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tobeholyistobeempty · 20 days ago

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you’re drunk - simon ghost riley

part two. find part one here.

“y’think i haven’t been losin sleep over you?” he continues, dragging his mouth along your jaw. “think i didn’t cum with your name in my mouth last night, after you begged so nice n pretty f’me to fuck y’senseless?”

sober you is a lot less bold, but simon is a man of his word. 18+. insane amount of dirty talk, reader afab, PIV. smut smut smut smut. size kink.

——————-

the headache you wake with is devastating.

biblically so.

and not in the sunday service, water‑into‑wine sort of way. this is old‑testament vengeance. locusts and brimstone and a hammer slamming the earth between your temples. divine retribution for every godless thing you said, every blurred line you crossed - like some higher power watched you drink yourself stupid last night and said let there be suffering.

and fuck, suffering you are.

you’re barely coherent, hardly sentient, when you squint into the cold morning light and find the realization of what happened last night dawning in on you in fragments. out of order, scrambled like eggs - simon’s arm around your waist. you calling him big. military‑issued. ruin‑her‑life‑in‑a‑single‑night kind of hands. been into you for ages. god yes. please. y’don’t know what you’re askin for, sweet’eart. the way he said you’re makin me hard like it physically pained him.

practically moaning into his motherfucking palm.

wait - practically? no. you did.

you spend majority of the morning with your head buried under blankets and pillows mourning the death of your past self because you know your soul must be charred. burnt like the edges of hell where your feet are now firmly planted.

“you, wakin up with my dog tags round your neck and nothin else.”

fuck sakes.

you’ve known hangovers, you’ve known embarrassment, but this - this is some divine hybrid of the two. a cocktail of humiliation and mortification laced with whatever residual high you’re still riding from him saying come say it t’me sober like a goddamn dare.

and of course it only gets worse when you finally make it to your feet - teeth brushed twice after two whole water bottles and a shower hot enough to burn the devil out of hell - and notice something silver glinting on the table by your door that most definitely wasn’t there yesterday morning.

“oh…god.” your heart flips up into your throat.

his dog tags.

you’ve known simon long enough to know what this is. he didn’t forget them. he didn’t misplace them. he left them there to tell you he heard every fuckin word you said and he’s not letting you off the hook for it. it’s a test. if you meant it - which you did - you’ll bring them to him. you’ll say it to him sober like he asked.

a man of morals. who knew war criminals had it in them.

you spend what has to be a full ten minutes just staring at them - like maybe you’re still drunk, maybe you’re seeing things and they’ll vanish if you focus hard enough. maybe you can unsay every devastatingly honest thing you said with sheer mental fortitude alone and they’ll magically fly back to him on their own.

spoiler alert: they don’t move. because of course they don’t. and it takes another ten before you finally stuff them into your pocket.

it’s probably best to just rip the bandaid off. bring them to him before you have to face him infront of the others in mess or briefing - damage control before the rest of the world finds out about the stunt you pulled. you don’t even know what you’re going to say - sorry? thanks? let’s just pretend i never told you i fantasize about fucking you when i can’t sleep?

fuck. it doesn’t matter. you know you owe him the return. a peace offering, a penance, a silent white-flag kind of knock on his door.

and so you walk the hall like it’s the green mile. you’ve never done a walk of shame but you imagine this has got to be as close as it comes. his door is shut when you reach it, and you stand in front of it like a coward for another unnecessary amount of time - complexion almost ill. ghostly. like you could float right through the fuckin wood if the wind blew hard enough.

finally, you knock.

it’s a moment, and then he answers, filling his doorframe with those thick shoulders stretching a tight black t-shirt, looking right as rain besides damp hair and bloodshot eyes.

you wonder, fleetingly, if he even slept. but then his gaze drops over the length of you and you busy yourself with fighting the urge to run for your fucking life.

you clear your throat. “can i..uh. can we talk?”

he nods and pops the door open, gesturing for you to come in. you take a few steps into his room - dark, organized, rather sparse - and nearly jump out of your flesh when the door shuts behind you. the click of a cell door closing, announcing your sealed fate.

you spin to face him once his boots have stopped dragging across the tiles, and find him leaning back against his desk - ankles and arms crossed.

you swallow, and pull the tags from your pocket. “i um. i think you forgot these.”

his brow twitches, barely, as he takes a glance at your hand. a flash of something behind his eyes you can’t name.

“did i?” he doesn’t move.

you shift your weight. the mortification could eat you alive. you’re certain it currently is.

“figured i’d bring them back.” you add, quieter now, trying your fucking hardest to sound normal. like you didn’t just spend the night saying all kinds of unholy things into the palm of his hand. “incase…uh, you were looking for them.”

he still doesn’t take them.

“strange,” his lips tilt. the first sign he’s shown that he's enjoying this. “coulda sworn i left em’ somewhere on purpose.”

your stomach flips. you try to laugh but it’s brittle. “right. sure.”

he shrugs. “not the kinda thing i usually misplace.”

you bite the inside of your cheek so hard you think it might bleed, unsure how to respond to that. it’s hard to even breathe with the way he’s watching you - like he’s taking notes - reading everything you’re not saying in the line of your mouth, in the way your fingers tremble around the chain of his tags.

“shaky this mornin, yeah?” he says, just casually knocking the rest of the wind out of your chest.

“i-“

you falter, because what the fuck are you even supposed to say? no, i’m fine. i’m totally good, actually. i definitely didn’t spend all morning curled fetal, praying to gods who’ve certainly damned me for a head injury so i can forget the mental car crash that was last nights events.

simon waits, eyes blazing like you’re a twitchy little experiment. trying to see which wire makes you spark the hardest.

you clear your throat. try again. “m’just tired.”

“mm.” he hums with a lazy nod. “musta been all that talkin you were doin.”

and there it is. here it comes.

“can’t really remember, but i’m sure it’s part of it.” you lie with a forced laugh. lie so awkwardly it hurts. “tequila. you know how it is.”

“do i ever.” he replies, dragging a hand through his damp hair.

silence stretches thick, after that. it’s so thick it makes the walls feel closer, the floor feel further away. you avert your gaze, and realize almost immediately how big of a mistake that is because the motion pulls your eyes across his forearm - his bare, inked forearm, tendons flexing with the movement he’s making.

you remember that arm last night, wrapped tight around your waist. pulling you close before you moaned god yes and please beneath the big hand attached to it like fucking gospel.

when you flinch, he smirks. not even pretending like he didn’t notice. “y’remember nothin from last night, then?”

your eyes snap up to his. you hate yourself for the fact that all of last nights confidence seems to be no where in fucking sight.

“well, uh, it’s fuzzy but…i remember bits.”

“bits.” he echos. nodding. “yeah. must be a shame.”

oh god.

“shame?”

“shame t’forget all that detail.” he lets the words sink in, watching your face as he leans a hand on the desk behind him. “pretty interestin things. real deep. could write a bloody novel, the way y’were goin on.”

“oh.” you choke, again, and mentally slap yourself. get it together. “well. thats-“

he hums again. “suppose i could walk y’through it.”

“walk me-“

earth tilts. he doesn’t let you finish. “y’know. help piece it together. fill in the gaps.”

“you don’t-you don’t have to-“

he lifts a hand to gesture vaguely toward his bed. your pulse races to the moon.

“your room, y’were right there. lookin at me like i was gonna eat y’alive.” his voice lowers. you swallow and it tastes like sin. his finger shifts to the space before his bed. pointing at the edge. “and i was right there, tryin’ like hell t’be a fuckin gentleman.”

you could laugh, maybe cry, or just absolutely combust right there on the floor because it all floods back in an instant. the way you moaned his name when he knelt over you to undo your boots. the way your thighs tensed as you told him you think about him. the way you stared at him while your brain short circuited and your mouth betrayed every secret you thought you’d die with.

part of you did die, you suppose. the part with your dignity. right there on the floor of your room, next to your boots he took off.

“look, simon-“

he steps closer now. just a step. “y’said you’d been into me for ages.”

you blink, holding your breath.

“said y’think bout me when y’cant sleep.” his voice is a rasp now, the muscle in his jaw ticks. “i asked y’a question, then. d’you remember it?”

fucking hell.

“yes.” you exhale.

“what was it.”

your heart is a jackhammer, breaking through your sternum.

“you-you asked if i think about you when…” you hesitate, and he cocks an eyebrow. “…when i touch myself.”

“yeah.” he says lowly. a breath, not a word. “tha’s right.”

your skin is burning and your limbs feel foreign, at this point. you feel nerve endings pulsing in place you didn’t know you even had nerves.

“d’you remember your answer?” he continues, taking another step toward you.

and it’s then that the anxiety takes over - you blink twice and bite down until you taste blood, shaking your head no. not because you’ve forgotten - fucking hell you remember everything - but because saying it out loud feels like jumping out of a plane without a parachute.

he doesn’t buy it.

“mm, sure y’do.” he calls your bluff, says it so soft it’s almost a coo. “y’know i know your tells - two blinks while bitin the inside of your cheek.” his eyes gleam as his lips twitch. “y’can’t lie t’me, princess.”

christ, you can’t help but laugh at that. it’s exactly the reason why you’ve been into him - he’s perceptive and cunning and cocky all at once.

this is the man you’ve thought about fucking for months.

“yes.” you whisper in admittance. “i said yes.”

“god yes.” he corrects with another step until he’s so close you have to kink your neck back to meet his eyes. his shoulders swallow the edges of your vision until all you see is him. “…still true?”

you nod. a broken thing. “yes.”

“yeah?” his head tilts, the heat of him sweltering. “y’think bout me when y’put hands on yourself?”

“simon-“

he hushes you with a shake of his head, eyes dipping to your lips. “tell me.”

it’s then that you realize dragging this on is for nothing. whatever drunken confession you made last night clearly cracked open whatever restraint simon’s been exercising for months.

clearly whatever you feel, he’s feeling it too.

“yes.” you confess, as firm as you possibly can. nothing coy in it now. “yes, i think about you when im alone. when i touch myself…doesn’t even feel right unless im picturing you. your hands. touching me.”

it all comes out of you in a rushed whisper, desperate and dripping sweet from your lips like it’s been saturating behind your teeth for too long. when he doesn’t respond right away, you realize you’ve stunned him, and pull on whatever courage you have left to press forward.

“i’ve wanted you for so long ive stopped tryin to figure out when it started.” you murmur, lost in his eyes. “and you?”

his breath catches. just the faintest hitch, like he wasn’t prepared for the edge of your honesty to turn and face him instead. it’s delectable, the slight composure tilt, but it doesn’t last long. because slowly - slowly, his mouth curls into something wrecked. something that says fuckin hell, it’s on.

his knuckles come up to graze your jaw, he lowers his head until his lips find your ear—

“y’askin if i think bout you when i’ve got my fist wrapped round my cock?” you inhale sharply, then choke on it when his mouth brushes your lobe. “course i fuckin do.”

your hands lift timidly to find his shirt, curling into it, dog tags still clinking between your fingers.

your lashes flutter. his free hand slips around your waist. “fuck, simon-“

“i know, sweet’eart.” he murmurs it, almost gentle, like it’s something you share. “tha’s what y’need, ain’t it? f’me to admit you’re not the only one losin mind here.”

you nod, partly frantic and partly delirious, and he exhales something strained - something from somewhere deep, catching on the parts of him dying to stay patient.

“good.” his hand slides up the back of your shirt, while the other finds the one of yours still holding his tags. “y’really come here just to return these, then?”

“no.” it chokes out of you instantly, mouth tilting toward his. “you wanted me to say it to you sober. made a promise bout what you’d do if i did?”

something feral flashes over his face, at that. translated through the grip he tightens on your waist, the exhale he washes over your jaw.

“yeah.” he says, tight. “i did.”

his mouth is barely a breath from yours.

“well here i am. sober.” you whisper. “wanting you more than i did while drunk.”

he makes a sound you’ve never heard before. not a groan, not a moan, something deep and feral punched straight out of his chest.

“fuckin hell.”

and then he’s kissing you.

no more waiting, no more games. simon’s a man of his word and it shows in the way his mouth crashes into yours - hungry and bruising and impatient - teeth knocking, one hand fisting in the back of your shirt and tearing it off you while the other pulls you in. he spins you both so your ass hits the edge of his desk, and then breaks away - trailing spit slick lips down your jaw and throat, thick fingers working to tease the band of your sweats.

“tell me where y’want me, sweet’eart.” he growls into your pulse.

you blink, dazed. “i-what?”

his teeth graze just enough to make you whimper, before his mouth drags back up beside your ear - ruinous in the inflection.

“tell me how you’ve imagined it,” his finger tips slide under your waistband, just teasing. “what you’ve pictured when you’re thinkin’ of me like this. right ‘ere.”

“oh god, simon.” you moan by his words alone, too wound to be embarrassed, fingers cinched tight in the fabric of his shirt. “your-your fingers. your mouth. your cock-“

that sound again. deep and devastated. restraint being ripped out by the roots.

“fuck. filthy thing f’me, aren’t you?” he says, as two fingers slide lower, slipping under heat soaked fabric and finding your slit, pressing in no further than they need to before circling back up - spreading the mess you’ve made just to feel it. “you’re fuckin soaked.”

you whimper as he teases your clit. his mouth finds your throat again, teeth grazing where your pulse stutters wild beneath flushed skin. you don’t trust your legs to hold you upright under the weight of it all - his touch, his voice, the feral gleam in his eye when he looks at you like you’re some prophecy being fulfilled.

“s’this what i do t’you?” he murmurs. “just from talkin t’you like this?”

you nod, a frantic little thing. “yes-god, yes.”

he exhales hard like it's kicked out of him, tugging your sweats down until they slide off your ankles before he lifts you back onto his desk and parts your thighs with hands so big they nearly span the entire width of them.

you fucking moan at the sight.

and of course it only fuels him - braces you back on your elbows, spine arched, breath caught in your throat as he steps in close between your legs. his eyes drag down to where you glisten in the dim light - slick, flushed, waiting - and he lets out a curse before returning his fingers to your aching cunt.

he presses in one digit slow, then adds another. knuckle deep until your eyes roll, hips jerking at the stretch.

“oh, fuck-“

he hisses through his teeth. “tight little cunt. fuckin meltin f’me.”

his thumb catches your clit in the same motion - rubbing soft circles, pushing you closer, dragging you toward the edge with every brutal curl of his fingers inside you.

“that feel good?” he growls against your jaw. “touched y’self in bed thinkin bout me between your thighs like this?”

you’re panting now. shaking.

“i-“ you gasp. “yes, simon-yes-“

“yeah?” his thumb speeds up, his fingers pump deeper, your head spins. “and did y’cum like this? like you’re about to f’me now?”

you don’t answer fast enough. he bites at your jaw.

“tell me.”

“no-n-never like this—”

he growls something vile under his breath. “poor thing. s’okay. i’ve got you.”

your walls flutter around him, your thighs shaking where they frame his hips, and he feels it - feels the beginning of the end stutter through you.

“simon-“ you whinge.

he cuts you off. “look at me.”

you do. barely.

“tha’s it,” he breathes. “cum on my fuckin fingers. show me what i’ve been missin.”

you’re starved for it, beyond saving, and its only a couple more deep pumps before you break.

it floods through you - white hot and searing. you cry out his name as you clamp around his digits, trembling apart on his desk while he watches you like you’re art - jaw clenched, pupils blown - his fingers still moving, dragging you through it until you’re sobbing into his shoulder.

“there we go.” when it passes and you’re limp, blinking up at him stunned - he withdraws slowly. “attagirl. s’fuckin good.”

you swallow, watching wide eyed as he brings those same fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean.

“been dreamin bout that taste, knew it’d be sweet.” he purrs as he leans down, wiping his spit slick digits over your cheek. “gonna need it proper soon.”

you don’t even have time to question or respond to that, because then he’s unbuckling his belt.

when you finally look back up, his eyes are wild.

“s’this what y’want?” he murmurs, tugging leather through loops before undoing the button at his waist. “when you came t’me this mornin, all flushed and pretendin t’be innocent. was this it? wantin’ me to bend y’over and take what y’fuckin offered?”

you choke as he tugs himself free - thick, leaking at the tip and throbbing - bigger than anything you’ve ever seen, nevermind taken.

the nod that follows is compulsive desperation. “holy fuck-yes-“

he smacks light at your thigh. “stand up. bend over f’me.”

you do as you’re told without hesitation - legs shaking as you stand spin and lean forward over the desk - breath still stuttering in your chest, heart going a mile a minute. your hands barely meet wood before he’s on you - no preamble. no breath between. grabs your hips like it’s instinct, like his hands were molded to hold you like this, and yanks you back against him with a roughness that steals whatever’s left in your lungs.

you shudder when he slides his cock against your slit once - twice - dragging the head through slick and stalls notched just shy of your entrance, breathing hard like it’s killing him to wait.

“y’remember what else y’said last night?”

you barely manage a nod. your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. he exhales something like a laugh.

“not compliments. not the fantasies. not the whining.” he drags through your mess again, slower this time. deliberate. “you said—“ his hips press forward just enough to make you gasp. “—you wondered if it’d hurt.”

you whine, embarrassed, but god it shoots straight through you. he bends low now, chest flush to your back, mouth to your ear.

“truth is, it might.” his lips curl into a smile. “so don’t fuckin run now.”

and then - only then - he pushes in. you gasp so hard your chest deflates on impact, thick head stretching sopping walls wide and dragging deeper than you’ve ever imagined - too much and not enough all at once.

“ohfuck-simon-“ your head drops toward the desk, eyes stinging.

“mm. tha’s it.” he groans, loud, burying himself halfway before pausing there. “tightest fuckin—bloody hell.”

he presses forward a little more - just enough to make your knees shake as he steadies you with one hand at your hip and grits his teeth. he pulls out just to feel you clench, then shoves back in - hard enough to jolt the desk and feed you all of him before you can even brace for it.

“ffffuck-ohfuck-“ you wail, knuckles bloodless where they clutch the desk. “you-you’re-“

“deep.” he bends over you, grabs a fistful of your hair, and drags your head back to his mouth, voice hot on your skin. “i fuckin know.”

he thrusts once. hard. then again. slower. deeper.

“jesus christ,” he undoes your bra with his free hand, paws at your tits until it hurts. “walked around this whole time with this cunt made f’me and didn’t say a fuckin word.”

“fuck simon-“

“yeah.” he grits against your ear. “tha’s how you moaned it last night. just like that.”

it’s punishing, the pace he sets. each snap of his hips smacking against your ass drags stars down into your retinas - body rocking and cervix kissed with each thrust - his grip is bruising and his mouth works at your neck, forcing noises out of you loud enough to rattle the fucking walls.

it doesn’t take long before your chest collapses onto slick wood, drool coated cheek pressed to the desk - vision bleeding white around the edges. he’s relentless - driven, brutal in rhythm, like he’s trying to fuck the memory of your voice out of his head, the memory of your thighs pressed together last night when he walked away instead of dropping to his knees and giving in.

he groans, open-mouthed, flushed everywhere. he’s not just fucking you. he’s wrecking you. dragging you across the edge by the throat and holding your broken pieces together with his own.

“mmf-fuck.” he snarls, burying his fist back in your hair. his palm cracks hard across your ass before snaking around your thigh to find your clit. devastating. “this. this is what i thought of for months. you. fuckin boneless f’me.”

he pulls out slow with a shuttering exhale, just enough for you to whine before he roars back in - hard and fast, fingers never slowing.

you shriek, squirming with no where to go.

“y’got no fuckin clue what y’did to me last night.” he’s panting, fingernails burning your scalp. “sat there slurrin filth. darin me t’do somethin bout it. tested every fuckin moral i’ve got.”

your second orgasm is a charging tide - and god, you know he feels it. you know by the way he rolls his fingers faster to chase it, moans in your ear when your walls flutter around him, fucks you deeper and slower just to drag you over by your hair.

“cum f’me. give me another.” he grits. “let me fuckin feel it sweet’eart.”

“ff-fuck simon! yes-yes-“

you sob, and then it hits you - violent and wet and cataclysmic - like every single one of your fantasies brought to life, like every pathetic orgasm you gave yourself to the thought of him and his fuckin hands all combined to create this. it’s stratospheric depths of bliss, all the colours of the rainbow erupting behind your eyes as he fucks you through it, not stalling his fingers until you’re sobbing.

“mhm. messy little thing.”

he growls with it before pulling out just enough to slap his cock against your soaked cunt, watching the slick stretch, the way you whine and arch out of pure fuckin instinct.

“look at this pretty cunt,” he rasps, teasing his tip over your clit. “drippin. tremblin. fuckin cryin f’me.”

you try to say something, try to catch a breath, but that all falls void as he thrusts back in without warning - one brutal, complete thrust, pushing everything out of you. screams, his name, your fucking soul. he groans as his hand finds your jaw, forcing your head to turn just enough so he can see your face. cheeks flushed, tears caught in your lashes.

“shh. don’t run—don’t fuckin run,” he growls against your mouth, arm cinched tight across your waist when your hips jerk away like it’s too much. “y’asked for this. said it t’me sober.”

“si-simon. please.” it’s breathless, ruined, wrecked beyond meaning, your mouth falling open on another sob when his hips grind deeper, when the head of him kisses a spot that has your knees giving out entirely. “fuck. s’good. s’m-much-“

“yeah?” he snarls. “s’good, huh?”

you nod something pathetic, lost for words. broken around him.

“want y’to think bout this when you’re alone.” his free hand drags down to your stomach, rests just high on your pelvis, feeling where he’s drilling. “how deep m’buried in this tight little cunt. how good my name feels in your fuckin throat.”

another nod. another hiccuped moan dragged out of you. “y-yes-yes i’ll think about it-mmff-“

“mhm,” he kisses you once. fleeting and viscous and hot. “good. s’good.”

a few more ragged thrusts and a sound gets torn from him, pulled from somewhere deep, feral and hoarse and ragged. his hips punch forward one final time, burying himself to the hilt, and then—

“fuck—fuck.”

he lets go.

he groans, voice breaking at the edges, forehead falling to the space between your shoulder blades. he pulses deep inside you, all of his pent up heat flooding you full until he’s spent, until he’s got nothing left to give and collapses against your back in one shuddering, boneless exhale.

and when it’s over, it’s just breathing - a long quiet moment full of everything neither of you know how to say before you register that he’s moving - leaning over you to grab at where his dog tags were discarded on the desk.

he slips them around your neck, and then pulls out.

“man of m’word, sweet’eart.” he whispers against your jaw. “this isn’t over.”

———————————-

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cherrygirlfriend · 5 months ago

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*ੈ✩‧₊˚ honey, on your knees

pairing: nerd!rafe x pervert!reader synopsis: rafe gets desperate to please reader warnings/tags: smut, oral (fem. receiving) MDNI! wc: 1.7k a/n; inspired by 'holy' by king princess! that song is so them... also there's an easter egg in this fic (what is this, the mcu?) lmk if you spot it!

rafe masterlist ♡ pervert masterlist ♡

rafe's raging hard-on was pressing against your clothed cunt as you were straddling him on his bed, the boy's hair mussed up by how much you'd been tugging on it. you didn't know if your boyfriend was aware just how his hips were bucking up into you desperately, small whines leaving his throat every time your lips took even a slight break from being heatedly pressing against his.

you chuckled as you pulled your lips away from him, a mocking pout on your lips. "what's the matter, baby?"

"please..." he whines underneath you, his blue eyes rolled back in his head.

"please what?" you chuckled again, rolling your hips against his, causing him to let out a guttural whine as you ran a long, manicured nail down his jawline, "speak up. you know i can't hear you when you just whine like that."

you wiped the saliva away from rafe's kiss-swollen lips; the two of you had been making out in his bed for the past hour, and he'd been basically humping up into you for the majority of it. your panties were soaked at this point, but you couldn't resist; you'd rather have your pussy clenching around nothing if it meant you'd get to tease him.

"j-just..." rafe whispered, trying to steady his breathing, his cheeks pink, "just need... something..."

"oh, do you?" you cocked your head to the side, "but what if i need something, huh? you think your needs should come first?"

"i'll give you anything," his eyebrows are knitted together in a way that made him look like the most pitiful, adorable puppy as he looked up at you, his pupils so wide his eyes almost appear black.

"yeah? anything?" you coo, bringing your lips down to his defined jawline, starting to leave small little kisses and licks as your lips traced it, "anything?" you mumble against his chin until nipping at the soft skin sharply, rafe letting out a whiney exhale.

"anything..."

you chuckled, pulling away from his chin, biting down on your lip as your thumb wiped away a tiny drop of blood that you'd drawn with your small nip, "look, rafe. seems like i nicked you a little." you smile, showing your thumb to rafe, only for the boy not caring for even one bit, not even when you wiped it on his lower lip, his tongue almost automatically darting out to lick it off.

"please."

you pursed your lips in thought for a moment, until chuckling as you got off his lap, making rafe look at you with wide eyes, an almost betrayed look on his face. you sat back on his bed, hugging your knees for a brief moment, before cocking your head to the side and lifting your eyebrow, spreading your legs. "take off my shorts."

rafe didn't need to be told twice; he knelt down in between your legs, the shape of his cock visible through his grey sweatpants. you lifted your hips to help him as he scrambled to get your shorts off, and when he saw the wet patch on your baby pink panties, right under the heart-shaped cut-our in the middle of it, his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, "what... what do you want me to do?" he mumbled, clearing his throat.

you run your pointed bare foot down his arm, the light hairs on his arms raising, a shiver running down his spine as you caress him with a coy smile, cocking your head to the side with a glint in your eye. "take them off."

rafe took a long, shaky breath. hesitantly, he reached out for the waistband of your panties, his knuckles pressing against your lower abdomen making you hitch your breath.

even though you knew it wasn't rafe's purpose to tease you, it took him agonizingly long to slide your panties down your legs, making you grow more and more desperate to feel him, to feel his touch, to feel his mouth between your legs. and finally, when your panties were discarded to the side, he turned to look at you, and it was as if he was hypnotized by the sight of you.

"kiss up my legs. slowly."

listening to your guidance, rafe lifted your right foot to rest on his shoulder, turning to face it as he pressed a kiss on your ankle, tracing wet, warm kisses, first up your calf, before pressing a kiss on your knee. as with everything rafe did, he was thorough. he nipped, licked, and kissed up your inner thigh, getting closer and closer to where you needed him, his breath hot against your bare skin.

when rafe finally reached the divet between your thigh and your cunt, he inhaled the scent of your arousal, exhaling against your arousal-slickened cunt shakily, causing your back to arch off the bed.

you'd had enough of his unintentional teasing, so you brought your manicured hand to his hair, gripping it tightly. you moved his head so you had him where you wanted, making rafe let out a muffled grunt against your folds. he moved the other thigh to rest on his shoulder too.

as you loosened your grip slightly, he pulled away just slightly, only to run his thumb up your labia and slightly pressing against your clit, giving it a lazy roll. "i haven't done this before, but, uh, i'm gonna try my best." he murmured, and you felt the vibrations of his voice in your spine, making you bite down a smile.

rafe suckled up one of your folds, and finally, when he reached your clit, he simply pressed a small kiss on the throbbing bud, running his tongue down your slit, making you arch into his touch as you let out a whine, your grip clenching around his hair.

the boy repeated his action on your other fold, but now, when he reached your clit, rafe circled it with his tongue teasingly. one of his hands started trailing up your body, pushing up his shirt as he did so, and you could tell that as he reached your bralette-covered breasts, his hips bucked against the bed, and as his tongue circled your clit, his fingers started circling your hardened nipple.

when rafe's lips wrapped around your clit, his fingers wrapped around your nipple. and when his lips finally started greedily sucking your clit between his lips, his fingers pinched your nipple.

you gasped, arching into his touch; you felt as he started rolling around your nipple between his fingers, while simultaneously drawing figure-eights on your clit with his tongue. rafe was letting out, almost indecipherable moans against your clit, his hips rutting against the bed.

"just like that..." you moan, arching your hips into him, and as his other hand creeps up your thigh, he pulls away from your clit, a groan leaving your lips as you look down at him, taking your hand away from his hair with a disappointed huff, "did i tell you to stop?"

rafe let out a bashful chuckle, the hand that was on your thigh moving to push back his mussed-up hair, "just, uh, wanted to know if it's okay if i use my fingers?"

you rolled your eyes, but smiled at him fondly before resting your head back down, your hand moving to grab his hair again, "just shut up and do it."

his head disappeared between your thighs once again, lapping up some of your arousal before his lips wrapped around your clit again. you felt two of his fingers circling your entrance, building suspense.

but when he finally pushed his fingers into you, your walls were so slick with your arousal, it was like they were sucking him in, pleading him to go deeper. rafe let out a soft moan against your clit as he pushed his long fingers deeper, the coldness from his rings causing shivers to run down your spine.

"yes..." you clenched around his fingers, feeling as he withdrew them, only to push them in deeper, and as he continued on, he began to arch them inside of you and your grip on his hair tightened, the squelch of your pussy as his fingers started to pick up their pace mixed with the sound of your moans filling his dorm room.

and as his fingers and mouth worked in tandem, you kept arching more and more into him, your breathing getting more irrational as you felt the familiar warm feeling in your abdomen slowly turn scorching hot.

"yes, right there!" you moan the moment you feel his fingers reach that spongy spot, and as usual, he obeyed, his fingers continuing to arch into that one specific spot, your head thrown back in bliss, your eyes closed as you chased your orgasm.

and when it finally hit you, it was like electricity was running through your body, your pussy clenching around his fingers, trapping his long digits inside of you, gripping onto his hair as if to make sure you'd stay on earth. rafe pulled his lips away from your throbbing clit, panting, instead moving his thumb to slowly roll around the bud to help you come down from your orgasm.

and when the clenching of your walls finally started to ease up, he rafe slowly slid his fingers out of you as you took short breaths, your heart pounding against your chest. you slowly let go of his hair, and rafe moved up your body. you looked at him with half-lidded eyes, a blissed-out smile on your lips, while his own were covered with your arousal.

"did i do okay?" rafe asked, his cheeks red as he was biting down on his lower lip. you moved your hand to his lips, tugging it from under his teeth, before pressing your lips against his in a tender kiss, tasting yourself on his lips.

"you did better than okay." you mumbled against his lips, pressing a small peck on them, "you did amazing, baby. where'd you learn that?"

"i, uh…" he mumbled, "i studied."

you laugh softly, shaking your head, "what, do you mean you watched porn or something?"

"no…" rafe scratched the back of his neck, "i read some articles online."

somehow, as dorky as your boyfriend's answer was; it was also the most endearing thing in the world.

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makingfanfictionstosleep · 1 month ago

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lads boys dealing with your cuteness agression

xavier

this man would be clueless at first when you gave him a tiny growl before you squeezed his arms tight - like vice grip and would probably make a non-hunter's bones and muscles hurt. he'd ask, "have i done anything wrong to make you upset with me?" "did you not like the meal that i prepared earlier?" and more questions. but when he saw the playful glint in your eyes before diving in for a bite, he yelps in surprise and realizes that you were just being playful. and everytime, it will end up with him tickling you at first, then moaning under him because he expresses his cuteness aggression differently.

rafayel

this man is sassy and dramatic as fuck. the first time you tackled him in surprise ended up with both of you in the emergency room even if he wasn't really injured or anything - just wanted to make you feel bad about it. you fed him fruits days later. then you just can't help it and bit his cheek all of a sudden. "ouch! why'd you keep hurting me? you are making me lose my inspiration," and you just sat on his lap, soothing his bitten cheek with soft kisses. "i can't help it. you look tasty." and everytime you'd have this episodes, he'd return the same energy - biting you or squeezing your cheeks. but when he gets riled up, his grip on your waist becomes intense, followed by a bite mark on your neck, then would make you beg him to make you come on his couch.

zayne

the surgeon is nonchalant most of the time. he'd admonish you when he's a bit busy or explain cuteness aggression in medical boring terms - as if he is reading it from a textbook - with that monotone and indifferent expression. but whenever you take your cuteness aggression on his ass - he'd glare at you, with pink stain on his ears, which indicates he's affected by it. and how does he deal with it when riled up? with you on his lap, counting the number of times he'd slap your ass, before he orders you to ride him good.

caleb

because you grew up with caleb, he can predict when your playful aggression would spike up. he can read your gestures, expressions and intent so he was never surprised, not even a bit. he'd even egg you on, bait you or even tease you. "you can do better than that, pipsqueak," "those pranks won't work on me, pipsqueak," "i can see you hiding, pipsqueak." however, when he gets reaaaaaally into it, he'd pin you on his bed and whispers in your ear mischievously, "alright. now its my turn to play with you."

sylus

this man is the epitome of patience. he was never surprised, never annoyed. he'd just let you get it out of your system. he'd chuckle and tell you that you're not allowed to do it on others. you'd bite his biceps or neck. but on one occasion, you found him on your bed, laying down on his stomach just resting. and his silk pajamas just made his toned ass so bite-able and inviting, making you act on your intrusive thoughts. "well, looks like a kitten wants to play," he said on that silky voice. moments later, he is slowly, agonizingly pushing his length in you - inch by torturous inch, "luckily, i am in the mood to play with you, kitten."

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace rafayel #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace xavier #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace caleb #lads caleb #lads sylus #lads rafayel #lads xavier #love and deepspace smut #lads smut #caleb smut #rafayel smut #zayne smut #sylus smut #xavier smut

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hedgehog-moss · 3 months ago

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I'm happy to announce that Dru is no longer alone! Spring is here, baby chicks have hatched, and so I was able to get two new hens.

The first one (who, as per tradition, will receive a name on the day she lays her first egg) is your average red hen, already old enough to defend herself against hazing; and she seems very congenial to boot. It took some time for Dru to warm up to her former coopmate when I first brought her home, whereas she seemed to like this one immediately. She inspected her from every angle and deemed her very satisfactory.

From day one they were glued to each other all day long! It's sweet how the new, young hen seems to observe everything Drusilla does, which plants she decides to eat, etc, then earnestly imitates her. I bet Dru enjoys having such a studious disciple.

Dru and Louise used to sleep in the laying boxes rather than on the perches; each of them had laid claim to a different box so that they spent the night in separate cubicles with a wall between them; in contrast, when I went to check on them the first night, I found Dru and the new hen huddled up together on the same perch.

Moreover, when it came to seeking shelter from the elements, Dru and Louise used to sit on opposite sides of the outdoor table—whereas, when it snowed a little on Day 1 after the new hen arrived, I found her and Dru hiding under the table on the same side, quietly and companionably clucking to each other.

At which point one of my friends bravely said out loud what everyone was thinking:

And, I mean, the new hen just came out of her egg this year so the age gap with 5yo Dru is probably problematic in chicken years, but also this reminded me of the most wholesome image that lives in my computer (which balances it out):

But I did mention that I got two new hens. I wanted both of them to be 10-12 weeks-old, but unfortunately the neighbour I bought them from only had one hen left in this age range. He said I could take a younger chick, and I was reluctant at first because I didn't want her to be attacked by the older hens—I could keep them separated until she grew up a bit but wouldn't she get lonely?

(This is a complete digression, but while making small talk with this neighbour I mentioned that I've had a lot going on since the beginning of the year and I was a bit exhausted, and he said "Oh, you need some birch water" and took me to the nearest birch and offered me a drink from the tree. I loved this—every time I mention any kind of ailment to a neighbour, they all have their Elixir of Choice that will solve all my problems, be it special honey as a cough remedy or whatever homemade concoction they personally swear by.

So I went home with two bottles of birch water, and promised I would have a glass every morning.)

But let's go back to chickens. Like I said I didn't want to have a smaller chick along with two older ones, because chickens can be quite mean to more vulnerable members of their coop, but then I went to look at his young chicks and quickly developed a soul connection with one of them. She seemed solitary and had a glint of existential anguish in her eyes that I identified with. So I took her home.

I also liked the fact that her feet are currently longer than her body.

As expected, the older hens are pretty rough with her, so the chick currently spends the nights in the greenhouse where it's warm, and in the morning I transfer her to the coop.

Every morning I have to slalom between a dog and a cat during the Transfer of the Chick.

She gets a supervised visit with the other hens so they get to know each other, then I let the older hens out and the baby spends the day in the coop, where she can walk around and forage safely by herself.

I initially let her have access to the indoor part of the coop, but then realised that her tormented temperament resulted in her hiding from the world in the dark all day long, so I now close the little trap so she'll spend the day downstairs.

It was obvious that she longed to look at the world but was too anxious to do so on her own, so I gently placed her on the roof of her coop so she could have a better view of the pasture, with the llamas and donkeys grazing in the distance, and it blew her little mind.

I also worried she might fail to learn important chicken social codes if she didn't spend enough time with other chickens as a child (and she didn't seem very good at socialising with her age peers to begin with) so after letting her adapt to her new home for a bit I decided to take her out of the coop, on a leash (so she wouldn't run away into the woods), for some more supervised socialising.

The other hens were fairly nice to her, they seemed less interested in hazing her when everyone was outside of the coop, but her anxiety got the better of her and she just curled up into a tiny ball and tried to disappear.

If I were a hen in a coop, even an adult one, I would be intimidated by the other hens, especially the ones who are very close friends like Dru and the new girl seem to be, so I sympathised, and deposited the little chick on the outdoor table where I was about to have my afternoon tea. I gave her some grains to eat in my saucer and, like any self-respecting chicken would, she immediately stepped in it and made a mess.

She looked a lot more confident and adventurous on top of the table! I figured, since the other hens were foraging around the table while clucking to each other, this still counted as socialising, from a safe distance, for the little one. She was a bit wary of Pandolf at first, who was going round and round the table like a fluffy shark, hoping to get a glimpse of this new animal, but once she realised he just wanted to rest his long nose on the table and look at her adoringly, she stopped paying attention to him.

And after thoroughly exploring the table, trying to taste my mandarin and then my tea, having a look at the book I was reading and then at the other hens below her—and chirping her opinions continuously the whole time—she slowly ventured onto my lap and fell asleep :')

#crawling along #i hope she grows up fast so the others can adopt her as a coopmate #but I don't regret having accepted my neighbour's offer of a smaller hen; she's so sweet

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societyfolklore · 3 months ago

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Open Up Baby

Title: Open Up Baby Pairing: Tony Stark x Female Reader

Summary: Tony Stark straps you into a StarkTech-compatible bench for a private demonstration of his newest toys- complete with biometric feedback,

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, SMUT… BDSM/Restraints/Bondage, custom tech ball gag, toys (Egg vibe, anal beads, dildo) Overstimulation, Toy fucking/Machine-assisted thrusting, Filthy talk (Tony can't shut up), AI assists with data tracking, clinical observation, forced openness, Sensory overload

A/N: my entry for @avengers-assemble-bingo for April Kinky Bingo… Well this one turned into a whole thing.. Square: B2- Open Up Baby Card Number: KB003

You were already strapped to the bench- back arched, thighs spread wide in glossy chrome stirrups, wrists bound snug in Stark-grade cuffs that didn’t budge an inch. The synthetic leather beneath you was cool against your skin, but your body was already starting to heat with anticipation. The bench itself shifted slightly with every movement, like it was reading your tension, calibrating every twitch of your muscles into data Tony could access later.

You could hear the soft hum of the room’s ambient systems, the low mechanical whirrs, the faint electric pulse of tech running in standby, and underneath it all, Tony’s voice. He hummed absently as he moved around you, flicking through translucent holoscreens that floated in the air, readable only to him. Light glinted off his arc reactor through the thin black shirt he wore, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, veins flexing with every subtle flick of his fingers.

He looked like a scientist. Or a surgeon. No, a goddamn artist.

“You look tense,” he murmured, stepping in close, his fingers grazing your jaw with a feather-light touch. “That won’t do. We need to get a clean read. No clenched teeth, no locked jaws. Just you- open and…relaxed.”

He held up a sleek piece of tech. A mix of leather and metal. To you it looked like a ball gag. That wasn’t just a gag. It was his gag. Something custom. Personal. Laced with Stark Industry Tech.

“Open up, baby. Gotta install the biometric reader. It’s not science without a baseline.”

You hesitated, lips twitching. Just for a second. But he didn’t push. He just waited you out, smirk deepening, one brow arched like he had all the time in the world. That cocky, knowing gaze made you squirm even before anything touched you. Your breath hitched. And then you parted your lips.

“There we go,” he said, tone thick with approval as he slid the gag into place. It clicked against your teeth, snug and firm. A soft vibration flickered across your tongue as it locked in pushing the muscle down.

Friday’s voice chimed in overhead, calm and clinical.

“Gag calibration complete. Biometric sync active. Tracking vocal response, saliva levels, and tongue pressure.”

Tony leaned down, brushing his lips across your cheek in a whisper of a kiss. “Good girl. Now let’s get to work.”

He started with the egg.

Sleek. Silver. Pulsing faintly in his hand like it had a heartbeat of its own. The metal shimmered under the clinical lights, smooth and polished, shaped with the kind of precision that only Stark could deliver. He turned it over once, twice, like he was admiring a prized gadget- one that he was particularly proud of.

He showed it to you like a doctor unveiling a revolutionary new tool- calm, confident, deeply amused. Except this wasn’t a sterile exam room, and the look in his eyes wasn’t professional. His smirk told you he already knew what kind of mess this thing would reduce you to.

"This is your warm-up," he said, voice low and playful. "Phase One. Internal warming protocol. Testing receptivity. Calibration through heat and pulse response."

You whimpered into the gag. Of course you were excited- he’d been teasing you with this little 'demonstration' all week. Whispering promises in your ear, tapping out reminders on your thigh, dropping technical jargon laced with filth that left your core throbbing before he’d even touched you. Now that it was finally happening, your whole body was buzzing with need.

He didn't wait. He moved closer, one gloved hand parting your thighs a little further, the other settling between them. The bench adjusted beneath you, lifting your hips another inch to meet his touch perfectly. His fingers dipped between your folds- testing your wetness, teasing you just enough to make your body jerk in its bonds.

"Already responsive," he muttered, half to himself, half to Friday. "She’s going to be a dream to log."

He slid the egg in with two fingers, slow and deliberate. The cool metal kissed your entrance, making you flinch slightly- it was colder than you expected, stark contrast against your heated skin. Your walls instinctively tried to resist, clenching down, but his fingers were patient, coaxing you open, parting you around the sleek, unyielding toy.

The egg slid upward, heavy and smooth. As it moved deeper, your body yielded to it, the slow stretch making your breath catch. Its contours were designed to press into every sensitive spot, and you could feel your muscles fluttering around it, trying to accommodate the sudden fullness. As he pushed it deeper, you could feel every inch of it being swallowed by your body, your slick muscles tightening, fluttering around the intrusion.

He pushed the egg up high inside you, then paused, his finger still inside you too. "Squeeze for me," he ordered. You did, instinctively, your walls closing down as you used your pelvic floor, and Tony gave the platic string attached a soft tug.

The stretch, the resistance- it was delicious. The egg stayed locked in place. You couldn’t push it out if you tried. He smiled, clearly pleased.

"Perfect. Secure fit," he murmured. "Wouldn’t want it popping out mid-test."

It settled deep inside you, a sinful throb blooming in your core. Then it pulsed- just once, a quick flutter that made you jolt.

"There we go," he breathed, watching the screen light up with new data. "Didn’t even turn it on yet and she’s already going. Fuck, I love this job."

You were barely processing the first toy when he reached for the second.

Beads. Tapered, growing in size, each one gleamed under the soft blue lighting like tiny pieces of futuristic art. You squirmed, thighs pressing together, but it was no use- Stark had seen your reaction.

Tony laughed- low and delighted.

"Didn’t know we were going there, huh?" He nudged your knees apart again, voice dipping to a darker octave. "Come on, baby. I want you to open up for me. Let’s see what this one does..."

You shook your head slightly. Whimpered into the gag. Wide eyes watching him as you tried to protest around the ball gag in your mouth.

Tony turned to the tray beside him, selecting a small, frost-blue tube of gel. "Wouldn't be very considerate to skip prep," he muttered, more to himself than to you. He uncapped the tube and squeezed a slow, deliberate line of the slick, glistening substance along the length of the beads. The gel shimmered faintly under the light, warming as it reacted with the ambient temperature.

He coated each bead carefully, fingers moving with methodical ease, making sure the entire string was evenly slicked. "Lubricated. Body-safe. Custom formula," he said with a wink. "Slippery enough to slide in smooth- sticky enough to stay in place until I say otherwise."

Then he held the beads up for you to see, the string dangling between his fingers. You tensed instinctively.

"Oh no. You’re freezing up. Can’t test properly if you don’t behave. Legs. Open."

You didn’t.

Tony tsked, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment. Then he grabbed your chin, firm and steady, tilting your head so your eyes locked with his.

"Don't think so much. That’s not what good test subjects do."

Click.

The bench tilted beneath you without warning. Your hips rolled upward, knees falling further apart as the restraints auto-adjusted. You were fully exposed now- helpless. Wide open.

"You know I can override those restraints, right? I built them. Now be a good girl and show me everything."

He dipped his finger back into the gel and brought it to your ass, pressing a cool dollop directly to your tight, puckered entrance. The sudden chill made you flinch, but it was followed by the warm glide of his fingertip as he gently teased the gel in slow circles.

"You tense here, too," he said, amused. "Don't worry. This formula warms up just like you do."

He rubbed it in carefully, working the gel into your rim with delicate, coaxing pressure. The sensation tingled- both from the temperature shift and the way his finger circled and pressed until your body finally began to relent.

Then he lowered the beads between your cheeks and began to press them in- one at a time. The first slid in easily, the gel working its magic, cool and slick. The second made your breath stutter. The third had your whole body tensing as your hole stretched just enough to accommodate the new pressure.

Each one pulled a different, desperate noise from you- somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, caught in the back of your throat and forced through the gag in broken fragments.

By the time the third bead settled inside you, you felt full. Stretched in ways that left you panting, your back arching hard off the bench. Everything was working together- the deep pressure of the egg nestled high in your core, the hum beginning to buzz through your clit like a phantom, and now the slow, firm intrusion of the beads pressing against nerves that had you seeing stars. You struggled to catch your breath, the gag forcing each inhale to be short and choppy. Air hissed through your nose while your mouth flooded with saliva, spit slipping from the corners of your lips in thick strands that slid down your neck and onto your chest. The overwhelming heat of arousal and frustration tangled in your gut, building like steam with nowhere to escape. The restraint of it made the fire inside you burn hotter.

Your muscles clenched involuntarily, your hips rocking against the air, chasing friction that didn’t come. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t beg. Just drool, tremble, and take everything he gave you.

"Mmm. That moan? That was bead three. She likes that one, Friday."

"Confirmed," the AI replied. "Pelvic floor tension rising. Heart rate increasing."

"Good. Means it’s working."

The egg began to heat. The beads hummed in sync, and you felt everything shift- internally and externally- as pleasure bled into pressure, and pressure into overload. You were trembling now, thighs twitching again, trying to close- but the bench held you wide, utterly exposed.

"Heart rate’s spiking..." Tony’s voice was pure, filthy glee. "Oh, she’s gonna break soon. Look at her squirm."

You rutted against the air, clit untouched and screaming for attention. Your walls fluttered around the egg, your ass clenching down against the beads as the different pulses overlapped and collided. It was all too much and somehow not enough. You needed more and needed it to stop, all at once.

You tried to breathe, but the gag made it impossible to take anything but shallow, panting gasps. Each exhale was laced with a moan. Drool spilled freely down your chin, dripping warm across your face and neck. You were flushed, messy, wrecked- and he hadn’t even touched your clit.

Your back arched violently off the bench, cords of heat coiling through your belly and thighs. It felt like your body was unraveling, muscles tight and desperate, nerve endings screaming with pleasure.

Tony leaned in again, voice dark and syrup-smooth. "We’ve got her plugged, egged, and ready to combust. Think she can handle the next phase?"

Friday answered, "Orgasm build-up at 87%."

"Perfect." He tapped a command into the air. "Now let’s push her."

The egg pulsed deeper. The beads vibrated sharper. You cried out- moaning, writhing, the gag muffling it into raw, incoherent noise. You couldn’t form words. Couldn’t beg. Just sob through the pressure building to a breaking point.

"Baby, this is science. Filthy, beautiful science."

It hit you like a wave- white-hot and all-consuming. Your legs shook violently in the stirrups, muscles spasming as your body locked around the egg and beads pulsing inside you. Every nerve ending fired in chaotic pleasure, overwhelming your senses. You tried to scream, to sob, but the gag reduced it to a shattered, strangled cry that vibrated through the tech, each desperate noise dutifully logged.

Drool spilled in long, wet strands down your chin as your back bowed hard off the bench, your whole body trembling under the assault of pleasure. Your cunt clenched tight around the egg, milking it involuntarily, while your ass throbbed with each hum of the vibrating beads. Everything inside you was pulsing, moving, grinding you down into submission.

Tony watched, transfixed, his gaze locked on your ruined, shaking form. “There she goes - God, I should patent that moan.”

Your eyes rolled back. You could barely breathe. You could only tremble and leak and convulse as the orgasm tore through you. The bench beneath you vibrated subtly with your body’s response.

Friday: "Orgasm confirmed."

Tony waited until you were trembling, your breathing uneven, your thighs still twitching with aftershocks that rippled through your overstimulated body. Sweat slicked your skin in a thin, glistening sheen, catching the light as your chest heaved with broken gasps around the gag. Your limbs strained weakly against the restraints.

Then- slowly, methodically- he reached between your cheeks and took hold of the first bead. He didn’t rush. He eased it out one at a time, each slick orb dragging along your inner walls with a sticky, stretching glide. You shuddered at the sensation- the unbearable emptiness that bloomed in the wake of each removal. Your ass clenched reflexively around the loss, trying to hold onto what had filled you so completely. But he kept going.

The final bead popped free with a slick, obscene sound. Your hips jolted involuntarily, your back arching once more as your body spasmed again, clinging to the ghost of sensation.

Friday's voice crackled overhead. "Anal pressure reduced. Sphincter still contracting. She’s experiencing post-orgasmic muscle spasms."

Then came the egg.

He curled his fingers inside you, tugging the retrieval loop with a firm, practiced motion. The egg slipped free, wet and shiny, your cunt fluttering uselessly around the sudden void. The stretch, the drag, the warmth- it all left you aching. You cried into the gag, overwhelmed by the emptiness and the continued tremors in your muscles. Your thighs kicked slightly, your knees drawing in as far as the restraints would allow.

"Vaginal walls contracting. Core temperature still elevated. She's not done trembling yet," Friday observed, calm as ever.

Tony held both toys in one hand now- wet, warm, shining. He looked down at you with naked satisfaction.

"That’s some damn good tech," he said. "But we’re not done."

From the tray, he lifted his final piece.

A dildo- sleek, deep grey, Stark-stamped at the base. Modeled after him, and you knew it. Maybe a little bigger. Slightly wider at the base, with delicate ridges along the underside that hinted at something extra. Your breath caught just looking at it.

“This one’s special, baby. Built it from memory- well, from yours,” Tony said, rolling it in his hand. “Temperature regulated, pressure-sensitive, and the best part? The internal sensors sync to your contractions. It responds to you. The more you clench, the deeper it drives. A perfect loop.”

You whimpered around the gag, heart fluttering.

He moved between your spread legs and lined it up against your soaked, fluttering entrance. You were already sensitive- still trembling from the last orgasm- and when the wide tip pressed in, you nearly cried. It stretched you slowly, steadily, a little more than you were used to. Your slick walls resisted at first, clenching down instinctively, but Tony was patient, guiding it with precise control.

“There you go,” he coaxed, voice smooth but sharp-edged with amusement. “That’s it. Take all of it. Come on, baby- I know you can..”

His tone dipped into a purr. “There you go. Taking it like you need it. Bet you love being filled up with Stark-grade tech, huh?”

Your back bowed off the bench as he pushed it in, inch by inch, your pussy yielding to every contour, forced to accommodate the full shape of it. The fullness was delious, your body stretched taut around it. Your eyes rolled back as the final ridge slipped inside, the toy settling deep.

“There,” he said, watching your reactions with fascination. “Fills you out just right. And now... we see what she can really do.”

The base clicked into a pulse pattern, and the toy began to move inside you- slow at first, deliberate, like it was learning your shape. You could feel every textured ridge of the shaft as it rubbed against your inner walls, dragging across oversensitive flesh, sparking little detonations of pleasure with every pass.

Then it pulsed- long and low, a rhythmic thrum that radiated from base to tip, sending heat spiraling through your belly. With every thrust, the toy seemed to stretch you deeper, nudging a spot that made your toes curl and your thighs twitch against the restraints. Your pussy clenched around it reflexively, triggering the internal sensors Tony had mentioned. And just like that, the toy responded- pressing harder, thrusting deeper, faster.

It wasn’t just fucking you- it was reading you, syncing to the wild flutter of your muscles, pulsing in tandem with your arousal.

“Look at her,” Tony murmured, grinning as he watched the toy disappear again and again between your legs. “Every little squeeze makes it work harder. You’re doing this to yourself, baby. And I haven’t even touched your clit yet.”

You’d been so consumed by the thrusting inside you, by the stretch and pulse of the toy, that you hadn’t even noticed Tony move. But suddenly, he was there- looming over you, and the egg was pressed directly to your clit.

The sensation was immediate and brutal.

Your entire body jolted. The contact felt almost painful, your nerves raw and exposed, the stimulation electric. You tried to buck away, hips arching, thighs trembling, but you had nowhere to go.

Tony caught you effortlessly. One hand shoved the egg against your swollen clit, refusing to relent, while the other pressed down on your thigh to keep your knees from closing.

“Uh uh. None of that,” he said smoothly. “You don’t get to hide from this, baby. You earned it.”

You sobbed into the gag, thrashing your hips side to side, but the bench and Tony’s hands made escape impossible. Every attempt to squirm just sent the dildo thrusting deeper inside you, and the egg grinding cruelly over your clit.

“You’re not gonna break,” he whispered, teasing. “You’re gonna burn for me.”

"Don’t you dare run from it. look at me."

He was holding you still- one hand clamped over your thigh to keep your legs spread, the other pressing the egg mercilessly to your clit. You were trembling in his grasp, utterly helpless against the merciless pairing of his tech and his control.

"You’re gonna come again for me, sweetheart. Real data’s in the repeat response," he said, eyes locked on yours, voice both commanding and hungry.

The dildo thrust deep, the ridges grinding against your most sensitive spots as your walls clamped down. The egg buzzed brutally against your swollen clit, so overstimulated you couldn’t tell whether you were trying to run from it or chase it. Every jolt of pleasure lit your nerves like lightning- white-hot and impossible to hold back.

Your body jerked, hips spasming, thighs trembling violently as the sensations overloaded you. Your entire body was working against you- every clench, every twitch, every gasp just triggered the toy to go deeper, harder, faster. You weren’t riding it anymore- it was riding you, and Tony just watched with that devilish smirk, keeping you wide open.

“That's it. Shake for me. Scream into that gag. Show me what science can do.”

The climax tore through you without mercy- harder, deeper, a violent unraveling of every nerve as your body convulsed around the relentless rhythm of the tech inside you. You didn’t just come; you shattered, splintering open in a release so intense it blurred your vision, your mind, your ability to distinguish pleasure from pain. Your vision shattered into sparks, your scream muffled into a raw, hoarse noise behind the gag. Your body thrashed in the restraints, muscles locking as the orgasm ripped through you, longer and sharper than the last.

Friday: "Second orgasm confirmed. Neural spike significant. Subject approaching physical limit."

He slowed the toy, letting it ease to a stop deep inside you before withdrawing it carefully, letting you feel every last ridge dragging along your raw, overstimulated walls. Then, with a gentleness that almost contrasted the torment he’d just put you through, he removed the egg from your clit. The instant the contact broke, your whole body sagged in the restraints with relief and exhaustion. You were shaking, barely breathing- every inch of you buzzing, nerves fried and twitching from the overload.

You could taste salt on your lips- your own tears and spit, your jaw aching from clenching around the gag. You were drenched, body glistening with sweat, your skin flushed and hypersensitive to the air.

He removed the gag last. Your jaw fell slack with a wet, trembling gasp, strands of spit clinging to the corners of your mouth. You blinked up at him, vision hazy, lips wet and parted.

Tony gazed down at you, eyes gleaming with wicked satisfaction, his mouth tugging into a crooked grin that said told you so. He looked like a man admiring his finest creation- smug, yes, but also thoroughly entertained by the glorious, twitching mess sprawled out beneath him.

“You did good, baby. Fucking beautiful. But next time?”

He leaned close, brushing a kiss to your temple- slow, deliberate, his breath warm against your damp skin.

“Think I’ll need to design something that gets you to squirt. Can’t let a variable like that go untested. Wouldn’t be very Stark of me to stop now, would it?”

He turned with a little flourish, tapping the screen with a flick of his fingers, not bothering to look back.

“Friday, save this session. Label it: Successful. Prepare files for Phase Two.”

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obeymeluv · 5 months ago

Text

In Your Defense [PT 1 - Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw]

You decide to work at Sam's for Valentine's Day and your crush just happens to hear a customer hitting on you. If they get arrested, can you be their alibi? AKA: This person has a death wish and you find out your crush might be jealous?

Note: Each one is random and some will be longer than others. If I made everyone the same length this thing would be MASSIVE and I would probably die.

Not proofread because of the length. Trying to get everyone done today. It's my last day off for a few.

Whatever part Ortho is in will be platonic, obvs.

Happy V-day!

Riddle likes to think he's made great strides not being angry but hearing some utterly disgusting joke about 'how much do you cost?' sends him like nothing else ever has. This guy is tall and so unimpressive, so plain, so average that Riddle can't really recall him at all. Maybe that's just the absolute fury blurring his vision. He knows he's not breathing but his chest isn't burning near as much as his face; the heat is spreading quick and he can feel it in his cheeks and neck. Temples pounding, his vaguely aware of the growl bubbling in his chest as it threatens to slip past his clenched teeth.

Ace calls it his teapot snarl.

Before Riddle knows it, he's flown off the handle and he's going off on a rant. The whole shop is quiet, people physically backing away as he just methodically unravels everything about this cretin from outfit, posture, presence, delivery, unoriginality--everything. Honestly, he doesn't even remember everything he said. The redhead doesn't even tune back into the sound of his own voice until he ends the onslaught with, "You've just paid twenty thaumarks to embarrass yourself but that pales in comparison to the fact that you thought you had a chance with them. You should be ashamed!"

The man slinks away, sad little bag dragging off the counter.

Whispers and giggles diffuse throughout the shop. He ignores the looks that come his way, using the time to come back to himself. Riddle fixes his cute casual clothes, content with the fact you picked them out together. He catches sight of the matching rose clips on your outfit and in you hair and smiles softly. "A strawberry cookie and a cake pop, please." he clears his throat, fishing his wallet out of his pocket.

Sam had an assortment of sweets and he was going to capitalize on strawberry's popularity while he could. He saw you root through the display case, carefully considering the designs even though they were all supposed to taste the same (allegedly).

"Sure thing. Your total is 12 thaumarks. Thanks for stopping by Sam's Mystery Shop! Happy Valentine's Day!"

He hands you the thaumarks as you take the time to slide the I LOVE YOU cookie in his bag.

----

Deuce is an honors student! He is a good boy that's going to make his mother proud!

HE IS SO GOING TO PUNCH THIS MOTHERFUCKER IN THIS FACE!

His shoulders tense, fist clenching at his side. "Why, you think they're cheap? Something to be bought? What an insult!" his head snaps up as he stares down the slightly taller boy. Deuce's teal eyes turn a dark turquoise; the giddy glint of seeing you and chocolate eggs in one place turns to something sharp and steely. He hands the chocolate eggs to Ace, turning right back around to stare the creep down. Old habits die hard; he's grinding a fist into his hand.

"Aren't you the guy always complaining about limited time sales being unfair? Not my problem you missed the window." the guy scoffs, leaning back against the cashier counter. "Anyways," the guy tilts his head back and starts talking to you.

You look uncomfortable and angry that you can't handle this yourself. Professionalism and all.

"You may have caught the window but I'm about to show you the door." Deuce draws up on him with a quickness people have never seen. Not many people know about all the fights he used to get into. Gripping the guy's hair almost to the point of pulling it out, steering him like a panicked bull, Deuce all but chucks him out the front door of the shop. He turns around to walk back inside and buy his chocolate eggs but that spine-tingling feeling of someone fixing to take a cheap shot makes him pivot and nail the guy with a solid kick to the chest. The guy falls back on his butt, breath hitching.

Deuce scoffs and wipes his shoes on the step before going into the shop. The door is almost closed behind him when he hears a strained grunt. He's been in enough fights to know the guy is off the ground and making one last attempt to catch him from the back. More than done with this and just wanting his damn eggs and to say hi to you in all your festive lace, he shoulder checks the door like he's trying to shove Jack out of the lunch line (which he would NEVER, EVER DO).

The guy falls with a satisfying thud and Deuce tries his best to relax his face as he resumes his place in line. It's red from aggravation and the fact he's fishing for his thaumarks because he's forgotten what pocket he put it in. "Sorry about that," he tries to uncrumple the thaumarks a little before handing them to you. "And the face. My face. Not your face! Your face is fine! Like, you're not ugly! I just, uh--"

"Take the change, Deuce-y!" Ace is standing behind him, guiding his nervous body like a puppet. He makes Deuce grab the change and turns him around, shoving him away from the counter before he can make it any worse. "Now help me move this guy's body! He's out cold!"

---

Ace can only laugh when he hears that line. First of all, it's weak. Secondly, the dude must not have any faith in his game if the delivery depends on you being captive behind the counter. During work hours. With an obligation to be forward facing and listening to whatever he says.

"Why? You worried about your budget, buddy?" Ace laughs, hands laced together behind his head.

The guy snaps up, stick-straight. "N-No! I was just--" his face is blooming pink.

"People aren't products, bro. There's no discounts." Ace shakes his head.

"W-What I meant was, I want to take you on a date!" the guy turns back to you and flashes a big smile. All of Ace's pouty mutters fall on deaf ears. Not because he's being quiet, but because the guy is straight up ignoring him. He's not sure where the idea comes from--he'll blame it on an itchy hand--but he sneaks a couple of small candies in the guy's pocket. Sam's familiar top hat bobs into view, snaking around the shelves.

"DON'T FORGET TO PAY FOR THE STUFF IN YOUR POCKETS!" Ace felt confident in his sleight of hand tricks. It wouldn't be the first time he tricked NRC students. It's actually really easy to do. That works in his favor because if everyone can't get their story straight or agree on what they saw, he's a free man.

Sam materializes at the edge of the aisles and seems to stare into the boy's soul. "Young man, please step aside."

Ace looks like the cat that ate the canary as he moseys up to the counter and slaps the box of cherry cordials down. He buys a cherry sucker at the last second, not seeing it at first. "Thanks, Sweets!" Ace winks at you as he strolls out with the bag.

Sam nearly scares him out of his skin, leaning against the wood just outside the door. Ace finally feels the tug of shadows on his feet. "Speaking of sweets," Ace flinches and hides his ear with his blazer, groaning as Sam hooks an arm around his neck and pulls him into his chest sternly. "I understand your frustration, Little Imp. Young love is adorable in all it's wiles! But mark my words, Little Imp: if you lie about wrongdoings in my shop again, you will not come back. Clear?"

"Yes sir." Ace gulps.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Little Imp."

---

Trey isn't really surprised to hear what he just did. 'Boys will be boys', as the saying goes. Frankly, he's disappointed. He's heard smarter things come out of his little brother and sister.

He adjusts his glasses, mentally trying to relax the knot between his eyebrows.

Should he say something? Of course he wants to. It's you! He's been on the other side of the counter plenty of times and has had vivid daydreams of sticking a customer in a stand mixer. But, then again, he has a reputation to uphold and anything he does could reflect back on Riddle.

And send Riddle into a fit, giving him something else to handle.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized he'd have the element of surprise. People--especially men--don't cook enough to know how much arm strength it takes to lift twenty pound bags of flour on the regular. Or the stamina it takes to walk said bags from Sam's shop to Heartslabyul. Even the small five-pound bag of sugar in his basket would suffice as a weapon; the sugar was packed enough to hit like a brick if he lobbed it.

Trey's running the options through his head, almost settling on just saying 'how much for you to stop?' when he sees the end of a sucker rolling between the guy's teeth. Too easy, Trey pushes his glasses up on his nose, hand hiding his smile and the quiet incantation for "Paint the Roses".

All of a sudden the guy is gagging and running for the door. You and everyone else are wondering what the hell just happened. He doesn't come back in. One brave soul suggested he had a really bad gag reflex and the sucker did him in. Only Trey knows it was a mix of sour milk and the pungent soy sauce tart nightmare he tricked Riddle into making once.

"Just this, please. Oh! And what Sam had on hold for me." Trey hands you the sugar, relishing in the brush of your hands.

"Candied violets and a bag of sugar. Twenty thaumarks, please."

"Thanks." Trey smiles at you, laying the sugar flat so his delicate, delectable candied violets don't get crushed.

"Thank you." you smile brightly, handing him the change.

----

Cater wants to gag. Normally Valentine's confessions are cute and IN THE RIGHT SETTING pickup lines are amazing. This? This is a tragedy. Mostly because there is ZERO chemistry and you look #uncomfortable.

He's big on consent since he's always looking for collabs and people to pose with on Magicam so maybe that's why this scene bothers him. Aside from the fact that you're out of this guy's league, obviously. Like, it's really an insult to your time.

'How much do you cost?' Really? You're #priceless.

His brows furrow, lips thinning as he wonders what to do. He plays with the idea of Split Card and creating a small crowd of copies to boo and jeer the guy but the store would be even more packed than it already is. Cater's green eyes twinkle as it hits him. Turning his phone longways, he zooms in on the guy and tells him to keep going because he's live on Magicam. "Don't worry! I've already got all the V-day tags on there! Everyone will see it!"

He's friends with practically everyone at NRC so this guy will be seen by everyone.

Something sick and unfriendly and satisfied swirls in him as the guy's face pales in real time. If he zooms in a little, he can get the beads of sweat in there. "I'll, uh--another time, okay?" the guy darts off and abandons his handful of candy at the register.

"Haul coming later! 'K, bye!" Cater sends a peace sign to the camera, smiling at his own face. He swipes the little chocolates into his basket nonchalantly. He's not even the biggest sweets person but those are his now!

"Gonna have a spicy Valentine's Day, huh?" you ring up the cups of spicy ramen.

"You know it!" he laughs.

"I get it. You have to balance out how sweet you are." you smirk up at him. "Twenty-four thaumarks, please."

#in love. #kiddingnotkidding. #sendhelp. #downbad.

----

Leona doesn't even know why he bothered to show up to Sam's. He could just send Ruggie to get whatever he wanted. The variety of jerky was somewhat tempting but he could just as easily take the bus and get a proper meal off campus. And yet, he stood there with a gloved hand in his pocket, tail swishing back and forth in mild agitation. His green eyes sweep over the winding line until they land on you at the front.

His cheeks warm a little and he scoffs at himself, pretending to pick through the hanging strips of sunflower seeds as the line moves. Every step gets him closer to this soft, powdery scent with just a hint of sweetness. He starts to blame it on all the chocolate and candy and sugary shit exploding out of every possible spot in the store but there's this unmistakable undertone of skin.

Your skin.

He's only caught the scent a million times while hiding from people in the Botanical Gardens. Or when he's forced to attend class, catching a hint of you in the halls.

Leona's not sure why he cares anything about you because you're not magical. You're not interesting.

You shouldn't be, but you are.

You're literally the only person he's ever met from another world. You have no context for the Sunset Savanna or the hierarchy of it. To you, everyone is impressive. He can be something to you.

Why does that matter? He doesn't even know. That's what he tells himself, anyways. You say you have no magic but Leona thinks you can read minds. The look you always give him isn't a pitying one, but a curious one that seeks to dissect him and force him to face everything he keeps shoved deep down inside himself.

Part of him is waiting for the day you pull the right thread and he comes undone in the way he knows he need but can't find the strength for. Somewhere in that knotted mess is his true feelings for you. The stuff he can't admit.

You stand admirably on your own two feet, roughing it out like Ruggie, but you're so far from the intimidating women of the Sunset Savanna. You're approachable and soft; you're built like prey but you have the quick thinking of a predator.

Something in your demeanor changes--your hands pause and flutter nervously--and he's on alert. He's careful to relax his grip lest he crush the box of protein bars for Jack. His ears sling forward and his eyes narrow as he catches that half-baked flirting attempt. Leona doesn't even bother to hide the sneer twisting his face.

Just the thought of you with that hopeful schmuck is nauseating.

Suddenly the scent of all the males around you is overwhelming. Disgusting.

"If you have to ask about the price, you can't afford it. Haven't ya ever heard that before?" Leona 'hmphs' triumphantly, one hand on his hip as he bends down slightly to stare the chump in the face. "Askin' about the price is tacky."

"Wh-what was my total again?"

All Leona had to do was stare at the back of the human's neck. Humans, much like prey animals, grew really squirmy when a predator stared at them too long. Or encroached on their space, much like he was doing. It was for the hell of it at this point.

Leona made a mental note of the guy's face as he scampered off like a terrified cub and looked forward to the day he could send a stray spelldrive disk in his direction.

"Hey Herbivore," Leona plunked the basket down unceremoniously.

"Hey Leona," you looked down at the random stuff in his basket, trying not to smile at what just happened. Something warm and--dare he say it?--proud welled up in his chest when he realized you were happy about him scaring the guy off.

The heart-shaped stickers he kept finding on everything when he got back to Savanaclaw helped, too.

----

Ruggie lived for the holiday specials at Sam's. He was a bit put out that he wasn't picked to staff the Valentine's shift but the in-store discounts were a small consolation. It'd be better if he could stack them with an employee discount but he'd take what he could get! His mouth started watering as soon as he entered, sniffing out deliciously fluffy donuts.

Hopefully people would be distracted with the lollypops and chocolates and leave his donuts alone!

He choked down the occasional nervous whine when people gravitated too close to the donut display, distracting himself with the decor and wondering what would be most profitable to flip. His eyes began to wander to the people in front of him; Ruggie tsk'd at how casual and unguarded they were. Ripe for the picking, he looked at their wallets and fistfuls of thaumarks just out in the open.

If he wasn't worried about being banned from Sam's and losing some gigs he'd--

"How much do you cost?"

EXCUSE ME?! Ruggie freezes, eyes going wide and ears twitching when he hears that. The dude said that and LIVED?

Oh, right. You're not a Savanna girl. The girls back home would beat him up and make him pay them to stop. Or just smack the shit out of him hard enough to put him in a coma. Maybe break his jaw so he can't drop anymore awful lines.

Women are to be respected! Not treated like something you can purchase!

Given that you weren't a Savanna girl and were bound by the rules of 'I'm currently on the clock', Ruggie took things into his own hands. You could just treat him later!

"Laugh with Me!" Ruggie hisses, backing into the closest display. It was a little bump to him but far more to the guy up front. He waved his arm around, skimming the bags of gummy candies while the guy at the register knocked down a whole tower of balloons on a stick. Bending over just enough to line the guy's head up with the counter, Ruggie lunges forward.

WOMP!

Oh it was so satisfying. The guy is hopelessly, helplessly stunned. He gathers his bearings and Ruggie slides his foot out; the guy loses his footing and slams into the counter again.

Only two times before he gives up? Kind of weak-willed, Ruggie thinks with a little smirk as he side-steps the disoriented guy and waits patiently to check out. Sam tends to him while you get the donuts he's been craving.

They'll taste even better because they smell like you. Happy Valentine's Day to him!

-----

Jack is usually very stoic but a lot of people mistake his stoic observation for irritation. He would blame it on his intimidating physique but he's not sorry and takes great pride in his appearance. He's a beastman--a Howl!--he's supposed to be intimidating! Intimidating appearance aside, Jack is also a very helpful soul.

A good boy, if you will.

The only reason he's in Sam's is on Ruggie's behalf. He was tasked with picking up a few things and was more than happy to help out his senior. They were from the same dorm, after all! Practically a pack! You have to help your pack!

He's not really bothered by the amount of people, more focused on keeping his tail out of people's way and making sure he doesn't knock anything over. All at once, the atmosphere changes a little. There's a hint of sour in the air and a noticeable hike in someone's pulse.

It's your pulse. You look...distressed? Why are you distressed? Where is the threat?

Whatever it was, he missed it and he's cursing himself.

His ears swing forward as he catches bits and pieces of conversations. Some people are complaining the guy is taking too long, other people are laughing at his crappy pickup line. Some people are wondering if it's going to work.

This was a weak display if he ever saw one. The guy didn't even look confident in himself! All of your body language has now firmed up into rejection but the guy's not getting the hint. He's trying the 'oh, c'mon!' thing his siblings do when they want to play.

You don't know it, but you've been feeding Jack when he trots by in wolf form. He likes to finish off his morning jogs in wolf form to really stretch his joints and obliques. It was supposed to be a one-off thing, him following the tantalizing aroma of food to your door. Your cooking is fantastic and while you don't know that you're a pack mate, you're a pack mate!

You're just a pack mate who feeds him and gives him occasional pets. And these to die for scratches that he'd kill to feel with his real skin instead of fur. Any touch would be fine, really. Not that you'd ever know.

Jack doesn't even know he's growling until people start moving out of his way. The growl crescendos as he walks towards the guy. Tail bristling, Jack opens his mouth to show off sharp canines. "Get lost! They're not interested in you! They're just trying to work!"

As expected, the guy tucks tail and runs. Jack snorts, licking his lips that have suddenly become dry. His ears don't know what to do, caught between catching all the murmurs behind him and wanting to press down in embarrassment.

It's quiet but he hears it. "Thank you, Jack."

"Don't mention it," he crosses his arms, looking everywhere but you as you scan his items. He was avoiding looking at you directly but he notices you slip a few extra beef sticks into his bag. He blushes.

Yeah, don't mention that either.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twstd wonderland #twst x reader #Riddle Rosehearts x reader #Ace trappola x reader #Deuce Spade x Reader #Cater Diamond x Reader #Trey Clover x Reader #Leona Kingscholar x reader #Leona x reader #Ruggie Bucchi x reader #Jack Howl x Reader #Heartslabyul #Savanaclaw

1K notes · View notes

suguann · 1 year ago

Text

✎. he tells you they’re the problem and leaves it at that before sliding a plate of eggs and toast in front of you.

tags. fem!reader, mild dubcon, possessive and obsessive behavior, but he's also kinda sweet?? [18+ only]

You like your new roommate.

Simon’s surprisingly better to have around than the last person who lived with you—a girl you knew from college who had an affinity for stealing your clothes and conveniently never had money for rent. He’s the type to make you soup when you’re sick, acknowledge you if you’re in the same room, water your flowers while he rolls his cigarettes on the fire escape, and carry your groceries up the four flights of stairs to your floor.

He’s attractive, too, in the not-so-conventional sense, but in a disarming way, all small smiles and knowing looks and soft hair you know he doesn’t put much effort into—that sometimes curls around his ears when he lets it get too long—yet it still manages to look better than yours on the best days.

He never tells you what he does for work, and you’re too polite to ask. But you have a feeling he makes enough to afford a place on the less crime-infested side of town—somewhere nicer than your cramped apartment with its outdated appliances, leaky faucets, and the bright neon sign atop the building across the street that shines through your windows all times of the day—but he says he’s not ready to live alone.

Something tells you there’s more to it than him being a lonely bachelor, but again, you don’t pry.

“Does this place have wi-fi?” is all he’d said the first time you meet, in a voice so smooth and only slightly broken up by his accent, clad in a shirt that looked two sizes too small around his arms and clutching a duffle bag in one big hand.

Your brain was this shaken-up box of words and syllables that when you answered him, it came out in a nervous stutter. “Y-yeah, I’ll, er…I’ll give it to you—the password, I mean—once you've moved in. If that’s okay.”

He’d dropped his duffle bag in front of the room that would be his. “Consider me moved in.”

The smile he gave you, crinkling eyes and chuckling lightly, only made the stutter worse.

You let his charm roll off you; you always figured it came naturally to him, a characteristic that comes with being attractive and good.

A handful of months later—of finding a routine around each other and lazy smiles in the morning—something changes the night you go out with a guy Mary from work eagerly sets you up with.

His name’s Robb, he’s a doctor, and you both love cats; he has a house in Spain. Did I mention he's my cousin?

(A dull no way concealed behind your teeth.

If you hadn’t said yes, you feared your entire lunch break would consist of her waxing poetic over a man you're unsure about meeting.)

For a flicker of a moment, there’s an unreadable expression on Simon’s face as he watches you touch up your makeup in the hallway mirror and slip your hand into the crook of your date’s elbow at the door. There’s a slight glint of something uncharacteristically cold behind the mask of indifference before a small smile replaces it.

“Have a nice night,” you throw over your shoulder, except you don’t notice that he never says it back.

You mope around the apartment when Robb—who surprisingly exceeded your expectations of mediocre dates, not that you ever plan on admitting that to Mary—doesn’t reach out to you for three days. Then a week. You’re at that age to understand when people get busy, and a nice night doesn’t always mean it’s mutually reciprocated. But you liked him, and it felt promising after he’d kissed you goodnight against your front door.

It had to have been the kiss that turned him off. Maybe he realized it was too much too soon.

When Simon finds you curled up in a ball under your comforter, one thumb gently wiping away your tears, he doesn’t even bring up your date. Instead, he orders your favorite take-out and puts on a sitcom you’d mentioned to him once—somewhat surprised that he remembers—the dreamy doctor who’d ghosted you blissfully forgotten with greasy food and a warm, comforting chest to rest your head on.

Simon’s there again—sweets in hand and a soft voice to soothe you—when another date (Rin from finance on your floor) a month later is a no-show, and a few weeks after that when Rin tells you without context that he can’t see you anymore.

The third time of let downs feels worse. It’s worse because maybe there’s something wrong with you, and when you ask Simon, he’s too nice to rub salt in your wounds. He tells you they’re the problem and leaves it at that before sliding a plate of eggs and toast in front of you.

You've been Simon's roommate for a year, and he doesn't take it well when you tell him you're looking for a new place.

It’s after he comes home from a three-month work trip. The shadow that crosses over his face should’ve been your first hint that something is wrong.

Had you noticed the signs sooner, you wonder if you’d be less like prey caught by the softness of your underbelly, kept in place by the scruff, and sharp teeth at your neck.

"Beg me. Beg me not to cum in you."

"S-Simon," you whimper wetly, "don't cum in—ah—me."

His fingers hold your chin with an unyielding grip, ensuring your gaze doesn’t stray from his in the cracked mirror. You’re embarrassed by what you see, how spread open you are to his dark, inkwell eyes hungrily watching as you twitch when his other hand slides between your thighs.

"Don’t stop begging, love,” he growls, squeezing you tighter, “or I might forget."

There’s that dark look again, the one that sends a shivery feeling up your spine, possessive almost with how he traces every inch of you as if burning the image of you into his memory, the softness washed away by something more sinister.

A little voice in the back of your head tells you to flee, but another knows he'd find joy in catching you.

No one would ever think your sweet, attractive roommate would be the same man staring at you now—everything you thought you knew about him stripped away to reveal a new canvas, bare for splashes of paint to fill in the cracks—teeth marks imprinted along the curve of your jaw, on the inside of your thighs.

He hides it well. His humble personality doing the trick of being the impenetrable mask for what he’s concealing underneath: a raw obsession, an addict finally getting his hands on his favorite drug, someone who can’t recognize defeat and knows how to take.

“What do they have that I don’t? Hm? Must be a desperate little thing. My pretty slut,” Simon’s voice rumbles low against your ear, shy of unhinged. “They won’t treat you as good as I do. Don’t I treat you good?”

You whimper when his grip grows tighter, but he doesn’t seem to notice—like he’s not fully here with you. No trace of the soft, gentle man who keeps the freezer full of your favorite ice cream, who runs to the store when you run out of tampons and comes back with chocolate and a new pair of fuzzy socks. A few words have turned him into someone you don’t know. Perhaps you never did.

“Answer me.”

An indiscernible squeak is the only sound you make.

He chuckles darkly, his head dipping down to rest his lips against the fluttering pulse in your neck, a finger slipping through the alarming amount of wetness between your thighs where his cock rends you down the middle, and begins rubbing firm, tight circles over your clit, pulling a moan from your throat.

“It’s okay, love,” he mumbles, words barely audible above your heartbeat swimming in your ears. “I’ll be everything for you. Everything you need. I’ll show you why I’m better.”

#ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley imagine #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost smut #ghost imagine #cod smut #cod x reader #cod imagine #mw2 x reader #mw2 smut #.things i write

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inthemiddleofmae · 8 months ago

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morning embrace - paul mescal x reader

summary - paul comes home after a run to see you making breakfast

word count: ~670

a/n: someone might have watched gladiator ii and fell in love all over again with paul then wrote this instead of writing their uni essay...hmm i wonder who that is!! here's something short n sweet i wrote to make up for the serious lack of paul/lucius fics :(

the london sky was rosy and cloudy; it was 7am on a thursday and the sun was still in the process of rising. you had the perfect view of the city out of your kitchen window, and every time you cooked in here, you reconfirmed in your head that you and paul made the right decision buying the flat almost 6 months ago. though the two of you hadn't lived there for long, it was already home.

the radio was on, as usual, and was playing quietly in the background. the sizzling of eggs and mushrooms on the frying pan quickly overpowered the vocals of a song you couldn't quite recognise.

the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the last remnants of the lavender incense that you burned before going to bed last night. this was the first thing paul smelt when he came through the door, with a slight slam and vibration alerting you to turn around. it was then that the smell of breakfast hit him. beads of sweat trickled down his thick, slightly quivered brows - evidence of his long run through the park.

"morning, love," you greeted him, your voice barely coming through the bustle of the kitchen.

paul, still catching his breath, offered a contented smile. his eyes, however, showcased a hunger not satiated by the run alone. you smiled, looking into his eyes before turning back to the stove to gently stir the almost ready mushrooms.

paul approached you and you could feel his eyes on the back of your head. the smile on your face, still present, grew even wider as you felt his larger, sweaty presence lurking over you, taking a deep inhale of the aroma coming from the pan.

"smells amazing," paul murmured, his nose now pressing gently into the curls of your hair. his voice felt like a gentle caress against what was now the morning quiet, with all other sounds falling into the background, leaving only the intimate space you both shared.

"i aim to please - especially hungry runners." you replied, a teasing glint in your eyes.

though his chest was already lightly touching your back, a magnetic pull seemingly drew the two of you even closer together. paul's arms encircled your waist, and you quickly turned the stove off, for you had expected to be distracted now that you were in the arms of your lover.

“thank you.” paul whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to the nape of your neck, making you all flustered and warm inside.

as the aroma of the now finished breakfast continued to fill the air, you turned around in paul's arms to face him. your eyes met first in a silent exchange, then you tilted you head up so your lips could meet - a fusion of passion, the sweet taste of morning, and the slightly salty taste of his sweat.

your soft fingers traced gentle patterns on paul's ever so damp chest as the two of you embraced each other, savoring the rare, quiet morning together. with your busy 9-to-5 job and paul’s demanding acting schedule, moments like this didn’t come often. but with paul on a short break and you having taken a few days off, you were determined to make the most of it. the kiss deepened as the pair of you smiled into it and slowly swayed to the melody in the background.

“you stink, paul.” you whisper after he hesitantly breaks the kiss, both of you bursting into a soft laughter.

“fuck off,” he says playfully, his arms still around your waist. “how about i eat the beautiful breakfast you made me first, and then we can both get in the shower?”

“well i’m not gonna say no to that.” you say as you raise one of your hands and begin admiring his bearded chin.

with one last peck, paul releases his hands from your waist and reaches above you to grab two plates. you can't help but feel content.

#paul mescal #paul mescal x reader #lucius verus #lucius verus x reader #gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #gladiator ll #pedro pascal #fluff

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dworkism · 1 month ago

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husband!katsuki bakugou

just a little brain dump so i don't get dumb at writing :P

pairings: katsuki b. x reader

cw / notes : none! reader's gender not specified!

➤ masterlist!

626 word count!

Growing up, it was easy for Katsuki to feel proud of himself to make people scared of him. He took pride in possessing his strong quirk, and his laugh would explode the same as his palms for every time he saw Izuku’s tears. Praised from a young age, he’s always thought nothing was wrong with that. Power always conquered everything, and he was one of those who possessed it.

And although he grew out of that, sometimes feeling stronger than everyone else still fed his ego well. He’d still smirk every time he watches the news again, the blurry video of him blasting off a villain’s face once again viral through the mouths of teenagers. He’d still laugh loud at every intern that groaned and huff at his heavy lifting training.

His eyes met your head of hair one day at a coffee shop. Sweat, dust, and grime sticking to his suit with a scowl on his face. His nose felt dry from all the crumbs of sanded roads he’s inhaled.

Here we go again. He thought. Another day at a coffee shop just trying to get some coarse bitterness on his tongue, to will himself to the ground after a tiring day of patrol, and he’s probably facing a nervous cashier. Sometimes they were ‘a huge fan, Mister Dynamight!’ Gushing and swooning at his simple request of latte, or they just looked like they were on the trial of their case, hands sweating and all.

Katsuki let out a sigh as the line finally shortened to his turn to order. Lowering his collar, he cleared his throat with a roll of his eyes.

“Welcome in, what can I get you today?” Your voice chirped happily. Not a single ‘um’ or a nervous laugh. Just that. A greeting.

He smiles—just barely—before responding. “Just a latte,” then he hummed as he pondered over the menu, nailed up by the ceiling with dozens of drinks and snacks written upon it. “...And maybe a bacon n’ egg sandwich.” His hands already patting down his pockets for his wallet.

“Would you like the iced one, sir?” You said, eyes flickering between your fingers beeping the tablet and his looming figure. “Doesn’t cost that much more,” you coaxed cheekily.

An amused scoff was his answer. “Fine,” he muttered, fingers flipping through the yens wedged inside his wallet.

Way to start your first impression.

He still recalls those days. Days when he’d purposely stop by the coffee shop after he figured out your shifts, when he started to wear that one perfume he usually only sprays on for important meetings, or those days he became a nervous wreck again after he’d forgotten all about romance.

Now you lay by his side, tucked away safely beneath his arm while you mumble softly about furniture you found at a website today and how they were ‘sooo cute!’ — Not that he was paying much attention, his eyes were too busy eyeing that ring that sat so pretty on your finger, glinting faint light every time your hand moved even the slightest.

“Katsuki, you’re not listening.” Your voice giggled to his ear, gentle fingers pinching his cheek just enough to earn a heatless huff from him.

“Am too,” He gruffed out, clearing his throat while he looked away, willing the creeping peachy tint to go down from his face. His hand slowly pulled you closer again, landing his head on your shoulder. “I don’t like that couch.” Katsuki puffed, another arm snaking to your waist.

“Whaatt? C’moon, it’s cute!” You argued with a whine, tilting your phone for him to look at the bright orange cushions better. “It’s so you too,”

His mouth perked up to a disapproving scoff. “No, s’ too big for our house.”

You sighed in reluctance, scrolling again before you felt his fingers gently envelop your ring finger, toying with the ring that hugged it snugly.

A beat of silence followed, his breath quietly fanning by the side of your face, before he quietly quipped.

"This one's cuter."

dworkism | do not repost!

taglist : @bloomness @deepinthegroves @insomniatears @coldnightshark @lilac-heartz @love-me-satoru @antriimx @lillyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy @xolunlun @idexmids @idkidk32

be a part of the tag list!

➤ masterlist!

#dworkism #divider by hyuneskkami #mha #bnha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha fluff #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #bnha bakugou #katsuki bakugou #katsuki x you #ᯓ juno crafts!

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omgeto · 2 years ago

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☆ WHEN YOU HAVE SEX WITH YOUR EX — GOJO, GETO, TOJI

summary: you have sex with your ex. thats it.

cw: afab!reader, smutty smut smut so mdni. unprotected sex with all of them (since I forget that condoms exist) you sit on geto face, kinda finger fucking & mild hate fucking with toji but its fun, and gojo is just lovely.

an: i was meant to post this last night but I fell asleep writing geto's part so slay. anyways I hope you enjoy lmk what you think!! not proofread so ignore any mistakes please.

☆ GOJO

“this doesn’t mean we’re back together y’know,” you remind gojo, panting as he thrusts into you.

“you’re really saying that with my dick deep in your cunt,” he taunts, admiring the deep arch of your back, the way your ass ripples every time his hips drive into you. “i’ve missed this.”

“f-fuck keep going,” you moan out, as his dick hits your spot – just how you like it.

“so you don’t miss me?” he pesters, and you roll your eyes, as although you couldn’t see him, you just knew he had a pout on his face. “you really don’t miss me?” he continues his thumb making way to your clit, swiftly flicking at it.

“i don’t miss you.”

gojo pulls out of you almost defiantly, pushing you down – turning you around your back. he stares at you with something you couldn’t quite place, and re enters you just as quickly. he smirks at the way your mouth gapes as his hands roughly grab at your tits, pinching and pulling on your nipples.

“s-someone’s mad,” you egg on, loving the way that his strokes become harder.

“y’know the reason i always loved fucking you this way when we were together?” he asks with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“what’s with the trip down memory lane?,” you complain, your arms come around his neck as you take him in deeper, “i called you to fuck me, not for whatever you’re tryna do here.”

“because i always got to see all the faces you make,” he continues, completely ignoring your comment, his tongue drags up the side of your jaw, before pressing a quick kiss just under your ear. “and the face your making right now, tells me, that you're lying.”

you scoff, but didn’t say anything because you knew he was right. you did miss the way he’d plough into you, the way he knew the ins and outs of your body – how to please you. “im gonna cum,” you whine out, “satoru please i need yo–”

“you can cum when you admit the truth babe,” he teases, his strokes purposefully shift speed, still keeping you writhing underneath him but just not quite enough to get you there. “just say you miss me.”

“fine,” you force out, exasperated, “i m-miss you i do.”

“see wasn’t so hard, was it?” he kisses you deeply, driving deep into you, and you cum with a cry, you did miss being this close with your ex boyfriend. gojo is quick to finish after you, filling you up with all his cum.

he eventually pulls out of you, collapsing down on the bed next to you pulling you into his hold. you, against your better judgement, relaxing into his arms – which goes against all the rules of sleeping with your ex. “this still doesn’t mean we’re back together,” you add, knowing there was very little truth to that.

“yeah, yeah, whatever you say babe,” he smirks, his lips coming down to your forehead, placing a soft kiss, “so what did you miss about me?”

☆ TOJI

“i thought you didn’t spin the block, princess,” toji asks with a shit-eating grin, as his fingers slip inside of you “what happened to, ‘once an ex always an ex huh?”

“i’ve always hated that nickname,” you mumble, hissing at the contact of toji’s fingers toying with your pussy, “and there are some exceptions to my rule.”

“so you’re little boyfriends not hitting it right then,” toji grins, pleased at hearing that he was the ‘exception,’ “if you’re here, slutting yourself out on my fingers.”

“no he’s hitting it greatly,” you smirk, not rising to toji’s comments since you know what he was trying to get at, “i just missed you, that's all.”

“oh so you really have a boyfriend then?” he snapped, his fingers curling up in you.

“no i don't,” a smug smile appears on your face as you see toji’s smirk drop, “but it’s cute that you care though. are you jealous, toji?”

“shut up,” he says moodily, swiftly removing his fingers out of you, pulling you onto his lap.

you straddle him, your face inches from his, “aww are you mad toji?” you taunt with a mock pout. you’ve always loved getting a rise out of toji, you know your ex boyfriend very well, the more pissed off he was, the harder he fucked.

“sit on it,” he commands, the ‘it’ in question being his hard dick that he was furiously stroking at the sight of you. there was something about you that got on toji’s nerves – hence why you didn’t last long as a couple – but that special something was good for times like this. where you could both unleash any pent up energy you have, on eachother.

you welcome his dick eagerly, practically jumping on it, the wetness of your pussy was inviting. his dick slotted in perfectly, making you both curse at the contact. “fuck, you always feel so good,” he praises, loving the feeling of you clenching around his dick whilst you ride him.

there was a forcefulness coming from the both of you, as you were fucking each other as if you had something to prove, as if there was some unspoken competition to see who could get the other to cum first.

“f-fuck,” you mutter, the feeling of toji’s dick pistoning into you becoming too much.

“whats that princess?” toji mocks, grinning seeing your eyes gloss over, he could tell that your dick-stuffed cunt was about to release all over him, “y’gonna cum for me?”

you ignore him, continuing your mission to get toji to fold first. you manoeuvre your lips to his neck, kissing and sucking on his exposed flesh, and he takes a sharp inhale – bingo. you knew toji’s body as well as he knew yours, and he was always was weak for the way you’d nibble and bite on his neck as he fucked you dumb.

“are you gonna cum for me?” you mock mirroring his question, his strokes was getting sloppier, you could tell he was close. but you were not far behind, squirming in his lap about to reach your climax.there were no words that needed to be spoken as you and toji both cum together, your cunt too overloaded with both of your cum, making it drip out all over his dick.

“we should do this again sometime princess,” toji suggests, as you eventually hop off his dick and start putting back on your clothes, “you always know to fuck me right.”

“i’ll think about it,” you conclude, knowing that you’ll probably be back in less than a week, “and stop calling me that fucking nick name,” you say as you leave the room, the only response you hear being toji’s howling laughter.

☆ GETO

if there was one thing that you couldn’t deny your ex boyfriend had, it was his head skills. everytime without fail, he could have you sprawled out on any surface as his tongue laps your pussy.

“s-shit, you’ve always been way too good at this,”

“only, to please you,” he hums, pressing a soft kiss to your thigh, before going back to sucking on your clit. your hands knot his hair, pulling and tugging as he works on your folds. he loves it when you play in his hair, showing that he’s getting what he’s aiming for – giving you pleasure.

your moans only encourage him to toy with your pussy harder, nipping and biting as your thighs clench around his head. he’s been at this for ages, tonguing your cunt for as long as possible, as if to see how long he’d be able to go.

“sugu ‘m gonna cum,” you cry, pressure building up inside of you, “please let me cum.”

but he doesn't. ignoring your request completely, geto removes his mouth off of you. his lips were practically shining, coated in all the juices from your pussy. “you know there was one thing we never got to do when we were together,” he starts to say, eyeing with a mischievous smile,

“which is…” you prompt, slightly upset at the lack of stimulation you were getting at your, now throbbing, pussy.

“you never sat on my face,” he utters just above a whisper, licking his lips at the thought of it.

“but what if I—“

“don’t worry about any of that,” he murmurs, pushing himself further back on the bed, his eyes still focused on you, “come sit.”

you slowly work your way up his body, the mischief in his eyes making you feel excited. you pause, straddling his chest, your hands rest on his shoulders, “are you sure about this?”

“girl if you don’t–” he starts to say, but the rest of his sentence is muffled as he pulls you onto his face, his mouth enveloping your pussy. your hands immediately grip onto the headboard in front of you, as his tongue gives long strokes to your wet pussy, lapping up all the juices spilling from you.

you were riding his face, your hips moving back and forth against his mouth with his head sandwiched between your thighs. “f-fuck sugu, it’s too much,” you moan out, throwing your head back.

he grins in response, his hands gripping your ass pushing you onto his mouth deeper. he couldn’t get enough of you, the way you taste, the sweet scent of your pussy that he practically inhales, burying his nose in it.

“s-shit,” you curse, as your cunt explodes onto your ex’s face. you pause, catching your breath, still feeling the pleasurable high he just gave you. he still had his mouth on your pussy, eating up all the cum that was dripping out of you.

“hey suguru, wanna go and–” you turn to see gojo burst into the room, “oh shit, yn? are you two back together?” you scramble off of geto’s face, giving gojo the hardest glare for interrupting.

“satoru, can’t you see that im busy,” geto chuckles, his mouth still covered with your cum, “im eating here.”

“right…” gojo nods, “i’ll leave you two too it,” but just before he leaves the room you here him yell, “im gonna tell everyone you’re back together.” you both chuckle at your friends antics, and geto pulls you back into him.

“get back on,” he smirks, “who said i was done?”

AN: so there we go. I love geto's part so much but maybe im biased idk. but yeahhh hope you enjoy the thoughts that I had at like 7 am. DIVIDERS BY @/CAFEKITSUNE

#stampedwithanE★#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #toji x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #toji smut #gojo smut #geto smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #toji fushiguro x reader

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noirscript · 2 months ago

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serpent's claim

Pairing: Yandere Naga x Reader Description: You ran, but Zaeral always caught you. Now his egg rests deep inside, and escape is no longer what you crave. Warning/s: Yandere | Noncon/Dubcon Themes | Oviposition (egg insertion) | Breeding Kink | Forced Captivity | Obsession | Stalking | Predator/Prey Dynamic | Isolation | Escape Attempt | Psychological Manipulation | Forked Tongue (I HAVE TO) Note/s: Commissions are still open! Enjoy this Yandere!Naga. Lemme know what you think about it. btw. I'll try to add the tw tags later. I've been trying to add them but it's not getting added below T^T

Masterlist | Commission | Tip Jar | Dark Roast

The air was always wet down here.

Every breath dragged the scent of moss and something deeper into your lungs—something primal, slick with hunger. You didn’t know how long it had been since you’d seen the sky. Days, maybe. Weeks. It all bled together in this place where time was measured only in how long your heartbeat stayed fast and your skin stayed cold.

You didn’t fall into his territory. You wandered. That was your sin. You thought the shortcut through the canyon would save time. Maybe you didn’t want to go back at all. But now you were here. Now he was here.

You heard him before you ever saw him. A low scrape against stone. A hiss, too long to belong to any animal you knew. It slithered across the air like it was following you, not chasing, not yet, just… watching.

You’d screamed the first time he spoke. A whisper in your ear when you thought you were alone. "You breathe like prey." It echoed. There was no body to pin the voice to. Only dark, endless tunnels, lit by cold, phosphorescent light, where shadows stretched too long.

You ran. Of course you did.

But you learned quickly that you were never fast enough.

You never heard him move. Just the breath on your nape, the lightest brush of scales across your path when you thought he was behind you. The way rocks ahead of you were suddenly slick with moisture. A hunter didn’t need to charge when his prey was already cornered by instinct.

He introduced himself after the second escape.

Zaeral. His name slithered from his lips like a caress, like a chain sliding shut. When he finally showed himself—all of himself—you understood why you had no chance.

His upper half was almost beautiful. Tall, lean, chiseled in the way ancient statues are, timeless and cruel in their perfection. His skin was pale, barely touched by light, with veins like opal beneath the surface. Hair black as pitch hung past his shoulders, framing eyes that glowed faintly with a vertical sliver of gold.

And below the waist—no legs. Only an endless coil of thick, glistening muscle, wrapped in dark scales that shimmered with hints of violet and green, shifting with his breath. His tail could crush boulders. You knew because you saw the bones. He left them there, visible, arranged like a warning. Or maybe an invitation.

He spoke to you like a lover, not a captor.

"You belong down here," he’d murmur, coiling around you as you slept, his body a cage of heat and weight. "You’re so loud, little thing. Every heartbeat calls me closer."

You learned not to scream when he wrapped around you. Not to cry when he pulled you into his nest of damp moss and hollowed stone. It only made him hold you tighter. Only made him hum into your throat with something like joy.

"I adore when you squirm," he’d purr. "It stokes the fire in my belly. And soon, it’ll stoke more."

You never saw another person. You weren’t even sure anymore if the surface existed. When you closed your eyes, all you saw were tunnels, and the glint of his eyes in the dark, and the pressure of coils slowly winding up your legs. You tried to map the labyrinth. You tried to mark your way back.

He always erased them.

"You don’t need a way out. You only need a place inside."

Sometimes, he would leave. Hours, maybe longer. You never knew where. But you always knew when he was coming back. The air changed. Grew heavier. More charged. Like the earth itself tensed with your dread.

He would appear, gliding in with something clutched in his claws. Fruit from underground trees. Pelts that still smelled of blood. Once, a silk scarf stained with perfume—your perfume, long faded. You didn’t ask how he got it. You didn’t want to know.

"You are not the first I’ve chased," he admitted once, curling a length of his tail around your ankle. "But you’re the first to last this long. You burn brighter. You make me ache."

He said things in your ear that no one should say. Things about your body, and his, and how perfectly they’d fit. How your hips were made to take him, no matter the shape he wore. How he could mold himself around you, fill you from any angle. How he wanted to see your belly swell with his spawn. How he dreamed of it.

He wasn’t crude. He was reverent.

Like you were holy. Sacred. A shrine he wanted to desecrate with worship.

You told yourself you hated it. That your tears were from fear. That your trembling was because of the cold, not because of the warmth that bloomed deep, shamefully, when he wrapped his coils around your thighs and purred into your stomach, his tongue flicking lazily against your navel.

“You smell different when you’re scared,” he’d murmur. “But oh… when you’re not scared... that scent drives me to madness.”

He waited. That was the worst part. He was patient. He didn’t force himself. He didn’t need to.

He knew you’d give in.

He’d make you believe it was your choice.

You escaped once. Maybe twice. You didn’t count. Each time, the tunnels stretched longer than before. Each time, your body weakened faster. Once, you made it to a crack in the cave wall, and sunlight kissed your face.

And then his tail yanked you back, gentle as a lover’s hand tugging a hesitant partner.

"You tried," he said, brushing your hair back. "That’s why I love you. It means when you finally stop trying, I’ll know it’s real."

You screamed into his chest, and he rocked you like a child.

"I will never let you die here," he promised. "But I will never let you leave."

You didn’t try after that. Not seriously.

You thought you were giving up. But maybe you were just giving in.

You started to listen when he whispered to you. Started to ask questions. Small ones, at first. "Where do you go when you leave?" He’d smile. Never answer.

You started to watch his body move, the way his tail flexed and rolled over itself as he settled beside you. The power in him. The control.

You began to wonder—just wonder—what it would feel like if he really touched you.

He knew. Of course he did.

One night, as you lay in his coils, barely breathing, his voice dropped low.

"I dream of pushing you to your knees," he said, lips grazing your temple. "Of laying you out across my nest and feeling your body arch as I bury myself in you."

Your thighs clenched before you could stop them.

He growled. Low. Deep. It vibrated through your bones.

"You want it now, don’t you?" he asked, not mocking. Just… knowing. "Say it. Say it, and I’ll make it so you never remember the taste of anything but me."

You didn’t speak.

But you didn’t run, either.

And when his hand slid down your stomach, and he pressed his palm over your core, hot and possessive and unbearably firm—you didn’t stop him.

"You’ve already surrendered," Zaeral whispered, his tongue flicking your cheek. "Let me claim you. Let me fill you."

Your breath hitched. Your body burned. You hated him. You hated this.

But your hips lifted into his touch, and your thighs spread just slightly wider.

A hiss of satisfaction spilled from his mouth.

"That’s it. That’s my precious little mate."

The word mate tasted like ash and honey on your tongue.

You whispered his name.

Zaeral.

And he smiled.

TBC.

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @yamekocatt @mel-vaz @vind1cta @greatwitchsongsinger @delusionalricebowl @nomi-candies @jsprien213 @kaii-nana33 @saturnalya @yandereaficionado @pinksaiyans @ivantillenthusiast @missybabes

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heliosunny · 5 months ago

Note

if it's not too much to ask can I req our general jingyuan for your lucky egg prompt?

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Jing Yuan x Reader

You weren’t expecting much when you used the Lucky Egg Dispenser—maybe a cute pet, maybe something rare if luck was on your side.

But when the machine whirred and spat out a large golden egg, heavier than the others, you knew something was different.

A small note was attached to it, written in elegant, unfamiliar script:

"Handle with the utmost care. Do not leave its side."

Was this a warning? A request? Either way, you didn't dare ignore it.

For three days, you kept the egg close—hugging it, sleeping with it nestled against your chest, carrying it everywhere. It was warm to the touch, almost alive, pulsing faintly like a slow heartbeat. Sometimes, you swore you heard a low, amused chuckle echo in your mind.

Then, on the third night, the egg cracked.

A golden glow flooded the room, and the warmth in your arms disappeared—replaced by something far larger.

Before you could react, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against a firm chest. A smooth, rich voice purred into your ear, dangerously close.

“Ah… You took such good care of me.”

Your heart pounded as you tilted your head up—

And met golden eyes, half-lidded with lazy amusement, yet darkened with something far more possessive.

He smiled, his grip on you unyielding.

“Now… allow me to return the favor.”

The warmth of the egg had always been comforting, but this—the sheer heat of the man now holding you—was something else entirely.

His grip on your waist remained firm, almost too secure, as if he had no intention of letting go. Slowly, he leaned back, allowing you just enough space to look up at him. Long silver-white hair, golden eyes glinting like molten metal.

A dream? No.

A nightmare? You weren’t sure yet.

“Jing Yuan” he introduced himself “That is my name. And you, little one, have taken care of me most diligently these past three days.”

His thumb brushed lightly against your lower back, a gesture so casual yet so intimate that it sent a shiver up your spine.

“You held me close… never once leaving my side.” A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, pleased—deeply satisfied. “I must say, such devotion is quite rare.”

Your body had been exhausted from three days straight of holding the egg, and now, wrapped in unexpected warmth, your exhaustion finally took over.

The last thing you remembered was the steady rhythm of Jing Yuan’s heartbeat and the way his arms felt so secure around you.

Morning came too fast.

Your eyes blinked open. You shifted slightly—only to realize you couldn’t move.

Jing Yuan was still there.

And he was clinging to you.

One arm curled around your waist, the other resting under your head, effectively caging you in. His breath was slow and steady, and even in sleep, he refused to let you go.

Then it hit you. Your relatives were visiting today.

Your heart lurched as you turned to the clock—late.

Panic surged through you. You tried to slip away, but the instant you moved, Jing Yuan tightened his hold.

“Mmm” he murmured groggily, burying his face into your neck. “Stay.”

“I can’t.” You struggled again, but he was far too strong.

Golden eyes cracked open, lazily watching you as if completely unbothered by your distress.

“Why rush?” he mused. “They can wait.”

You nearly screamed. “No, they can’t!”

Summoning all your strength, you dragged him to the door—his arms still wrapped around you. It was the only way you could even move properly.

Then you threw the door open.

And there they were.

Your relatives, standing outside, their expressions frozen. Eyes wide. Mouths slightly open.

They took in the scene—you, struggling against the embrace of an incredibly attractive white-haired man, his arms looped around your waist, his robe slightly loose, his expression filled with sleep-dazed affection.

A long, awkward silence.

Your cousin coughed. “Uh… should we come back later?”

Jing Yuan hummed, resting his chin on your shoulder. “That would be ideal.”

You wanted to die on the spot.

Your uncle, Garreth, a renowned master of weapons, took one long look at Jing Yuan’s build—his broad shoulders, his refined yet powerful stance and nodded in approval.

“You. You’re built well.”

You groaned. “Uncle, don’t—”

But it was too late. Your uncle had already summoned a sigil in midair, golden energy swirling as it took form.

A guandao materialized.

Its long, ornate pole gleamed with intricate gold etchings, and the curved blade reflected the sunlight like liquid fire.

Jing Yuan finally released his iron grip on you, just slightly, as he reached for the weapon.

The moment his fingers closed around the guandao, the air shifted. A deep pulse of energy resonated through the ground. The weapon hummed in his grasp, almost as if recognizing him.

Jing Yuan spun it once, the heavy weapon moving effortlessly in his hands, before letting out a low, satisfied chuckle.

“Oh? This suits me quite well.”

Your uncle grinned. “Perfect. Let’s test it out in a dungeon.”

“Wait, what?”

Jing Yuan turned to you, golden eyes gleaming with undeniable amusement, “You’ll come with me, won’t you?” His voice was smooth, coaxing.

There was no real room for refusal.

The portal shimmered as you and your relatives stepped into the testing dungeon—a vast expanse of ruins lit by glowing glyphs, the air thick with the presence of lurking monsters.

Jing Yuan walked beside you, his weapon resting lazily over his shoulder, his golden eyes scanning the area with a casual sharpness. Your uncle, already eager to see how the weapon performed, led the way, while your cousin, Lina, trailed behind—already looking way too reckless for your liking.

“Lina, dodge!” you shouted as a spectral beast lunged at her.

But instead of dodging, she charged headfirst, barely blocking the attack in time.

Your sigh was deep and exhausted.

You cast a quick buff on her, increasing her defense, and then immediately followed it up with a healing skill when she took a direct hit from another enemy.

Jing Yuan chuckled beside you, watching the scene unfold. “Is she always like this?”

You groaned. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Lina, undeterred by her near-death experience, grinned. “Come on! We’ve got a strong guy with us now. What’s there to worry about?”

Jing Yuan hummed in amusement. “Confidence is good. But recklessness?” He flicked his wrist, effortlessly slicing through a beast that had tried to sneak up on you. “That’s a bit more… troublesome.”

Lina stuck her tongue out but didn’t argue.

Your uncle, meanwhile, was completely absorbed in watching Jing Yuan fight.

Jing Yuan moved like a storm, sweeping through enemies with fluid, devastating arcs. He never seemed rushed, never seemed flustered—just calm, methodical, and effortlessly powerful.

Every swing of his weapon sent sparks flying, and each finishing move left behind the faint echo of a roaring lion.

Your uncle grinned like a madman. “Now that’s technique. Clean. Precise. Efficient.”

Lina, inspired, tried to copy his movements—only to trip and nearly eat dirt.

You sighed again, casting yet another heal. “Lina, please.”

Jing Yuan turned to you, tilting his head. “You’re quite good at supporting others.”

You shrugged. “Someone has to keep these people alive.”

His lips curled into a slow smile, his golden eyes glinting. “Indeed. But tell me—who takes care of you?”

You ignored the question and focused on healing Lina (again).

Jing Yuan simply watched, amused before gracefully slicing through another wave of enemies, his attacks suspiciously always keeping you within reach.

With the dungeon cleared, the atmosphere lightened as your group returned home.

Garreth was beyond satisfied with Jing Yuan’s performance. He had spent the entire walk back singing praises about the way the guandao handled in his hands, already talking about designing another custom weapon for him.

As soon as you stepped inside, Garreth clapped a hand on Jing Yuan’s shoulder.

“A warrior like you deserves a proper meal and a drink—or ten!”

You tried to object since it had been a long day, you just wanted to sleep, but between your uncle’s insistence and Jing Yuan’s easygoing agreement, there was no getting out of it.

One hour later.

The table was filled with empty bottles.

Your uncle? Completely drunk. His booming laughter had slowly turned into slurred mumbling, and eventually, he collapsed onto the table.

Lina sighed, shaking her head. “Every time.” She cracked her knuckles, then grabbed him by the arm, hoisting him up. “I’ll put him to bed before he starts snoring so loud the neighbors complain.”

That left you and Jing Yuan.

The air was quiet now, aside from the distant sounds of the night. Jing Yuan leaned back in his chair, his golden eyes watching you a little too intently.

“You prioritize others too much.”

You were caught off guard. “What?”

He swirled the drink in his glass lazily. “You heal your cousin, you support your uncle’s projects, you take care of everyone else—but when do you let someone take care of you?”

You frowned. “It’s not a big deal.”

Jing Yuan hummed, clearly unconvinced. “You say that, but I watched you today. You don’t hesitate to step in when someone else is in danger, but when it comes to yourself? You ignore it. You dismiss it.”

You didn’t respond, mostly because you didn’t know what to say.

He set his glass down, then leaned forward slightly, closer to you.

“If you won’t take care of yourself…” his voice was softer now, almost coaxing, “…then I will.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “You’ve only been here for a day.”

Jing Yuan smiled, slow and amused. “Three, actually. You did hold onto me for quite a while.”

Your face heated, and he chuckled at your reaction.

“You don’t have to do everything alone, you know.”

The words lingered between you, heavy in their meaning.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the kitchen as you moved around, preparing a simple breakfast. The morning was peaceful—until you overheard the conversation between your uncle and Jing Yuan.

They were sitting at the small table by the window, playing chess.

Your uncle had a focused expression, tapping his fingers against the table as he studied the board. Jing Yuan, on the other hand, looked completely at ease, golden eyes lazily watching his opponent’s movements.

“You’re good at this” Garreth finally muttered, moving a piece.

Jing Yuan smiled. “I try.”

There was a moment of silence as the game continued. Then, your uncle leaned back slightly, shooting you a glance before turning back to Jing Yuan.

“You know, I’d love to have you as their partner.”

You almost spilled your coffee.

Jing Yuan’s interest visibly piqued. His eyes flickered to you, then back to your uncle. “Oh? That’s quite the endorsement.”

Your uncle nodded. “Well, they need someone who can keep up with them. Someone strong, capable… dependable. I’d say you fit the bill.”

Jing Yuan made his next move on the chessboard, but his focus was clearly elsewhere now. “I see. And do they already have someone?”

Garreth waved a hand dismissively, “Oh, they already got themself—”

He suddenly stopped mid-sentence, his eyes widening slightly as if he just realized what he was saying.

Jing Yuan’s expression remained calm, but there was a subtle shift in his aura, his posture more attentive.

Your uncle coughed, attempting to correct himself. “I mean—uh—”

You sighed, setting your cup down. “They’re my ex, Uncle. Ex. Past tense.”

Jing Yuan’s gaze immediately snapped to you, interest deepening. “Oh?”

Your uncle scratched the back of his head. “Ah… my bad.”

Jing Yuan, however, seemed entirely unbothered. If anything—he looked pleased.

He moved his chess piece, “Check.”

Your uncle squinted at the chessboard, muttering curses under his breath as he realized his mistake. Meanwhile, you sat at the table, sipping your coffee, pretending that Jing Yuan wasn’t still watching you.

That small “Oh?” he had uttered earlier still lingered in your mind.

Your uncle, blissfully unaware of the subtle tension in the air, finally made his move—only for Jing Yuan to immediately checkmate him.

Garreth let out an exasperated groan. “Alright, I get it. You’re good. No need to rub it in.”

Jing Yuan chuckled. “It was an interesting match.”

His words were polite, but his focus remained on you.

“You didn’t mention an ex before” he mused, resting his chin against his hand.

“Because it’s not important.”

Jing Yuan tilted his head slightly, a slow, thoughtful smile forming on his lips. “Not important to you, perhaps. But I find it rather interesting.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why?”

He leaned forward just slightly. “Because it means you’re single.”

You almost choked on your coffee.

Your uncle laughed, completely missing the implications. “Hah! Well, that just means the spot’s open, doesn’t it?”

Jing Yuan didn’t even need to say anything—the way his golden eyes gleamed with amusement said enough.

You set your coffee down harder than necessary. “It’s not a competition, Uncle.”

Garreth shrugged. “Could be. If the right person comes along.”

Jing Yuan hummed, tapping his fingers lightly against the table. “That depends on how persistent the contender is, doesn’t it?”

You stared at him, then sighed, standing up from the table. “I’m going to finish breakfast.”

As you walked back toward the kitchen, you heard your uncle chuckle.

“I like this guy.”

And then, from Jing Yuan, came a smooth, almost teasing response “I think I do, too.”

After spending the whole day in the dungeon and dealing with your uncle and cousin’s antics, you were completely drained. You bid farewell to your relatives, watching as your uncle patted Jing Yuan’s shoulder one last time before they finally left.

As soon as the door closed, you let out a deep sigh, rolling your shoulders. Why were you getting exhausted so quickly these days?

Shaking off the thought, you plopped onto the sofa and turned on the TV, flipping to the news. You barely heard it. Your body felt unnaturally heavy, exhaustion creeping into your bones. Within moments, your eyes fluttered shut, and you drifted into deep sleep.

Jing Yuan, who had remained inside, quietly approached the sofa.

His golden eyes flickered toward the TV screen, just as he was about to turn it off, the broadcast displayed maps of dungeon activity, strange energy fluctuations… and then a list of affected individuals.

Your name was on it.

Jing Yuan’s relaxed demeanor didn’t change, but his fingers tightened slightly on the remote.

How curious.

His gaze shifted back to you—asleep, unaware, vulnerable.

For a brief moment, he simply watched you, his mind piecing things together. Then, he finally switched off the TV, plunging the room into silence.

He stepped closer, crouching beside you.

“So fragile…” he murmured, almost to himself. “Yet, something unusual lingers around you.”

The room was silent except for the faint sound of your breathing.

Jing Yuan remained seated beside the sofa, studying you with the same careful patience he used when strategizing on the battlefield. He had spent his life mastering the art of waiting, of letting his prey lower their guard before making his move.

You, however, had already lowered yours without realizing it.

You trusted too easily. Even after everything—you still let him stay, still let him close. How fortunate for him. He had noticed it before—the exhaustion, the unusual way you drained energy.

And now, the news confirmed it.

Something was interfering with you.

Jing Yuan tilted his head slightly. Could it be an external force? Or perhaps—something inside you?

His fingers barely grazed your palm before you shifted in your sleep, your body instinctively pulling away. Even unconscious, you resisted—just a little.

How endearing.

His lips curled into an amused smile as he stood. Carefully, he slid one arm beneath your legs, the other supporting your back, and lifted you effortlessly.

You barely stirred as he carried you to your room.

When morning arrived, you awoke feeling oddly well-rested.

For the first time in days, your limbs didn’t feel like lead. You blinked against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains.

Then, you noticed it.

A chair had been pulled close to your bed. And there, sitting comfortably as if he belonged, was Jing Yuan—waiting.

His golden eyes met yours immediately, as if he had known the exact moment you would wake up.

“Morning” he greeted lazily, a teasing edge in his tone. “You slept quite well, didn’t you?”

You stared at him, still processing. "…Why are you here?"

Jing Yuan stretched, completely unbothered. “Watching over you, of course.”

“That’s not necessary.”

He chuckled, leaning forward slightly. “Isn’t it?”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “I feel fine now. So you can stop acting like my personal bodyguard.”

Jing Yuan didn’t answer right away. He simply smiled.

Then, he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“If you say so” he mused.

----

The night was quiet, save for the faint hum of the TV. You lay curled up on the sofa, fast asleep, completely unaware of the faint traces of blood and burnt fabric on Jing Yuan’s coat as he silently stepped inside. His golden eyes flickered over you, scanning your peaceful expression before shifting to the TV screen.

The news had moved on to another topic—political disputes, interstellar trade negotiations—nothing of interest to him. But earlier? He had seen it.

The dungeon anomaly.

He had felt it through the bond you shared.

Your exhaustion, the unnatural way your energy drained—he had known it wasn’t normal. So while you rested, unaware, he had gone to the source.

And he had handled it.

His fingers twitched slightly, recalling the creatures he had encountered—their movements erratic, their existence unnatural. Something had been leeching off you, siphoning your strength without you even realizing it.

Not anymore.

Jing Yuan exhaled softly, shaking off the remnants of the battle before stepping closer. He crouched beside the sofa, watching you.

His hand brushed against your wrist, his thumb grazing the pulse point beneath your skin. It was steadier now.

For a moment, he simply observed. Then, with a quiet chuckle, he murmured, “You never even noticed, did you?”

His hand moved to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just a little too long.

“As long as I’m here, I won’t let anything touch you again.”

Just as Jing Yuan reached to turn off the TV, a soft mechanical chime echoed through the room.

[BOND STATUS: ACTIVE]

His golden eyes narrowed slightly as he turned to the notice board, which had flickered on with a soft blue glow. The system—an extension of the egg bond—displayed a list of missions, each one tied to your well-being.

[Current Bond Status: 72%]

[Mission List Updated]

• Ensure the bonded individual eats a full meal (+2%)

• Improve the bonded individual’s physical condition (+3%)

• Eliminate external stressors (+5%)

• Reinforce emotional reliance (+10%)

Jing Yuan’s gaze lingered on that last one.

Reinforce emotional reliance.

The system was clear. Completing these tasks wouldn’t just strengthen the bond—it would tilt it further in his favor.

It would make you depend on him more.

He leaned back slightly, a quiet chuckle escaping him. “How convenient.”

He had already eliminated the threat in the dungeon. Now, all that was left was to secure his place by your side.

He tapped the notice board lightly with a gloved finger. “I suppose I’ll be keeping busy.”

Jing Yuan wasted no time.

The missions were simple, really. If he was careful, strategic—he could complete them without you ever suspecting a thing. And the results were already beginning to show.

—Ensure the bonded individual eats a full meal (+2%)

At first, you had been too exhausted to care about proper meals. You would grab whatever was quick, or forget to eat entirely. Jing Yuan, of course, noticed.

So he started cooking for you.

It worked. The food was good—far better than you had expected—and soon, you stopped questioning it. You ate every bite. And just like that, another point was secured.

—Improve the bonded individual’s physical condition (+3%)

You rarely exercised, and your body had been sluggish ever since the exhaustion set in. Jing Yuan fixed that too. It started subtly. A casual walk together after meals. A stretch before you sat too long at your desk. And eventually—sparring.

“It’s just practice” he said, handing you a wooden staff, his golden eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “I’ll go easy on you.”

You had scoffed at first, but the training worked. Slowly, you felt better, stronger. You even started to rely on his guidance.

Jing Yuan thrived on that.

—Eliminate external stressors (+5%)

This was where things became more delicate.

Your days had been filled with stress—work, responsibilities, people. Jing Yuan made sure those were no longer a problem.

Suddenly, the overbearing requests, the bothersome messages—they all seemed to disappear.

And you, unknowingly, started leaning closer to him.

It was subtle at first. The way your body gravitated toward his warmth when you were tired. How your fingers lingered just a second longer when handing him something.

But the true confirmation came one night.

You were exhausted, drained. Without thinking, you collapsed onto the couch, only to feel a firm warmth beside you.

Jing Yuan didn’t move as you curled against his side.

A quiet chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Tired again?”

You mumbled something incoherent, already halfway asleep.

Jing Yuan took his chance. His arm slid around your waist, pulling you slightly closer.

Then, without hesitation, he leaned in, pressing the lightest kiss against the top of your head.

You didn’t pull away.

And that was everything.

Jing Yuan closed his eyes, savoring the moment.

----

The day was peaceful. You sat beside Jing Yuan on the couch, absentmindedly sipping your drink as he flipped through the channels on the TV.

Everything was calm—until the notification popped up.

[BOND STATUS: 86%] [New Mission Available]

The glowing system board flickered in front of him, its message clear as day. Jing Yuan tensed, his golden eyes narrowing slightly.

He turned to you, searching your face for any sign of recognition, but you were completely unbothered.

“…Did you see that?” he asked carefully.

You blinked at him. “See what?”

You couldn’t see it.

The realization sent a slow, satisfied warmth through his chest. This system, this bond—it was for him alone.

“Nothing. Must’ve been my imagination.”

You shrugged and went back to what you were doing, while Jing Yuan turned his attention back to the screen.

The mission list was still there.

[New Mission: Deepen the bond through physical intimacy (+10%)]

How interesting.

Jing Yuan had always been patient. He knew when to pull, when to wait, when to let you come to him on your own.

But now?

The system had given him permission.

The bond was already tightening, wrapping around you like an invisible thread—unseen, unfelt, yet inescapable. You clung to him more and more, sought his presence without even realizing it.

And tonight, he would make sure you would never want to be anywhere else.

The night was quiet, the only sound in your home being the faint hum of the air as you shifted in your seat. You had been tired again. Jing Yuan had noticed it immediately—how your body seemed heavier, your posture looser, your defenses down. You didn't question it when he pulled you toward him, settling you onto his lap with practiced ease.

You never questioned him anymore.

“Relax” he murmured, his voice smooth as he pressed his lips to your temple. His hands traced slow, lazy circles against your back, warm through the fabric of your clothes. “You’ve been pushing yourself too much again.”

You sighed, melting against him.

It was so easy. So easy to let him hold you, to sink into his warmth, to let him touch you as if he had always belonged to you.

His fingers trailed lower, ghosting over your hips, tracing the shape of you with unhurried confidence. He felt the way your breath hitched, the way your hands gripped his shoulders just a little tighter.

His voice was laced with amusement as he pressed a soft, lingering kiss against the side of your neck. “You’ve been clinging to me so much lately… have you noticed?”

You stiffened slightly.

You hadn’t.

Jing Yuan chuckled at your silence, one hand tilting your chin up to meet his golden gaze.

“Don’t worry.” His lips barely brushed against yours, his breath warm, teasing. “I don’t mind.”

And then he kissed you.

He swallowed the tiny gasp you made, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer, closer, as if he could merge you into himself.

“… Just let me take care of you”

You didn’t resist.

You never did.

And that?

That was exactly how he wanted you.

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #jing yuan x y/n #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #jing yuan #hsr #heliosluckyegg

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manzuaves · 2 months ago

Text

sᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ɢᴜᴛs?

pairing. bratty!slytherin!sophia x quidditchplayer!gryffindor!reader

warnings. a bit of curses here & there. kisses and v mean sophia.

a/n. check out part 1.

What happened last night was something unspoken. Wandering hands, breathless gasps, and everything that followed. No one else needed to know.

You stirred awake with the soft light of morning seeping through your red and gold curtains, your body aching in a way that only Firewhisky and passion could explain. The haze of last night still clung to you like dark smoke.

Beside you, Sophia lay half-tangled in your sheets, her black hair a striking contrast against the white linen. Her breathing was steady, lips slightly parted, and she frowned faintly whenever her bangs brushed over her eyes. She looked peaceful. Vulnerable, even.

But instead of staying, instead of figuring out what to say or how to even begin the conversation once she wakes up, you left.

You slipped out of bed, wearing only your underwear. She had your oversized polo on, and the sight alone made your heart jump.

Before Sophia could stir, you’d already snuck out into the common room, quietly grabbing what you needed to freshen up and make your way to the Great Hall for breakfast.

You weren’t sure how to face her yet or what this all meant. All you knew was that facing her in that moment, in the quiet aftermath, felt a little too real.

Luckily for you, it was the weekend. No early classes to rush to, no professors to scold you for looking like you hadn’t slept a wink. Just your nosy, overexcited friends who hadn’t stopped pestering you about last night, as the three of you walked down the Great Hall.

The two snickered at the sight of all the love bites scattered across your neck that made you regret for not wearing a turtleneck sweater.

“Piss off, Megan. Why would you want the details? You’re such a creep.” You slumped down at the long Gryffindor table, immediately lunging for the roast turkey like a starved Hippogriff, not even fully seated yet.

Hungover mornings always did wonders for your appetite.

“But no, seriously. What actually happened?” Manon chimed in from across the table, leaning closer with an annoyingly curious glint in her eye. “One second you two were sucking face, and the next? Poof. Gone. Did you get that desperate you apparated straight to your room?”

You paused mid-chew, throwing her a dry look. As much as you usually had no problem boasting about your escapades, something about this felt… different.

You knew Sophia. You knew how guarded she was. How private. Sharing anything especially with this group felt like cracking open something sacred without her permission. So instead, you just shrugged and reached for the gravy.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Plus Sophia might not like that I’m sharing this with you.” you muttered through a mouthful. “Now quit asking before I hurl this drumstick at you.”

“Since when did you give a care about your girls’ privacy?” they teased, leaning back with a smug grin. “You used to spill every juicy detail without blinking.”

You rolled your eyes and shoved another bite in your mouth, chewing aggressively. “Yeah, well, things change,” you mumbled, barely audible.

“Ohhh,” they sang, dragging the sound out like a middle schooler sensing drama. “You like her.”

You froze mid-chew. “No, I don’t.”

“Liar.”

“Eat your food before I use this fork for violence.”

You were in the middle of shoveling eggs onto your plate when it happened.

A hush swept over the Gryffindor table. Not completely silent, but enough for you to notice the shift. You glanced up just as Sophia LaForteza, in all her Slytherin glory, strutted into the Great Hall like she owned every inch of the stone floor beneath her.

You weren’t expecting her to make eye contact.

You definitely weren’t expecting her to head straight for you.

She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t blink. She slid right onto the bench beside you, ignoring the stares, the whispers, the barely concealed gasps. Your friends were frozen, eyes darting between the two of you like they were watching a Quidditch final.

You opened your mouth to speak, apologize, explain, maybe beg—but Sophia beat you to it.

Without a word, Sophia reached over and tugged the red-and-gold tie from her neck: your tie. You hadn’t even realized she’d kept it on.

She didn’t look at you as she yanked it loose, then grabbed your collar and shoved the tie back where it belonged, tightening it with a firm, almost punishing pull.

Your breath hitched at the closeness, at her touch laced with frustration.

“Sophia—” you started, voice uncertain, but the sharp look she shot you shut you up instantly.

But then, she leaned in close, lips brushing your ear as she said just loud enough for your entire end of the table to hear:

“Next time, don’t sneak out of your own room like I was some dirty secret.”

And before your flushed face could recover, she planted a hard, taunting kiss on your cheek. Leaving a red, glossy tint on your cheeks to mark her territory.

Gasps. Choked laughter from your friends. Someone dropped their spoon.

You wanted the wizarding world to swallow you whole. Or at least the table.

Ever since that night, something shifted between you, especially with Sophia.

In public, she was the same as ever: sharp-tongued and insufferably smug. She still rolled her eyes at how you parted your hair “like a tragic hero,” and complained about your habit of showing off your pearls “like you’re some cursed Gryffindor royalty.”

But in private? That was where things changed.

She became softer, more tender in ways that made your chest ache. Like earlier that week during Quidditch practice, your houses were sharing the pitch (a scheduling nightmare, but Lara being rumored to be dating Slytherin’s captain might’ve helped grease some wheels).

You were in the locker room for a quick water break, wiping sweat from your brow, when the door creaked open. Sophia slipped in without a word, her presence as commanding as ever. She crossed the space between you in three deliberate steps and tugged at the collar of your Quidditch uniform, pulling you toward her.

Her fingers ghosted along your chest, her brows slightly furrowed at your messy state. But if she were being honest, you looked hot when messy.

“I missed you,” she muttered, then quickly added with a scoff, “Not that I was counting the minutes or anything, Merlin.”

You blinked, then smirked. “Already? And here I was thinking my charm didn’t work on you—judging by how you act like I’m a thorn in your side whenever we’re around people.”

She scoffed and smoothed out the front of your uniform with practiced ease, though her fingers lingered just a second too long. “Sod off, Y/N. You know exactly why I have to be like that in public. Can’t have people thinking this Gryffindor hottie has their Slytherin princess wrapped around their finger.” Her lips curled into a teasing smile. “Ruins the whole image.”

You were still caught in the way she said hottie when she continued, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, “Besides, you were taking so long at practice I nearly hexed one of your teammates just to fake an injury and get you off the pitch.”

You laughed, wrapping your arms around her waist and pulling her closer. “That’s the sweetest threat I’ve ever received. I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be,” she said, nose wrinkling as if she hadn’t just made your heart stutter. “It would’ve been the annoying one with the lopsided broom grip anyway. He deserves it.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. Only Sophia could deliver a compliment and an insult in the same breath.

“But,” she added, voice dropping just slightly as her gaze held yours, “you still haven’t made it up to me for leaving me alone in your bed that morning.”

Her words hit you like a Bludger to the gut—guilt, yes, but also that fluttery rush you never wanted to admit out loud. Especially not to her.

“Will a kiss suffice?” you asked, voice low, smirk tugging at your lips as you leaned just slightly closer.

Sophia raised a brow, unimpressed and yet clearly affected. “We’ll see.”

It started with a shove, light, teasing, the way most of your arguments with Sophia did. Then suddenly, her lips were on yours. Her fingers were in your hair, nails grazing your scalp in a way that made your knees weak. You gripped her by the waist, tugging her impossibly closer, feeling the heat of her body pressed to yours through layers of fabric and frustration.

Her kiss was so demanding and hot and hungry, it was making you feral. You met her intensity with your own, matching the push and pull, biting back a gasp when her teeth grazed your bottom lip. Her hand slid under the hem of your shirt, not bold enough to go further, but enough to send a shiver through you.

You pulled back for half a second to breathe to take a look at her. Disheveled, eyes dark with want, her glossy lips slightly parted. Your wandering hands slipped down the Slytherin's curves, eliciting a moan that escaped her throat. "Merlin.."

You surged forward again at the sound, crashing your mouth back onto hers like it was the only way you knew how to respond.

While you and Sophia were deep in a heated make-out session, the door creaked open, and Yoonchae, one of your more diligent, albeit nosy, teammates, poked her head into the locker room.

“Hey, cap! Need anything? The team’s—”

Sophia practically leapt away from you like she’d been burned, shoving you so hard you hit the lockers with a loud clang.

“Bloody hell, LaForteza,” you groaned, rubbing your back. “With that kind of strength, you might want to consider the position of a Beater.”

You opened one of the lockers that you hit to take a glance at the mirror nearby, wiping her signature Slytherin lip gloss from your lips as Yoonchae stood frozen, eyes wide in horror and awe at what she’d just walked in on. You took a deep breath and regained your composure before finally facing your teammate. Your dignity slightly askew, but still intact.

Sophia, still catching her breath, turned to the Korean with a venomous glare. Her voice was sharp, cold, and precise, like a dagger aimed straight for the gut. “For Salazar’s sake, are you truly that dense? Is knocking too complex a concept for your tiny brain to comprehend? I’ve seen Muggle-borns with more basic etiquette.”

Yoonchae’s face fell, her smile faltering as her eyes started to glisten. Sweet, soft-hearted Yoonchae, who probably just wanted to offer water or a towel, looked like she’d rather evaporate on the spot.

You glared at the Slytherin and stepped between them. “Language, LaForteza. She’s still my friend. You don’t get to tear her down like that.”

You took the poor girl’s hand and left the locker room with Sophia’s jaw clenching. and though her eyes stayed cold, something in them flickered, remorse, maybe, or just the realization that she may have overstepped.

“Y/N’s not talking to me and I might just cast the Cruciatus Curse on everyone until she does,” Sophia grumbled, aggressively filing her already-perfect nails with sharp, irritated strokes.

Daniela, who had been quietly reading on the couch beside her, slowly lowered her book with raised brows. “Whoa there, don’t drag us into your love quarrel,” she said, waving a hand in mock defense.

Lara, ever the calm voice of reason, didn’t even look up from her notes as she spoke. “Just apologize, Sophia. You’re clearly in the wrong, and this isn’t just anyone we’re talking about. It’s Y/N. You can’t bitch your way around her and expect it to slide. Apologize to that poor girl, too.”

Sophia groaned, tossing her nail file aside. “I don’t do apologies.”

Just then, a younger Slytherin girl passed by their couch, nibbling on a chocolate frog and smiling politely. “Morning! Rough day?” she asked cheerfully, clearly just trying to be nice.

Sophia’s head slowly turned. Her eyes narrowed like she had just been personally insulted by the girl’s existence.

“Your face looks like it had a rough day,” she snapped, her tone ice-cold. “So maybe keep your little comments to yourself before I actually have one.”

The girl’s smile fell immediately, her steps quickening as she hurried away.

Daniela blinked. “You do realize she was just being nice, right?”

“She was being nosy,” Sophia hissed. “And I don’t need some wide-eyed second-year analyzing my mood like I’m a case study.”

Lara sighed, rubbing her temple. “Okay. Yep. You clearly need to talk to Y/N before you emotionally destroy the rest of the house.”

Yoonchae had always been like the little sister you never knew you needed. You first met her back in your fifth year, when Professor McGonagall assigned you to be a tour guide for the new first years. Back then, she barely reached your shoulder—wide-eyed, curious, and clinging to your every word. Now she was nearly your height, but still had that same stubborn sparkle in her eyes.

“Don’t let her words get to you, Chae,” you murmured, nudging her gently with your shoulder. “You know how vile Slytherins can be. Empty threats. All bark, no bite.”

You were both curled up on the couch in the Gryffindor common room, sharing two stolen pints of peanut butter ice cream you’d snuck out from the kitchens. Yoonchae sniffled under the thick blanket draped over the two of you, her eyes still puffy from earlier.

Your heart crumbled at the sight.

“It wasn’t my intention to interrupt your you know..,” she whispered, voice thick with sadness. “I didn’t even say anything bad, and she acted like I’d insulted her whole bloodline.”

You exhaled slowly, the guilt starting to sink into your chest.

“Yeah… that’s kind of her thing.” You twirled the spoon between your fingers. “But she had no right to go off on you like that. I’ll talk to her.”

Yoonchae looked up at you, hopeful. “You promise?”

You offered a small smile, brushing her hair out of her face. “Promise. No one gets to hurt my favorite teammate and gets away with it—even if she’s got annoyingly pretty eyes and a way with words that makes my brain malfunction.”

That finally earned a laugh out of her.

The next day, guilt gnawed at your insides still, like a Niffler on gold.

So you spent the whole day glued to Yoonchae’s side, trying to make up for scarring her for life. You waited outside her Charms class, leaning casually against the stone wall like some overzealous bodyguard. When she came out, you smiled and took her books from her arms before she could protest.

“I can carry my—”

“Nope,” you said, already walking. “Let me do my penance in peace on behalf of she-who-must-not-be-named.”

You gave her the last cauldron cake from your stash during lunch, even though you'd been saving it since last Hogsmeade trip. When she looked cold in the courtyard, you took off your hoodie and tossed it over her shoulders. She blushed and muttered something about you being weirdly nice today, but you just shrugged.

You even tied her hair back for Potions when she struggled with the clasp of her clip, fingers surprisingly gentle despite your usual Gryffindor roughness. You made her laugh a few times, even if it sounded a little nervous.

The moment you tugged her into the library with a hand on her lower back, purely to avoid Filch passing by. Sophia saw.

She stood at the far end of the corridor, arms crossed, green tie perfectly in place, eyes sharp enough to cut steel, and nails pointy enough to cause pain to two Gryffindors, but most especially to you.

Your laughter with Yoonchae died the moment you felt it. That chill crawling down your spine like the castle itself was warning you. You turned your head slightly and saw her.

Sophia.

You still felt mad about the Slytherin princess. The way she just snapped at Yoonchae like she was below her, like she meant nothing. You knew Sophia could be cold, biting even, but seeing her talk to your teammate like that made your blood boil.

And yet, you promised Yoonchae you’d talk to her. For her sake.

And maybe… maybe because a part of you missed her too. Missed the quiet thrill of her touch, the fire in her gaze, the way she made everything feel dangerous and delicate at the same time.

And so you bid your goodbye to Yoonchae, offering her a half-hearted smile before jogging off in the direction Sophia disappeared. You spotted her deep in the library, scanning the shelves, arms crossed in frustration at a book clearly just out of reach.

Before she could even try, you reached up and grabbed it for her, slipping it off the shelf like it was nothing.

She barely glanced at you. “What, finally decided I’m worth your time?” she bit, sharp and cool, like she hadn’t just made a scene the day before.

You frowned, clearly unimpressed. “May I remind you, Laforteza, you were the one who offended Yoonchae. Don’t act all this stupid Slytherin with me when you caused the mess.”

She snatched the book from your hand, but not before her fingers brushed yours: soft, deliberate, familiar. She didn’t let go. Instead, she gently tugged at your hand, guiding you through the maze of shelves to a quiet, tucked-away corner of the library.

Finally, she said, a little softer this time, “I didn’t mean to hurt her. I just… didn’t know how to react when she saw us kissing.” She paused, then added in a quieter voice, “I panicked okay? I shouldn’t have snapped at her like that. It wasn’t fair.””

She sighed, the kind that sounded more like a crack forming than relief, and admitted, “You know how I am, Y/N. I’m a pureblood. I really, really enjoy whenever I’m with you but I’ve been raised to keep everything polished, controlled… everything but this.”

You looked at her carefully, the frustration in your chest slowly giving way to something heavier—understanding, maybe.

Her eyes met yours, dark green to the point of black and sharp and filled with something almost vulnerable beneath all the polish.

“But what?” you asked quietly. “I know I’m no Slytherin. I’m not conniving nor sly, I don’t play your games. I may be a jerk and messy and loud, and I act on feeling before logic. But I’ve always been real with you, Sophia. Isn’t that enough?”

You could still feel the ghost of her fingers brushing yours, her anger from yesterday clashing with the softness of this moment.

“I don’t need perfect, Sophia,” you said, softer now, and this was probably the first time you called her by her first name when it was just you two. Sophia couldn't help the way her breath hitched. “I just need honest. Were those kisses not real enough for you? Do I need to scream it to the whole damn wizarding world how much I’m obsessed with you?”

Sophia chuckled while closing the space between you. Her hands found your face, thumbs brushing gently over your cheekbones like you were something fragile she was afraid to break.

"That's such a Gryffindor statement,” she murmured, a small, crooked smile tugging at her lips. “Thank Merlin you’re mine."

"You still owe Yoonchae an apology though." you said, not letting her charm her way out this time.

She groaned, leaning her forehead against yours. A dramatic sigh escaped her lips as she pulled away just enough to roll her eyes heavenward. “Fine. I’ll find her later. But if she acts smug about it, I’m blaming you.”

“You’ll survive,” you teased.

She grumbled something under her breath, then added, “You’re lucky I find you cute.”

#sophia laforteza #sophia laforteza x reader #katseye imagines #yoonchae x reader #sophia x reader #sophia imagines

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