If you move your hand to his throat, or use this as a distraction, you could have him dead before the other man could even register his words.

“I can’t get a visual on you,” the other man quips back, voice laced with thinly-veiled worry. “Johnny, if you die, I’m fuckin’ killing your ass.”

You bite back a slightly crazed chuckle at that statement, and by the shift in Johnny’s chest, he does too.

Johnny doesn’t turn off his communicator. The other man – Ghost, if you’re correct – will be able to hear everything you say.

Ghost and Soap.

Jesus H. Christ. Soap – Johnny MacTavish – the 141 operator you heard whispers about throughout your unit – he was underneath you. He was on the run from your commander. He was the man you were assigned to fucking kill.

He’s alive.

You’re alive.

“Shadow Three-Zero, what’s your status?”

Oh, fuck. Fucking hell.

Both you and Johnny’s eyes dart to your own communicator – the earpiece scattered along the floor just as his had been.

Graves’ voice. It sends a shiver down your spine for all the wrong reasons, and the lump in your throat doubles in size. If it’s at all possible, the rain outside grows louder, and more gunshots echo in your ears.

“Shadow Three-Zero. Have you got ‘em? Don’t go two-timing me now, babe.”

How he’s – how he’s being so light, so carefree while storming these streets and murdering fathers, brothers, sons in cold blood – it cements a thought in your head. Out of the storm of them, the endless noise of them all, one becomes concrete. Factual. A single truth in your world of lies.

You press down your communicator button.

“Haven’t found them yet, sir. Wouldn’t dream of going against you.”

“Atta girl,” he responds, a light chuckle carrying over the radio. “After this is all done, we can have a celebration of our own, hey?”

Your mouth is barren of moisture, your tongue a heavy weight that feels all too useless as you reply once more. It doesn’t go unnoticed how neither Soap, or Ghost over the comms, say a word.

“It’ll be my pleasure, sir.”

You rip off your communicator, throwing it across the room. It sets the course of the rest of your life, you’re sure. You still do it.

All the while, you hold Soap’s gaze.

He hasn’t killed you. He could’ve, you realise, he really could’ve. He had the opportunity. Still does.

But.

You’re alive.

And so is he.

“What’re you doin’, Shadow?” Johnny finally asks, equally suspicious and curious. His tone is tight, almost as much as his body is against your own.

You’d almost forgotten that he’s underneath you. Weaponless, and bleeding out. Wounded.

On the run.

Your eyes are wide, manic, maybe, as you say with shaky breaths;

“This isn’t right. I – I don’t fight for this. You guys, you,” squeezing your eyes shut, if only for a brief moment, you continue, slower, “This isn’t the Graves I know. I’m not going to be on the wrong side of history. I’d rather betray him than stand by his side with blood on my hands.”

Soap must sense your conviction, your wobbly words holding such truth and capability in them, because he nods, sharply.

“Johnny,” the radio chimes in again, the man’s tone a warning. “Don’t.”

Soap works his mouth, a crease forming between his blood-stained brows. If you were at all a poet, you’d akin his blue eyes to a storm-brewed sea. But you’re a soldier, so they’re merely obvious in the window’s scarce light, a stark contrast to the reds and darkness all around you both.

You’re not sure what’s wrong with you. You’d clearly hit your head too hard when Soap had crashed into you, or you’d been drugged earlier.

“I have intel,” you blurt out, like a crazed lunatic. That description is, unfortunately, a little too fitting to your current state. “I’m – I’m a fucking good fighter. You help me, I help you.”

“We don’t need your help,” Soap quickly, almost automatically, retorts. But his words seem weak, his certainty nowhere on your own.

“You’re shot and on the run with no weapons,” you reply, slowly. Words. You were good at words, at debates. You could survive this. Maybe. “I know Graves. I know my men. And I know that I’d rather be a traitor than a war criminal.”

That’s maybe the most true thing you’d thought, or said, since you’d first been asked to head to Las Almas with an order to kill.

There’s silence.

A few beats pass before you open your mouth once more, tone just this side of pleading, “I’ll help you guys survive this. If you help me take down Graves, and support me – if you give me the assets I need. That’s all I’m asking.”

“We don’t trust you,” Soap says, and you nod.

“I don’t exactly have faith in you either. But it’s this or we all end up dead.”

Ghost inputs something, this time. “If you two make it to the church, we’ll consider it.”

That’s the most you can ask for. The best possible outcome from you being the biggest fucking idiot to walk this earth. You were lucky that Soap was… merciful. Which was, all things considered, the weirdest component of this entire, messed up equation.

It seems like agreement passes through you all, like a sort of handshake. An invisible one, but a symbol of truce nonetheless.

“Get yer ass offa me,” Soap groans, breaking the tension of the room.

Scrambling off of him, but keeping your wits about you, you realise that you’d virtually been laying on the man your entire conversation. Your ears burn in embarrassment.

“...Right. I’m taking my gun,” you murmur.

Which is, obviously, the worst thing to say.

“Are you feckin’ serious? Dinnae wanna work with an idiot, Jesus,” Soap immediately hisses out, getting up with a hand on his knee, bringing his other to press against his bullet wound with a wince. You think that Ghost says something similar, but it’s drowned out by Soap.

“I’m best with close-range, and I’m not the one wounded,” you immediately bite back, hand wrapping around said weapon and holding it to your chest, checking over the room for any more supplies. Luckily, unlike the man in front of you, you still have all of your supplies and gear. His top is thin, you think, and soaked through with both rain and blood. Your standard Shadow Company uniform still fits you like a second skin, and although wet, doesn’t soak into your bottom layers. Your tactical knife, still strapped to your thigh, is secure and perfectly in place.

How you’d not used it in that fight was a testament to your mindscape more than anything.

“How do I know ye won’t just shoot me when my back’s turned?” Soap shoots back, his tone a weapon in its own right.

You raise a brow, and you hope that he can see it. “I would’ve done that already if that was my plan. And you’re calling me an idiot.”

“You’re a right ass,” he retorts, not unlike a petulant child.

“And you’re a right dickhead.” And, alright, you realise that you’re not much better, but it’s deserved.

“And you both need to hurry the fuck up.”

You and Soap both have the decency to wince at the man’s words, and you both shut up as you finish checking over yourselves. You, focusing on checking your straps and belt, and Soap, hissing about his wound.

…If this camaraderie lasted the night, you’d think about apologising for that move.

Checking over your gun, you move to slowly open the door as Soap fixes up his radio, putting his earpiece back in its place. You are, admittedly, a bit annoyed that you won’t be able to hear Ghost’s callouts, but again, you had a gun.

“Let’s go,” you softly say, tilting your head towards the door. Soap nods, clearly ready to meet back up with his Lieutenant and get out of here.

As you slowly open the door, guns raised and eyes alert, you let the reality of your situation settle over you like the world’s coldest blanket. You’re going against everything you’ve ever known, all because of your morals that had always been slightly off-centre. Came with the job, you supposed.

But this was uncharted territory. Directly betraying your unit, your men, your Commander, and helping the men you’re assigned to kill? Asking them for their help in return?

“Clear,” you softly report to Soap, who acknowledges your order with a low noise. Following you with silent steps down the stairs, you keep your gun raised as you check over the bottom floor, before signalling for him to exit through the front door with you.

As the two of you enter the laneway once more, your breath catches in your throat as you assess the damage.

You spot several bodies littering the streets as rain hits you once more, the presence of it oddly comforting throughout it all. A truck up ahead has its lights on, the red of the brakes shining against the wet pavement like the pools of blood not three metres away from it.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Soap murmurs from behind you, and you can’t help but agree with his sentiment.

This was pure bloodshed, at the hands of the one man you thought you could trust.

Betrayal tastes oddly sour in your mouth. Betrayal like this, on all sides, it’s like being suffocated by two cloths at once. Two very bloody, very assaulting cloths, at that.

Soap seems to be communicating with Ghost as the two of you make your way down the street, considering the back-and-forth whispers from Soap. He seems almost. Flirty. Which is a stark realisation, and truly, the least of your worries right now.

“If you can find bandages, or something close to it, I’ll get that arm of yours fixed up.”

You keep your tone low, careful of your surroundings as you see Soap nod, albeit almost in shock, in your periphery. Keeping your gaze forward, you move along the sidewalk.

The beauty of these shops, and this community, has been tarnished by the massacre of your Shadows. Your heart aches, seeing it all – the smashed windows, the blood, the distant sound of screaming and crying.

You and Soap make it about a block in silence, before flashlights ahead have you grabbing onto Soap’s shirt and pulling him into the open door of the shop to your left, heart beating rapidly in your chest.

“Shadow Three-Zero’s gone silent,” you hear a familiar voice say. Your subordinate – one of the two you’d sent to check the houses up ahead. “Reckon she’s dead?”

Soap, for his part, is silent where he’s been pushed up against the wall, your head meeting his collarbone.

“Nah. She mighta slept her way to the top, but she’s good. Probably gone dark so she can suck Graves off on the side or something.”

Your breath comes out in a sharp exhale, your fists tightening unknowingly onto the fabric of Soap’s shirt. He doesn’t even breathe in response.

The other chuckles. “Fuckin’ slut. Can’t believe she gets to order us around when we all know why she’s here.”

And, oh, does that make your stomach turn. You were many things, but you were not one to abuse a position like that. They knew nothing of your struggles, or your relationships, or –

“Fuckin’ cocksuckers,” Soap grumbles, and that shocks you. For a man in the military to recognise misogyny like that was, really, unheard of.

You ignore that thought.

“Shut up.”

He does.

The two Shadows continue walking down the street, and you quickly peer out of the front window to watch them head down another sidealley, taking their thoughts with them.

“Come on,” is all you say, and Johnny follows tightly behind you as you continue down the way you were heading.

You find an alleyway to your left, and you decide to follow it. You can see a flashlight scanning over the street further down. Shadows were everywhere, but they were pushing forward like a tsunami over a coastal town, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake.

Soap follows you without question, which is odd, but you’re not about to complain.

“Ghost says that there’s underground tunnels – we can get to the church through ‘em,” Soap murmurs as he taps your shoulder. You nod, not looking back as you search for any telling of where the best route would be.

After a few minutes, the two of you find yourselves nearing the tunnels Ghost had spoken about.

It’s when you’re about to head into the deep end – quite literally, considering the flooding – that an all too familiar and bone-chilling voice yells out from the right of you both, down another street.

“She’s gone dark – you will find her alive, and if she’s dead, you will be too!” Graves roars, and your heart skips a beat. “She could be hurt, or captured – she is your top priority now, Shadows!”

There’s a chorus of agreement, and if you look down, you’re almost certain that you’ll find your stomach laying at your feet.

A greedy, greedy man. That was what Phillip Graves was – now, more than ever.

If you were a weaker woman, a civilian, maybe, instead of a seasoned soldier, you’d have vomited by now.

Instead, you shoot Soap a look.

“Ghost still at the church?” Is all you ask.

Soap nods. “Yeah. Lt’s talkin’ my ear off,” he says with an eye roll, but his lips quirk into a half-tilted grin more resemblant of a satisfied pup.

“Didn’t think the 141 was so close,” you reply, and you could slap yourself for how nosy you sound. You’re not, not in the slightest – all you cared about was surviving both Graves and them.

Soap’s eyes hold an indecipherable gleam to them when he responds, a touch domestically, “You have no idea.”

You itch to delve deeper, to unpack that statement that seems to hold so many layers, but you keep your mouth respectfully shut.

And you prepare to meet Ghost at the end of the tunnel.

a/n. cutely drops this and hides!! jk but umm idk man this fic idea has been nibbling at my brain and GAWDDD smth about it just. got the juices flowing. this is my personality now thanks gn. if you guys enjoyed please comment or reblog or follow!! ty so very muchly ily all <3

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sleepy-fiction · 3 months ago

Text

Got a crush- got a crush- Crush you all beneath me. ⚗️

Jinx x F!Reader SMUT

3k WORDS

tgs: intense violence, erotic asphyxiation, water sports, bdsm, knife play, powerplay, masochist reader, oral, cunnilingus, sexual repression, religious terms/oppressive religious language, reader is shit and pathetic its lovely

syn: Jinx spares you before your death, the adrenaline, the ecstasy, its euphoric. You re-emerge bright-eyed like the first oracle of a God. Only this time, you want to eat God's cunny, and she'll let you.

an: hii err questioning myself with this one wow. mildly proofread

Smeech's gang had been your home since you were little. You were born into it, your parents' loyal followers, devout, and strict as they came. The rules were engraved into your brain, defined like the Old Testament. You were linear, closed-minded, and point. Your parents died in the battled post silco. Your neighbors, the other kids. The gang's numbers were dwindling, if not by death, then by them abandoning the cree for others. And the years went by. Your silent, dormant hatred for Jinx muddled up.

It continued until her little revolution, where she gained her little blue headed cult following. You'd be lying if you say a part of you wasn't swooned. But your revenge called for more.

What they called "Safety". No, it was nothing but plain blameless sin.

And you were put on this earth to eradicate it.

So it only came natural after Smeech's disassembly, for the gang to disemble themselves as well. Like a ghost town, you found yourself being the only righteous one holding up the banner. And if A^2 + B^2 = C^2, you were going after the women responsible for it.

No.

THE woman responsible for it all.

Jinx.

Blue eyed, blue braided, soon to be blue bellied, Jinx.

Jinx was a flithy mongrel, poisoning Zaun from the inside out. Her almost physiological poison bubbled out of its bloodied cauldron and frothed onto the deep floors of Zaun. Like a thick and heavy smoke blinding the ground, sucking the souls out of sinners, and blinding even the most powerful. Tempting, and as small as an ewe lamb, yet brewing and seizing like an unruly urchin. Baring pretty pale hips, milky white skin smothered in tattoos. And those eyes. Those round doe eyes.

They kept you awake at night.

Tempting.

They made you shudder.

With the bloodlust you had been building for weeks, weeks until the day your holy vengeance struck from the skies. With the last remaining loyal souls with nothing to live for, other than the fragments of Smeech's impressive legacy.

Yet why.

How.

How did things end this way.

Your body seized the moment your very own blades, the one you fantasized about taking the life of Jinx, was twisted deep into your belly. Your eyes flashed white, your gasp deep and profound, your balance suddenly no longer mattering to you anymore. The surprise attack was going well, well, until Jinx drew her devilish strength from hell and slaughtered your gang like animals. And you, being brave enough to stop her, freed her of all her guns. You fought like chickens, scratching and scraping at each other, throwing rocks, tossing dust, kicking crotches, pulling hair (you mainly), all until you had her.

She was pined beneath, whimpering and blabbering useless mantra. You revved your blade. But you stopped. You had to tell her why she deserved this. Your speech you had prepared before vanquishing this world of evil. Your glorious speech of Smeech and your gang. And unbeknownst to you, that was more than enough time for her to flash bright magenta eyes. And whimper a sound so attainable, your breath locked, and suddenly, for no reason at all, you had an urge to piss.

That one second of weakness.

No.

She turned your speech against you, she built up her bewitching tactics, disarming you and filling you with mercy, all for her to drive your beloved knife, your knife that your parents made you, deep, deep into your belly.

Then those doe eyes sharpened and she laughed.

She pushes you off her like you were nothing, your body hitting the wet dirty floor. It was raining, and glory's pellets dribbled woefully onto your cheek. Your breath was broken up into sharp, unattainable gasps as you meekly tried to crawl away. Your vision shook white in a painful mix of adrenaline, pain, and panick. Panick thick enough to make you spit and froth out the corners of your mouth.

Your body was ringing, brazen silver alarm bells loud and sparky in your ears. The flashing of tree roots and veins in your vision, and how sharp your sense of smell suddenly became. You could smell the muddy streets clearer than day, and even the smell of cotton candy and battery acid death pouring out from her body. A smell that, even now, still made your lower parts clench.

"Ha-! Ahaha-ha," she laughs. Her voice echoes. In your shaken vision, you see her rise before you, blurry bright cyan blue blinding. Pitifully, you crawl backward, desperate to flee death. Once Jinx has you, she never spares any mercy. You knew that going in, but never, never did you believe it'd become a reality.

You were going to become another number on an ever growing list of people who thought they could kill Jinx and failed.

Once that settled in your brain, pitifully thick tears sprang out from your eyes. You cried loudly, a wail strong enough to shake the most powerful souls. A wail so primal, so childish, a wail that stemmed from early development yet also the evolution of humans itself- the last cry of a dying homosapien at the hands of a bloodlust driven Neanderthal.

A cry that was stopped by the quaking footsteps of Jinx. The booming, sloppy, wet footsteps filled with the vibrations of her getting closer. She fell on top you with a cadence, a gust of quick wind as she straddled you. You gasped and reached forward blindly, raindrops falling in your eyes and mixing with the tears as you clawed at her jaw and neck.

She didn't care. She grabbed your left wrist in a vice, hard enough for you to cry out like an injured lamb. And with her other hand, she gripped your face and trusted hers into your view.

She spoke, "You feel that?"

You gasped, your breathing erratic.

"You're going to die," she laughed at you. "You're going to die, and you almost had me! Not even my sister got that close!" Her voice is like a wicked hyena. Gravely and strained from the battle, creaking to show her physical pain.

But it was enough. It enough for your body to grow limp in her hands like a frightened goat.

Your eyes bare into her face, your head uplifted by her tight hands. As you stare at her skin, as pale as powder, eyes as tired and jaded as a wilted flower, and smile as deranged as a wheel on its last hinge.

She smiles, growing ever close, closed enough for your noses to touch, and for her breath, the mingle with yours, "You know. At this stage. You're suddenly aware of everything around you. Your vision goes to shit. But you can still hear the little birds go 'cheep-cheep-cheep', and the rain-- 'pitter-patter-pitter-patter'. And you can't quite feel the pain, but it's the fear of knowing it's coming that gets you." She grabs the knife, twisting it slightly.

You jolt, crying out in agony. "Your heart rate spikes, you begin to hyperventilate. And there's this ringing in your ears... And... My favorite part, the buzzing behind the eyes," she says as she reaches and stretches your eyelids back. Your pupils shrink, and just as she says, your body systematically begins to follow. Snot pools down your nose, a tell tale sign of your inability to get oxygen. "It's totally useless how we have a nose and mouth. But yet they get so scared and they start working against eachother! Just like families... Just like gangs... like rats," she hisses, and you can feel the etchings of her lips near your cheek as she loopily giggles towards your ear.

"You know, if you breathe through your nose, your hyperventilating will stop," she smiles. Eagerly and foolishly, you obey, shutting your mouth instantly and sucking in gifts of air. But just as instant as you gain it, you lose it within seconds. Jinx pinches your nose shut, her thumb and index vicious like the jerking bite of a shark.

You panick, you eyeballs ringing. And as you try to open your mouth again, she drops your head, ot crashes to the ground, and she slams her free hand to clamp your mouth shut.

"Nhahaha," She laughs. Oh, she laughs. It's manical in nature, enough for you to wet yourself in pure fear. Your hands shoot up to claw at her hands, albeit weakly, and it feels nothing more than a massage to her. By now, you're aware of the warm wet clinging your shirt has to your belly, your pants to your crotch, and the flavorful blend of urine and iron in the wet muddy air.

Your vision spots.

She releases you, but it was already much too late.

"You know what," she says. Her voice trails in and out in your ears. Her blurry figure rises, "I think I'll spare you... That is, if you don't bleed to death out here."

Your head sags, catching the final glimpses of her limping away before it all fades to--

You jolt awake with a hard start. You shoot up, blinded by white lights that eventually shimmer down to a familsr room, your hideout. Your heart bursting a hundred miles an hour out of your chest. It was the feeling of shimmer running down your veins like a cold shower.

Instantly, you recognize your old partner, Kilo, rushing up to you from their seat in the back. Their hands grab yours, but you're even quicker to smack them away. "What t'hell! I was supposed ta-ugh die," you blabber out, spit flying in your jittery rage. Your hands grip your head of hair, your heart racing painfully.

"I heard about your dumb plan, and I came to save you, (y/n)! You had been laying there for God knows how long--" They say but you cut them off with a deadly glare, "Why are you mad? I saved you! Listen, God, you just need to calm down," they pleaded, burning their doe shaped brown eyes into your skull. Eyes you used to find allu ng, before they abandoned Smeech.

Smeech.

Dammit.

Did it really even matter anymore.

Dammit you can't fucking think straight.

How much shimmer did they use on you?

They reached again for you, and you smacked them harder, as hard as your jittery body could manage. They were as thick as a barn, burly and bearded, so your shove did nothing to them. But still, you powered up, barely making out of your bed before you knocked into your bedside table and cracking into your lamp.

As soon as you stood, your heart rate spiked, causing a brilliant gasp to leave your body. The kind of gasp they've only ever heard you release in bed. The kind of gasp that was filled in nostalgic ecstasy, the pain was so reminiscent of when Jinx--

Fuck.

No. Please God no.

"Are you okay," they asked. And with one look from them, you knew that they knew.

They knew.

And they were judging you with those pitiful eyes.

"Jinx did a number on you," they tried to whisper, but you seethed like a jackal.

"Jinx did nothing to me! I am normal! I am fine! I haven't changed," you screeched. Your face was warming, your heartbeat was painful, but memories of your last encounter flooded your brain.

You were going to die in the marvelously sinful hands of Jinx. But she spared you. It made every part of you tingle. You didn't notice when your partner sprang up to catch you, and you as hell didn't notice you falling forward. No, but what you did notice was the worry in their eyes. The worry in their deep masculine voice. And the devil horns springing out of their head.

They knew.

They knew and they were going to tell everyone.

"Get the fuck out of here, bastard!"

You yelled it with all your heart and soul.

And within seconds, you notice their heart crumble. Bleary brown eyes only complimented the flicker of guilt that panged you.

You just.

Needed them gone for good.

You collapsed moments after they left you, moments after the door quietly shut.

You were never going to see them again. They weren't just a partner they were your best friend.

And Jinx.

Jinx was brewing in your heart.

And you knew it then.

You were becoming something you never knew before.

⚗️

You'd imagine Jinx's surpise when the little runt she spared weeks ago came crawling deep onto Silco's old zone (now turned her streets), fully armed. What she thought was a foolish revenge battle turned into something else.

Sevika dropped you dead onto your knees before the desk in Silco's office. Your hands were bound behind your back, and Sevika had already stripped you of all the weapons you had. She walked up to the desk, where the back of Silco's chair faced you, and dropped all the weapons onto it. The daggers and guns flattered and shined in the light.

A dry, crackling laughter sparked into the air. A laughter you knew was hers. It made you tingle again. It made the bruises Sevika left you in all the more worth it.

You were shivering from withdrawals. Jinx withdrawals, adrenaline withdrawals, shimmer withdrawals. You needed her to make you experience that death spark again.

Please Jinx.

"Are you dumb or something," she asks. The chair finally spins to face you, her feet clashing against the table. Her face ridden with withheld rage. She blinks in disbelief with an agape mouth. She jolts forward, grabbing ome of your daggers and launches it towards your face. It narrowly dodges your eye and slices a thin scratch into your cheek.

You hiss and laugh.

It irrates her instantly. Her eye twitched. For the first time in forever, Jinx experienced the stress felt Silco once before. The stress of dealing with idiotic subordinates.

And for once. She didn't find it fucking funny.

"I spared you! But you come back with an even dumber plan. What? Did you think you could just waltz in here and slice me up," she asks. You laugh. She clenches her jaw. With an aggravated start, she jumps out of the chair, stomping on the desk as she slides off it in one quick athletic gesture. In seconds, she's on her feet crouching before you, squeezing chunks of your cheeks between her fingers. "What are you thinking," she spits.

Her grip is vice. It makes your eyes water. But you tingle and shiver all over.

"Mmh. Look at those pupils. You're on shimmer. Or- well, off it. What? Did the jitters make you think you could take me? Reclaim your honor," she says.

"M'hehe..mh," you giggle.

She bares her teeth. She drops your face and stands at break neck speed. Your head crashes to the floor, and you hear the familiar sound of a click.

"Everything about this is stupid and makes no sense. Your plan before was beautifully executed and thought out. So why... Why are you," she winces before she can finish her sentence and pinces her temples. You can hear Sevika cackle in the background. You peek up, staring up the barrel of a pistol. "Geez toots... I might get withdrawls next if you don't- I'dunno, say something," she says.

"Mmh... Jinx... Jus' just kill me... Jinx," you gasp out. Your nose aches, a perfect compliment to the ringing from your ribs from taking a robotic punch earlier. "Kill me... And it'll all be... like it was supposed to... Another number on the "anti" tally," you murmur. Not even you know what you're getting at. Why you're here.

Her heel touches your head. She's purposefully digging it into you. "Aah- haa," you shake.

Sevika gasps sharply, "Oh?" Her eyebrows quirk knowingly. Jinx turns to her, but Sevika merely smirks. "I'll leave you to it," Sevika hums, her shoulders slumping as she steps out. Jinxs eyes flicker with wilderment. Sevika lowered her guard. Totally.

They both knew you weren't a threat. But here, that small gesture confirmed a lot to Jinx. You were harmless, you didn't want to die, but you wanted to be around her. No. You wanted her to hurt you. She tests the waters. Jinx's muddy shoe pets down your head, its light not to hurt you. You buck and shiver again, blabbering out heedless.

No.

You didn't want her to hurt you.

When the realization dawned on her, a breathy cackle split the air. "Ooh! Oh god this is too good! What's that little runt," she squats right down next to you, flipping you onto your belly, "you want me to play with ya? Oh, daddy'll play with you toots."

"Wait- that's not what I what I w-want you to kill me! My honor! I lost it in battle, and i-it can only be claimed in--"

"Nn'haha! You really believe that? Oh god you're a riot! Say it. You want Jinxsy to touch you... And err... Ya'know! Take you to p-town. Play with your cunny?"

You felt an electric jolt sink to your clit. One strong enough to shut you up. Your eyes flicker to her crotch, where her legs were spread as she crouched.

"Ooh," she caught it immediately, "you want my cookie instead, eh?"

You gasped in horror.

"Or box? Is that what the kids call it nowadays? Box... Box... I always wonders why, but," she says as she pushes Silco's desk out the way and sits down in the chair, spreading her legs wide, "apparently! It's called a box cause you can stuff it! Myahaha! Ain't that something?"

You stare blissfully at her spread legs, painfully aware of your slick oozing.

She pats her thigh. "Well? What's the verdict? I'm not pulling my pants down till ya tell me ya' want it. Say it cute-like! Oh Jinx-jinx-jinx-jinx! I want your cookie wookie! Pleaase'z," she drags it out, saying it sing-songly to fuel your embarrassment.

You blabber in disbelief, "Buh," and gulp, "B-But why. Why are you letting me?" You sound like a shy child.

"Why dya' think I spared you? You're pretty hot. And... I liked being handsy with you. It felt good... Gooder than usual... Hah! Prolly cause your whorish, sensual aura stunk up the place. All that temp'TIT'ous-humbo-jumbo! N'ahaha... God you-"

"Please, Jinx," you whimper.

She returns, "Hey. I already told you. We're not unt--"

You squeak, "Let me... Eat it..."

"Huh? Is that how you ask -"

"Let me eat your cookie," you say. She gives you a bland look. "Uh," you gulp, "Please Jinxsy... Let me eat your- c-cookie. Wuh... Wookie."

She laughs, "Tehe, you got it dollface!"

this wasn't ever about smeech, was it?

⚗️

"Ooh... ff-fuck dollface," she mewls breathlessly. Your hands are still tied tight behind your back, balancing wobbly on your knees as you bury your face deep beneath Jinx's bare, pale, milky legs. Your nose is buried deep into her cunt, your tongue and lips viciously lapping at her clit. Twitching between sucking and tapping it. She was swollen already, a clear sign of her sexual negligence.

No, part of you is convinced she is a virgin. Jinx bucks into your mouth, gripping chunks of your hair. Her leg twitching, barely missing kicking your shoulder as it flies off the seat it was propped up on. She let's it slump over your shoulder. And you almost cried at how far her hole was now from your greedy lips.

You growl, "Jinx put your other leg on me... C-cant suck all of you like this."

"Uhh... Hmm," You're sure she was only half listening, but still, she lazily hunches down and stops her other leg on your shoulder. She adjusts herself and leans slouches downward more, sitting on her upper ass and pushing her cunt straight onto your face in the process.

You snuck in deep sniffs, the smell balanced, tart, and salty. You slurp up her folds into your lips, pulling and letting them slip out between your lips. She hisses and mewls delightfully, an airy cackle leaving her lips. She taps your head with two fingers and bobs her head rhythmically, a delighted hum squeaking from her lips. You giggle humored, licking a stripe up her, slowing down to enjoy the moment.

She's staring deep into your eyes, grinding against your flat tongue, slowly matching your rhythm. Your rhythm was closely following the one she hummed and drummed on you.

It was odd, how calm it all suddenly became. How you couldn't seem to look away. You wanted to please her so bad.

A ferocious shiver sparked down you again. You locked in, cupping her clit in your lips, suckling and tapping against it. You buried yourself into her, erratic and fanatic, slurping all of her like it was your last dinner. She squeaks and bucks into your mouth at the sharp change, bowling out her moans. "Aah- ff... Oohh, dollface-ugh," she whines. Her arms fall out, one landing on her forehead, her index and thumb propped up on it, rolling her head back into the chairs cushions.

Her bucking became erratic, her moans spiking, her grip on herself becoming undone. As she reaches with her free hand again to grab chunks of your hair at the root. Her cunt is pink and pale, littered with pretty hair. But your bullying turned it a vulgar shade of red. A red you'd wear on your lips any day.

"Aah! Ah! Aaa-mmgh," she barks out. Her thighs clench vice around your neck, her leg spasming before finally, "Oouh," she janks your head away from her pussy, gasping and waning in the chair.

Her eyes rolled back, while senseless blabbering drooled out her lips. "Mmht... D-Dollface," she sighs blissfully.

"It's (y/n)," you murmur and lean back in to peck at her swollen, ruined pussy.

"(Y-Y/n)?" She gulps, her eyes never returning from their blissful heaven beneath her eyelids. "Mmh yeah... (y/n)," she mumbles, half listening. She sighs after a few seconds, finally looking down at you and- smiling? It was a soft one, geninue and pure.

She asks, "What else can you do?"

"Mmh... I want... to feel good too," you murmur still pecking her pussy and inner thighs.

"Hmmmrr.... Alright. Let's get you fingered up."

"N-No... At the same time as you... Let's grind on our thighs... er like how they do in those... Brothels."

"Ooh what? You mean scissoring? Ha, is this your first time with a woman," she barks a laugh.

"Is this your first time ever, Jinx?"

"Hey," she commands, her face twitches. She shoved your face back into her lips. "Don't get smart with me. You're still my doll," she hums.

"M'forgive me," you mumble out, with pussy between your lips. That was all the answer you need. You slowly begin to suckle her again, hearing her breathy moans pour in.

"Mmh yeah... Let's go to my room..."

⚗️

😁

#arcane #jinx arcane #jinx #jinx x reader #jinx x y/n #jinx x you #league of legends #jinx league of legends #jinx lol #smut #arcane fanfic #arcane fic #jinx fanfic

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straykids-97 · 25 days ago

Text

Sinner

“Deliver me from evil, for I have sinned.”

Warnings: Dom!Chris, choking, intellectual humiliation, (stupid, dummy, etc), EXTREME power dynamic, sthenolangia, submissive!y/n. Chris is a meanie :( in this. Lmk if I forgot anything!!

Synopsis: Chris can only take so much before he snaps. A typical tirade ends up being far more than what you bargained for…

Word count: 2k

🖤❤️🔪❤️🖤

We’ve all heard the saying, ‘deliver me from evil for I have indeed sinned.’ Even if you aren’t religious, it’s used in media like movies and TV shows left and right. We’ve all been exposed to the mantra, over and over again. However, not many of us take into account what this can truly mean.

If you ask a random passerby, it means could mean you’ve done wrong, and you seek forgiveness from the Lord. And you seek forgiveness from Him in order to make it to those pearly gates in the afterlife.If you ask the right person, you could get the answer you so seek… Just depends on who you ask, and what situation you may be in when you say such a thing. And, well depending on the day, Chris can offer you so much more than just a simple response. His reply may even equate whatever God could offer…

You stand in the kitchen, stirring a bowl of cake batter as you rant and rave about your day and how much you wished he would’ve gone with you to the local farmers market so you didn’t have to go alone. Nothing out of the ordinary, a typical, little gripe. In reality, you knew he had to work. But it still made you feel better airing out your complaints so they didn’t pile up and really cause problems. You know better than to complain about such trivial matters, because in reality, they don’t really matter. You don’t mind going to the market alone, less stares that way. You feel normal again, not like you’re dating some insanely rich, hot K-pop superstar.

Even though you knew it didn’t really matter, you still prattled on. Talking about how convenient it would’ve been and how much more fresh fruit and veggies you could have gotten if he were there to help carry your basket. You weren’t as strong as him, you argued, causing him to scoff. You roll your eyes at the lack of reply, wishing he’d say something. Anything. But he didn’t seem like he was even listening.

But Chris was listening, oh was he listening. Chris was rubbing the strong muscles of his shoulders, digging his fingertips into his skin, harder and harder, the more you complained. Every time you said, “If you were only there,” or, “if you had been there,” he dug his nails into is skin. By now, he was leaving trails of red along where hes’ been obsessively rubbing for the last 30 minutes. He’s heard a lot of complaining lately and he’s about to hit his limit.

“…and this weird guy kept asking me if I needed help bringing my stuff to the car.” You babbled on and as you open your mouth to say something more, Chris’s hand slams down on the counter. You jump out of your skin, holding a hand over your heart as it jumps to a faster pace. You look at him, shocked by his reaction. Had you hit a nerve? Perhaps, but he’s never reacted that way before, it’s not uncommon for people to ask if you need a hand, that’s just the kindness of locals. But today, maybe mentioning that guy wasn’t such a idea.

He doesn’t look at you as you watch him rise from his stool and you watch with bated breath as slowly walks toward you. You don’t realize it, but you’re holding air in your lungs until he’s standing right in front of you.

Chris grabs you by the chin, digging his nails into your skin so hard that you think he may break skin. You hiss, wincing as he yanks you closer to him, watching as he bares his teeth at you. Snapping them shut, he sucks air through his pearly whites, a warning.

He’s not playing- he’s serious.

The laughing and humor gone now, all that lingers in the air is a stuffy, hot feeling. Almost as if he was suffocating you by merely being close to you. You swallow hard, if he didn’t have his large hand around your jaw, it would be parted in shock.

“Shut.” His voice was low, sending a chill shooting down your spine, “up.” The last word was like venom on his tongue, the way he spat it in your face made it seem like he wanted it out of his mouth. Your heart slams against your ribs, fear making your hairs stand on end as his nails bite into your skin harder.

He walks you back until you’re pressed against the counter top, and the familiar sensation of cold sweat starts to cause beads along your forehead. The menacing look in his dark eyes never leaves as he stares holes into your soul. He leans in, his warm, minty breath spreading across your ear and neck as he speaks, “if I hear another fucking word come out of your mouth, I’ll shut it for you.”

You can’t fight the whimper that escapes and you quite literally feel him tense. He becomes a marble statue right in front of you as you feel another stab of adrenaline course through your heating body. You feel like an eternity passes before he pulls away, pure ice in his stare. He pulls you forward so that his nose is millimeters away from yours, and you feel the warning- the malice that radiates off his body, warming yours.

Fuck- this shouldn’t turn you on but it does. And he knows it.

After a few beats, he squeezes your jaw hard. Not hard enough to actually hurt you, but hard enough to get his point across before letting go. With one hand, he reaches for the hem of the baggy shirt you’re wearing and tugs it up and over your head. His dark eyes never leave your face as he pulls his own shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere near yours.

You can’t think, let alone breathe as he picks you up with ease and places you on the counter, and wraps his forearms around your thighs, dragging you toward the edge as he kneels down on the ground. “Lift your ass- take off these shorts.” He ordered. There were no niceties- no kindness in his tone. His demand was final, and one to not take lightly. You do as he says without hesitation and lift your hips, sliding your shorts down to reveal no panties underneath. Your stopped by his arms, and he finishes the job by yanking them off your dangling legs. “You are to stay upright. If you lean back, you’re done.” You feebly nod, but when he doesn’t move, you open your dry mouth. “Ok.”

He narrows his dark eyes, and you fix your mistake. “Yes, sir.” You squeak. Satisfied with your reply, he pushes your thighs apart. You bite your lip and you do your best to abide by his demands as he devours your core like a man starved. Leaving absolutely no part of of you untouched. You can’t help but want more, what he’s giving you is only for him. For his satisfaction, and not yours. When you realize this, you immediately get angry. “Chris-” You plead, trying to escape his hold. Your wiggling only causes his arms to clamp down on your upper thighs, a low growl emitting from between your legs. “Knock it off.” He warned, not looking at you. He pauses long enough for you to quit squirming before continuing.

“Chris- not fair!” You gasp as he nips your sensitive clit. “I don’t care if you don’t think it’s fair.” He snaps. Anger and malice drip from his every word, “You’ll sit there and take what I give you until I’m done. Understood?” You feebly nod, causing him to pinch your thigh, making you squeal. “Yes, sir!” You cry out, grabbing ahold of the edges of the countertop as he continues his assault on your pussy.

You’d lost count of the amount of times you’ve came, tears are rolling down your cheeks and even trying to push Chris’s head away didn’t stop the pure force of nature he is. When Chris wants something, he gets it. He pulls away, slowly rising to his feet. Finally, you think, slumping back against the counter, completely exhausted. Your eyes trail up his toned torso, along the lines of your ecstasy covering his chest, neck and lower face. You watch as he slowly leans over and grabs a towel for himself, wiping away your juices before he pushes down his gym shorts.

You lean up slightly to watch as he runs his right hand along his hardened cock, groaning with satisfaction as he tugs. You practically watch the shiver run down his spine. His dark eyes trail up you flushed body to your chest, watching it rise and fall rapidly with each breath you take. He reaches up and tugs the wiring down of your bra, causing your breasts to bounce out of the fabric. Chris reaches up, taking your left nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching it until you cry out, arching off the countertop and into his hand. He chuckles darkly, stopping and giving your left breast a hard smack before doing the same to your right side. Once he’s satisfied with how red your now swollen breasts are, he stops rubbing himself off and lines up with your entrance. “Chris-” You begin to beg, new hot tears forming along your eyes.

He bares his teeth at you, causing you to stop talking. “The only noise I want coming out of that mouth, is your pretty little cries.” He hisses. “Anything else, and things will only get worse for you, stupid baby.” Your bottom lip trembles, and a wicked smile is plastered on his face as he shoves himself into you, causing a loud moan to escape your throat.

You were oversenstive, cumming as much as you did did nothing but make you raw, sore even. But somehow, you managed to get wet enough to take his dick, making him moan into your red chest.

He digs his nails into your hips, pulling you off the counter just enough so he could guide your ass how he wanted. You held onto the counter for dearlife, but knew better- Chris would never drop you. Intentionally or otherwise. He never had. But still, the gesture was instinctual.

Chris pounds into your core, heat rising through your body like a wildfire- threatening to burn everything in it’s wake no matter the consequences. You moan loudly, head lulling between your shoulder blades as he picks up his god-like speed until your babbling, begging him to let you cum one more time. He moans, laughing at you.

“You think I’ll let you cum? You’re stupider than I thought. It’s my turn. Be grateful for the times you did.” He growls, pounding into you harder than before. But you can’t help begging, it was just natural at this point. Especially when he fucked you like he hated you. His thrusts began to get erratic, groans coming out in broken pants as he started to cum. You watch as the man before you crumbles, shattering as he throws his head back in ecstasy before slamming into you one last time.

You remain like that for a short while, panting and chests heaving before he looks down at you. He slowly, carefully, pulls out and helps you stand to your feet. He snorts, watching as your legs shake and nearly give out. “Poor baby. Did I go too hard?” When you toss him a glare, he laughs. “Too much gym time? Awe, guess I should go a little easier next time, hmm?” Chris kisses the top of your head before sweeping you into his arms. “Maybe not. I do quite like being able to sweep you off your feet.” He winks, causing you to roll your eyes.

“I want to feel bad for being so mean, but,” he shrugged, “you deserved it.” You glower but can’t help but to like it. Chris may be a meanie sometimes when fucking, but you’d both be liars if you said that neither of you didn’t like it.

©️straykids-97

Sorry if this is garbage heh. I haven't written in months, so trying to dip my toes back into it. Please, lmk what you think of it!!

#skz drabbles #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids hard thoughts #skz hard hours #bang chan smut

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c0llisiion · 4 months ago

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DAY 10 — LEE KNOW

★ npr, f!reader, humiliation, lots of degradation, soft!minho at the end — lmk if i missed any!!; W/C: 675

Hello! This is part of my kinktober list! Day10 is officially out <3

This is strictly fiction. Any scenario or situation should not be taken seriously. Please refrain from reading if the topics make you uncomfortable.

You loved it when Minho was downright nasty and evil towards you. You loved the way his husky voice, saying the most insane things that you wouldn’t accept outside the bedroom down your ears. It was surreal in a sense. He goes from this sweet caring boyfriend outside, but once that bedroom door locks, it’s like flipping a switch. And you never complained.

He had you gripping onto the bathroom sink counter for dear life as he rammed you with his thick cock, his veiny hand conveniently wrapped and your throat and the other hand on your hip, bruising the skin under his fingertips. Your shoulders and neck were covered in bite marks and hickeys. He kissed the back of your ear and licked your lobe before speaking gruffly, “look at ya, you little slut… getting so cockdrunk… your little mind can't comprehend anything right?” Truth be told, you were cockdrunk. Your head was thrown back, and your eyes shut as soft little “fucks” escaped your lips like a mantra. “Mm… taking me in so fucking well… that's what you’re good at, only taking in cocks like the whore you are… look at yourself,” he grabbed your jaw and forced you to look at yourself in the mirror in front. Your eyes were dazed and unfocused, your lips softly parted. “Pretty little face looks so dumb and fucked out… you’re liking this aren't ya?” You nodded as tears started rolling down your face at his intensity. He continued fucking you through it all. “Is that all your little pussy can take? Yeah? You’re so pathetic… the one thing you’re good at you also suck in it…” he chuckled darkly in your ears. You moaned rather loudly at the words. “Yeah… i know you like hearing all that. Knowing how you cant even satisfy me properly. Fuck. You should be glad I haven’t dumped you yet…” you couldn’t help but get even more turned on at his words, even though you knew he never meant a single word. Minho releases his grip on your body and stops. Your eyes go wide, and you look back at him panicked, finally coming back to reality. He grinned. “Fuck yourself on me. I want to see how good you are or are you going to be a bad girl?” He asks, tilting his head to the side. You immediately shook your head before slowly starting to fuck yourself on his cock, taking some time to find your pace. Minho threw his head back and suppressed his moans, not wanting to show you how much he was enjoying it. He looked at you through the mirror before slapping your ass. “Is that the best you can do? Really?” He grabbed your throat and pulled you back, “you really are a good for nothing huh?” He started fucking you again, his thrusts harder this time. His other hand reached and slapped your ass before gripping the flesh. “Such a pitiful thing… cant even satisfy her own boyfriend…” your body visibly shook at his pounding. A stream of mixed arousal ran down your thighs. Loud sloshes and wet sounds echoed throughout the bathroom. “Dirty little whore… your pussy is literally soaking wet.. you like getting humiliated, huh? You like being my little cumslut dont you baby? Yeah? My cumslut thats just a fucking mess…? Yeah?” He breathed in your ear gruffly. You nodded incoherently. “Y-yes… yes. Yes…” Minho smirked, satisfied with your response. “Whose slut are you?” “Yours…” “is that all? Louder honey..” “fuck… yours minho! Yours!”

After everything, he would hold you close to his body, enveloping you in his warmth with a thousand apologies escaping his lips. You would reassure him constantly that it was fine, and you knew he didn’t mean any of the words, but he couldn’t help but continue apologizing. Constantly kissing your face or pulling you closer and closer.“Was I too much baby?” “Im sorry i said that, you know i dont mean it.”

A/N: idk why but i find this work extremely hilarious 😭😭 anyways i hope you liked it! Please lmk your thoughts and opinions! I rlly like reading them and helps me get better 🥹🥹🥹 ( im feeling the burnout )

Tags~ @cassies-cookies @minghaosimp @unlikelysublimekryptonite @mamnaimiefrankie @marcoswhore @theyadorevalerie @applejackthebest515 @un-knew @salemluvsmusic @ka0ila @atztrsr @kpopsmutty69 @jisunglyricist @targaryenluvs @yuminhyunn @chansramennn @anylady-fics

If you want to be part of the taglist, comment below! ><

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v3lvet-midnight · 1 month ago

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"𝖌𝖔𝖉 𝖌𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖓 𝖘𝖔𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖊"

God-given solace refers to the comfort and assurance provided by God But Bruce Wayne doesn't believe in a god, only you. small tw: brief mentions of god and religion sorta

living in Gotham can have two different effects on its people, some can become religious in order to develop faith that maybe one day the crime ridden city will be no more, others see so much bad they don't believe there is even a god not with all the terrible things they witness in their home city...

Bruce Wayne was in the second group of people. After all, for the most part he was the one stopping the evil. He's fought the joker on multiple occasions, the man who was an embodiment of evil himself how can he be expected to believe there even is a god? being left on the altar was probably his final straw in believing there isn't one. The words his ex-fiancé wrote to him practically engravened in his mind, how he shouldn't be happy. If Bruce Wayne is happy there can't be a batman. Lady Gotham needs her watchful knight after all. The idea of him being unable to be happy and be batman at the same time repeats in his head like a sick mantra he can't unlearn, and it repeats more and more each time he feels any sort of joy or love.

That however didn't stop him from falling for you, you came into his life so easily and effortlessly and he just couldn't bear the thought of telling you to leave. Not when you became his safe space, not when you gave him so much comfort and affection so effortlessly without expecting anything in return it's rare that he gets to experience that. given his reputation both in and out the mask.

after so much pain he was allowed to indulge himself at least once, right? Well, he thought he should. Thats why you're in his arms right now. After a long light of patrol all he really wanted was this moment. you in his arms, his head buried in the top of your head as he lightly squeezed you in attempts to feel your soft warm body against his while letting out soft hum while feeling utterly euphoric for having you in this moment, in his room away from the bat cave away from his duties of batman. Here its just you and him. Nothing else, no worries, no duties, just him and his lover. Thats all he'll ever need.

No Bruce Wayne doesn't believe in a god or a savior. Except you, you are his comfort his reassurance in this dark world, in this crime ridden city. He doesn't believe in god, but he could swear there were shortcuts to heaven in your eyes. you were his angel, his god given solace.

#batman #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #dc comics #bruce wayne x gn! reader #nightwing #jason todd #justice league #gothamites #batman arkham series #arkham shadow #dc headcanon #batfamily #dc universe #dc fanart #batfam #dick grayson #dcu #dc rp

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romarisea · 7 months ago

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pairing: aaron hotchner x reader synopsis: in the aftermath of violence, you are the light guiding aaron back home to safety. the unwavering lighthouse to his stormy nights.

It’s been six days since he’s been home.

Six agonising nights spent wallowing in the nightmares that claw at your skin, digging and scratching the surface to escape. A flash of white light, the loud echoes of gunfire, Aaron, Aaron, Aaron; his lifeless body buried in the shadows, face void of colour.

It’s hard to breathe──

Aaron shifts next to you, reaching out and letting his fingertips drift over your body; he starts with your neck first, tethering you to this single moment wrapped up the sheets with him. He’s stirring from a restless sleep; all marbled bruises and scar tissue that’s only partially healed, leaving small red indents in his skin. It’s hard to see him like this; to think about how it all could have turned out.

“Stop torturing yourself.”

His voice is a welcome distraction.

He doesn’t open his eyes, but he doesn’t need to.

It’s been a vicious cycle ever since he arrived home from the hospital; survive the day, sleep barely two hours, watch him sleep, feel his pulse racing against your skin. Repeat, repeat, repeat. He knows it’s a compulsion by now; you need to keep track of his breathing, fluctuating heartbeat, the warmth of his body to ensure he makes it through another day.

“It’s not what you think──”

“I think I know you better than that.”

The truth of it hits you square in the chest as you take a breath; there’s a scream echoing in your mind. An inhumane screech that tugs at something in your chest, throat raw and hands curled into fists. There’s smoke, thick, black smoke gradually smothering you, a knife wrapped around your throat, a hand clasped over your mouth, but all you can see is Aaron, lifeless and bleeding out, at your feet.

“It’s over now,” he says, soft.

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

He stills; wishing that he could somehow erase the moment from your mind. To finally free you from the constant reminders that he’d faced evil and ultimately survived. He doesn’t tell you about how he thought he wouldn’t make it. He doesn’t tell you about the moment where his entire life flashed before his eyes, the darkness beckoning him home. He doesn’t tell you that he can barely sleep, that the muscle memory of a knife slicing into skin is haunting him or that he’s barely holding himself together, broken pieces that need stitching back together.

“I’m okay,” he says, like it’s a mantra.

“Aaron──”

“It’s okay. We’re okay.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

A faint, crisp breeze stirs the stale air as Aaron’s arm wraps around you, open palm resting against your stomach. He thinks about kissing you until you’re breathless, too blissed out to focus on anything other than two hearts beating together as one.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“There’s nothing to apologise for.”

His dark eyes focus on you, holding your gaze.

He’s memorising every single feature; the small scattering of freckles across the bridge of your nose, the faint scar above your top lip, the slight gap in your teeth but nothing can compare to the hollowness of your eyes. There’s a sadness festering there, a reminder that perhaps he’s not as invincible as he once thought. He hates that he’s the reason why you look so grief-stricken, and he’s not sure he’s either seen this side of you before.

He’s never known you to be so defeated.

He doesn’t like the way it makes him feel.

There’s something damaged in the cracks of your smile; a smile that feels forced. Something that he may never be able to heal with overdue intimacy and lingering kisses. There’s something distant in the way you look at him. It’s like this: he’s here with you, but your mind is elsewhere, wandering, worrying, somewhere out of his reach.

“Aaron?”

“I’m right here.”

The sun is beginning to set over the horizon, the slow descent drawing shadows out of what’s left of the flickering daylight. His arm tightens around your hips, anchoring himself to you and this moment, hoping that this is enough to blur out the death, gore and bleakness that plays on repeat inside his mind.

“Do you love me?”

He thinks: yes.

It’s a reflex; a habit.

But there’s a part of him that doesn’t feel right.

Like maybe he’s not here and that perhaps he lost pieces of himself he’ll never be able to claw back. Maybe this is a dream; something to settle his soul before he’s thrown headfirst into the afterlife. He reaches for your wrist, pulling it close and using the pulse as a test so he can differentiate between fiction and reality. It’s a reminder that this moment is not a figment of his delirious mind; a reminder that he’s alive, and that his heart is still beating inside his chest.

“Do you love me?”

He thinks: of course.

He always has. Or, at least, he thinks he has.

He remembers the very moment you met. It was raining, and he’d been talked into joining the BAU night out one Tuesday in a dreary November, and you were outside as he left the bar. A subtle naivety about you called out to him, a ship lost at sea. He thought he’d become your lighthouse, guiding you back to safety.

It turns out that you were his.

“Do you love me?”

He thinks: yes.

He says, “How can I not?”

It’s then that you sink into him.

It’s the first time in days that he’s had you curled up at his side as you watch the world pass you by. It’s the little things, the simple moments, like this that he misses when he’s away. He misses the breakfasts in bed, the sound of laughter, the spontaneity of days off spent under the warm sun, as rare as they are. He lets his mind wander in the silence. He thinks of his job, the sacrifices he’s made, the moments you might have lost had the reaper finished him off. He thinks of the compromises your relationship has needed to survive, and waits for the guilt to resurface.

Somehow, it always does.

“I feel──”

A pause, then, “Guilty?”

He nods, as his body shifts beside you.

It’s like this: Aaron survived, but not everyone did.

Lives were brutally snatched long before they should have been taken, most without a second thought for their loved ones or the dreams they might have had. Aaron spends the aftermath blaming himself for not seeing the signs, for not doing his job quick enough, and he carries the guilt like a second skin, never once letting himself forget that it’s all his fault.

It’s like this: he survived, but the cost was too high.

It’s in the night terrors that paralyse him, an endless lineup of victims staring at him through cold, lifeless eyes. He can feel the remnants of their lives slipping through his fingertips, ebbing slowly away. He can still feel the moment the blade sliced through his abdomen, the cool, sharp steel cold and slick with blood.

No one talks about the nightmares or insomnia.

No one talks about how survival is sometimes worse.

Aaron doesn’t speak about the horrors encased in his mind; the way it creeps up on him when he least expects it. Or that when he closes his eyes, he’s back in his apartment, alone, bleeding, feeling his life slowly ebb away.

He doesn’t need to; you already know.

“I love you.”

He smiles, then says, “I know.”

It’s been days since those words have left your mouth.

It’s not by choice; there was a time when you’d say it whenever you could, loving the way Aaron would smile at you, eyes full of adoration. But the phrase feels almost uncomfortable now, chest tightening with the agonising pain that rips through you as the memory of the last time you spoke them plays on repeat in your head. Aaron had been leaving your apartment to head home, unaware that there’d be a dark figure awaiting his arrival, readying himself for the perfect moment to strike. It never crossed your mind that it might have been the last time he heard it. It still doesn’t feel real; a recurring dream that neither of you can wake from──you try not to remember the way he didn’t have time to say it back.

“Do you think it’ll get easier?”

He thinks: of course not. Why should it?

How can the world right itself after all that loss?

Grief profilerates until sometimes, it’s all anyone can feel. The weight of the grief doesn’t lessen nor does it become easier to bear, but time can give you a new perspective. For Aaron, it’ll only fuel his determination to be the best at his job, to never falter in the face of evil, so that killers can be caught and brought to justice. He’ll turn this overbearing grief into something meaningful, to ensure that the lives lost were not in vain. He wakes with the realisation of it wrapped around his throat every morning, a hand clasped against his clammy skin, tightening its grip until he’s struggling for breath.

“I’m not sure I want it to.”

There’s the guilt; then there’s you.

“It’s not your fault, Aaron. It’s not your fault.”

He allows the words to settle into his skin, breathing them into his aching lungs. He doesn’t tell you he doesn’t believe you. He doesn’t tell you that his heart aches with every beat. He doesn’t tell you when the nightmares get so dark that he struggles to distinguish between what’s real and what’s not. He doesn’t tell you that he might need some help, that he’s practically screaming out for it. He doesn’t tell you anything that might destroy the carefully curated bubble he’s built around this fragile thing between you.

He’ll be damned if he lets his mind ruin that.

He’ll be damned if he lets his mind ruin you.

“I love you,” he breathes out, “and I always will.”

It’s the only truth he knows; the only truth that matters.

It does nothing to alleviate the demons but here, with you, limbs coiled together as one, he almost feels safe. His chest is alight with tenderness; it lingers and emanates as you gently rock him to the soft hum that crawls up your throat; a soft lullaby for him to fall asleep to.

It’s like this: you’re the lighthouse, and he’s lost at sea.

It’s only a matter of time before you guide him home.

#criminal minds imagine #aaron hotchner imagine #hotch imagine #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #mine

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insidermeditationmantra · 3 months ago

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Powerful Mantra for Protection & Prosperity: Shani (Saturn) Beej Mantra

In Vedic astrology, Shani (Saturn) is known as the planet of discipline, structure, karmic lessons, and spiritual growth. While Shani's energy is often seen as challenging, it also brings about profound transformation, inner strength, and material prosperity through hard work and perseverance. The Shani Beej Mantra is a powerful invocation to seek the blessings of Shani for protection, prosperity, and the ability to overcome obstacles with determination and resilience.

By chanting the Shani Beej Mantra, you align yourself with the cosmic energies of Saturn, inviting protection from negative influences and attracting long-term prosperity through patience, discipline, and effort.

The Shani (Saturn) Beej Mantra:

"Om Praam Preem Praum Sah Shanaischaraya Namah"

Each part of this mantra carries a potent energy that resonates with the qualities of Shani, enabling you to tap into its protective and prosperous energies. Let’s break down the mantra to understand its deeper significance:

Om – The sacred sound of the universe, symbolizing the essence of creation and divine presence. It connects us to the highest cosmic vibration and sets the tone for spiritual alignment.

Praam – This seed syllable directly invokes the energy of Saturn (Shani), known for its power to remove obstacles, enforce discipline, and offer protection from negativity.

Preem – This syllable invokes a sense of focus, strength, and patience. It empowers the practitioner to face challenges with resilience, while also fostering inner peace and emotional stability.

Praum – This sound resonates with the material and spiritual prosperity associated with Shani. It draws in energies of wealth and stability through persistent effort and spiritual growth.

Sah – A universal sound that represents the divine presence, recognizing the higher power that guides and supports us. It invokes the cosmic forces that aid in our protection and prosperity.

Shanaischaraya – A direct invocation to Shani (Saturn), calling upon the planetary energy that governs justice, time, karma, and transformation. It also asks for Shani’s blessings in overcoming difficulties, as well as attracting prosperity through hard work and patience.

Namah – A word of respect and surrender, signifying a bow of humility. It acknowledges the power of Shani and the wisdom it brings, showing reverence to the divine forces that guide us.

The Power of Chanting the Shani Beej Mantra:

Chanting the Shani Beej Mantra regularly brings powerful benefits, including:

Protection from Negative Energies: Shani is often considered the protector from malefic planetary influences and negative energies. This mantra shields you from harmful forces, bad luck, and misfortune.

Strength to Overcome Obstacles: Shani's energy helps you build resilience in the face of challenges. Chanting the mantra gives you the inner strength to confront and overcome life's difficulties with determination and focus.

Attracting Prosperity through Effort: Shani is not about easy gains; it teaches the value of hard work, discipline, and perseverance. This mantra helps you attract long-term prosperity through sustained effort, providing material abundance and financial stability.

Karmic Balance and Spiritual Growth: Saturn is the planet of karma, and chanting this mantra helps you align your actions with higher spiritual values. It brings karmic balance and assists in transforming negative karmas into positive opportunities for growth.

Mental Clarity and Discipline: The mantra helps bring mental clarity, focus, and discipline into your life. It aids in structuring your goals and creating a clear, methodical path to success.

Long-Term Success and Stability: The power of Shani’s influence is gradual but enduring. Through consistent chanting, you can manifest lasting success, grounded stability, and protection in all areas of life.

How to Chant the Shani Beej Mantra:

For the Shani Beej Mantra to be effective, it is important to approach it with sincerity, devotion, and a clear purpose. Here is how you can chant the mantra:

Find a Quiet, Sacred Space: Choose a calm, peaceful environment where you can meditate without distractions. Ideally, you can light a candle or incense to create a sacred atmosphere.

Set Your Intention: Before beginning your chanting, focus on what you hope to achieve through this practice. Whether you are seeking protection, overcoming specific obstacles, or manifesting prosperity, make sure your intention is clear.

Focus on Your Breathing: Sit in a comfortable position with your spine straight. Take a few deep breaths to calm your mind and center yourself. Breathe in peace, and breathe out any tension or negative energy.

Begin Chanting: Chant the mantra aloud or silently: "Om Praam Preem Praum Sah Shanaischaraya Namah" Ideally, repeat the mantra 108 times using a mala (prayer beads). The rhythm of the beads helps keep your focus steady, allowing the mantra to work on your subconscious mind and energy field.

Visualize Protection and Prosperity: As you chant, visualize a protective golden light surrounding you, warding off any negative influences. Imagine this light expanding into every area of your life, bringing prosperity, stability, and positive transformation.

End with Gratitude: Once you have completed the chanting, offer gratitude to Shani (Saturn) for the protection and blessings received. Trust that the divine forces are working to guide you towards a prosperous future.

youtube

#mantra #vedic mantra #mantra meditation #chakras #meditation #music #protection from dark energy #protection from dark energies #protection mantra #protection from evil eye #prosperity #spiritual #newbeginnings #Youtube

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astrosouldivinity · 3 months ago

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𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒐 𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑬𝒗𝒊𝒍 𝑬𝒚𝒆: ⁺⋆🧿⋆⁺ (𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎)

𝑬𝒗𝒊𝒍 𝑬𝒚𝒆 𝑻𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒔 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑷𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆 𝑼𝒔𝒆:

1. 𝑬𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒈𝒚-𝑺𝒊𝒑𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 (➖)

• Recruiting Allies: They recruit other people to help with undermining you, knowing they can't succeed alone.

• Obsessive Monitoring: They engage in gang-stalking behavior, fixating on you, plotting and praying on your downfall.

• Controlling Behavior: They nitpick and belittle you, trying to manipulate your emotions and provoke reactions.

• One-Sided Relationships: You invest your energy into them, but they offer nothing in return. Essentially, pouring into an empty cup, leaving you drained and feeling entitled to your energy.

• Deteriorating Health: Their influence can manifest in negative effects on your well-being, leading to visible changes such as decreased vitality, increased illness, and persistent brain fog.

2. 𝑬𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝑴𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒑𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 👹

• Gaslighting: They make you question your reality through passive-aggressive tactics, engaging in psychological warfare that is truly diabolical. This involves throwing stones and hiding their hands, creating confusion that drives you to doubt your perceptions and feel like you’re going crazy.

• Isolation: Following a smear campaign, you may find yourself ostracized, leaving you vulnerable and unprotected. This isolation is even more distressing if you don’t fully understand what’s happening.

• Existential Neglect: They act as if you don’t exist, undermining your self-worth and causing you to doubt yourself. This behavior pushes you to seek their validation, aiming to disconnect you from your true self.

3. 𝑻𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒐𝒖 🪢

• Commitment to Misunderstanding: They are dedicated to misinterpreting you, and people who dislike you will always find faults, fueled by a relentless desire to undermine you.

• Projection: They impose their limiting perceptions on you, trying to box you into a version they can control.

• Stagnation: They resist your growth, attempting to keep you in a state where they had the most control over you, and project their own lack of evolution onto you.

4. 𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒐 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 🪬

1. Wear Protective Crystals: Utilize stones such as black tourmaline, obsidian, and smoky quartz. Wear evil eye jewelry, and incorporate protective practices like spell jars, mantras, and visualization techniques.

• I create evil eye-themed jewelry, crystal jewelry, and spell jars, which will be available for purchase soon. 💟

• 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝙹𝚊𝚛𝚜 🌱🫙

2. Pray for Protection: If necessary, consider return-to-sender or freeze spells. However, these are most effective when you know the source of the negativity. Identifying the evil eye source can be challenging, especially in omnipresent situations.

• 𝚁𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚂𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛/𝙵𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚣𝚎 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚕

3. Practice Energetic Detachment: Employ the "grey rock" method—remain unresponsive and stoic. By becoming an emotionless force, you deprive them of the energy they seek to access.

4. Embrace Your Inner Power: Recognize that they are sending negative energy towards you. Channel that energy back to them, transmuting it into your own strength. Remember, these individuals are ultimately weak; their attempts to bring you down are driven by a desire to feel powerful and in control.

𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 1

𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 2

𝚃𝚒𝚙 𝙹𝚊𝚛 🫙🙏🏿

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝙽𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍. 𝙷𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝: @𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢 🖤

*✧🧿 *✧･ﾟ🧿✧･ﾟ🧿 *✧･ﾟ🧿✧･ﾟ🧿 *✧･ﾟ🧿✧*

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚕 𝚎𝚢𝚎. 𝙸 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚌 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎, 𝚊𝚜 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜. 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏, 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙. 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚜𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎; 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚊 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚢. 😓

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the-californicationist · 4 months ago

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Cali's Kinktober: Day 17

Kinktober Masterlist vox nihili - "voiceless" Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x f!reader Kinks > demons, face fucking, come inflation, dubcon Full tags on AO3 - MDNI - Read at your own risk.

As an experienced witch, you decide to summon a powerful demon because you need his help, but the only way you can get his energy is by swallowing his come.

Warning: some dubcon, some actual goofiness, some come inflation; you know the drill. Don't like it? Don't read it!

You were prepared this time. You had bought the best supplies from very reputable sources. You’d mapped out the star charts. You’d articulated the spleens. Everything was in its rightful place. You were summoning a demon tonight, or you were hanging up your grimoire for good.

Ever since you’d discovered you had found a true Book of the Beyond, you’d practiced with it. You’d managed small things - imps, fairies, the odd incubus here and there - but, you wanted power. And true power came at a price. You had made a sacrifice or two over the years, and if you were being honest, sacrificial chicken fried up in a pan just like the real thing. So, it never went to waste. But, it just wasn’t cutting it.

So, you switched over to blood magic. Now, as you sat on your wooden floor, surrounded by candles and runes and attuned crystals, you took your blade in your hands and cut your palm to drip your own blood onto the bright white, chalk pentagram in the middle of the magic circle you’d created.

This was going to work. It had to. You were going to be the most powerful witch in the whole wide… wait.

What is that?

Your blood had created a small portal, and through it came a huge, dark hand.

Out of the floor in your den, a huge Arch Demon crawled into your space, steaming from the heat of Hell, snarling with vicious fangs, and yet looking like the most handsome man you’d ever seen in your life.

When he finally made it to the surface, you looked down at his legs; the furry, cloven hooves making ruts in your hardwoods. His tail swished back and forth, and he held a black, iron trident in his right hand. He was fully nude, his body carved from marble, nearly seven feet tall, with black, twisting horns that sat low on his head. His chest was broad and well-muscled, and his belly rounded right down into a swinging, engorged, uncut dick that was as big as your arm… soft.

“Hail!” You said, repeating your memorized mantra like you were supposed to, “Demon of the Underdark, Ruler of Great and Powerful Evil, I have summ–”

“Wha’s goin’ on in here, love?” The demon sounded… British?

“Well, I was reciting my mantra to summon you to this plane, my lord, just as the great tomes have des–”

“You summoned me?” He cackled, dark and deep, “Is that what this is? Oh, fuck me. Tha’s so adorable, babes.”

“Adorable? I need your powers, demon. Together, we will control the entire realm! Pray, tell me your name that I might write it in my book of magic.”

“Are you mad, love? A screw loose up there? These candles are from the department store, and I’m not sure what that is, but it’s definitely not eye of newt, if that’s what you’re thinking,” the demon chuckled, crossing his arms over his hulking chest, smiling down at you, “But, the name’s Gaz. Write it anywhere you want.”

“I just…” You felt tears spring to your eyes, trying to fight the frustration, “I always get so close to doing it right! The spells, the incantations… I even used the right runes this time. But, I still don’t have my true powers.”

“And what powers would you like to have, pet?” Gaz furrowed his brow as he looked at you, considering you with more regard, using his thumb to raise your chin up so he could see your face.

“I want to be a Master Summoner,” you sniffed, trying not to let your trembling lip give away your desperation.

“Ahh,” Gaz nodded knowingly, placing his hands on his hips, biting into his full bottom lip, “I think you’re missing a key element of your spell, babes.”

“What’s that? Please, my lord, I will do anything to know your secrets,” you prostrated yourself before him, your hands nearly touching his black hooves as you splayed yourself on the ground.

He bent down and pulled you up to your knees, shaking his head,

“It’s no secret, love. Demons only come when they know there are souls to harvest. I’ve come for yours, sweet as it is, but if you want to attract more of my kind, you must have more souls.”

“How do I get more souls?” You asked, watching his deep brown eyes calculating and manipulating the world around him, figuring just how to get what he wanted.

He smiled, leaning forward to kiss you on your pouting lips, immediately forcing his slithering, forked tongue into your mouth, plunging through your throat, testing its depth.

You choked around its soft, writhing form, but you let him devour you, feeling yourself swell with lust between your legs. He pulled away with a pleased moan.

“I can put them in you,” Gaz purred, standing tall again with a dark look in his eyes. He reached beneath the behemoth that was his cock and fondled his heavy, melon-sized balls, “I’ve got plenty in here. Just need to make sure they stay inside your body where you can keep them safe, pretty witch.”

“Whatever you believe will work, my lord,” you peered up at him, trying to look obedient and worthy of receiving dark powers, “I am your humble servant.”

“C’mere,” he beckoned you, and you crawled on your hands and knees to kneel before him, hanging your head in deference.

Gaz used his demonic paw to grab a fistful of your hair and yank your head back, stretching your neck and bending it at a terrible angle. You gasped, hissing from the sudden pain. Then, he held your head in place and began to rub the oily body of his demon cock against your face, dragging it over your nose and mouth, letting the head drool across your cheek.

“I think we should keep them in your belly, love. Are you gonna suck them out of me, or do I need to put them there myself?” His voice was a jagged growl.

You looked up at him and stuck out your tongue, using both of your hands to massage and rub his cock all over your face, letting your tongue lick the fire and brimstone smokey taste from his shaft. You found the head at the end of his long length, and you suckled away at the shining, dripping precome that oozed from his slit.

The only problem was, you weren’t sure how to fit this huge cock into your mouth. You made a feeble attempt at sinking his head between your cheeks, and he chuckled at you, guiding himself a little deeper, making your jaw ache from his intrusion.

“Tha’s it, lovie. Gotta work for it, babe.”

“Mm hmm-nm,” you told him.

“Oh, yeah? More, you say…” He winked, watching your eyes widen with concern, and he took both of his terrible fists, curled them into your hair on the back of your skull.

Decisively, and with a steady strength, Gaz shoved his cock through your stretched lips, past your tongue, and rammed it against your soft palate, making you gag against him, your body convulsing, trying to stop him from going any further. The demon snarled,

“Now, suck. Show me your true powers, witch.”

You were bolstered by his belief in you, even if you also felt like your jaw was going to dislocate itself from your face. When your eyes peered down your nose to map out just how much more cock you needed to swallow, you shivered. But, you were going to be a Master Summoner, and you weren’t giving up that easily.

You began to suck in long, aching pulls, breathing through your nose, working your head back and forth with Gaz’s help, massaging his wet tip until it was practically bursting with dewy drops of his slick. You swallowed it down your throat, and you were surprised at how comforted you felt by the sensation of his warm fluid slipping down into your empty stomach.

“Good… so good,” Gaz rumbled with a pleased resonance, “Are you ready for me to fuck this tight little throat of yours?”

“Mngh! Nhuhmph!” You tried to shake your head back and forth, but his heavy prick had hardened, and you couldn’t move or turn your head at all. You were trapped on him, stuck in place, primed and ready for your mouth to be claimed by a demon.

“I knew you would be,” he smiled sinisterly, taking a step forward and shoving his cockhead past your palate and into your throat, feeding himself down your neck and stretching you in places you were almost positive you should not have been stretched.

The sting made your eyes well up with tears, flowing freely across your temples, and you tried to shut them to clear some of the pain, but your hellish master used his hand to slap your cheek twice in quick succession, punishing you for it, his voice a sinful command,

“Eyes on me, you fuckin’ slag. Power hungry girls don’t get to be shy. Face your challenges, witch.”

You looked up at him, finding that dark defiance within you. He was right. You did hunger for power, and you wanted him to fill your belly full of souls so that you could control the demon army of your destiny. This was your time to shine.

You wanted to impress him, so you stared into his gaze and sank yourself even deeper down onto his dick, gagging violently as you tried to take him. It felt like his cock was in your chest.

“Ooh, yes,” Gaz grinned with sharp, white teeth and fangs, proud of your fury, “Tha’s it, babes. More. Take more of me.”

You felt him press himself down and down and down, all your hopes of taking one last breath were dashed, and you could only wriggle helplessly on the end of his long rod like a fish on a hook, caught and without any chance of escape.

Maybe he would kill you and take your soul to Hell, you thought. He was a demon after all. But, he wasn’t done with you. Gaz watched you struggle to remain conscious, trying to breathe as he rammed himself in and out of your throat, fucking your face with reckless need. Then, he pulled himself out of you just enough for you to suck in a ragged, drooling breath, and he held himself there, watching you carefully.

“There,” Gaz purred, petting the same cheek he had so violently abused, “Breathe, pet. Better make it count.”

You were crying from the desperation, unsure of how to get your lungs to feel even the slightest pull of relief, trying to suck in air through the thick drool and slick precome that coated your nose and mouth.

Then, he pet your head and sighed,

“That’s enough for now.”

He was back to his pounding. You were taking him all the way down to his swollen root now, and his black curling pubic hair brushed against your nose and chin. You used your hands to fondle his swinging sack, massaging his balls, coaxing them to dump their many souls into your willing body. You were preparing to be a vessel for a demon, and the feeling between your legs let you know just how much that idea turned you on.

“Suck!” Gaz shouted, slamming his cock through your mouth, “Suck me harder, you filthy little bitch. Suck me like your life depends on it,” he leaned his head down and made his eyes flash red, “Because it does.”

You wailed, but it came out like a moan, trying so hard to please him, sucking him when you had the ability to do so, but for the most part, you were nothing more than his warm cocksleeve.

He buried your face in his pubes, holding your head down as you thrashed for air, pushing at his furry cervine legs for freedom, and then… you stopped. You felt euphoric. Your mind stopped fighting as soon as you felt the molten hot stream of Gaz’s viscous demon come filling your belly.

“Oh, fuck! Yes,” he moaned, smiling sickly, trembling and shaking above you, keeping your head pressed down, forcing you to take him as deep as you could, “Swallow it all, witch. Drink up all these fuckin’ souls.”

You swallowed and took in as much as you could. He had been pumping and throbbing inside of your mouth for so long now, you could actually feel the weight of his seed inside of yourself, and it made you feel so powerful. You rubbed your lower belly, rounded from the creamy gulps of demon come that was being stuffed inside of you, enjoying how full you were.

Then, all of a sudden, Gaz released you, raking himself out of your throat, bringing strings of come and drool and spit with him. Your body clenched, gagging and coughing as he left you empty, your throat feeling like it had been burned. You could taste his spend on your tongue, and you sat back, panting, trying to let the oxygen get into your brain again.

“Mmm,” Gaz moaned, jerking his softening prick in his huge hands, taking the tip and rubbing its sticky remnants all over your face, “Such a good little summoner. You summoned my come right into your tummy, didn’t you, slut?”

“Yes, my lord,” you rasped.

“Does my nasty witch wan–” Gaz’s salacious comment was interrupted by the portal reopening. You both slid away from it, unsure of who or what was coming through.

“Gaz?” A demon with a tall mohawk and long, straight horns that went back across his head, squeezed himself through the open gap in your magic portal, “Mate, where did ye run off to? Didnae even finish your third torture sesh. Oh! Oh… what’ve you got here?”

The apparently Scottish demon startled you, and his gaze was unsettling. He stared at you like he wanted to eat your bones for supper.

“It worked!” You celebrated, “Oh, thank you, my lord. The souls you gave me have summoned another demon!”

“What?” Gaz said, “Uh, no… this is Soap, and he was jus–”

“Summoned? I wasnae summoned here, lass. What was supposed to work?”

“The souls,” you explained smugly, “Lord Gaz has filled my belly with his seed, and he told me that it contains a multitude of souls that I can use to attract other, more powerful demons.”

“He told you that his fuckin’ spunk was full of souls,” Soap asked, his face curling into a boyish grin, “And you believed him.”

You nodded. Gaz sighed, waiting for the next quip that he knew was on its way out of the other demon’s mouth.

“Well, bonnie,” Soap sauntered over to you, jerking his own immense phallus, “Mine’s got twice as many as his does. Hope you saved room for dessert.”

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cyberteez · 4 months ago

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bound in silk - j.wooyoung

pairing ⋆ j.wooyoung x afab!reader

genre ⋆ smut

wc ⋆ 1.5k

summary ⋆ a bound wooyoung knows no kindness

warnings ⋆ switch!wooyoung, switch!reader, fellatio, no barrier, pinvsex, mentions of ice play, cockring, lots of teasing and edging, dacryphilia, choking, cum play, multiple orgasms, corruption kink masked as sadism???, aftercare, lmk if i miss any

hands bound and cock head a throbbing red with no allowance for release has wooyoung squirming and sweating underneath you, desperate whines falling from his lips in plea to let him cum. you had worked on him for gods know how long, edging him, sucking him off, playing with yourself in front of him, using toys, and running ice between his thighs and ghosting over his cock head. almost anything you could think of.

he, of course, was a mess. tears streaming down his face, silent sobs wracking his body as he fought so hard for something you repeatedly denied him. yet another tear slips down his face as you sit atop his dick, slowly rolling your hips to bring yourself to climax. a cockring sits snug against his base, preventing him from immediate release. your finger comes to wipe the tear away, shushing him and telling him he’s doing so well. your words of praise shoot straight to his cock and you can feel it twitch against your walls as you continue your motions. hands glide down his chest, digging red marks until you reach his hips, giving them soft pinches so he bucks up into you. he whispers out another plea but you silence him with a finger saying, “I just said you were doing so well, do you want me to stop?”

he shakes his head no and sucks in a deep breath when you let out a moan as you brush against your sweet spot. your noises alone could have him cumming now if it weren’t for the ring wrapped around his cock. your hips grind faster against him, a hand slipping down to play with your clit as you draw near your climax. stars sparkle in your vision when you come for the third time, walls clenching around him in the most evil way. a strangled moan leaves him as you cum, the hands that are bound pulling against the bed in an attempt to stop you.

when you pull off his dick, you sit beside his shoulder, running a gentle hand through his hair.

“how badly do you wanna cum?” you ask, eyes tracing along his torso to his cock.

“please, fuck,” he chokes back a sob, “please let me cum. I wanna cum so badly, love.” he repeats this mantra a few times, each time becoming softer until he can’t beg anymore.

“no,” is all you reply before shifting back down the bed. you wrap your lips around him once more, glancing up in time to see him desperatly tugging at the silk binding his hands aginst the headboard. your essence hits your tongue. the slightly acidic tone has you reeling for a moment, unadjusted to your own taste. you pay it no mind as you work the rest of his cock into your mouth, nose nestled against his pubic bone before swallowing around him. a strangled gasp leaves his mouth in response. your hand softly encases his balls, fondling them slowly. pulling off his cock slowly you suck in, increasing the suction as you move up, causing a cacophony of curses to spill from him. you repeat the motion several times before hollowing your cheeks and rapidly bobbing your head up and down. when his whines turn breathy and high pitched, all movement ceases and you remove yourself from him with a pop. as you lay your cheek on his thigh, watching him through hooded eyes, you think he looks prettiest like this: saliva dribbling out the sides of his mouth, tear tracks staining his pretty tanned skin, begging for release, and thighs shaking in another denied orgasm. once you think hes calmed down enough, you press a kiss to his thigh and sigh, thinking that you’ve probably played with him too much. he’s still crying, albeit not as loud as it was in the beginning, but it’s becoming almost too much for you to handle. you know that if he truly wasn’t okay he would’ve used the safe word but even with no mention of it, you don’t think you can press him any further. wooyoung's hands constantly strain against the binds, fists closing and opening as he tries to regain some composure.

a soft smile graces your features as you reach down to the ring, carefully sliding it off his cock. you can almost feel how relieved he is from the large sigh he lets out. one touch from you at this point would probably have him creaming, a thought that has you almost giddy, but you relent in your slight sadism in favor of releasing him. turning your attention to his wrists, you untie the silk that’s binding them together. with his hands free, wooyoung looks up at you and gives you a soft smile, shaky arms reaching for you. his eyes reflect the tiredness in his limbs, slow movement as he regains proper circulation all he can manage.

what you thought was going to be a gentle embrace turns into a quick slam on the bed as he climbs on top of you, pinning your own hands above your head.

his soft, tired smile turns all but devious as he flips the tables and triumphantly watches your hazy gaze change to shock. he rotates his free wrist before switching the hand that has you pinned to do the same motion. with a quick roll of his neck you can hear his muscles pop and a sigh escapes his mouth before his devilish gaze returns to yours.

“wooyoung, my love, whatcha doing?” you let out a short laugh, nervous for what’s to come.

“my turn.”

he wastes no time, using his free hand to line his cock with your entrance and sliding in with one push. a choked cough leaves your lips when he fills you to the hilt with one thrust, giving you no time to adjust before dragging his hips back and slamming back in. he fucks you with abandon, small grunts and whines falling from his chapped lips. his free hand moves down to your throat, gripping it to gain more leverage. a sigh leaves your mouth almost instantly. an elated and floaty feeling consumes you from the lack of blood circulation. every rock of his hips has his tip pushing into the spot that has you seeing stars. continuous moans fall from both you. you know he won’t last much longer and you’re surprised he’s lasted this long, but he doesn’t stop or slow his pace.

wooyoung's gaze is locked to where the two of you meet, watching himself stretch your hole as your scramble to get ahold of yourself, but his pace is too fast and you can't hold on to anything, leaving you a mewling mess. his name and curses fall from your lips in succession as your climax washes over you. a strangled cry sounds from his throat when you clench around him, his sensitive cock finally bursting. he falls on top of you, covering you in his sweat and tears, breathing heavily. warmth fills your inner walls, dribbling out around his cock when your pussy has no room left to fill.

a loud squelch is heard when he pulls out and his body recoils from sensitivity as his tip is freed. as if in a trance, his eyes never leave your dripping cunt, even when you softly call his name. one finger traces along the dribble and your thighs clench, too sensitive from your multiple orgasms and his insatiable thrusts. a single finger gathers up the mixture of yours and his cum, pushing it back inside your cunt. a soft whine leaves your mouth this time, filling an otherwise silent room.

"I think I went blind momentarily," he announces.

"from cumming?"

"yeah," he replies. a snort resounding deep from within your chest has both of you cackling like a pair of hyenas. you think you'd laugh all night if you weren't exhausted.

while both of you should, neither of you have the energy to get up and clean yourselves, your limbs sore and sleep calling your names. he collapses next to you and wraps his arm across your stomach. he pulls you into his embrace all while leaving soft kisses on your shoulders and neck. you groan, trying to remove yourself from his embrace, the unpleasant thought of dried cum causing your legs to stick together pushing you towards the bathroom. a couple of warm cloths in hand, you clean yourself off before wobbling your way back to wooyoung. he doesn't even flinch as you wipe down his torso, cleaning the remnants of yourself and himself off of him. even while you softly wipe down his pelvis and cock he doesn't complain, eyes closed and mouth slightly hanging open. warmth blooms in your chest from his softness. he's almost unbearably beautiful. his black hair framing his sleepy face so perfectly and his plush lips dry and cracking from constant use has your heart panging in your chest. so innocent even after all you'd both done that night.

when you crawl back into his embrace he murmurs something you can't hear. his arms tighten around your middle, and you cuddle back into him, letting the exhaustion overtake you.

"do you wanna switch next time?"

#cyberteezwrites #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez smut #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung smut

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queserasora · 4 months ago

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ZORO X FEM READER | NSFW / Soft Smut ™ WORD COUNT: 7.9k CONTENT WARNINGS: alcohol consumption, nudity (duh), unprotected sexual intercourse (just don’t do it folks, only works in fiction), biting, scratching, kissing, lots of angst and sexual tension, if you’re looking for light and fluffy this isn’t it, excessive mentions of the moon (so if you’re anti moon gtfo), groping, nipple play, zoro talking too damn much and being a little nasty, for ZORO this is pretty TAME because he is like….enamored, so just let him be, allow this moment of softness because it doesn’t come often, so, SOFT ZORO, and like this is zoro being soft so if you don’t think it’s soft enough…idk what to tell you, it’s zoro, i proof read it twice so if you find a typo ignore it, if you tell me there is a typo you need to suck my dick first, thx

NEW MOON

A dreamer has no home in Mock Town.

Dreams were for children. Quaint little stories made of glittering sand sprinkled into their eyes, blinding them to the harsh truth of the world. The sting would force their eyelids shut, and they’d drift off into lands made of fantasy and fluffy clouds, carrying them off to somewhere peaceful; somewhere they would never be hurt, a haven safe from pain.

They’d lay in their bed woven from lies while the moon spills its light through the window.

It had been a long time since there was any moon watching over you. You slept in darkness, holding the lies you told close to your chest. A romantic heart held prisoner in a chest constructed by cynical chains. You spoke like a realist, even when it split your tongue in half. The taste of copper grounded you to your reality, and you swallowed it down, finding it a fitting exchange.

Your blood for the chance to avoid their scorn. It was the price you paid to live in anonymity.

Loneliness went down easily when you drank it with whiskey. You had learned this years ago, so you consume it daily; a necessary evil. It is smooth on your tongue as you watch them from your corner of the establishment. The back of their heads are unfamiliar as they sit at the bar. You think you imagine it, the way your heart seizes at the sound of his voice. A gruffness so rugged it cuts into your skin, spilling everything you held inside. You scoop it up immediately as you throw the rest of your drink back into your throat. The burn in your chest is antiseptic.

Dreams had nowhere to run in Mock Town. This is where dreams came to die.

It is a mantra you repeat, with every blow they deal on the loud captain and his swordsman. It is a mantra you clamp down on with aching teeth, when their navigator begs them to fight. Your fingers twitch around the etched glass in your hand. You grip it so tightly it cracks, like fault lines across the illusion you had been hiding behind. When they leave the bar, everything shatters.

You wake up, at last, from the nightmare you had built yourself only to plunge into a different colored one.

They’ll never come back. It is a lie you feed yourself, cram it into your mouth and down into your stomach, until everything overflows. Until you believe it. You pick up the fallen pieces left in their wake and start gluing them back together, before your heart can escape again. But he does come back, and a hammer swings into you when his fist flies into Bellamy’s face.

You chase after him as he takes his prize, your oversized kusarigama attached to your back. The chain links clink as you run, its sound chasing your steps. His name is stiff on your tongue but you cast it out, a coin entering a fountain–one last desperate wish. Luffy finds your proposal comical, and so is the weapon on your back. He smiles until the corner of his eyes crinkle, a smile so radiant you swear you’ve only felt the same warmth under the sun.

“Please!” your voice pleads, hands grasping at invisible strings. “I want to see the sky island too!”

His hum is contemplative. You feel time stop. You don’t breathe, you can’t, until he answers you at last: “Sure!” His laugh is infectious and odd. “You seem pretty strong, Kusari.” It isn’t your name. It never has been, but it sounds right when he says it.

It still sounds right when he introduces you to everyone; feels right in your bones. The swordsman’s eyes connect with yours–his gravity too large for you to avoid its pull. Inside you, the ocean’s tide begins to change. A smile graces your lips, congenial and friendly. One that was practiced and rehearsed, like every lie you told. Pretending was a curse you had been tasked with. It was easy and it was necessary. The method that always kept you safe.

Zoro shakes his head at everyone’s enthusiasm. Luffy’s impulsiveness was something he was used to, but disagreed with, time and time again. You were a risk he would have never taken. There were too many dubious variables, your background as a bounty hunter made you skilled and dangerous. His doubts on your genuineness are cast aside by excitement of a new adventure. Zoro lived on the edge of his swords, betting his life at every hurdle, his destiny always held firmly by his own capable hands. Sky island or you, it didn’t matter what the peril was. If it was in his way, he’d cut it down without mercy.

It would be a shame, he thinks–an afterthought polluting his resolve–if he would have to make you his enemy. Your weapon intrigues him, at least that’s his reasoning. There would be no other behind his curiosity. You had a face he could forget, if he really wanted to try.

He’d just have to want it badly enough.

WAXING CRESCENT

A persistent irritation, like a rash from a poisonous leaf, plagued him. You were too familiar, too quickly ingrained in his routine. Your sense of humor reminded him of Robin. Your mouth was always twisted, in a cynical kind of smile–but only with him. It annoyed him. You had no riddles for Sanji or Luffy or Usopp, but when you’d speak to Zoro–he was constantly baffled.

What was your insistence on befuddling him? He figures ignoring you would do the trick but your presence is unforgivable; a sin, like a nick on his blades, a scar on his back, a sake poured on dirt. He wanted to obfuscate your existence, like a dark cloud in a night sky, hiding the moon from sight.

Robin and you quickly become a pair, synchronized jokes, and synchronized looks. You team up and prepare riddle after riddle that Zoro can’t seem to solve. He contemplates leaving you two with Nami to your devices but there are so many unknowns in the jungle his conscience doesn’t allow it. His worries become unfounded when he watches you wield your weapon with ease. There was no sign of hesitation when you acted on Chopper and Nami’s behalf–placing their safety as a priority. His shoulders relax, but doubt still circles–a fin in the water–reminding him that it was still too early to tell if you were friend or foe.

Friend or foe, he can’t deny it.

Your face was one he could forget, if he really wanted to. The problem was, he was starting to believe he didn’t want to. In the brief free moments, his eyes would search for it–like a dry tongue seeking water. The softness of your cheeks beguiled him, made him wonder, like a fool, if they were soft as they looked. But your smile was a blade whose sharpness he knew too well. He couldn’t allow himself to be cut. It was a shame he could never live down.

FIRST QUARTER

An adventure on Sky Island had been one you never even had dreamed of. An island in the sky was something only children thought of. It had been a long time since you basked in innocence.

The thrill of surviving by the skin of your teeth still thrummed through your body. You giggled, a drink in your hand as you enjoyed the kitchen to yourself. The crew had gone to explore Water 7 and while you were happy to be part of the team–it was still something you were getting used to. Working by yourself, for yourself, had been something you’d done for years and were good at. Now, there were others; people you had started caring about.

He finds you in the kitchen, and immediately is envious of the glass in your hand. Not because the dark amber contents swirling around two blocks of ice is alluring. Not because of the way condensation clings to the glass, a sign of deliciously cold temperature enough to soothe most kinds of thirsts. He is envious of the glass, how you cradle it possessively when Zoro steps closer. He is envious of the rim, how your tongue flicks out to lap at a stray drop, sliding down–how it is graced by your lips when you bring it up for a drink.

“Looks good,” he says with strain. Tension pulls at his neck, making it difficult to talk. “Is there more of that?”

You gesture at the table, where you had left the bottle of whiskey. He intends to move, truly, as he is mere steps away from your body but your eyes are bright and mystifying. They jumble his thoughts and it takes a quirk of your brow to kickstart his brain once more.

As the moon commands, the tides obey, and a series of events unfolds that can’t be stopped. There’s so much to think of, you almost forget how much Zoro ails you. You forget how you think of him at night while you try to find a comfortable spot to sleep in. You forget the way his eyes pierce you during dinner, how they steal your breath. You forget the strange moments his hand brushes against yours when you pass him by, and the strange way he says your name as if it was a kiss given in secret.

You forget until Sanji is irate, top lip curled in anger. His words bounce off you, and you frown with a small shake of your head. You shake it, not because you find the accusation incredulous–you and Zoro had fought the best you could to protect the money–but because it feels as if you should care more. Zoro–usually calm, composed, quick to avoid drama–always flies at the handle at Sanji’s provocation. This time it’s no different. He comes, not to his own defense, but yours. The cloud over your mind lifts, and there’s a light beaming into your chest. Your mouth twists into a grimace.

You try to keep the light out by bringing a hand to your chest. Beams slip right through the cracks of your fingers.

Your hand is still over your chest when Robin goes missing. You seek her out, desperate for an ally to make you forget–to remind you of the dangers of letting others in. There was an unspoken understanding between you two; a darkness shared and understood. You understand this even when you find out about Robin’s possible betrayal. In your heart, you try to reason, in your mind you find enough to doubt. When Zoro speaks up, like the devil on your shoulder, and makes it clear he isn't holding his breath when it comes to Robin, coldness sets in. People were complicated. You had learned that lesson with blood in your mouth. You wonder if Zoro has learned this as well–or was he the darkness too? Did he find it hard to trust? Had he been forced to cement walls around himself?

You begin to sink in, hiding behind your usual facade. Lies slip out of your mouth, one after the other, snakes with two and three heads. It was better this way, fabricating a self so different from your true source that nobody could ever hurt you. Desire could only lead to disappointment. Whatever embers he had left behind on the back of your hand, you try to smother it out, covering it with your free hand.

WAXING GIBBOUS

Raucous laughter meets shadows and light.

Luffy could never pass up a party, and after saving Robin there was so much to celebrate. The taste of sake on his tongue was familiar; a pleasant burning whose limits he knew all too well. This was something he could control, a phenomenon that did not incite fear or anxiety.

He could not say the same about the phenomenon of your skin under the light of the moon. A throat so dry he feels choking seizes his words, so he drinks and drinks and drinks. Relief never comes, sentences he repeats in his head as he circles around you fester in the pit of his stomach. You are so happy–elated even, that Robin is back. You haven’t left her side, cracking joke after joke.

It’s sickening how much it irritates him that you refuse to be alone. If it’s not Robin, it’s Nami clinging to your hand, offering you another drink. If it’s not Nami, it’s Luffy trying to shove more food at you–food you gently refuse. If it’s not Luffy, it’s the stupid cook, hearts shooting out of his eyes as he touches your hand.

Your hand–the one he hasn’t touched.

He bites down so hard he thinks he’s cracked a tooth, so he spits at the ground, expecting blood. He sees nothing, and chooses to believe that this means nothing. The sake is rotten, and he is tired, so so tired. Zoro doesn’t pray, he has never prayed in his whole life but he considers it that night when he closes his eyes. So he hopes instead. He hopes he’ll be over it in the morning and you’ll be nothing–a long forgotten moonbeam in a distant night sky.

He wakes up, and realizes quickly that you are still not nothing.

He swings his swords repeatedly, motions that he is familiar with. He focuses on the strain of his muscles, the ache slowly setting in. He focuses on the sweat on the back of his neck, the one dripping down his rippling muscles. He focuses as much as he can, but your gaze on him is fastidious.

He senses you watching him, a strange lecherous feeling that twists his stomach. He refuses to meet your gaze and bites down again. If his teeth cracked then so be it.

You are shameless, he thinks, as he swallows his drink. Your dark eyes are unwavering, focused on his neck. Zoro swallows, heart beating in his chest like a wild animal. His foot is under the table, tapping away as he tries to keep the rest of him still. Nami is arguing with Luffy, and Zoro shakes his head slightly, trying to wake up from the spell you have casted on him. He should laugh with the others, he should ignore Sanji’s pointed stare, he should ignore the cold sweat on his forehead and the sudden dip at the pit of his stomach when you lick your lips.

When you finally drag your eyes away from his neck, in a way that looks like it pained you, Zoro takes a sharp breath. He thinks you have set him free from this twisted prison but you ensnare him again when you meet his eyes. Zoro brings his glass to his mouth once more, and swallows the remains of the whiskey.

It burns his chest on the way down, but there is a fire more heated and consuming at the bottom of his stomach. One that builds higher and higher when you smile at him.

Later that night, when he’s prowling the newly constructed Thousand Sunny like a restless large feline, Zoro has to remind himself why he even set out from his hometown. He reminds himself that he has to become the strongest swordsman, as he fights the urge to slide his hands down his stomach, to reach further down for the arousal that bothers him. His forehead pressed against the cold wood of the training room, he tries to reason with his breathing. He thinks about the new bounties announced, the thrill of new adventures. There is no room for deviation in his goals. He knows this. There is a set path to follow–the one the moon has been guiding him to all along.

Turning to you would just lead him to darkness. Zoro refused to be swallowed up by it, no matter how alluring the flash of its teeth were.

FULL MOON

A life for a life.

He thought nothing of it at first. He thought it necessary. At first he had lived selfishly, seeking to keep a promise given a long time ago. Somewhere along the way, his Captain’s dream had become as important as his. Somewhere along the way, he had friends he cared about, friends he wanted to protect. His strength alone had not been enough, and so for this sin: he offers his life.

If there was anyone who could protect the rest, it would be Luffy.

He tries to hold on to this hope as pain cuts into him. It rips at his skin, making tatters at what keeps him together. Blood splurts, hot and searing. A pain that burns so deep he thinks it’s in his soul. He clenches his teeth, willing for them to crack and splinter off, if it means keeping quiet. A man should not cry when his mind has been set up. His eyes are open but he sees nothing–not in particular, except his own blood clouding his vision.

He tries to focus on other things, when a pain so blinding and deep makes him want to drop to his knees. He thinks of Nami and Usopp, and hopes they’ll be okay. He wonders if Chopper will grow happier. He wants to believe Sanji will get stronger, enough to continue protecting everyone. That stupid, idiotic cook who had tried to offer his own life in his place. Zoro grimaces, a pained groan almost leaving his mouth so he bites down on his tongue–metal taking over his taste buds.

He had no regrets. He never had any but as his vision becomes blurry there’s a face that fills his eyes. A different kind of pain booms in his chest, until it fills everything, until it pushes out the air from his lungs. He takes a ragged breath, and feels fear for the first time in a long time. He fears regret. He fears never seeing her face again. He fears never knowing.

He should have held her. He should have kissed her. Just like he always wanted to.

He curses the sound of your voice, the same that cuts through the pain, and reminds him to hold on. He curses the softness of your skin–the back of your hand, the only sensation he knows of you. He curses how he craves to know more even in the face of this endless pain.

He curses you over and over again, until it is done, until all he knows is the pain you leave behind.

Sanji annoys him. Zoro tries to not lash out. His body feels heavy but he feigns it. He tries to keep it together for as long as he can. He has to make sure they’re all okay. Once he is convinced that it was all worth it, once he sees your face wearing an expression he doesn’t want to think about, he allows himself to rest. It takes all the energy he has left to leave you–to walk away from you without touching you, to not run his fingers through your hair, to press your body against his.

As consciousness fades, he wonders how much longer he can hold back. Would he regret it later? If he died? Would he regret never telling you? His inner voice becomes slurred, incoherent, distant until darkness takes him under.

Robin tries to tell you, even though Sanji tried to stop her. She tries to tell you the truth about Zoro but you dismiss her. You insist it is none of your business. Your voice is calm, flat even, as you fold laundry in an attempt to hide your trembling hands. In your mind, you’re screaming. In your mind, you want to run and grab him by the neck. In your mind, you want to understand what possessed him.

But in your heart you know why. In your heart, you know that Zoro wouldn’t have had it any other way, so you try to pretend you don’t know. It was the least you could do to pay him back for what he had given you all.

You know he will be fine. You know he will recover. He just needs time. You want to give it to him, and you do, as you try to stay busy. Still, your feet are treacherous. They keep taking you back to him. You watch him sleeping, a sickness weighing you down. Your eyes feel full, a heart so heavy you think you might collapse under its weight. Heavy feet root you to the spot by his bed. Trembling fingers reach out, so hesitant they can only touch lightly. You softly brush fingertips across his forehead; your silent prayer for him to wake up soon. The sight of his battered body makes you sigh, and your tear filled eyes rest on his hand. Those hands that had protected everyone time and time again. They seemed so strong every time he wielded his swords. Not once did you think they could look this frail. You reach out to touch the bandages, and gently squeeze his wrapped index finger.

Just as gently, you reach down and kiss his temple.

“Wake up, idiot,” you whisper, lips brushing against his clammy skin. “I miss you.”

Your confession feels like a knife you pushed into your own chest. You move quickly, almost run out of the room. Blood gushes, and you hold up a hand, trying to push it back in; the feelings, the words, that kiss.

When he wakes, it takes a moment to feel like he is awake at all. It isn’t until the straw hats leave Thriller Bark that he feels more like himself. Per Luffy, there’s a celebratory dinner. Brooks–someone Zoro was still getting used to–had taken it upon himself to be the night’s entertainment. Fish-Man Island was the next destination and Zoro’s excitement was slowly overtaken by hazy thoughts of you. The more he drank, the more he thought he should finally tell you. The more he watched everyone laugh, eat, sing, drink—the more he thought he should just accept it.

He should accept the pull you had on him. He should accept the command, the order of things; like the moon and tide.

He follows this pull up to the crow’s nest, newly remodeled by Franky. There’s little time for Zoro to admire the modifications. He is too busy trying to find a way to breathe again after the sight of you left him breathless. You’re bent over the telescope, gazing at the sky–he figures maybe the moon, maybe the stars. He’s not sure. All he’s sure of is that his heart might burst if it beats any faster. All he is sure of is that if he doesn’t find a way to silence it, you might hear it past the bones, and flesh entrapping it.

A fluttering of anxiety fills him with dread. A strange feeling he isn’t familiar with. It feels as if it was imperative he touches you; as if he didn’t, only death would follow, as if he didn’t hold you, the world–his or everyone’s–would end. It was such a dramatic, sickening feeling he wanted to rip his own heart out. If that was the solution, he’d do it but he had a feeling at the pit of his stomach that even that wouldn’t work.

He tries to quiet his breathing, not wanting to disturb you, too mesmerized by the sight of your round and plump ass. There’s fire over his skin, blistering and searing the hairs on his arms. He clears his throat, alerting you to his presence.

You turn around, embarrassed that you didn’t feel him entering the room. It’s a fleeting emotion, quickly overtaken by something much more complicated; heavier, infinitely more deadly. It is sickening, really, how insanely attractive he is. You swallow with difficulty, suddenly annoyed that you didn’t bring a drink with you; anything to whet your appetite if it meant keeping your hands off Zoro.

“Hey,” you say softly, trying to buy time for your mind to kick into gear. The cogs in your brain are sluggish. You blame the alcohol, and not the fire in your belly. You want to tell him you’re glad that he’s awake. You want to tell him how scary it was, but you know he wouldn’t want to hear that. “I’m sorry I drank all your sake while you slept,” you tell him instead, your mouth stretching into a crooked smile. “I figured someone should.”

He scoffs, matching your grin.

“That’s a poor excuse. You’re such a liar,” he tells you, and you take a sharp breath. You’re not sure if he meant it–that you were a liar–or if he just said it in passing. You blame the alcohol for your confusing thoughts, and you blame it again when you don’t notice the way he has quickly breached the distance between you two.

The moon is full and bright, hanging high in the inky night sky. Its light is bright and it shoots through the window, spilling over the floor. Zoro is mesmerized by the way it glistens on your brown skin. You look so small against the window, with your back to the moon, it makes him want to crush you against his chest. His mind is hazy, his tongue heavy. He blames the sake. He blames the sake and the moon. He blames them as his hand reaches out to brush a curl out of your face. He tucks it behind an ear, his eyes memorizing the roundness of your cheek, the shell of your ear. He blames the moonlight on your skin, when he cups your cheek to see if he can trap it there, between your skin and his calluses.

He blames the night sky, the smell of the sea when he reaches down to softly brush his lips against yours.

You can’t breathe when his nose brushes against yours. You still can’t breathe when he pulls back, enough to look down at you. His eyes stare into yours and you still can’t find your breath. You think you’ll die now, by Zoro’s mouth, by his hand on your cheek. Your heart pounding against your frail ribs reminds you that you’re still alive. It is a resounding call to arms. You think you should pick up your weapons, but the fire in his eyes burns your resolve to ash.

His heart is on fire. Zoro knows that is a ridiculous thought. He knows that’s not even correct or possible, but the longer he looks at you, the more he feels it to be true. He hears it in the distance; the sound of war—drums, and screaming, blades scratching against each other, sinew tearing, blood gushing; throbbing in his ears and in his veins.

The sound echoes in his body, a rush of adrenaline lighting small fires throughout his being. This moment feels infinite, as if he is frozen in time. A want so desperate pools inside him until it ignites.

He comes tumbling down when he kisses you again. A ravenous mouth open and seeking against yours. His large hands hold your face, as he brushes his tongue against yours with the sole purpose of consuming; conquering. Your tongue is warm and soft, slippery, a sensation he can’t get enough of. He hums when you give in, when you let him suck on it without inhibitions. His breathing is harsh through his nose, and it becomes quicker when you place your hands over his, when you move them down his arms onto his chest.

You grasp on to his shirt, as you return his kisses. His teeth are unforgiving. They bite down on your bottom lip, on the corners of your mouth. He is insistent on discovering everything about it. He runs his tongue against your bottom lip, his forehead pressed against yours. He wonders as he sucks on it, how many times have you bitten down on it, how many words have you swallowed in place to offer lies instead. He’s never told you how often he sees right through you. He sees it even now, as you struggle for control.

“Don’t fight it,” he breathes against your cheek, his fingers tangling in your hair. “Not now. Not tonight.” He kisses your closed eyes; one at a time. He kisses your cheeks, lips blistering hot. You feel him brush his mouth against your jawline. “Don’t think. Not until tomorrow,” he asks you against your neck, trailing kisses down the column of it. You think about this offer, consider rejecting, but when his teeth snags against the soft flesh on the hollow of your neck you forget everything. Your arms wrap around his shoulders as he follows your collarbone to one shoulder. He bites down with enough force to make you cry–one that turns into a soft moan.

It is enough. That is the sound that snaps his resolve. He wanted to be gentle. He wanted to make this moment last, as if he would never have it again, but you are something he was never prepared to fight against. When you moaned, with your nails digging into his back he was left with no choice. He had to have you, tonight, at all costs.

His hands are as unforgiving as his mouth. They rip into your clothes, ignoring your protests. The sound of tearing fabric is accompanied by the sound of your gasps. His breathing is harsh against your ears, causing a wetness between your legs you try to take no responsibility over. It is the sight of his chest, wide and thick when he rips his own shirt that makes your mouth water. Your hands reach out immediately, just as you always dreamed of. You run your palms over his muscles, memorizing every dip and sharp angle, as you press your open mouth to his neck. You suck on a spot, determined to leave a mark–any. It was desperation. One that was fed by fear. You feared this moment not lasting. You feared never again touching his skin, kissing him, holding him.

His own desperation was evident by his greedy hands. They way he seized your hips, to press his erection against you. His hands slide over your hips to your ass, and he digs his fingers into the supple flesh. He’s kissing you again, a clash of tongue of teeth; sloppy, and messy, a wetness on your chin he licks up before sucking on the spot. Zoro’s eyes take in the sight of the floor, as you kiss his chest. He moans when you bite down over a nipple, and he pulls on your hair.

“Stop that,” he hisses, pushing you back towards the benches. “Or I’ll fuck you on the floor.” It doesn’t sound unappealing to your ears, so you try to bite his other nipple but he is faster than you. He picks you up by the ass, forcing you to shout in surprise. Zoro carries you to the bench, and he sits down after placing you back on the ground.

You look down at him, and his naked chest. His pants are still on and you feel extremely exposed. Zoro had, in his efficacy, ripped every single article of clothing you had on. Leaving you naked, and heated. You scoff.

“So you get to keep your pants on?” you ask him, pointing with a frown. Zoro laughs at you, as he reaches into his trousers with one hand. He pulls out his hardened cock, and strokes it gently. There’s a lump in your throat, one with no name, so you swallow it quickly. The sight of his pink tip is enticing. He smears the precum over his slit with his thumb. You think it a shame, and almost tell him so but he’s speaking trying to get your attention.

“Pay attention,” he tells you with a raised brow, his hand settled now at the base of his cock. You raise a brow to match his. Zoro smiles, and pats his lap with his free hand. “Come here,” he commands you to move towards him, heart hammering away at the prospect. You had thought of this moment before. You had no shame admitting it now. You had thought often of how it would feel to have Zoro inside you, so deep you could feel like dying. It seems Zoro had other plans when you approach him as he spins you around by the hips. “This way. Your back to me.”

You swallow and sit on his lap, feeling his cock pressed against your ass. He kisses your shoulder, your neck as his hands roam over your thighs. There’s a slick coating your folds. You’re more aware of it the more he touches your skin. His breath is hot against your ear when he speaks again: “I’m going to spread your legs,” he tells you, and follows through quickly on his statement, spreading them by grabbing your thighs. You gasp, cool air touching your heated core. Zoro runs his tongue along the shell of your ear. He nips the top of it, teeth sharp and digging hard enough to leave an imprint. You feel yourself getting wetter.

“You’re wet,” he breathes out–a heated whisper, almost trembling. His fingers rifle through your folds, slickness covering his fingertips. Zoro presses his mouth against your ear, his eyes closing at the pleasure. It feels so silky and soft in his fingers. He craves more. “I’m going to make you cum,” he tells you, slipping one finger in slowly, one knuckle at a time. “I’m going to make you cum over and over again. I want to touch you everywhere, deep inside.” He slips in another finger when you moan, curving them in search of that spongy spot. His desire builds the wetter you get, the more you moan and whimper in his hold. His cock is hard, and it leaks again against your back. You feel it there sticking to your skin. “I want you,” he growls against your shoulder, as he picks up the pace, scissoring his fingers inside your squelching pussy. “I want you so badly. This isn’t enough.” His teeth sink into the soft flesh of your shoulder. You cry out, as he clamps down harder, leaving a mark on your skin. He kisses the blooming bruise, hand moving desperately as you clench around his fingers. The soft pad of his palm beats against your clit, his calluses eliciting a pleasure you never knew could be possible every time they brush over your sensitive nub.

He leans over you, his broad chest making you feel vulnerable and small. Your thighs are aching as he continues to push his fingers in and out of you. “Maybe another one,” he grunts in between pants, peering over your shoulder. He watches himself insert a third finger into your soaking pussy. You cry out, at the sensation of being stretched. He is watching himself work, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. Sweat clings to his temple, and runs down his cheek. You’re doing your best to hold back, the fear of being heard keeps you from giving in entirely but the sight of him so enthralled with the way he’s beating into your pussy makes you want to fold. “Do you like it?” he asks you, panting against your ear. You whimper and bite down on your lip, almost drawing blood. “You’re so wet and so tight. I think you do,” he insists, licking your ear, and sucking on your earlobe quickly after. “But why are you holding back?” His mouth is flushed against your ear, his breath humid. “Are you scared they’ll hear you?”

Zoro chuckles lightly against your ear, picking up speed until it becomes a brutalizing pace. The sounds in crow’s nests are lewd enough to make you blush. You hear the wet sound of your pussy, the way you keep whimpering and gasping. Your body is shaking.

“Come on, babe,” he asks you in almost a whine. You gasp, and moan, surprised at the visceral reaction your body had to the sound of his soft voice. “Let me hear you. The real you. Or do I have to fuck you harder?”

The moon continues to hang high in the sky as he works his fingers inside you. Its beams scatter in the room, casting shadows over the side of your face, and over your breasts. He wishes he could see more than he does. He wishes he could memorize the sight of you, falling apart to his touch, and never forget it. The scent of your shampoo haunts him, so he scissors his fingers inside you in a desperate attempt to even the odds.

He kneads one breast with his free hand, squeezing its nipple between index and thumb. When you cry out, he gasps loudly against your ear, surprised at how much that turned him on. He wants to hear it again, again, and again; so he repeats the motion, twisting and pulling until you’re moaning and whimpering in his embrace. Your skin looks so soft under the moonlight. He brushes his lips over your neck and shoulders trying to taste you. It isn’t enough so he tries again, chasing the essence that makes you who you are. He nips at the flesh of your back as you bend over, a particular strong jolt of pleasure forcing your tummy to contract. No matter how many times he digs his teeth into your skin, until you’re covered in crescent shaped marks, he can’t seem to get his fill of you. You feel so good around his fingers, your arousal dripping down his wrist and his forearm.

Your orgasm catches him unaware, and he slows down his fingers, surprised at the loudness of your voice. He finds himself laughing against the hair above your ear, pleasure making him shiver. His fingers slow down slightly before he pulls them out entirely. “About time,” he whispers before he has you flip over to face him. He adjusts you on his lap, until you’re grinding your soaked pussy on his cock. “But we’re not done. I need more.” He brings your face to him, a hand on the back of your neck. The kiss is forced, mouth pressed tightly against yours. You whimper softly under its weight. Whatever tenderness that kiss held evaporates when his attention moves downwards to your breasts.

He sucks on your breasts, as he grips your hips. His fingers hold you so tightly you’re compelled to move them against his length. He leaves bites over the swell of your breasts, and the fire inside you continues to burn. You had stopped trying to hold it in, your moans cast into the shield of darkness like stars on the inky sky. Zoro seizes them with his mouth, teeth bearing down on them. He pins them to his body like decoration and seizes to find more, conquer another every time he nips at your sensitive nipples. You hold on to Zoro, desperation forcing you to dig your nails into his back. Every time he kisses your breasts you feel like melting, disappearing into the heat of his mouth.

Your hands reach out to his face, trembling. Your hips move still, the heat of Zoro’s hands keeping them steady. His eyes on your face send a shiver down your spine. Your breath feels so out of reach, as if you’ll never catch up to it, to place it back in your lungs. You trace over the angle of his cheekbones, try to memorize the sharpness of his jawline by going over it with one index finger. Although pleasure continues to build, you’re distracted by the sight of his ears. His earrings trap the light of the moon, and they blink repeatedly, little stars hanging from his earlobe; a mesmerizing sight that makes you want to make a wish. If you wished with all your heart, would it come true? If you wished for a dream, would it be fulfilled?

Your breath hitches, eyes glued to his swinging earrings. Their beautiful golden color is made all the more striking against his tanned skin. You touch them, fingers playing with them. Zoro takes your hand and kisses the inside of your wrist, the pool of your palm. He moves your hand to his chest, and presses it there. The feel of his heartbeat steals your breath. You gulp, trying to shake the dizziness, but Zoro is kissing you, taking your bottom lip into his mouth gently. You hold his face between your hands when he pulls away, feeling like you’re holding on to water. His hands are back on your hips. He lifts you up, as the fingers of one hand drifts to his earrings again. You brush your fingers against them, and they make a soft tinkling sound–a quick little song–as he buries his cock inside you.

It is better than you could have ever imagined. He fills you in an instant, provoking moan after moan to flood your mouth. Soft, and steady, you tell yourself, pressing your forehead against his. He lets you lead at first, his fingers tapping repeatedly against your hips. He’s counting, for who knows what, timing an entrance.

Zoro thinks he's finally lost his damn mind. He was determined to savor this moment—like an expensive whiskey, consumed in small sips, swirled around the tongue before swallowing, but you’re so wet, your arousal coats his belly, and sinks into his pants. You’re hot inside, fiery, and smooth. Every swirl of your hips reminds him of how desperately he wants to ram into you, again and again. He thinks about you clenching around his fingers as you moan against his mouth. He sets his jaw, trying to tighten his grip around his willpower but your pussy is even tighter. His breathing is ragged, he shakes his head, trying to cast off the sudden heat in his eyes making him see red.

But he can’t help it. He can’t fight it any longer.

“Okay,” he says against your neck as you continue to bounce on his cock at a slow pace. His hands are on your hips, they grip tighter. It should have been your warning but you’re so caught up in the feel of him, eyes shut as your face is turned to the ceiling, that you don’t realize what’s happening. “I’m sorry but I need to do it my way now.” He holds you still, and starts thrusting up into your pussy at a maddening speed. You cry out at the sudden change of pace, fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders. He hisses, but he doesn’t let up, selfishly chasing the high of your tight pussy.

“Oh my God,” you cry out, eyes shut tightly, as pleasure courses through your body.

Zoro laughs against your pulse. He sucks on it even as laughter rumbles in his chest. When he comes up for air he asks you: “Who’s that? Don’t know him.”

You laugh but it turns shrill, morphing into a cry of pleasure. Zoro feels you clench around him, faster and faster. He moans, and bites your chin. He picks up the speed, angles his hips with his eyes on your face, determined not to miss a single thing. When you cum, fall apart around him, he watches you with his mouth open–barely staving off his own orgasm. You fall into him, and he holds you, your body twitching in his embrace.

“No,” he says, pushing your back on the bench. You look up, eyes fluttering close, your body feeling heavy and sore. “A little bit more. I need just a bit more.” You shake your head, weakly pressing a hand to his chest. Zoro takes your hand, wraps the arm attached to it around his neck. “Don’t act weak with me. I know how strong you are. So just take it. You can take it.” He takes one of your legs and places it on top of the backrest of the benches, your ankle bumping into the wall. Zoro stares down at you, and you’re caught again–by the heat of his gaze. Dark green lashes fluttering under the moonlight, his swinging earrings blinking at you, his mouth parted, a flush on his cheeks. It all looks so divine, you think this a sight belonging to the gates of Heaven. You think you’re close to dying.

And death comes calling when he enters you again. You have nothing left inside you to fight it. You moan time and time again, with every brutish slam of his hips against yours. His balls sound loud and impossibly perverse every time they slap against your ass. There are bruises forming, you’re sure, but you don’t care. You hold on to him, wrap your arms tightly around him but he pushes you down, determined to watch your expression. You cling to his hips instead, the ones that keep pummeling into you, harshly, his cock ramming into your puffy and overstimulated pussy. He thinks the sight of your face, twisted in a mixture of pain and pleasure is the sharpest knife he has ever been cut open by.

Zoro staves off a cry of pleasure by diving in for a kiss, desperately sucking your tongue into his mouth. He kisses the corner of your mouth. From his mouth, he hears stupid promises but his mind can’t believe it even through the haze of lust. He tries to take them back but he whispers into your ear again, soft and sweet things he wouldn’t dare speak in the light of the sun. You know he’s only saying this because he is not thinking straight, because like you, he is consumed by this burning lust. You know when a new moon comes, when this has waxed and waned, that he would forget the words uttered in a moment of madness.

He loves the way you feel, the way it’s so easy to kiss you. He loves the way your voice catches on his skin, slipping into the little cracks to stay forever. He hates it too. Hates how he thinks he’ll carry you always. Even in the light. Even in the dark. He thinks he should take it all back, the kisses, the words. He thinks this even buried to the hilt, your pussy fluttering around his length again. He thinks this even as he gasps and moans, cuming with you.

His body shudders as he spills inside you. You feel it start to ooze out of you, but you ignore it, just like you ignore the sudden flush of your face.

Zoro crumples over you, and covers you in kisses. Your hands are shaking as you seize his shoulders, trying to find the sense to speak about what just happened but he is gone the moment you grasp him. There are towels nearby, and he drapes one between your legs. He lowers himself over you, trapping your body between his arms. His mouth is still relentless, kissing your bruised lips over and over again. You see the moon caught in his earrings again, and you reach out for it.

Someone once told you, a dream was a wish you made on a star. Your fingers dance along his earrings. The gold blinks back at you–twinkling stars hanging from his ear. You wish, on all three, for the same dream.

You wish that maybe when the new moon comes, the pull it had on you two would bring you together time and time again.

#zoro x reader #zoro x you #zoro x y/n #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece x reader

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