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pucksandpower · 3 months

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Something Sweet

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: the story of your relationship … as told through gelato (in honor of Charles opening an ice cream shop)

The warm spring sun beats down on your face as you stroll along the winding streets of Monaco, gelato in hand. You savor each sweet bite, the rich hazelnutty flavor melting across your tongue.

This is bliss.

You just moved here to attend university and every day feels like a dream come true exploring your new home principality.

The picturesque buildings with their sun-baked stucco walls and colorful tiled roofs line the narrow alleyways. Locals bustle about, chatting rapidly in French as scooters whiz by. The air carries a tang of salt from the glittering Mediterranean just beyond the palace ramparts.

You could get used to this.

Suddenly, a body careens around the corner, slamming right into you. You stumble backward as the gelato goes flying, splattering across the quaint cobblestones in a sticky mess.

“Oh mon dieu, I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” A frantic voice rings out as a pair of strong hands steady you before you can topple over completely.

You look up, slightly dazed, into a pair of warm green eyes filled with concern. The man is clad in athletic shorts and a snug t-shirt, damp with sweat from an obvious run. Tousled chestnut hair flops across his forehead in an effortlessly tousled way.

He’s … incredibly handsome.

Like, stupid levels of handsome.

“I’m fine, really,” you stammer out, feeling your cheeks flush as his hands linger almost ... protectively on your arms. “Just clumsy me dropping my gelato.”

He grimaces, following your gaze to the melting puddle. “I’m such an idiot, let me replace that for you.” His face is the picture of remorse as he gently releases his grip.

You wave him off with an awkward chuckle. “Seriously, it’s not a big deal ...”

But he’s already shaking his head adamantly. “No, no I insist. That looked delicious and it’s entirely my fault.” He shoots you a lopsided grin that makes your heart skip a beat. “I know this amazing little place that makes the best gelato in Monaco. My treat to make up for barreling into you like that.”

You can’t help but be charmed by his earnestness as you nod slowly in acceptance. “Well, when you put it like that ...”

“Perfect!” He beams at you, that bright smile crinkling the corners of his eyes in the most delightful way. “I’m Charles, by the way.”

You introduce yourself as well as Charles begins leading you deeper into the winding backstreets, clearly knowing exactly where he’s going. You can’t help stealing sidelong glances at him as you walk, admiring the strong muscles of his arms and shoulders visible through his fitted shirt.

Finally, he ducks into a tiny alleyway, stopping before an unassuming doorway you surely would have just passed right by. A faded sign hangs above reading Gelatomania in curling script.

“This place is my favorite,” Charles confides in a conspiratorial murmur as he holds the door for you. “Family-run for generations and miles better than any of the touristy places.”

You step inside and are immediately enveloped in a thick, sugary aroma that makes your mouth water. A few little metal tables with rickety chairs are squeezed into the compact space, but it’s the immaculate glass cases lining the walls that draw your eye.

Filled with every flavor imaginable, the gelato looks utterly divine — from naturally green pistachio to decadent chocolate hazelnut to tangy lemon. An older woman with a grandmotherly face greets Charles like an old friend in rapid Italian from behind the counter.

He responds easily in kind before turning back to you. “What’ll it be? I recommend the hazelnut again if you liked your first one.”

You nod and watch, utterly charmed, as Charles places your order for a fresh hazelnut gelato with a deferential “per favore” and that knee-weakening smile of his. He gets a simple vanilla for himself before paying and leading you over to a little iron table outside in a sliver of sunshine.

You take your first bite and … oh my god. This is gelato from the heavens themselves. You can’t contain the downright blissful moan that escapes your lips as the divinely creamy, rich concoction melts across your tongue.

“Good, right?” Charles looks incredibly pleased at your rapturous reaction as he digs into his own treat with gusto.

“This might be the single most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted,” you admit fervently between increasingly enthusiastic licks and bites. “How have I survived this long without knowing this place existed?”

Charles throws his head back with a full-bellied laugh at your passionate proclamation. God, even his laugh is unfairly attractive ...

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” he grins around a mouthful of velvety vanilla. “I’ve been coming here since before I could walk. Quickly became my favorite gelato spot.”

“You’ve lived here a while then?” You ask between savoring bites of the impossibly luscious confection. “I only just moved for university.”

Charles nods as he licks a stray drip from his thumb. “Yeah, born and raised a few streets over actually.”

There’s a slight lull as you both focus on thoroughly demolishing your gelato for a few contented minutes, exchanging occasional muffled hums of sheer delight. The warm sun filtering through the awning casts a soft golden glow over the little alleyway, lending everything a dreamlike haze of perfection.

“So beyond being from here, do you have any exciting hobbies or interests?” You ask eventually, dragging the conversation back into the open.

“Well ...” Charles’ expression morphs into one of almost sheepish amusement as he leans back in his rickety chair. “You could say my hobby is also kind of my job. I’m actually a Formula 1 driver, believe it or not.”

You damn near choke on your next bite as his words register. “You’re what? As in ... a race car driver? In Formula 1? Seriously?”

There’s no way this stunning man is being truthful. Sure, he looks like he could be some kind of athlete with that perfectly toned physique. But a literal professional race car driver? The thought is almost too crazy to be believed.

Charles just laughs again at your dumbfounded reaction, clearly used to this response as he nods. “Seriously! I compete for Ferrari if you follow the races at all?”

You think you might pass out from shock as everything clicks into place — the athletic build, the way people seemed to stare as he passed them on the street, the laid-back confidence and easy smile of someone incredibly comfortable in their own skin ...

“Oh my god, you’re ... you’re Charles freaking Leclerc, aren’t you?” You gape at him in abject disbelief. “As in, the guy literally plastered on the huge billboard across from my apartment? Leading the championship? Incredibly talented and famous?”

He lets out an almost bashful chuckle at your rapid-fire incredulous questioning, shrugging one broad shoulder. “Well, I don’t know about incredibly talented or famous. But yes, that’s me — just your average local race car driver currently making an absolute mess while eating gelato.”

Here you sit, having just shared an utterly divine dessert while shamelessly ogling one of the most popular and well-known athletes in the damn world … and he’s acting like it’s absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. Like you’re just two regular people enjoying a sweet treat together on a sunny day.

“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation right now,” you murmur, shaking your head slowly. “Do you have any idea how many people would kill to literally just ... sit across from you like this while you eat mediocre gas station ice cream, much less the world’s best gelato? I’m … stunned you’re so nonchalant about this whole thing.”

Charles merely flashes you a self-deprecating grin as he pops the last bite of cone into his mouth. “Well, to me you’re not some screaming fangirl, but just a lovely new friend I enjoy gelato with. Though my ego certainly appreciates the compliments.”

He winks at you impishly and you feel an unwitting smile tugging at the corners of your own lips despite your lingering disbelief. You suppose being surrounded by such incredible wealth and luxury every day in Monaco, Charles likely doesn’t register it anymore. Not to mention the clearly down-to-earth personality he seems to possess given that genuine humility.

The hours just seem to slip effortlessly by then as the two of you continue to chat and laugh and bask in the perfect afternoon contentment of the moment. Charles regales you with ridiculous behind-the-scenes stories about increasingly crazy bets with his friends and crew during the season. You share equally hilarious tales of your own coming-of-age mishaps as an overeager teenager.

At some point, you both reach for your long-empty dishes simultaneously, fingers brushing in a spark of contact that sends your pulse stuttering. Charles doesn’t pull back, letting his hand linger outrageously close to yours as his warm gaze stays locked intensely on your face.

You try to swallow past a suddenly dry throat as the atmosphere shifts abruptly, suddenly heavy with the hot crackle of unmistakable chemistry and unspoken tension. But then, just like that, the moment passes as quickly as it came.

Your phone buzzes loudly in your pocket with a text, the notification startling you both back to reality. Charles sits back, clearing his throat slightly as you pull your hand away to quickly check the message.

It’s from your roommate asking when you’ll be home for dinner and if you need her to start cooking.

You glance up at Charles with an apologetic grimace. “I should probably head back. I didn’t realize how late it’s gotten.”

He blinks rapidly before seeming to visibly shake himself. “Right, of course! Time really got away from us, didn’t it?”

You stand as Charles rises smoothly to his feet as well, shoving both hands casually in his pockets. “So ... I had a really great time with you today,” he says carefully, something almost hesitant flickering across his face. “And I’d love a chance to take you out again sometime soon, if you’re interested? Maybe grab dinner when I’m back in town?”

Your breath catches in your throat at the unmistakable request for an actual date. With Charles freaking Leclerc no less ...

Tamping down your sudden nerves, you nod slowly as a shy smile blossoms on your lips. “I’d really like that,” you admit truthfully. “Let’s definitely do dinner whenever you’re free.”

His whole expression brightens immediately at your affirmation, lips stretching in a wide grin of pure delight. “Perfect! I’ll be back from my next race in just over a week then. How about exchanging numbers so I can let you know as soon as I’ve returned?”

You quickly rattle off your number as Charles punches it into his phone before doing the same for you. As if sealing some unspoken deal, he sticks out his hand to shake yours, that warm roughened grip lingering perhaps a moment longer than strictly necessary.

“I’ll text you soon then,” Charles murmurs intently, that spark of heat flickering in his eyes again. “Promise me you’ll say yes this time.”

You can only nod mutely, mouth gone bone-dry at the pointed words and heated look washing over you. Charles maintains that blistering eye contact and heart-stalling grip on your palm for another loaded handful of seconds, leaving you dizzy with giddy anticipation.

Then, just like that, he releases your hand with one final squeeze before taking a step back, seemingly satisfied by your stunned agreement. Charles shoots you one last lingering look and crooked grin before turning to stride easily back the way you came.

You remain rooted in place for a long moment, utterly dazed by the entire surreal scenario as you watch his broad shoulders and narrow waist disappear down the narrow alleyway.

Today started out as any other nothing-out-of-the-ordinary spring day in your new home. But now … now you have an actual date scheduled with an unbelievably charming and disarmingly down-to-earth racing superstar.

A giddy giggle bubbles up from deep in your chest as reality finally settles in. Who could have ever predicted that bumping into your new acquaintance — quite literally — would lead to not only discovering the most heavenly gelato on the planet, but lining up a date with an internationally famous athlete?

Suddenly, your bright future studying in Monaco just got about ten thousand times more interesting …

***

The week passes by in a blur of anticipation after your initial meeting with Charles. You can barely focus during lectures, your mind constantly wandering to that charming grin and those warm eyes crinkling at the corners whenever he laughed.

Finally, the evening you’ve been eagerly awaiting arrives. You’ve just finished getting ready — pulling on a flowy sundress and brushing out your hair one last time — when your phone buzzes with a new text.

I’m outside whenever you’re ready for our date night. Looking forward to seeing you again 😘

You can’t bite back your giddy smile as you quickly reply that you’re heading out before taking one last steadying breath.

It’s just Charles … the internationally famous and absurdly handsome Formula 1 driver you’ve somehow managed to snag a date with.

No big deal at all.

The evening air carries a pleasantly cool breeze as you exit your apartment building, scanning the idling line of vehicles for Charles’ car. You spot him immediately, leaning against the gleaming metallic side of what you now recognize as an eye-wateringly expensive Ferrari.

Charles looks … unfairly gorgeous. He’s shed his athletic wear in favor of a simple white linen shirt and tailored slacks that somehow make him appear even more effortlessly suave. His hair is artfully tousled and damn if those clothes don’t accentuate every hard plane and corded muscle of his built frame.

You must be staring because suddenly Charles is pushing off from the car and straightening to his full height, those intense eyes crinkling warmly as soon as they land on you.

“You look stunning,” he murmurs appreciatively once you’ve drawn closer, making a show of trailing his gaze slowly up and down your figure. You’re abruptly grateful for the dusky twilight hiding your furious blush at the blatant admiration in his tone.

“Thanks,” you manage to get out without your voice shaking too noticeably. “You don’t look half bad yourself, race car man.”

Charles throws back his head with one of those deep-bellied laughs you’re quickly becoming addicted to. “Why thank you, gelato girl.” He shoots you a wink before surprising you by gallantly offering his arm. “Shall we?”

You take it without hesitation, reveling in the solid warmth of his bicep pressed against your side as Charles leads you to the waiting glossy black sports car. He opens the door for you like an old-fashioned gentleman, closing it carefully once you’re tucked inside the buttery leather interior.

The engine roars to life with a powerful rumble and you can’t resist shooting Charles an impressed look as he deftly maneuvers out onto the street.

“You know, I’m starting to think this little hobby of yours might not be too bad of a gig,” you tease lightly, waving a hand at the sleek interior compartment.

“I can’t complain,” Charles volleys back with a crooked grin, seamlessly navigating the tight turns of the old city. “Sometimes they even let me drive in circles really fast just for fun.”

You roll your eyes at his retort, but can’t quite wipe the smile off your face as Charles guns the engine, the car surging forward in a burst of speed and power. Clearly the man knows how to leverage any opportunity to show off those expert driving skills … not that you mind one bit.

Eventually, Charles pulls up in front of an unassuming doorway you never would have noticed tucked down a quiet side street. The understated sign above simply reads Trattoria Giovanni.

“This place has been run by the same Italian family for over fifty years,” Charles explains as he holds the door for you. “Best authentic cuisine in the city, but you would never find it unless you knew where to look.”

The interior appears to have been plucked directly from a rustic Tuscan villa — burnished wooden beams criss-crossing the curved ceilings and terracotta tiles underfoot. You breathe in deeply, savoring the mouthwatering aromas of garlic, tomato sauce, and fresh bread wafting from the open kitchen.

An older man with a thick mustache and crisp white apron greets Charles immediately in fluent Italian, ushering you both back to a cozy alcove table secluded in the very rear. He pours you both generous glasses of deep red wine before disappearing again with a conspiratorial wink in your direction.

“So, how was your race?” You ask between sips once you and Charles are alone, genuinely curious about the difficult career he’s managed to carve out.

He shrugs one broad shoulder almost dismissively. “Decent enough, I suppose. Grabbed another podium finish, but didn’t quite have the pace for the win.” There’s no disappointment or frustration in his tone as he speaks, just a simple statement of fact.

“I’m endlessly in awe that you treat accomplishments like that so casually,” you admit with a shake of your head. “Finishing in the top three in Formula 1 seems like the kind of thing most people would be over the moon about.”

Charles lets out a low chuckle at that, leaning towards you over the small table with eyes twinkling mischievously. “Well maybe I need to find a new way to impress someone like you then.”

You open your mouth to respond with a playful retort of your own, but Charles’ gaze has already strayed to somewhere past your shoulder.

“Ah, perfect timing then. Here’s Giovanni himself with our orders.”

Sure enough, the older man you spotted earlier bustles up with a tray overflowing with piping hot plates of food. He doles out the dishes methodically while rattling off a stream of explanations about preparations and ingredients that have clearly been passed down for many generations.

Everything looks and smells utterly divine — from the heaping bowl of glistening spaghetti blanketed in a simmering tomato sauce to the golden-baked chicken drenched in rosemary and olive oil. The endlessly affable Giovanni even sets down a small ceramic dish full of creamy pale cheese, patting Charles on the shoulder.

“The burrata for you and your lady friend. Freshly made this morning by my wife,” he declares proudly before whisking himself away again.

For the next blissful hour or two, you and Charles completely lose yourselves in this veritable feast for the senses. You savor each and every decadent bite — moaning around the pillowy strands of spaghetti and tearing off chunks of the crusty, herb-brushed breads to soak up the savory juices.

Charles, for his part, dives into the meal with just as much enthusiasm, occasionally reaching over to snag a bite off of your plate until you resort to smacking his wandering fork away between fits of laughter.

Stuffed and utterly content, you both eventually push away your long-cleared dishes to nurse the final sips of your wine as the evening stretches languorously on. You fall into these simple moments like an old habit by now — trading comfortable silences and contented looks between impassioned recounts of childhood anecdotes or musings about life.

Finally, as the candles on the small wooden tables begin to gutter and wane, Charles summons over your waiter to settle the check with a few murmured words and one of those knee-weakening smiles. Rising smoothly, he extends his hand in a wordless invitation for you to join him back out into the balmy evening.

This time, instead of heading for the car, Charles tucks your hand into the crook of his elbow before choosing a new direction — down a maze of narrow streets until you finally emerge along the harbor’s edge. Strings of twinkling lights reflect off the lapping waves while the soft strains of background music filter out from somewhere nearby.

“Feel like grabbing a little dessert to walk off that incredible meal?” Charles asks in a low murmur, bumping your shoulder conspiratorially.

You shoot him an incredulous look even as you nod. “You mean in addition to the literal feast we both just had?”

Charles tugs you closer to his side until your hips graze together as you match strides. “There’s always room for gelato,” he counters with an arched brow. “Besides, when in Monaco ...”

Any further protests die on your lips as Charles guides you around another tight corner to reveal that familiar cheerful gelato shop from your initial meeting. The old woman behind the counter greets you both like regulars already, no doubt thanks to Charles’ frequent patronage.

You maneuver through the small line until it’s your turn to order. “I think I’ll go with the tiramisu flavor this time,” you decide, mouth already watering at the prospect of that rich coffee and creamy goodness. “What about you? Mixing it up or still sticking with the basics?”

Charles shakes his head resolutely as he hands over a few crisp bills to pay for your treats. “Trust me, a heaping helping of simple vanilla is just as gratifying as all those overly complicated flavor combinations.”

You balk at his slander, bumping his shoulder with your own without any real heat. “How dare you insult my incredible palette like that?” You glare at him in mock offense. “I’ll have you know I have some of the most refined gelato taste in all of Monaco now.”

“Oh yeah?” Charles tips his chin down with a challenging smirk twisting his full lips. “Well what if I told you that vanilla is scientifically proven to be the most popular and beloved flavor in existence?”

“By who? Basic boring people?” You volley back mercilessly, eagerly leaning into the playful banter now. “If anything, those findings just demonstrated how sadly uncreative society at large is.”

Charles barks out a booming laugh as he grabs your hand and tugs you back out of the shop, gelato in the other. “You heathen! We’re clearly going to need to educate you on the finer points of flavor appreciation.”

Your eyes narrow dangerously even as you let yourself be lead to a nearby bench overlooking the gently lapping waves. “Oh, you’re on, Leclerc. Let’s see if your vanilla snobbery holds up after a taste of tiramisu heaven.”

You scoop up an exaggeratedly generous spoonful of the divinely rich, creamy gelato and make a show of savoring it with overstated moans of delight. “Oh my god, this is so good. Here, you have to try this! It’s life-changing.”

Charles wrinkles his nose even as you wave the spoonful enticingly in front of him. “Nice try but I would never cheat on vanilla!”

The two of you devolve into helpless laughter at that point, dissolving into breathless giggles over the ridiculous debate getting more outrageous by the minute. Finally, you relent in the battle, settling back into the cool metal of the bench and turning your face up to the inky sea of stars glittering overhead.

“You’re right though — sometimes simple really is best,” you admit finally in a softer tone, slowly licking another sweet bite off your spoon.

Charles hums in agreement next to you, shuffling closer until your arms brush together with body heat and contact. “The classics never go out of style.”

The next comfortable silence stretches out between you as you take your time savoring your treats while simultaneously drinking in the breathtaking view laid out before you. The water laps almost hypnotically at the shoreline, twinkling reflection of docked yachts bobbing gently on the calm surface.

A breeze skates across your bare arms, raising a faint ripple of goosebumps along your skin. Charles notices immediately, shifting even nearer until he can shrug out of the lightweight jacket he had been wearing.

Without a word, he swings the soft fabric around your shoulders, tucking it securely around your front. You burrow instinctively into the material, the lingering body heat and remnants of his cologne wrapping you up in an cocoon of soothing warmth and intoxicating comfort.

With your free hand, you toy idly with the collar until Charles’ arm comes up to curl around your shoulders, effectively enveloping you into his solid frame. You let your cheek tip onto the firm muscle of his arm as Charles squeezes you closer with a contented exhale.

Time becomes meaningless suspended in that perfect sea-side bubble, waves flowing rhythmically while you enjoy every last savored bite of your melting treats. You let the quiet inevitability of dropping your head onto Charles’ shoulder wash over you, his familiar cologne invading your senses until your entire world narrows to just him.

When Charles polishes off the final bite of his cone and you go to shift away, another cool gust skitters across the harbor. He tightens the arm curved around you, making no move to let you up or leave the cozy haven you’ve made.

“I could get used to evenings like this, you know,” he murmurs eventually, lips brushing the top of your head. “Just taking it slow and savoring each other’s company without a single worry or care beyond where to find the best gelato.”

You hum in sleepy agreement, luxuriating in the casual intimacy of having Charles wrapped so protectively around you. Part of you can scarcely believe how instantaneous and natural this connection has blossomed between you already. But another part feels like you’ve finally found your soul’s missing piece slotting seamlessly into place after stumbling around lost and incomplete for so long without ever realizing it.

The two of you remain suspended in that perfect, tranquil bubble for what could be minutes or hours more. You’ve completely lost track of any sense of time beyond the lullaby of the gentle waves and occasional murmur of Charles’ breathing ruffling your hair.

Eventually though, his stirring signals a slow return to the real world as Charles regretfully extricates himself from your entwined position with clear reluctance.

“I should probably get you back before your roommate starts to worry,” he says remorsefully as he slides off the bench to offer you a steadying hand up.

You accept it without hesitation, but can’t resist clinging to his jacket still cocooned around your shoulders, unwilling to shrug off that lingering cocoon of comfort and safety just yet. Charles notices, allowing a tiny grin to quirk one side of his mouth upwards as he takes in your refusal to part with it.

“Looks good on you,” he murmurs with unmistakable heat in those hypnotizing eyes. “I may have to let you hang on to that one for a while.”

Your mouth goes abruptly dry at the blatant implications in his tone, but you manage a coy smile in return as you turn to make your way back towards wherever Charles has his car crookedly parked.

The streets are all but abandoned by the time you arrive at the discreet entrance of your apartment building. Charles hesitates a split second before rounding the front of the gleaming Ferrari to face you properly on the quiet sidewalk.

“Thank you for an incredible evening,” you say honestly, gazing up at his silhouette in the dim glow of the streetlamps. “I don’t think I can even put into words how special you’ve managed to make me feel these past couple weeks.”

His expression softens instantly. One calloused palm comes up to tenderly cup your jaw, tilting your face up towards his with feather-light reverence.

“The pleasure has been all mine, I assure you,” Charles rumbles in a low tone that steals your breath away. “I don’t think you’ll ever realize just how remarkable you are, ma belle.”

Your eyes flutter shut without conscious thought as his nose brushes yours. Charles’ lips glide torturously against your cheek leaving a blazing trail to the very corner of your mouth.

The softest, most infinitely gentle press of satin flesh on flesh and then he’s pulling back — his ragged exhale warm and intoxicating against your tingling lips. You chase his retreat on instinct, but Charles is already withdrawing further with clear reluctance.

“I’m afraid I don’t trust myself to take things slow quite yet if I stay,” he murmurs in a strained rasp, pupils blown wide and dark. “But I do hope you’ll allow me to make this our new gelato tradition from now on ...”

It takes you several faltering attempts to find your voice again, chest rising and falling rapidly in the aftermath of that lightning bolt of affection. Finally, you manage a jerky nod, sliding one trembling hand over his where it still cups your cheek.

“I want that more than anything,” you confess in a hushed tone. “Just ... promise me we’ll see each other soon.”

He releases a shuddering breath of unbridled relief, dipping his forehead to rest against yours. “Soon,” Charles vows lowly. “I promise.”

You stare up into his earnest eyes. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Charles’ lips quirk in that lopsided grin you already adore so much. “I’m counting on it.”

With obvious reluctance, he finally steps away, snagging your hand to press one last searing kiss to your knuckles that has your heart stuttering all over again. Charles holds your gaze as you carefully back away towards the entrance, unwilling or unable to fully turn your back until the very last moment.

You chance a glance over your shoulder as you reach the front doors. Charles is still there, unmoving in a pool of streetlight beside his idling Ferrari, hands shoved in his pockets as he tracks your every step until you’ve slipped safely inside.

Exhaling a shuddering breath, you lean back against the cool stone wall, fingers coming up to ghost across your still-tingling lips almost disbelievingly.

When you finally muster the courage to peek through the glass once more, Charles has moved to lean against the side of his car, head tilted back as he stares into the lobby with an unmistakable softness etched across those chiseled features.

You can’t resist pressing your palm to the pane in a gesture you know he’ll recognize. Sure enough, Charles’ intense gaze instantly snaps to lock on you from across the quiet street, expression melting into pure adoration and wonder. His lips shape the same promise he uttered just moments ago — soon — as your own quirk in a delighted smile.

One last impulsive spark of inspiration has you playfully blowing him a single kiss through the barrier between you. Charles catches the invisible token easily, hand flying up to press over that broad chest as he throws back his head with a laugh that you can’t hear but imagine with vivid clarity.

You stand there transfixed, drinking in every last detail of him — the effortless elegance he carries himself with, the striking planes of his handsome face, and those beautiful eyes glittering with a thousand unspoken promises under the streetlamps.

Finally, with your own vow to reunite pulsing between you, Charles slides behind the wheel of his car. The powerful engine roars to life, twin beams from the headlights sweeping up to briefly wash through the windows of the lobby in a silent farewell before he’s peeling away into the night back towards the glittering city center.

You remain at the entrance for several long minutes basking in the memory of Charles’ phantom embrace still clinging to your skin. Only once his Ferrari has faded into the distance do you finally turn towards the elevator up to your apartment — every footstep lighter than air in the wake of an evening that lived up to even your wildest dreams of romantic splendor.

The simple joy and humble pleasure of a perfect scoop of creamy gelato will always hold untold meaning now as the spark marking the start of something beautiful blossoming between you and Charles.

And, as you finally drift off that night with a permanent smile etched across your face, you know without a shadow of a doubt that no flavor in the world could ever compare to the sweet indulgence of a life together just waiting to be savored and explored.

***

The warm spring breeze carries the sweet floral scents of the Brera Botanical Garden through the air as you stroll hand-in-hand with Charles. His fingers are laced through yours, his thumb gently stroking over your knuckles. You can’t help stealing glances at his handsome profile — the defined jawline, those soft kiss-curled lips, those kind green eyes that always seem to be smiling even when the rest of his face isn’t.

“What are you looking at?” Charles says with an amused grin, catching you staring again. You just shake your head and squeeze his hand tighter.

“Nothing. Just admiring the view,” you tease. Charles laughs that bright, infectious laugh of his that never fails to make your heart flutter.

You come to a stop beneath a blossoming cherry tree, pale pink petals floating down around you. Charles turns to face you, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Y/N … there’s something I want to talk to you about,” he begins, suddenly uncharacteristically nervous. You tilt your head curiously. “You know how passionate I am about racing, about Formula 1. It’s been my dream since I was a little boy.”

“Of course,” you nod, unable to stop a small smile. Charles’ love for motorsports is one of the many things you have come to adore about him.

“Well, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately,” Charles continues, taking both your hands in his. “And I’ve realized that I want to have something else in my life too. A … passion project, you could say. Something that’s away from all the spotlight and pressure.”

Your brow furrows slightly as you try to imagine what he could mean. Charles has spoken before about potentially getting more involved in charity work or environmentalism on top of his racing career. But the almost childlike excitement dancing in his eyes tells you this is something different.

“I’m going to open a gelato shop,” he blurts out finally. You blink dumbly.

“A … gelato shop?” You repeat slowly. Out of all the possibilities, that was definitely not what you were expecting.

“Yes!” Charles grins broadly, clearly delighted by your surprise. “Think about it,Y/N. What’s more perfect than gelato made right here in the heart of Milano? And I’ve already found the ideal location — a little shop just across the street from here. Can’t you just picture it?”

He starts gesturing animatedly, that bright smile never leaving his face as he outlines his grand vision. You can’t help getting caught up in his infectious enthusiasm, even if the idea still seems a bit random.

“I’m going to call it Lec,” Charles says with a proud smile. You let out an undignified snort of laughter.

“Lec? Like your last name?” You shake your head in amusement. He looks almost offended by your reaction.

“No, no, not just my last name,” he corrects you seriously. “Lec as in … our last name. Yours and mine.”

The words hang in the air as realization slowly starts to dawn on you. You open and close your mouth dumbly as Charles takes a deep breath, sliding off the path onto one knee on the ground before you. With shaking hands, he pulls out a small black box from his pocket and flips it open to reveal the most stunning diamond ring you’ve ever seen.

“Y/N Y/L/N … you are my world, my everything,” Charles’ voice is thick with emotion as he gazes up at you. “I cannot imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else by my side. I want to wake up every morning and go to sleep every night with you beside me forever.”

Tears are already welling in your eyes, one hand pressed to your trembling lips as you listen to the beautiful words.

“Will you ...” Charles’ voice catches in his throat and he has to clear it before continuing. “Will you do me the greatest honor and become my wife? Will you marry me?”

The last few words come out in a rush of breath. You’re vaguely aware of several other people in the gardens who’ve stopped to watch, but all you can see is Charles’ face — hopeful and vulnerable and so full of pure adoration for you.

“Yes!” You finally manage to choke out through your joyful tears. “Oh my god, yes! Yes of course I’ll marry you!”

Pure relief and blissful ecstasy bursts across Charles’ face at your answer. With hands trembling just as badly as yours, he eases the glittering ring out of the box and onto your finger where it nestles perfectly, the diamond catching the dappled sunlight.

Before you can even look at it properly, Charles is on his feet again, pulling you into his embrace and spinning you around in a deliriously happy circle. You cling to him, laughing and crying at the same time as he peppers every inch of your face with kisses — your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose.

Finally, inevitably, his mouth finds yours in a long, deep, loving kiss that has your knees feeling weak. You get lost in the warmth of his arms around you, the gentleness of his hands cradling your face, the tenderness of his soft lips moving reverently against yours.

When you finally part, you’re both smiling so much it almost hurts, foreheads pressed together as you share the same breath. Charles brushes away a few stray tears on your cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

“I love you so much, mon cœur,” he murmurs softly. You mouth the words back to him before stealing another lingering kiss.

Hand-in-hand once more, Charles leads you out of the botanical gardens and across the street. You come to a stop in front of a quaint yet sizable storefront, the windows covered in brown paper and a faded For Lease sign still hanging crookedly in the door.

“Here it is,” Charles says, gesturing up at the building with undisguised pride. “What do you think?”

You take it in slowly, trying to envision what the space might look like once renovated and filled with cozy seating and the alluring scents of freshly-made gelato.

You picture the two of you working side-by-side behind the counter when Charles doesn’t have a race, laughing and bantering as you serve up delicious treats for smiling customers.

It’s such an endearingly normal, domestic dream compared to the fast-paced frenzy of the Formula 1 lifestyle. But standing here with your new fiancé, it feels absolutely perfect.

“I think … I think it’s going to be incredible,” you lean into Charles’ side and wrap your arms around his trim waist. He responds by kissing your temple and pulling you closer.

“Just think,” he says happily, his warm breath ruffling your hair. “We’ll be the owners of the best little gelateria in all of Milano.

“Sounds like heaven,” you smile. “Just be sure to make plenty of hazelnut and tiramisu for me.”

“Done and done,” he promises solemnly. “Though you know vanilla will always be number one in my book.”

“Oh really?” You arch an eyebrow challengingly. “Is that so?”

Without warning, you loop your arms around Charles’ neck and pull him in for a long, lingering kiss. You can feel him melting into your embrace, his arms snaking securely around your waist.

When you finally manage to pull apart again, you’re both slightly flushed and out of breath. Charles’ usually perfectly tousled hair is charmingly mussed from running your fingers through it. He looks at you with such naked affection and desire that your heart flutters.

“You know what?” He murmurs huskily, resting his forehead against yours. “I take it back. You’re definitely my favorite flavor. And I can’t wait to start this next chapter with you, mon amour.”

And with that promise lingering sweetly between you, Charles takes your face in his hands and kisses you deeply once more, pouring every ounce of his devotion into the embrace.

You can taste forever on his lips.

When you finally part, grinning giddily at each other, Charles takes your hand and leads you back towards your next adventure. Whatever lies ahead, you know you’ll take it on fearlessly and joyously, side-by-side with the man you love more than anything in this world.

***

The reception hall is a whirlwind of joy and celebration as you take in the scene, your heart overflowing with love and happiness. The elegant decorations, the twinkling lights, and the smiling faces of your loved ones surrounding you all blur together in a beautiful haze.

You can scarcely believe this day has finally arrived — the day you’ve dreamed of for so long.

You turn to Charles, his warm green eyes sparkling with so much love, and your breath catches in your throat. He looks devastatingly handsome in his perfectly tailored tuxedo, his million-watt smile making your knees go weak.

This incredible man is now your husband.

“Hey you,” he murmurs, taking your hand and brushing his lips across your knuckles. “Having fun, mon amour?”

A joyful laugh escapes your lips as you nod enthusiastically. “More than I ever thought possible. I’m just … I’m so happy, Charles. I can’t believe we’re actually married!”

He chuckles, that rich laugh that never fails to make you melt. “Believe it, Mrs. Leclerc. You’re stuck with me forever now.” His expression softens as he cups your cheek tenderly. “I love you so much. I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

You lean into his touch, savoring the moment. “I love you too, Mr. Leclerc. More than anything.”

A throat clears behind you, and you whirl around to see Arthur, your new brother-in-law, grinning mischievously.

“If you two lovebirds are done making everyone else nauseous, it’s time to cut the cake!” He teases, jerking his head towards the lavish gelato cake that sits on the dessert table.

Charles throws his head back with a laugh. “You’re just jealous that you don’t have someone as amazing as my wife to make gooey eyes at.”

Arthur rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Whatever. Get your butts over there before I eat the whole thing myself.”

With a wink at you, Charles takes your hand and leads you towards the dessert table, the crowd of guests parting like the Red Sea to let you through. Your heart does a little flip as the magnificent gelato cake comes into view — a towering masterpiece of creamy gelato in vanilla, hazelnut, and tiramisu, all artfully swirled together and decorated with fresh fruit and chocolate shavings.

“It’s perfect,” you whisper in awe, giving Charles’ hand a squeeze.

He pulls you into his side with a content smile. “Not as perfect as you.”

The crowd applauds as you approach the cake, and a chorus of cheers and wolf whistles rises up. Straightening your shoulders with a grin, you pick up the gleaming cake knife and lock eyes with Charles, suddenly feeling bold.

“Ready to do this, husband?” You ask with a teasing lilt.

His eyes blaze with undisguised desire. “More than ready, wife.”

Together, you slice into the towering gelato cake, the creamy filling oozing out and already making your mouth water. Once you have a generous slice on a plate, you scoop up a spoonful and lock eyes with Charles again, arching an eyebrow in challenge.

His pupils dilate as he catches your meaning, a low growl rumbling in his throat. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, mon cœur.”

“Who says I can’t finish it?” You take a step closer, holding the spoonful of gelato up temptingly.

Charles tips his head back with a groan. “You’re killing me here.”

“Good thing you have me to bring you back to life then,” you quip, pressing the spoon to his lips.

He opens obediently, letting you slide the gelato into his mouth with agonizing slowness. His eyelids flutter shut as the flavors explode over his tongue, and he actually moans — deep and guttural and utterly sinful.

A choked sound comes from somewhere in the crowd. “Oh please, get a room!” Joris, Charles’ best friend and best man, calls out with a mixture of amusement and mortification.

Charles doesn’t even open his eyes, simply raising one middle finger in Joris’ direction as he savors the last of the gelato. When his tongue finally darts out to catch a stray bit on his lips, you feel an unexpected flare of heat low in your belly.

Okay, two can play at this game.

Deliberately holding Charles’ heated gaze, you dip your finger into the gelato drippings on the plate and slowly, so slowly, bring it up to your lips. You let the very tip of your tongue dart out to catch the sticky sweetness, swirling it around luxuriously. His Adam’s apple bobs as he watches you, jaw tense.

That’s it.

You slip your finger into your mouth fully, hollowing out your cheeks as you suck the gelato off with an utterly obscene sound. Charles’ knees actually buckle, and he grips the table behind him for support, pupils blown wide.

“You are so dead,” he growls under his breath, low and dangerous.

Unable to stop yourself, you let out a breathy giggle, drunk with a dizzying cocktail of desire and sheer bliss. Charles takes a half step closer, his eyes burning into yours. You quickly scoop up another fingerful of gelato, desperate to keep pushing those buttons and draw out that delicious intensity.

But before you can bring it to your lips, quick as a flash, Charles is on you. He drags you flush against his solid form, his free hand cupping the back of your neck to angle your mouth up to his. The scorching kiss steals the breath from your lungs, leaving you dizzy and clinging to his lapels for purchase.

When he finally breaks away, his eyes are blazing with unconcealed want.

“You missed a spot,” he rasps.

Then he’s ducking his head, and with one torturously slow lick, he clears the stray bit of gelato from the tip of your nose. The heat of his tongue on your overly sensitive skin makes you whimper.

The catcalls and whistles from your guests fade into white noise as you melt against your husband, lost in the endless depths of his hungry gaze. Screw being appropriate — you’ll give them all a show to remember if you have to.

“Fuck, I love you,” Charles rumbles, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire.

Before you can respond, he’s kissing you again — deep and thorough and all-consuming. You sigh into his mouth, bunching the fine material of his tuxedo jacket in your fists to pull him even closer. His hand slides from your neck into your hair, cradling your head reverently as he pours every ounce of his love and passion into the kiss.

An eternity later, he breaks away with a ragged breath, resting his forehead against yours. “I think it’s time to get out of here, don’t you?”

You can only nod breathlessly, already imagining the deliciously wicked things he has in store. As if in a trance, you allow him to take your hand and lead you towards the exit, shouting and wolf whistles following in your wake.

Just before you slip out of the hall, you hear Pierre Gasly’s teasing voice behind you.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, you two!”

Charles pauses only long enough to call over his shoulder, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“But there’s nothing you wouldn’t do!”

Then he’s sweeping you into his arms with a playful growl, carrying you into your new life together as man and wife. Peals of laughter and cheers chase you down the hall, but you only have eyes for each other in this perfect moment.

You’re married to the love of your life. You have forever with this incredible man. And if the wedding is anything to go by, forever is going to be deliciously amazing.

Literally.

966 notes · View notes

hier--soir · 6 months

Text

ripe

pre-outbreak joel miller x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: a night out with old friends helps you and joel realise what’s been missing in your relationship. warnings/tags: pre-outbreak, set in the early 2000s, early thirties joel my lover boyy, bisexual reader, established relationship, that one shit stirring friend, brief alcohol consumption and piv sex at the onset, brief masturbation [m] in the bath, a little ass eating and fingering, a little spitting, pegging, dirty talk, praise, dildo is described as "your cock" multiple times, reach around hand job you will always be famous, they talk each other through it, the word hole is used 11 times but it feels like 100, also they're in love okay bye. word count: 5.3k masterlist a/n: this is being posted as a part of the PMAMC organised by @wannab-urs ! if you wanna read more glorious pegging fics for pp characters, a masterlist of everything being posted this week will be shared by gin soon! <3 x much thanks to @bageldaddy for holding my dick while i wrote this, for the edit, and for reminding me that where there is gape, there must also be affection x

Oil Can Harry’s is dark and loud; packed enough that condensation drips off the walls around you and makes the hair at the base of your neck frizz.

Packed into a sweaty booth, Joel’s flannel amidst all the glitter and hairspray and fruity cocktails of the drag night makes you grin. Your oldest friends fawn over him, endeared by the way he talks, the way he stands, the way he looks at you.

He smiles, warm and sheepish as they regale him with stories from years ago. Blushes when they remind him that he’s the first cock in a long line of cunts. Squeezes your knee beneath the table when they assert that he must be doing something right to have been kept around this long.

He settles in fast, lips slick and eyes glazed. Stops flustering while ordering Wet Pussys and Cock Sucking Cowboys, but still raises an eyebrow when a friend asks you, isn’t there anything you miss about it?

About what?

Dating women.

You roll your eyes, the sharp tang of vodka beneath your tongue as you shake your head. No.

S’not all that different, Joel offers up, smiling easily. Right?

So you tell him, No, and then, I mean, it is. But good different.

But your cheeks have gone hot, eyes downcast as you sip a pink drink and try not to think about what exactly you miss. But Joel, fingers firm on your thigh, knows. He always knows.

So later when you’re in his bed, thighs pressed flush to your chest and he’s sinking inside your wet heat, it’s clear he isn’t letting up that easily.

“You jealous?” he hums, elated and almost taunting, revelling in the way you sound as he fucks you. “Miss being the one fuckin’ someone this good?”

“Oh fuck off,” you whine, breathlessly embarrassed, gripping his shoulder and rutting your hips up against his, chasing the high that’s already tingling in your stomach.

“Naw, I want you to tell me.” He leans in, all ears for the dirty confession waiting to spill from your lips, loving it. “You miss your cock, baby?”

His hips press deeper, and the confession leaves your lips in a gasp. “Yes, fuck, okay yes I miss it.”

“Mm, you gonna show me it sometime?”

You feel your face go slack, stomach tightening at the thought, and Joel pushes further, harder.

“Yeah baby, that’s what you want,” he goads, reaching between your bodies to press his fingers to your clit. “Want to fuck me, yeah? Bend me over and show me how much you miss it?”

You come with blood rushing in your ears and your hand gripping his ass, mind a blur of images of you being the one fucking him.

The next morning, sorely hungover and still tangled in his bedsheets, he asks if you were serious.

“Serious about what?” you ask, throat hoarse, eyes still closed.

His hand slips down your back to grip the flesh of your ass, the tip of his middle finger pressing dangerously close to your asshole until your eyelids crack open and you look at him. Brain ticking over, catching up slowly, eyes widening when you understand his train of thought.

When you don’t respond, head pounding and heart racing, he says, “If that’s what you want I’d—”

But caught up in the moment, in your own bashfulness, you interrupt him. Face warm at the idea of him having to placate you the morning after a drunken confession, you kiss him and say, “Don’t worry about it, okay?”

Joel goes a little quiet, but kisses you back with fervour. Sucks your lower lip into his mouth and rolls on top of you, not letting you get out of bed until well into the afternoon.

It’s not until a month later that it all finally becomes clear.

The house is oddly quiet when you get home.

Your living room is lit up by lamps across the space, but the television is off, and the couch cushions look undisturbed.

“Joel?” you call softly, stepping into the kitchen, pausing in confusion when you don’t find him there either.

You drop your purse on the counter and rifle through it for your phone, pulling up your text thread with him to reread his messages from a few hours ago.

You staying out late?

Not tonight, AJ has work early tomorrow. I should be home by 9. Meet me there? x

Perfect. See you at 9 x

The clock on your microwave reads 9:24 but you can’t hear a peep from anywhere in the house. Not a creaking floorboard or a shower running or even a snoring boyfriend.

“Babe, are you here?”

Nothing seems amiss at all until you reach the bathroom and find the door slightly ajar, light spilling out into the hallway as soft little sounds float out to your ears. Quiet murmurs punctuated by water lapping against porcelain.

“Joel?” You crack a knuckle against the door, careful not to nudge it open without his permission. “You okay?”

A rough inhale sounds behind the door and you pause, heartrate spiking a little. But then his voice calls through the wood, a little stilted as he says, “You can come in.”

Joel Miller hardly fits in your bathtub. All the times he’d joked about trying to squeeze in there with you, or when he’d come over with a sore back but insisted on a shower instead. But seeing him now, torso submerged in the water, muscled legs propped up against the wall with his hand resting between his thighs… you certainly aren’t complaining to see your broad boyfriend cramped up in your bath, touching himself.

“Hello there,” you murmur, bending to press a kiss to his sweaty temple. The tips of his curls are damp, frizzing around his ears as he smiles up at you. “Indulging yourself tonight I see.”

“You got no idea,” he replies, chin tilting upward as he stares you square in the face.

You smile at his flushed cheeks, at the muscle in his bicep flexing as he touches himself. Your gaze follows the veins in his arm, the flick of his wrist, but when you look into the water you pause. His cock is a rich red colour, hard and throbbing where it rests, neglected against his stomach. His thick fingers disappear past his balls, curling slowly out of your sight.

“Joel,” you exhale, face warming as you watch, slowly understanding. “Are you…?”

A harsh stream of air bursts from his nostrils as he meets your eyes, cheeks burning hotter by the second.

“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about it,” he admits gruffly. “Not since that night at the bar.”

“Fuck,” you shake your head, frowning a little. “I thought you were just… Joel, I’m sorry I brushed you off that night—”

“Naw,” he tuts quickly, brushing the apology away with a jerk of his chin. “I should’ve said.”

There’s a brief silence, your brain racing to catch up, a slow smile slipping across your face.

“Read that a bath helps,” he says then, gaze heavy. “Soft and loose the website said.”

And whatever you’d been about to say, whatever thought was bubbling in your mind, slips away in an instant.

In its place, just a bone deep, aching love for this man. It’s clear in his eyes; tenderness, and care swirling in his stare. Endless brown, struck with adoration, clearly saying, I want to do this for you, with you.

Throat tight, you lower onto your knees beside the tub. “S’it feel good?”

A breath rattles through his chest, and he nods again.

You lean closer, craning your neck to try and see better. Find yourself wanting to catch the exact way he presses his fingers inside himself. How he curls them, massaging inside himself. But he notices and pulls his hand away, gripping his cock instead and grunting.

“Looked through your stuff.”

“Hmm?” You meet his eye again, mouth dry.

“The drawer in your closet,” he exhales, eyelids fluttering as he strokes himself. “Found your… I don’t know.”

“My what?”

“The harness,” he grunts out, fist tightening around his cock. The tip rests out of the water, flushed an angry mauve colour, little beads of pearly come oozing from his slit. “All the… I don’t know what the fuck you call ‘em. You know what I mean, alright?”

“Joel.” You laugh a little, endeared by how bashful he can be, even as he touches himself in front of you. “Don’t get shy on me now, baby.”

“M’not.”

“No?” You smile, voice low and breathy now, liquid heat sparking in your veins the longer the idea percolates through your mind. “So you want me to fuck you?”

“You know I do.”

“You’re gonna let me put my cock in you, stretch you out just right for me, the way I let you do to me every night?”

“Fuck.” Joel’s eyes pinch shut, fist tightening around his cock.

You reach in and yank out the plug, watching as water begins to spin and gurgle, and Joel grips the edges to pull himself up. The water drips off him in thick beads, pouring from his fingertips, down the centre of his chest, keeping the curls at the base of his cock tight and dark.

He’s over the lip of the tub in a second, crowding you against the sink with a thick arm on either side of you, wet chest darkening the fabric of your blouse, mouth slotting against mouth. Steam warmed lips smother yours, tongue snaking out to press inside your mouth, and he swallows down every little moan and gasp of excitement you feed into his kiss. His cock is warm against your stomach and his hips stutter back every time you grind the buckle of your belt against him, grinning into his mouth.

“Gonna make it good for me?” He grips your face in both hands. Tilts your chin up and smears nasty kisses over your jaw, down your neck to the collar of your shirt, skin smarting where his teeth snap at it. “Take care of me the way I do for you?”

“You know I will,” you pant, eyelids fluttering as he sucks at hollow of your throat. “Fuck, I bet you’re so tight.”

Joel releases a wrecked, gravelly moan against your skin and then he’s gripping your arm, nudging you forward, past the threshold and into your dimly lit bedroom. The closet is open, third drawer down hanging limply out from the chest. Inside you can see that things have been shifted around, looked at. And on your bed, there’s a dildo. Heat rises in your chest as you stare at it. Thick and long and red, with a curved tip and raised silicone decorating shaft to give the illusion of veins.

Joel drapes an arm around your waist, holding you back against his bare chest. The thick weight of his cock presses against the base of your spine and you sigh, grinding back into him.

“Remembered you sayin’ it was your favourite.” He nips at your neck, inhaling as his nose presses into your hair. Your chest swells at that, and you turn your head, let your lips find his in a soft kiss.

That hand on your waist drifts down until his palm is cupping your sex through your pants, fingers pressing firmly over the inseam there. You sigh into his mouth, hand falling overtop his to keep it in place.

“It is my favourite,” you murmur into the kiss. “But we’re gonna start much smaller tonight, hmm?”

Joel makes a vague noise in the back of his throat, dark eyes searching yours.

“Don’t think I can handle it?”

“You’d be cruisin’ for a bruisin’, baby.”

Somehow, he blushes deeper than before, and clears his throat.

“Alright.”

He watches on as you dip a hand into the drawer. You gravitate to glass. Thick rose quartz with a gorgeous, rounded base. But you push it away, knowing it won’t work with your harness. You trace the length of a pretty mauve cock, ribbed for your pleasure—or his—with preternaturally large balls. Still too long. Everything too long, too thick, too much. But then you see it. Pale blue silicone, nestled beneath silk rope ties and a set of handcuffs you guys hadn’t used in in a while. You shift things away and pick it up.

Soft and smooth; it’s maybe 6 inches long with a little curve towards the end, and it’s oh so pretty in your hand. You grab a bottle of lube and turn to put them on the bed, smiling at the way his dark eyes focus on the items. So curious, so filled with desire, with eagerness to please, to let you do this to him, for him, with him. The trust on his face warms your chest and sets your heart racing.

Joel lands softly on the mattress as you reach back in. Fingers meet leather and soon enough he’s watching as you peel your pants down your legs, your underwear. Undoing the buttons on your blouse as he strokes his cock, pupils dilated, mouth hanging open. Only when you’re bare do you slip your legs into the harness, sighing as black leather tickles against your skin on the way up, and situate it around your hips. Only a little shy under the intensity of his gaze, watching him see you like this for the first time.

Pulling and twisting straps until it’s perfectly snug, you crawl up the bed to straddle his hips. His skin is warm and wet against yours, and his hands fall to your hips in seconds, wide eyes admiring the contraption fixed to your waist. He toys with the straps, eyeing the little silver fasteners, and then glides a finger around the inside circumference of the o-ring, breathing a little deeper now.

��S’nice,” he compliments, looking back up at your face. “You’re… you…”

“What?”

He shakes his head, as if in disbelief. “You’re gorgeous.”

You stare down at him for a moment; the hard set of his jaw, the strong line of his nose. Lean in and kiss him, softly this time. Whisper, so are you, against his lips and smile when he laughs.

Tapping his side, you get off and urge him to turn over. “Let me show you.”

His broad body twists, falling to land on his front with his legs bent, weight balanced on his knees and forearms. You trail featherlight fingers over his thick shoulder blades, down the strong line of his spine. Touch the little dimples at the small of his back, and then lean down to kiss them. Slowly, one and then the other. You feel his breath hitch a little and smile against his skin, landing on your knees between his calves and letting your hands fall over the muscled cheeks of his ass. Squeezing, kneading the flesh there with tender hands, and then pushing them apart, baring him to you.

“Oh,” you breathe quietly, eyes trained on the dark hair on his skin, the tight little hole between his cheeks. “So pretty, Joel.”

You sigh into the crease of his ass, fingers digging into the firm flesh of his cheeks as your tongue flicks out to glide over his hole. Still wet from the bath, he tastes like soap and warmth and Joel. His body goes tense for a second, back muscles flexing as he adjusts to the new sensation.

“Y’ain’t gotta do that—”

“I want to.”

You kiss the base of his spine again. Give him a moment to tell you he doesn’t want it, or he doesn’t like it. But seconds pass, and he stays silent, so you grin and lean down. Eyes closed now, you lick him again; soft little strokes of your tongue from his balls to his tight hole until his body goes soft and lax and he’s exhaling little sighs into the pillows.

“Fuck,” he says. “So this is what I’ve been missin’, hmm?”

You hum against him, the corner of your mouth ticking up into a little smile as you prod your tongue against his rim, urging him to relax more so you can press deeper. As he opens up for you, you squeeze his hips gratefully, fingers soft and kind against his skin.

“So good for me,” he continues breathlessly, almost babbling now, stream of consciousness pouring from his lips in between sharp gasps and low grunts. “Got the prettiest little mouth, I wish I could see it baby—fuuuck—that’s it, good girl.”

Your fingers flutter a steady rhythm over the skin of his thighs. Caressing the dark hairs there, the twitching muscles, humming when he shivers beneath your touch. The harness digs into the flesh at the inside of your thighs, at your hips, and you almost moan at the familiar bite of it. Relish in the way it pinches at your skin when you bend and raise your ass in the air, working him open around your tongue.

With your nose pressed against his skin, you lathe messy kisses against his hole. Feel the way it clenches beneath your tongue and whine, inhaling the natural musk of him as you go. Your mind a blur with soft skin and rough hair and tight tight tight around your tongue.

Drunk on the taste of him, you let your hand drift from his thigh around his waist. Float across his stomach, forefinger dragging over his belly button, his happy trail, down down until your fingers glide over the slick head of his cock. Joel jumps a little, hypersensitive, and exhales a rough moan as your fingers wrap around his length and slowly begin to stroke. With the steady movement of your hand his asshole begins to pulse beneath your tongue and so you pull back to watch it. Admire the way it flutters and clenches. Quick, so fast your mind can hardly process it, you’re collecting saliva in your mouth and letting it drool past your lips, wet and messy as it pools over his asshole. Joel’s cock throbs in your hand and he groans. You think he even arches his back a little, his entire body pleading for you to just put your mouth back on him. But you take a second; watch your slick spit turn his skin shiny and grin, raising hand to suck your fingers into your mouth and then press your middle finger against him.

The tip of your finger presses forward, working to relax that tight ring of muscle, and he exhales heavily.

“I wanna fuck you so bad,” you tell him, voice thick with want as you pull your eyes off his ass to meet his stare.

“Then quit playin’ around and fuck me.” He presses back against you and groans when your finger slips inside his ass.

“Hey,” you warn, curling it slowly inside him. So warm and tight, unforgiving at first as you try to stroke at his insides. “Slow, okay?”

“Just want to feel you.” It’s clear on his face too. Pupils dilated, vulnerability splashed across his features with nowhere to hide.

“You will,” you soothe, pulling your hand back only to work a second finger inside. Kiss his skin again. “Let me take care of you.”

He doesn’t voice any complaints after that. Too busy with his face pressed against the pillows, drooling and grunting as you stretch him out around your fingers, his tight hole clamped down around the digits. You don’t touch his cock again, too worried he’ll come before you can really give him your all, but he gives pitiful little ruts toward the mattress. Soon enough his movements become so needy, so often, that, with a pang in your chest, you figure it must be painful. You almost ask how long he was touching himself before you came home, but then he’s interrupting the thought, reaching back to grip your wrist, wide eyes pleading with you from over his shoulder.

“Alright, love,” you murmur, pulling your fingers back and nodding. “I think you’re ready.”

Resting back on your heels, you grab the dildo and work it into the ring on your harness. Checking once, twice, to make sure it’s stable, before opening the bottle of lube. You squirt some onto your fingers, some directly onto the tip of the cock, and begin working it over the length, admiring the way it turns shiny beneath your touch.

“S’a pretty cock baby,” Joel admires, cheeks flushed. He watches you over his shoulder, eyes heavy-lidded as you stroke silicone, lube warming between your palm and the shaft.

“You like it?” He nods and your chest warms with pride at the way his eyes darken, gaze darting continuously from your face to the piece between your legs. “Well, you’re gonna love how it feels.”

A fresh pump of lube onto your fingers and you’re shifting forward, on your knees again, lathering it onto his hole, smiling at the squelch as you pump your fingers inside him and push it in.

And then, soon enough, pale blue meets dark pink. Prods and presses, soft at first, and then firmer as he relaxes for you. Lube rolls down the shaft in rivulets, pooling against puckered skin, drooling lower to coat his balls, and a low sound rumbles from Joel’s chest. When you pause, his chin ticks to the side and he peers past his shoulder to look at you.

“You good?” he asks.

“Mhm. You ready?”

“Yeah.”

Joel shivers when your hand lands at the base of his spine, thumb resting in the cleft of his ass, right above where you’ve started to press the tip inside him. The skin beside his eyes tightens, and he nudges his hips back into you, almost imperceptibly. You shiver at the sight, a sharp flush of arousal sparking between your thighs as you admire the plump shape of his ass. Like a ripe piece of fruit, begging to be split open.

Joel chuckles knowingly; can see it in your eyes, the way your mouth hangs open. “Come on now. I know you’re dying for it, baby.”

You grip his hip to keep him steady, cock notched against his opening, and continue pressing forward. Just gentle rolls of your hips at first, making sure everything is wet enough, checking in every now and then. But once the rounded tip pushes inside, Joel starts to squirm. His skin is flushed a deep red, beads of sweat rolling down his back, and you stroke his skin to soothe him.

“Joel?”

“Need you inside me.” His voice cracks a little on the last word,

“Shit, okay,” you exhale, fingers tightening on his waist. Your eyes leave the side of his face, locked on where your cock is steadily disappearing into him, and you press forward, bottoming out in one fell swoop. Leather meets his skin and the sounds he makes are none you’ve ever heard before. Deep, rumbling groans that come from the base of his stomach and force their way out of his throat. Tanned fingers grapple with your bedsheets, searching for an anchor as you drag your hips back and little and then feed your cock into him again.

You curse under your breath, unable to look away from how his hole gapes around the silicone, opening up for your every thrust.

“So fucking tight,” you whisper, awed as he ruts his ass back against you. Your fingers dig into his flesh, holding him open so you don’t miss a thing. “You look so good this, baby.”

Words are lost to him though, only able to form incoherent grunts and mumbles of your name as you deliver steady, deep strokes into his ass. It’s a slick glide now, almost no resistance left as you pump your cock into him.

“Talk to me,” you urge, sweat dribbling down your temples and smearing across your neck. “Wanna know how it feels.”

“Feels—” Joel chokes out, voice a thin, broken rasp. “A lot.”

“Yeah?”

“So fuckin full,” he says. “God, you’re so good, feels—fuck, feels so good.”

You moan a little, eyes glazing over as you pick up the pace, fucking him harder, hand between his shoulder blades as you press him flat against the mattress. And those rough noises he makes only urge you on, encouraging you to press a foot into the mattress at his side and push a little deeper until he’s gasping, thighs spasming below you.

“Shit,” you whimper, face screwing up as you watch his hand drift beneath his stomach. “I knew it, knew you’d love this.”

You tug on his hips, pulling him back onto his knees so you can force his hand away and replace it with your own. Slick fingers wrap around his cock, the two of you cursing in unison at the way he pulses against your warm palm.

“Turn over for me.” Your fingers prod at the soft flesh around his hip as you pull out. You stare at the way his hole gapes open for a second, fluttering around the empty space where your cock has just been, and feel your cunt clench in response. “Please, I want to see your face.”

He lets you guide him, careful hands on his arms, his waist, until he lands on his back. A little unsure, his thighs fall apart so you can rest between them, and you give him a reassuring nod.

“That’s perfect,” you say, rubbing his thighs as you tilt them open wider, caressing his balls as you line yourself up with him again. “Doing so good for me, you’re perfect.”

And when you make contact, slipping in easily now, his stiff cock jolts and he lets out a ragged moan, reaching out for you.

Joel’s heavy hand lands on the base of your stomach, fingers twitching against the harness there.

“Wanna touch you,” he says, eyebrows pinched with need.

“I know, I know,” you murmur under your breath, smiling down at him. “Just let me take care of you, I wanna make you come like this, okay? Need to see it.”

In response he just tucks his fingers around the top of the harness, holding on as you fuck into him, hot and heavy. Long, strong strokes that have his cock twitching against his stomach, pre-come dribbling from his tip as he just fucking takes and takes and takes.

“Keep talkin’ to me,” he pleads.

“You’re taking it so well,” you say, watching him keen under your praise. The skin on his chest glows with sweat and you lean forward to kiss his sternum. In response his fingers card through your hair, holding you to him as you mould your hips against his over and over.

“I love you.” You kiss the words into his skin, mouth falling open when he groans and starts raising his hips to meet yours, thrust for thrust. “So good for me, I love you, baby.”

“I love you,” he repeats, dazed and out of it when you pull back to look at his face again. You can tell he’s close; can see it in the twitch of his fingers, the shake of his thighs. “Shit.”

And so you grip his knee with one hand and his cock with the other, pressing him open wider and stroking his length in time with your thrust. His eyes sharpen and he cries out. A harsh, high noise that makes your stomach tighten and your hair stand on end. And then he’s panting, telling you, fuck, right there, right fucking there, keep goin’.

His chest heaves below you, soft stomach moving fast and hard as you hold his knee to the side, griding your cock against that perfect little spot. Joel’s jaw pulls taut, veins thrumming in his neck as he holds his breath, seemingly fighting against the intensity of the feeling.

Your back aches, muscles on fire, but you push through, desperate to see the look on his face when he comes like this for the first time. And Joel must sense your determination, that burning need inside of you, because he locks eyes with you and nods.

“That’s it, baby,” he tells you. “Fuck me like I fuck you, that’s—shit, that’s perfect.”

Spurred on, your fingers tighten around the base of his cock and you slow your pace to a steady grind, rubbing the tip against where you know it feels best. He tells you as much, with the way his breathing starts to stutter and his nods become slow, lazy drags of his head.

“Fuck yeah,” he groans, eyelids fluttering half closed. “Gonna…. fuck, I’m gonna come, baby.”

You watch the muscles in his abdomen pull tight, feel his hand land on your waist, propelling you forward to keep fucking him as his high creeps up and up inside of him, until you say let go, I’ve got you, come for me, and it all falls apart.

Thick white spurts from his ruddy tip, slicking your knuckles and painting your tits in pearly streaks that drip down your stomach. Joel’s groaning, teeth bared as his eyes loll back. The veins in his neck deep blue and pulsing, face a dark crimson as he shakes beneath you. Some of his come even lands on his own chest, and you moan at the sight, still fucking into him, trying to prolong it for as long as possible. He bats your hand away, fingers tangling tight and desperate around yours, and you watch in awe as come continues to dribble from his untouched cock. Streams of white that roll down his shaft, past his taut balls to where you’ve still got him stuffed to the brim.

“Ohh,” you murmur in delight, admiring the way his come looks on your cock, streaks of white on blue as you fuck him. “Yeah, that’s it, baby. God, you look so good right now.”

It all gets a bit too much for him after that. Fingers squeezing at your thighs, mouth twisted up as he murmurs, that’s it, baby, that’s all I got, and you ease yourself out of him, despite knowing you could probably keep milking him for all he’s worth and he’d just moan and take it because he loves you.

Instead, you watch as Joel’s legs go limp against the mattress, hovering over him, trailing your fingers softly against his hairy calves, catching your breath.

“Holy shit,” he rasps, reaching up to rub a hand over his face. You laugh quietly and press a little kiss against his knee.

A sticky mix of come and lube dribbles from the tip of the cock, dotting against his skin, and you apologise softly, fingers coming up to start removing the harness. He just smiles, body spent but eyes soft and loving as he watches you fret. Rapt beneath the weight of his gaze, you pause, cheeks aching as you smile down at him.

“Good?” you ask hopefully.

“Great.”

Pride sweeps through you and your smile only grows as you finally remove the harness, peeling it from your legs and nudging it away. You reach for his hand and he grips it between both of his, bringing it up to his mouth to lay soft kisses against your palm, the tips of your fingers.

“I love you,” you tell him again, and the feeling swims in your guts and burns the inside of your chest. It’s all you can think as he presses your hand to his cheek and nuzzles against it – that this is all you could ever hope to have and to keep. This beautiful, loving man who you want to make feel this good for the rest of your lives. He repeats the words against your skin, drowsy and earnest, and you know he must be feeling the exact same way.

“Don’t move. Let me get you some water,” you whisper, shifting to get off the bed, but he catches your wrist as you pull back, shaking his head lazily.

“Don’t go far,” Joel murmurs. “Just gotta catch my breath, alright? And then I’m gonna make you come so hard you’ll be seein’ stars.”

thank you for reading! x

#my writing #fic: ripe #PMAMC2024 #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction

972 notes · View notes

pin-k-ink · 2 months

Text

transparent // dazai osamu

tw ⇢ sexual tension, teasing, groping, mention of a casual relationship, grinding, semi public sex, fingering, dirty talk, pet names, praise kink, unprotected sex, blowjob, face-fucking

wc ⇢ 8.1k

The ambient bustle of the Armed Detective Agency's bullpen faded into white noise the second Dazai sauntered through the door that morning. As usual, every molecule of oxygen in the room seemed to realign around his presence - an inescapable gravitational pull you'd learned to resist through sheer stubborn will.

"Well, well..." That dangerous rasp curled upwards to greet your ears like a physical caress. "If it isn't my favorite co-worker looking bright-eyed and dangerously gorgeous as ever."

You refused to rise to the blatant bait, keeping your attention firmly affixed on the paperwork before you. Out of your periphery, you tracked Dazai's leonine prowl as he drew nearer, moving with that unnervingly predatory grace.

"No 'good morning' for me today?" he purred once near enough for you to smell the sandalwood tang of his soap. "And after I took such care with my appearance in hopes of stealing a smile."

That got you to cut him a sidelong glance - the tousled artistry of his chestnut locks, the elegant sprawl of his limbs as Dazai braced himself against the edge of your desk. One dark brow winged upwards leadingly, beckoning for you to drink in each carved angle and sinuous line.

You simply hummed a vague, noncommittal noise before refocusing elsewhere. This game between you two was too well-trodden to merit much reaction anymore. Dazai practically vibrated with sensual presence hoping to rattle you, to compel even the barest response. But you'd learned to ignore those silken ploys through sheer repetition and stubbornness.

"Oh, so we're going to be difficult today, are we?" The insinuation curled rich and buttery against the sensitive whorls of your ears. "You know how I adore a spirited challenge, gorgeous."

The subtle lean of Dazai's torso brought the smoky, masculine blend of his cologne into your atmosphere in dizzying concentration. You couldn't quite smother the infinitesimal stall of your lungs as that potent scent catalyzed unwanted responsiveness low in your belly.

Dazai didn't miss the reactive flutter of your lashes either. A low rumble vibrated up from the broad column of his throat as he straightened again, relieving the intimate invasion temporarily.

"We're early yet, I suppose," he mused, tone dripping arch self-assurance once more. "But not to worry. I plan on coaxing plenty of delightful sounds from those pretty lips before the day's through, my dear."

Allowing your eyes to slit open revealed Dazai leaning in once more, close enough for you to feel the whisper-soft phantoms of breath ghosting across your cheek like sin made solid. Close enough to drown in those heavy-lidded russet pools glittering with blatant promise and challenge.

"I do so look forward to seeing what other...responsive tells I can tease out of you next." The words all but vibrated against your own parted lips, laced with a blistering edge of confidence. "This game's only just begun..."

With that deliberately provocative murmur, Dazai swept away towards his own workspace with that distractingly predatory grace. Leaving you struggling to recover your equilibrium as heated tendrils of awareness sparked low in your abdomen despite your best efforts.

As much as you tried to bury yourself in menial busywork over the ensuing hours, you couldn't quite shake off the thrall of Dazai's electrifying presence. Of the effortless male potency that seemed to radiate from his very pores and cloud the air into near-solidity whenever you were in proximity.

He always seemed to find reasons to invade your orbit, crowding into your space under the flimsiest of pretenses. Dazai would stretch languidly, allowing that leanly muscled torso and the shadowed vee of his collar to present itself for shameless perusal.

Or he'd sprawl against the edge of your desk, one lean thigh brushing yours in seeming accident as those heavy-lidded eyes bored into you with simmering heat. Forcing you to confront the sensual geometry of his features up close and at dangerously point-blank range.

The air between you and Dazai seemed to grow heavier and more charged with each passing interaction. An undeniable, nearly tangible tension that thickened the atmosphere into an insulating haze of pure distillation.

Like the time you'd been bent over one of the file cabinets, digging through the lower drawers for an elusive case report. The whisper-soft pad of Dazai's measured footfalls was your only warning before the solid wall of his chest pressed flush against the curved line of your spine.

You jolted upright, ready to berate him for the inappropriate proximity. But Dazai simply hummed a low, distinctly satisfied rumble as you found yourself effectively pinned between the unforgiving metal and his firm masculine heat.

"There now, no need to panic," that treacherously rich timbre rasped against the nape of your neck. "I'm simply...appreciating the view up close for a change."

You could practically feel the smoldering weight of Dazai's hooded regard skating down the length of your trapped form in unhurried debauch. The subtle flex of his abdomen with each humid exhale pressed your lower backs even more snugly together.

Despite willing every nerve to remain impassive, your traitor body responded to the overwhelming physicality of being encased in Dazai's orbit like this. You swallowed hard, acutely aware of the thunderous trip-hammer of your pulse visible at the hollow of your throat.

Dazai's answering hum vibrated straight through to your very marrow, this one edged with dark sin and a hint of smoke. Then he shifted fractionally, allowing the insistent ridge of his cock to grind against the swell of your ass in blatant taunt.

"It's a perspective I really must take advantage of more often," he practically purred against your nape. "Don't you agree, beautiful?"

You opened your mouth, determined to unleash a scathing rebuke for his flagrant impropriety. But Dazai simply chuckled again - rich and indolent - before that scorching brand of his torso finally disengaged. Leaving you to sag weakly against the drawer front, ears ringing with fractures of your own wildly skittering pulse and Dazai's husky endearments.

Another time, you'd been rifling through the copy machine's depleted supply tray in search of a new ream of paper to reload. So absorbed in your simple task that you didn't register the weighted silence signaling Dazai's intrusion until he moved to loom at your back once more.

"Need a hand there, gorgeous?" The words dripped molten sin directly into your ear. "Seems awfully inconvenient having to crouch down like that in that tight little skirt of yours..."

Cheeks going instantly incendiary, you snapped ramrod straight only to find Dazai's smoldering regard searing directly down the generous vee of your blouse from over one shoulder. A deliciously wicked slant curved those lush lips as he drank in every flustered micro-expression flickering across your features.

"Although..." he mused, rich and resonant. "I can't say I mind the view from this angle."

Dazai leaned in slightly on the emphasis, allowing the solid wall of his torso to brush against the curve of your backside. Just a fleeting whisper of contact, but it seared like a brand all the same - sparking riotous consciousness of every place your bodies didn't quite touch.

You struggled to rally a retort, to summon some semblance of the withering composure you desperately clung to amid these escalating provocations. But Dazai simply slanted you with another heated sweep of that darkly weighted stare, effectively robbing you of both breath and cutting words.

"Then again, we'd hate for you to...overexert yourself in such discomfort, now wouldn't we?" The words dripped like poisoned ambrosia from between those sensuous lips you'd been trying not to fixate upon.

Before you could formulate a response, Dazai's hands settled in decisive arcs around your waist - pulling you snugly back against the rigid wall of his chest. Not ungently, but with enough deliberate physicality to send a tremulous frisson ricocheting through your nerves like skipped stones across a glassy mere.

"Allow me..." he rumbled, voice dropping to an even more dangerously resonant timbre that catalyzed your pulse into a thunderous gallop.

Dazai's answering chuckle against your nape made it clear he could sense every reactive shiver rippling through you. Yet he made no move to extract himself or relieve the overwhelming potency of being encased in the scorching orbit of his body like this. The silence grew thicker and more electrically charged by the second...

The tension almost became a living, breathing force unto itself - thickening the atmosphere around you and Dazai into a heavy, charged miasma. Every interaction seemed to crackle with unspoken provocation and heated undercurrents begging to finally breach the surface.

Like the time you were working late reviewing security footage from a stakeout, so absorbed in studying the grainy images that you didn't notice Dazai's approach until he materialized directly behind you. The solid bulk of his chest pressed flush against your back as those long arms bracketed the desk on either side, effectively trapping you in the scorching vise of his body.

"There you are, gorgeous," the silken timbre vibrated against your nape, raising delicious little contrails along your sensitized nerves. "Getting some overtime in, I see..."

You opened your mouth to issue a reprimand, but all that emerged was a strangled little noise as Dazai allowed more of his weight to settle against you from behind. The hard ridges and hollows of his frame etched themselves into the soft give of your body with delirious, molten precision.

"Now, now...no need for such an...enthusiastic welcome," he crooned, each consonant seeming to score tingling paths across your thundering pulse.

Dazai shifted infinitesimally, rolling his hips in a slow, suggestive grind that had you stifling a tremulous whimper against your will. You could feel the smile curving against the sensitive span of your nape as he luxuriated in your body's involuntary reactions.

"Although I must admit, I do love how...responsive you are to me, beautiful." The words emerged thickened by sin as one large palm skimmed up your ribcage and splayed with obvious possession between your breasts. "Makes a man wonder what other delicious little noises he could coax out with some...dedicated effort."

Despite your best attempts at impassivity, you couldn't quite restrain the full-bodied shudder that rippled through you at the lascivious implication. Dazai's hips rolled again - a pointed, insistent grind punctuating his velvety murmur as he leaned until you could practically taste the sandalwood tang of his skin.

"What do you say, gorgeous? Why don't we find out together..."

Another time, you'd leaned over to plug in your laptop charger that had come loose from the outlet, dress riding up to expose an indecent swath of thigh and backside. So focused on your search that you didn't register the telltale quiet until Dazai's heated rumble caressed your senses from somewhere directly behind.

"Well...hello there." The gruff rasp contained undisguised sin as you whipped around to find him looming at your back - chest only scant inches from brushing your own. "Now isn't this just a delicious view to stumble across?"

You couldn't even summon an ounce of outrage, too immediately arrested by the unapologetic heat blazing in Dazai's midnight regard. The way it seemed to physically scorch across your exposed skin, raising delirious inflamed prickles.

Dazai allowed his stare to streak down the length of you in one unhurried, carnal sweep. When his russet gaze finally battled back up to lock with yours at eye-level, you felt like every molecule had been methodically undressed for perusal despite remaining clothed.

"You know..." He rasped at last, pitching his timbre around the words like a physical caress. "For someone who so adamantly claims they're not trying to tempt certain...responses...you certainly have an interesting way of presenting yourself, beautiful."

On the emphasis of that last word, Dazai allowed his upper body to roll forwards in one languid swell - forcing your spines into heated alignment as he crowded you snugly back against the desk. You couldn't stifle the sharp inhalation as sinuous muscle and blistering male heat surrounded you in a searing brand.

The low, humming growl Dazai released seemed to reverberate straight through to your very marrow. You shuddered despite yourself as his broad palms mapped the flare of your hips in a scorching, proprietary glide that stopped just short of indecent territory before retreating slowly.

"Well then, I certainly can't fault your...presentation," he husked, the words ghosting across your thundering pulse point. "Although you're making it dreadfully difficult for a gentleman to retain his composure around such blatant temptation..."

The thick, luxurious weight of the tension binding you and Dazai together grew heavier and more insistent with each passing encounter. until it felt like a living, breathing force of nature unto itself. An elemental power that threatened to finally shatter whatever fragile truces still existed between you.

Like when you reached above your head to reshelve some files, causing your blouse to ride up and expose a tantalizing strip of toned abdomen. You didn't hear Dazai's silent approach over the whisper-shush of papers until the solid wall of his torso pressed flush against your lower back.

His palms settled with scorching possession around your waist, fingers splaying to maximize contact as Dazai effectively pinned you between the searing brand of his body and the shelving. A rumbling purr of approval reverberated straight through you as he allowed his hips to grind in one molten, indolent roll.

"Well, well..." The words dripped molten sin against the nape of your neck, raising delicious frissons. "What an absolutely tantalizing surprise to stumble across..."

You couldn't quite restrain the tremulous whimper that slipped free at the insistent outline of his dick nestling against the cleft of your backside. Dazai answered with a darker, smoke-edged growl of blatant male satisfaction deep in his chest - the sound catalyzing a betraying spire of heat in your core.

"So responsive," he rasped in carnal delight. "I'd wondered just how far I'd have to push before coaxing those pretty little sounds out of you again, beautiful."

One calloused palm stroked up the vulnerable inward curve of your waist in a lingering caress. Then Dazai splayed those sinful fingertips across your abdomen, the brand of his touch raising molten wildfires in its wake as it slowly wandered higher.

"Although now that I've heard them..." His teeth grazed the thundering thrum of your pulse in a searing graze. "I seem to find myself utterly incapable of resisting the urge to hear them again. And again..."

He punctuated the delirious promise by flexing his hips with pointed emphasis, forcing your lower back to arch in order to maintain that scorching point of contact. You heard yourself keen softly in a plaintive, needy rasp that only seemed to stoke the banked wildfire in Dazai's smoldering stare to searing new heights.

"There it is..." The timbre emerged nearly unraveled into gravel now as he sealed you flush once more. "Sweeter than any symphony, wouldn't you agree, gorgeous?"

Another time, one of Dazai's hands settled low on your hip as he leaned around you to reach for a file you were reviewing. Instead of extracting himself afterwards, he allowed the solid brand of his torso to remain locked against you from behind as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Even with you facing the wall, you felt the scorching weight of his hooded stare caressing the exposed nape of your neck. Each measured exhalation feathered across those sensitized nerves in delirious, searing contrails guaranteed to raise prickles across your skin.

"You're awfully tense, beautiful," Dazai rasped at last with that rich, dripping insinuation. "And after the long day you've endured, so focused...so disciplined..."

His free hand settled at the dip of your lower spine, callused fingertips trailing up in a lingering glide that catalyzed your pulse into a molten gallop. You couldn't quite suppress the tremulous shiver despite willing every molecule to remain composed and unaffected by the branding possession of his touch.

"Don't fret," he murmured, chin dipping to graze the fragile whorl of your ear as his palm continued meandering ever higher. "I'll be sure to take...such exquisite care in relieving that tension for you."

One broad splay spanned the expanse between your shoulder blades, allowing the solid brand of his forearm to pin you flush as Dazai's hips rolled in a suggestive grind. You couldn't quite muffle the choked whimper that slipped free despite your best restraint, scalp tingling beneath the rasp of his answering chuckle vibrating against your nape.

"There now...isn't that better already?"

After weeks of the escalating tension and suggestive encounters between you and Dazai, he finally decided to change tactics. One afternoon, after another heated brush of intimate proximity had left you both simmering, Dazai caught your arm gently as you tried to make your escape.

"Enough games between us, don't you think?" His tone was low but serious, none of the usual honeyed taunts coloring the words. "We both know this delicious dance can't go on indefinitely before one of us combusts entirely."

You opened your mouth, not sure if you intended to feign ignorance or finally give voice to the crackling awareness stretching between you. But Dazai merely shook his head, holding up a hand to forestall you.

"Don't bother denying the heat, beautiful. We're both too far down this road to keep playing coy." His gaze bored into yours with surprising intensity. "Which is why I have a proposal for you - a way for us both to finally scratch this undeniable itch that's been driving us slowly mad."

Interest and trepidation warred within you as you regarded Dazai steadily. He seemed to read the conflict because one side of his mouth kicked up in a slanted smile, but not the usual teasing curl. This one was weighted with quiet promise.

"Hear me out," was all he said, letting the susurrant words hang pregnant between you. "I'm prepared to make you an offer, gorgeous...one that will allow us both to have what we've been craving with no more teasing or games involved. If you're amenable, that is."

For once, you found yourself speechless under the solemn intensity of Dazai's regard. He was clearly offering a way to finally resolve the explosive tensions building between you, laid bare with none of the usual dazzling deflections. The decision rested entirely with you now.

After a pregnant pause where you searched his expression, you gave a measured nod. "I'm listening..."

Dazai's gaze remained steady and unflinching as you indicated your willingness to hear him out. For a protracted beat, the weighted silence stretched taut between you - alive with the same sparking undercurrents that had been slowly reaching a simmer over the past several weeks.

"What I'm about to propose may sound a bit...unconventional," he began at last, rich timbre stripped of any extraneous inflection. "But I think we're both finally ready to acknowledge that there's something undeniably potent between us. A craving that's only going to keep escalating until it finally explodes in spectacular fashion."

You felt your breath hitch despite willing your lungs to remain steady. Dazai's manner was severe now - bereft of any lurid suggestions or honeyed come-ons. This side of him felt almost dangerous in its solemn intensity, drawing you in like a cobra's mesmeric dance.

"The way I see it," he continued after a charged pause, "we have two choices before us. We can keep playing these delirious games, circling one another until the inevitable conflagration consumes us both in riotous ruin..."

Dazai allowed his smoldering stare to streak down the feminine lines of your body in one ponderous sweep before returning to lock with yours. The sheer corporeal weight of his appraisal raised exquisite tendrils of heat despite yourself.

"Or we could...indulge ourselves a bit. Satisfy this relentless craving in a controlled manner before it spirals entirely out of hand."

The meaning behind his quietly purred suggestion catalyzed a wildfire of its own inside your veins. You couldn't quite mask the reactive shiver that rippled through you, though Dazai didn't seem to fault you for it. He simply tipped his head a fraction, maintaining that weighted connection between your locked stares as he allowed the implication to sink in.

"Just a temporary arrangement between colleagues, you understand," he clarified after a protracted beat. "No strings, no pesky romantic entanglements to complicate matters further. Just two consenting adults sating this rapacious hunger that's becoming so painfully... insistent."

Each husked word felt like searing little brands scoring across your nerves - stoking the already molten kiln banked low in your abdomen. Despite the clinical way Dazai couched his proposition, the subtle langue of his body seemed to bleed with darker promise as he shifted fractionally closer into your space.

"Think about it, beautiful," he rumbled, pitching the entreaty to detonate against the sensitive whorls of your ears. "All of this delicious tension finally allowed to unspool in unbridled release. No more restraints, no more teasing folly - just the sweet rapture of indulgence you crave as badly as I..."

The deliberate roll of Dazai's formidable torso brought his intoxicating musk crashing over you in dizzying waves. You swayed automatically towards the epicenter of that sensual gravitational pull despite your better instincts. Close enough to feel the branded caress of each measured exhale fanning across your thundering pulse.

Close enough to be utterly transfixed by the smoldering mural unraveled in smoked whiskey and molten onyx as Dazai searched your expression for rejection - or acquiescence.

"So tell me," he rasped at last, voice descending into a ruinous timbre that resonated straight through to the hollows of your marrow. "Do we finally break this sweet torture between us, gorgeous? Or keep stoking the embers until we incinerate ourselves entirely?"

The razor-edged promise hung in the electrified space twinned heartbeats seemed to suspend entirely. Dazai simply held you transfixed with that pointed, infinite stare - allowing his words to fully permeate your awareness and render you weightless in their wake.

For once, you realized with dawning inevitability...you didn't actually have an objection to voice.

You held Dazai's piercing gaze, feeling the weight of his proposition settle over you like a heavy mantle. The suggestion of a casual, no-strings arrangement between you hung thick in the air, heavy with unspoken caveats.

Deep down, you knew there was no way to keep things impersonal or detached if you went down that path with Dazai. The sheer smoldering intensity between you, the steadily simmering hunger you saw reflected in his russet stare...it carried an inexorable gravity that would consume you both entirely if unleashed.

For a suspended breath, Dazai simply watched you digest the implications in silence, mahogany eyes glittering like polished obsidian. Then you saw a muscle feather almost imperceptibly along the stark line of his jaw as you failed to immediately agree.

"Or perhaps..." His rumbling timbre emerged roughened by sin and smoke. "A more... permanent arrangement might be in order between us after all, hmm?"

Your indrawn breath felt approximately as loud as a sonic boom in the weighted quiet. Dazai didn't so much as blink, maintaining his leonine scrutiny as you tried to process that molten undercurrent suddenly shifting between you.

The very air itself seemed to thicken and constrict around you both, alive with the sparking frissures of unraveling tension. Whatever this was rapidly metastasizing into felt too profound, too utterly cataclysmic to be sated through mere indulgence any longer.

As if intuiting the trajectory of your thoughts, Dazai's full lips curved into a slanting, almost feral approximation of a smile that sent delirious tendrils of heat barreling outwards.

"Yes... I can see it in your eyes now, beautiful." He veritably purred the words into the electrically charged space twinned heartbeats seemed to suspend into breath-held entropy. "This is quickly evolving into something more insistent. More..."

Blazing overhead lights turned his irises into molten eclipses as Dazai allowed his hooded stare to openly devour you once more. Mapping every micro-shiver and telling flutter as his body seemed to radiate waves of tactile seduction without closing the scant distance between you.

"Insatiable," he concluded at last, the tone pitched to detonate with exquisite precision against every nerve in wanton detonation. "Something that won't be so easily slaked through fleeting capitulation between us, hmm?"

The weighted assessment hung in the electrified tension like the string of a bow drawn taut to near snapping. You couldn't even formulate a reply, too transfixed by the banked inferno steadily spiraling into unchecked wildfire behind Dazai's uncompromising mien.

Then his jaw flexed almost imperceptibly before he allowed an exhale to shudder free in humid duress. "Very well then..."

Before you could even process the words, Dazai surged forwards into the scant inches separating your bodies with leonine grace. The sudden, shockingly intimate collision of his larger frame with yours obliterated whatever feeble scraps of space still remained, searing a brand of delirious heat down every straining nerve ending.

His fingertips seared like molten possession bracketing the soft knolls of your hips as he pressed the irrefutable ridge of his arousal against the cradle of your lowermost curves in a slow, purposeful grind. A starburst of whited-out rapture detonated behind your ribcage at the unapologetic insistence of the motion.

"If total... profane consumption is what you require," Dazai husked against the overheated thrum of your pulse, "then that's precisely what you'll receive from me, beautiful. No half-measures, no restraints..."

The deliberate sweep of his nose nudged yours fractionally to one side, catalyzing twin gasps that mingled with heady potency in the scant space separating your dually parted lips. Searing molten onyx held you hypnotized and weightless, transfixed beneath the intensity of Dazai's smolder as he sealed the vow in that final, scorching murmur.

"I'll simply have to raze you down to your very atoms...and rebuild you entirely anew as mine."

The finality underlying Dazai's vow catalyzed your surrender like a stone finally yielding to gravity's inexorable pull. You couldn't resist the delirious whirlwind of sensation as he closed the last few inches - mouth crashing against yours in a searing, possessive brand.

Dazai kissed you like a man hungered, all simmering restraint finally shattered into dust beneath the onslaught. His tongue swept between your lips in blatant possession, igniting every receptor into feverish communion as you arched helplessly into the scorching demands of his larger frame.

One broad palm anchored your nape, angling your parted mouth to deepen the onslaught as Dazai's other arm banded around your waist. Lashing you flush against the exquisitely hewn planes of his torso in a searing, rapturous grind that stole any last lingering objection you might have harbored.

His growl of dark triumph rumbled straight through your bones as you melted completely beneath that sensual siege - thoughts unraveling into rapturous ash as you finally surrendered to the devouring provocation of Dazai's kiss. Allowing yourself to be plundered with ravenous, openmouthed sweeps that curled your very toes and liquified your bones.

When he finally wrenched his mouth from yours in clear defiance of needing oxygen, you swayed numbly in the aftershocks. Ambient reality felt scorched away by the elemental entropy now rapidly consuming you both in its path. The only remaining anchor was Dazai's half-lidded stare - a molten supernova holding yours effortlessly transfixed as your chests heaved in unison.

"There now..." His graveled growl whispered across your swollen lips, arms still banded in inescapable possession. "Doesn't giving in feel so much better than fighting me at last?"

You could only manage a tremulous, soundless nod - still too thoroughly undone to rally any response beyond instinctively arching for more searing contact. Dazai made a pleased rumble deep in his chest, holding you pinned against the rigid contours of his body by sheer corporeal dominance.

Then his mouth crashed down again in another possessive onslaught, tongue stroking between your lips in blatant avowal of control. He walked you backwards with a series of inescapable grinding steps until your back met the solid resistance of a nearby wall. Caging you there in the vise of his larger frame as his mouth plundered deeper.

You clutched at any available anchor, fingers snarling through the crisp strands at his nape in a desperate bid to ground yourself amid the delirious whirlwind. But there could be no bracing against Dazai's onslaught, only utter surrender to the maelstrom.

He growled visceral approval at your mindless responsiveness, hips angling to bracket yours in scorching emphasis as one broad palm mapped down your body.

A strangled moan spilled from your lips at the molten drag of his hand across your waist, down the flare of your hips, around to splay against the exposed vee of your inner thigh.

"Look at me," he husked, waiting until your hazy eyes dragged up to his. Then Dazai rolled his hips in a slow, sinuous grind - making sure you could feel the rigid line of his arousal through the confines of his slacks.

"See how utterly wrecked you've left me, gorgeous?" The words vibrated against the fragile whorls of your ear, raising delicious goosebumps. "That's how I've felt since the moment you first walked in here. And now, finally..."

His voice trailed off, allowing the scorching implication to speak for itself as Dazai flexed his hips in another pointed, searing roll. Your eyes practically rolled back in your skull as the pressure ignited a wildfire of need, a molten cascade of sensation that pooled low in your abdomen with alarming speed.

"But I'm not the only one, hmm?"

Those dexterous fingers inched higher along your inner thigh, skating up the tingling span to hover just shy of where you desperately ached for him. You shuddered, unable to contain the tremulous little gasp that spilled free as your hips automatically canted towards the delicious torment.

"You're equally ruined, aren't you, beautiful?" Dazai's words seared directly into the tender shell of your ear, setting each delicate nerve alight. "I can see it in those gorgeous eyes. The way you melt into me like a kitten seeking affection, aching for my touch..."

You moaned deliriously as he allowed his fingers to skate the sensitive hollow just above your hip, dipping beneath the hem of your blouse. Each stroke raised exquisite frissons along your spine as you strained for more.

"Don't fret, sweet girl..." Dazai murmured, voice dipping even lower as his fingers continued mapping higher. "I'll make sure we both get exactly what we crave. What we've needed since that first meeting in my office..."

When his fingers finally delved between your thighs, parting the fabric to tease along the wet cleft within, your head fell back in utter surrender. Eyes slipping closed at the overwhelming surge of pleasure that rocketed through you, searing every receptor into ecstatic communion.

"Yes," he rumbled darkly against the vulnerable slope of your neck, mouth trailing a series of scalding little bites in his wake. "I'm going to make sure we both unravel and find exquisite ruin together, sweet girl. But first..."

Those long, elegant fingers finally found their target, sliding against the slick center of your desire. You cried out, spine arching as Dazai's thumb stroked a deliberate path across your throbbing clit.

"I think it's only fair to return the favor, don't you?"

Then he sank two fingers into your welcoming core, the stretch forcing a sharp keening sound from your throat. Dazai released a rough purr of approval at your reaction, laving the stinging bites with the soothing flat of his tongue as he slowly pumped the digits.

"That's it, beautiful," he crooned against your thundering pulse. "Give me everything. Let me hear how utterly wrecked you are already."

Each thrust stoked the embers blazing into wildfire inside you, turning your muscles into liquid flame as the molten rhythm built. Dazai's mouth crashed against yours in another searing kiss as the fingers curling deep inside you stroked incessantly.

You surrendered completely beneath his relentless siege, the only thing holding you upright being his solid frame bracketed against yours. Each thrust stoked the molten flames higher, driving your senses into a delirium until the world narrowed down to the incendiary rhythm between you and Dazai.

A keening wail erupted from your lungs as the pleasure coalesced, cresting and exploding behind your ribcage in a devastating implosion. Dazai's answering groan felt like the sweetest reward as he drank in every tremulous sound and reaction.

As the tremors slowly receded, you became dimly aware of his lips grazing the crown of your head as he carefully withdrew his fingers. Your thighs trembled in the wake of that intense climax, but Dazai merely gathered you against his larger frame.

"That's it, gorgeous," he rasped against the shell of your ear, the timbre thick with lust. "You've been so good, letting me take you apart completely. So good for me, my sweet girl."

The praise made you whimper softly, a shiver rippling through your limbs as the last lingering sparks of rapture finally dissipated. When you managed to crack your eyes open again, Dazai's expression arrested you instantly.

His pupils were blown wide, nearly overtaking the irises entirely. Those full lips were reddened and slightly swollen, the lower still gleaming wet from his ravaging kisses. Dazai's chest was heaving as if he'd run a marathon, but his hold remained steady as he continued murmuring quiet praise into the crown of your head.

"There you are, sweet girl," he rumbled, a crooked little grin twitching across his features. "Still with me?"

Your head managed a feeble little nod, earning an amused chuckle. Then Dazai tipped your chin up until his searing gaze bore into yours with palpable intent.

"Good, because we're far from finished," he warned, the graveled timbre resonating through your bones. "I've wanted you for too damn long to be satisfied with a single taste, sweet girl. Once is going to be nowhere near enough."

You shivered at the unabashed promise, though couldn't quite muster a rebuttal. Not when the molten embers inside you were already roaring back to life beneath the searing heat of Dazai's stare.

"Now, where shall we begin?"

He pondered aloud, tilting his head to one side as he surveyed the options. His free hand wandered lower, tracing idle patterns along the slope of your spine as Dazai considered his options. You could practically hear the gears in his head whirring.

Then his gaze sharpened, honing in on something before a wicked grin split his features. You opened your mouth to inquire, but the words dissolved into a sharp gasp as Dazai seized a handful of your ass and squeezed hard.

"I've had plenty of time to fantasize about this pretty little rear, you know," he murmured against the sensitive whorl of your ear, eliciting shivers. "So many nights wondering just how good you'd look bent over my desk, ass presented and waiting for me..."

Another squeeze, harder this time as he pulled you tighter against the ridge of his erection. Dazai rolled his hips languidly, eliciting a whimper at the delicious friction.

"And the best part?" His voice dropped to a smoke-edged rasp, the timbre reverberating straight through you. "Now I finally get to find out."

Dazai didn't give you time to formulate a reply before he turned, steering you through the maze of desks with a firm hand on the small of your back. He paused once you reached the large executive desk, turning to survey the scene with obvious approval.

"Right here, sweet girl," he purred, fingers drifting down to unzip your skirt and allow it to puddle at your feet. "This will do nicely, don't you think?"

You managed a tremulous little nod, unable to resist leaning into his touch as Dazai guided you towards the edge of the desk. Your hands settled atop the cool surface for balance, and he gave a soft hum of approval at the sight.

"Such a good girl, aren't you?" He praised, calloused fingertips stroking the sensitive flesh along the backs of your thighs. "So eager to please. And you've been doing such a splendid job so far, my sweet."

A tremulous little mewl slipped free at the gentle strokes. You shifted restlessly, arching for more.

Dazai released a rumbling purr, the sound thick with satisfaction as his palm curved around the flair of your backside. The other hand reached for the waistband of his slacks, easing the zipper down as his thumb stroked along the line of your thong.

"I can't wait to get my cock inside you," he rasped, the filthy words causing a shiver. "To feel this perfect little cunt wrapped around me. So tight, so wet...and all for me, gorgeous."

His palm cupped one cheek, kneading gently as Dazai rocked his hips forwards. The ridge of his erection dragged across your slit, parting the fabric with its insistent press. Your mouth fell open in a soft whine at the delicious friction.

"I bet I can even make you scream," he husked against the nape of your neck, rolling his hips again. "Make you fall apart all over my cock as I fuck you right here, bent over this desk."

His palm cracked against the supple flesh, the sound reverberating through the air and causing a sharp cry. A second stinging smack followed, then another. Dazai's mouth roved against your shoulder blades as his hand kept punishing the swell of your backside.

"Just the thought of that has me rock-hard already," he growled, punctuating the vow by grinding his hips forwards once more. "Imagining you all desperate and dripping wet for me, aching for release."

The words alone were almost enough to tip you over the edge. Then the hand palming your backside slipped between your thighs, teasing the fabric covering your soaked slit. You gasped, canting your hips instinctively for more.

"Mm, just like that," Dazai murmured against the nape of your neck. "My sweet girl wants to be fucked, doesn't she? She's so eager, so responsive..."

One finger hooked beneath the fabric, tugging it aside. You could feel the blunt press of his erection nudging between your thighs, so close to finally entering you. The anticipation ratcheted even higher, a delicious tension.

"I've waited far too long to finally claim you, gorgeous," Dazai husked, voice thick with lust. "And I fully intend to take my time with you, sweet girl. But right now..."

One broad palm splayed across the expanse of your lower back, pressing your torso flush against the polished desktop. Your legs were spread wide, and you were held pinned in place by Dazai's weight bearing down behind you.

"Right now," he repeated, the words resonating with finality as his hand wrapped around your waist, fingers curling into the wet fabric of your panties. "I'm going to fuck you the way we both desperately need. Hard and fast, until I've completely ruined you for any other man. Is that understood?"

You managed a frantic little nod, eyes clenched tightly closed as you waited. Every nerve felt alight with anticipation, breath held in suspension.

Then, without any warning, Dazai snapped his hips forwards in a punishing thrust. You cried out sharply, unable to muffle the keening sound at the sudden penetration. His cock drove impossibly deep, filling you so completely you could almost taste him at the back of your throat.

"There now..." He rumbled dark approval, hand stroking up your spine in a soothing gesture. "So beautifully tight around me. You take me so well, gorgeous."

His hips began to move, rocking into you in slow, torturous motions that stoked the inferno burning higher. Each stroke was exquisitely thorough, each thrust bottoming out and sending a delicious jolt up your spine.

Your hands scrambled for purchase against the smooth desktop, seeking an anchor amidst the relentless sensual onslaught. You could feel every inch of Dazai's cock pistoning inside you, could hear the filthy little grunts of pleasure each time his hips snapped forwards.

"Does that feel good, sweet girl?" His voice emerged in a rough growl, the timbre nearly unraveled with the force of his need. "Being so thoroughly filled, so taken apart by my cock?"

A strangled moan ripped free from your throat at the delicious pressure, and Dazai chuckled roughly in response. One hand curled around your neck, pulling your spine flush against his chest as he increased the pace.

"That's it, sweet girl. Let me hear you. Show me how well you're being fucked, how much you enjoy taking me."

Your hips rocked back to meet his, mindless in the pursuit of ecstasy. Each thrust was more powerful than the last, a relentless cadence that stole your breath and left you helplessly panting. The delicious friction stoked the inferno blazing into wildfire, obliterating all thought in its path.

"That's it, my sweet girl," Dazai husked, voice thick with desire. "Give yourself to me completely. I'll take care of you, sweet girl. I'll always take care of you, sweet girl."

Those words alone nearly tipped you over the edge, a tremulous keen ripping free from your throat as you surrendered. You arched for more, desperate for him to finish what he'd started.

Then his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you captive as Dazai pounded into you. The angle was deeper now, his cock hitting places inside you that caused stars to explode behind your eyelids. Each thrust was more powerful than the last, driving you closer and closer to the razor's edge.

"So close, sweet girl," he husked, voice nearly unrecognizable. "Come for me. Let go, my beautiful girl."

The command detonated like a sonic boom inside you, shattering the tenuous restraint and setting the world ablaze. You screamed his name, back arching as the climax crashed over you.

Dazai snarled a filthy oath as he felt the convulsions ripple through your body, his grip tightening. He kept thrusting, dragging out your orgasm until it was nearly too much to bear.

Your legs trembled, muscles liquefying as the ecstasy crested. But Dazai didn't stop. His hand remained wrapped around your throat, holding you flush against his torso as his hips snapped forwards.

"Yes," he growled, the words vibrating straight through you. "Give it to me, sweet girl. Let me feel that sweet cunt milking me dry, let me fill you up and hear you scream..."

Each word felt like a brand scorching directly into the core of you, the heat so intense it nearly seared. You could barely breathe, barely think, barely do anything beyond shudder and moan beneath the onslaught.

The climax tore through you in an inferno, obliterating any remaining scrap of rational thought in its wake. All you could do was ride the waves, drowning beneath the deluge of pleasure.

Dazai's hips snapped forward once more, hissing a guttural curse as his own release crested. You could feel the liquid warmth filling you, flooding your core and coating the inside of your thighs as his thrusts slowed.

Then, finally, his rhythm stuttered to a halt. The arm holding you steady against him loosened, allowing you to collapse against the desktop. Your muscles felt utterly spent, trembling in the aftershocks as you struggled to catch your breath.

Dazai's hand remained on the curve of your hip, anchoring you securely as he slowly withdrew. A breathless little moan slipped free at the loss, though he immediately shushed you with a kiss pressed against the nape of your neck.

"There now," he murmured, tone thick with satisfaction. "Wasn't that infinitely better than keeping our distance, my sweet girl?"

You couldn't even formulate a reply - still reeling from the intensity of that orgasm. But Dazai didn't seem to need an answer, content to hold you pinned against the edge of the desk for a moment longer.

"But now I need you to do something for me," he rumbled after a beat, the words thickening with sin and smoke. "Be a good girl and stand up for me."

You managed a weak, confused little sound as you complied. Dazai's arm was instantly around your waist, steadying you as your trembling limbs struggled to obey. Once your knees stopped shaking, he pulled you closer.

"Good girl," he praised, the words a velvety rumble against your temple. "Now stay right here for me."

Before you could question, his hands dropped to his waistband. You watched in mute fascination as Dazai tugged his slacks down, revealing his half-hard erection. It glistened with the evidence of your shared release, a bead of his spend slipping down the side.

He didn't break eye contact, holding you trapped in the molten depths of his stare. One hand curled around his shaft, giving a languid stroke as Dazai swiped a thumb across the head.

You swallowed thickly, eyes unable to look away as he used the pearled dew to slick his hand.

"Now then," he husked, expression dark with promise. "Open that pretty mouth for me, my sweet."

Your lips parted of their own accord, the motion instinctive. Dazai's smirk widened at the immediate compliance, his free hand tipping your chin upwards to hold you pinned beneath the smoldering heat of his stare.

"I need you to clean me off, sweet girl," he explained, the graveled timbre of his voice sending goosebumps rippling across your skin. "Every. Last. Drop. Understood?"

Another tremulous sound spilled free as you nodded, eagerly getting down on your knees. The air seemed to thicken, heavy with erotic intent as you awaited his next command.

"Good girl," Dazai praised, the words dripping like honey. "Now open that pretty mouth and show me just how good you are at listening to instructions."

Your jaw fell open, tongue darting out to lap against the swollen crown. His fingers tangled in your hair, guiding you forward until you were able to suck the entire length of him into the velvet cradle.

"Just like that," Dazai crooned, the words emerging half-unraveled as his hips bucked forwards. "So fucking perfect. You look so beautiful like this, gorgeous."

His words were punctuated by shallow, rolling thrusts. His shaft grew impossibly hard against your tongue, thick and pulsing. You could feel him swelling, filling your mouth with his musky scent.

Dazai's eyes were blown wide, the pupils completely overtaking the irises. They burned with molten desire, the sight almost enough to tip you over the edge again.

"Now I need you to take me deep," he growled, voice roughened with lust. "Let me feel the back of that pretty throat, my sweet girl."

You could only nod, unable to do anything beyond comply. His fingers tightened in your hair, tugging gently as he angled your head where he needed. Dazai's cock filled your mouth, stretching the walls of your throat as he rocked forwards.

"Such a good girl," he crooned, the words emerging ragged and breathless. "That's it, take all of me. Such a good girl, sucking my cock like a proper little whore. Now open that pretty mouth and let me see those gorgeous eyes."

You moaned, the sound muffled by the length of his shaft. Dazai's fingers tightened in your hair, a warning.

"Good girl," he growled, the words almost feral with the force of his need. "I'm going to fill your sweet little mouth with my cum, sweet girl. Then you're going to swallow every drop. Understood?"

Another frantic nod, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked. He groaned, the sound rumbling through his chest as his thrusts grew sharper. His shaft filled your mouth, pushing deeper and deeper until you could barely breathe.

"Take it," he ordered, voice rough and commanding. "Take every drop of my cum, sweet girl."

Then, without warning, Dazai's entire body went rigid. His jaw clenched, eyes closing as his head tipped back.

His hips slammed forwards, bottoming out and hitting the back of your throat. You gagged slightly at the sudden intrusion, but he held you pinned. His entire body seemed to shake, muscles corded with strain.

Then his cock throbbed, pulsing against your tongue as his seed flooded your mouth. You moaned, the sound muffled by the shaft filling you.

His eyes flew open, pinning you beneath the molten weight of his stare. You held perfectly still, allowing him to spill into your mouth until his thrusts began to slow.

"Fuck, gorgeous," he panted, hips still rolling as the last spurts trickled down your throat. "That's a good girl, taking it all for me. What a sweet little thing you are, swallowing down my cum like that."

His thumb traced the outline of your lips, the calloused pad dragging along the sensitive flesh. You shivered at the feather-light caress, unable to look away from his half-lidded stare.

"You've earned a reward," Dazai husked, his voice a velvety purr. "And I fully intend to spoil my sweet girl tonight. Shall we begin with dinner? My treat."

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reverieblondie · 6 months

Text

Seeking Advice

Pairing: Rolan x Fem!Tav Reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Fluff and Smut with Plot, Oral (fem receiving), Cum eating, Horn pulling?.

Summary: Asking out your crush can be difficult, Maybe you should seek advice from your friends on how to ask out your favorite wizard?

A/N: Look...I've been playing a lot of Baldur's Gate 3. Then this guy yelled at me and I fell. I have a thing for grumpy guys what can I say. Now do not worry! I still am writing for ATSV, TASM!Peter and my love Miguel, just I think I can squeeze the bg3 fandom on my blog. Trust I have plans for for all my fictional men. Plus I am working on request! Just had to get this story out, it was rotting my brain. Hope you enjoy it! Its kinda cheesy but its what I like, sorry.

Word Count: 6,957

The energy to the tavern is a welcomed one, All the noise you might have found irritating at a time is now a pleasant chime to your ears. How things can so easily change with time. Since becoming the city's hero many things have changed for you and your friends. The city is back to its wondrous glory. Finally, your life is starting to calm down, well for the most part…

There is no longer a squirming in your head and the threats to the world's damnation are at the time eased, things should be perfect, and you should be happy riding an inexplicable high. You are happy for the most part, however there is just one thing that is causing you trouble now. It's the ache that swirls within you that only grows when you see him, the now master of Ramazith’s Tower, Rolan.

The first time you felt it, it was simply a spark, harmless. It didn’t turn into this thrumming storm until the grove celebration after you defeated the goblin camp, and where he taught you his light spell. That night your fate was sealed, now as your friendship has grown you feel those glittering sparks storming through you more often.

With a sigh, you rest your hazy head in your palm as you watch him with his siblings. The amber lights of Elfsong make his crimson skin appear as if it's glowing, he looks good in any lighting with his striking features but at this moment he looks damn near ethereal. You're acutely aware that you are staring at the trio, but in your buzzed haze from four wine goblets, you can not bring yourself to care. People are properly catching you staring like a lovesick fool; you will move your eyes eventually, you just want to watch for a bit longer.

Rolan's journey to the city was different than yours but it was not without its hurdles, then when he got here he had to be met with the cruelty of Lorroakan. You won’t lie, you felt immense pleasure watching his spine get cracked in two for what he had done. Now with that horror over, the scars have faded and you see that Rolan is better, happier. He smiles just a bit wider and his eyes shine just a tad bit brighter. It only makes sense that the Tower and Sundries have become more successful with his influence, though you know he’s just happy that his family is now together and safe.

Blindly you bring the metal goblet to your lips and taste the tang of the red wine nursing you through your pinning. The drink was meant to boost your confidence to go over there and shoot your shot for a date, but it only makes your head cloud into hopeless romantics. Why can’t you just ask him out? You can take on a horde of knols but you can’t bring yourself to confess to the guy you like? Doesn't get more pathetic than that…

Your eyes stay fixed on Rolan as he smirks and rolls his eyes at what Cal is saying, his clawed hand grabs his goblet and you watch as he brings the drink to his lips. Feeling looser from drinking you see as the red wine slightly escapes the side of his lips as he chugs the drink down. The deep red rolls down his jaw and you have to bite your lip from the thoughts that erupt in your mind.

“Darling, you have got to stop staring.”

With a sigh, you turn your head to your pale companion with a devilish smile on his face. With a roll to your eyes, you take another drink of your wine trying your best to play unbothered by Astarion as you can.

“I wasn’t staring”

“Tav, let's not be coy, you haven’t moved your eyes from a particular wizard since he strolled in. Sighing and squeezing your thighs together like that's going to help your ache.”

The mentioning of the actions you thought were unnoticed makes your face blush from embarrassment. Asterion can only laugh at your fluster features as you look around the crowded tavern to see hints if others have noticed.

“I- wasn’t, you don’t-”

“Don’t be embarrassed, you could pick far worse. He’s a bit pompous for my taste, but the innocent little freckles on his face are pretty intriguing.”

Astarion gives you a smirk as you whip your head to face him giving him a look of ‘back off’, though he is hardly intimated by you.

“Relax, I am not going to take a bite out of your favorite wizard. I will leave that pleasure for you, however some advice, you won’t get him from just staring.”

You hate to admit it but Astarion might have a point, you have been wanting to confess your feelings you just don’t know how. Looking at Rolan you rake your mind with your past chances to open yourself up but always seem to back out at the last moment, his rejecting you would be painful but being in this limbo is excruciating. You have to get your feelings off your chest for some inner peace.

“Okay, Astarion…what's your advice?”

Astarion's smile spreads to his lips and he sits next to you quickly, “My suggestion is you make it your mission to get that Rolan in your sheets, my dear. You obviously have had trouble getting your…” Astarion grimaces “Feelings for him out, so why not go the seductive approach?”

You let out a laugh but Astarion just keeps his face neutral, “You think, I should seduce him? How am I supposed to do that?”

“Simple, give him an offer he can’t refuse.”

“Yeah like what?”

Astarion looks over at Rolan, seeming to think before his face lights up, he quickly wraps his arm around your shoulder moving your chin to face Rolan. Then he whispers in your ear, “You're going to go over to him, very calmly…place your hand on his shoulder and whisper in his ear very sweetly that you want to lick every ridge on his body.”

Your mouth goes dry and eyes go wide at the thought…running your tongue…down…his… You blush feeling your face grow hot, so hot you think it could be radiating off you.

“A-Astarion…I-I can’t do that…”

“Oh, but picture it, once you're done he will be so spent he will be the one confessing to you.”

An image of a panting Rolan looking down at you with a fist full of your hair sparks in your mind. Hells, maybe Astarion has a point…he has had plenty of experience seducing people, but you? The thought only makes it so you can’t even move. Astartion picks up on your dazed state and with a nudge he pops you from it.

“Lucky for you there's a creature in here I have had my eyes on, so just watch and learn,”

“Wait, you like someone?” You say it a bit shocked,

Astarion gives you a look, “Focus on your own love life, huh?”

With that, you say quite as you watch Astarion's ruby eyes land on a particularly pretty patron. With a smirk, he grabs your goblet keeping his eyes fixed on them like a predator studying its prey. Quickly downing your drink he releases a cool and steady breath then makes his approach. He practically glides across the room to them, very carefully he starts the conversation with a smile and you can already tell the person is interested. Do they know each other?

In What seems like a quick second he is placing his hand on their shoulder and leaning down to their ear. You can only imagine what he must be saying to have their faces fluster so quickly. Nobody quite had a way with words like him. Astarion leans back up to meet their eyes where they are feverishly nodding.

With that, he starts guiding them to the exit while turning back towards you to smirk. Well, looks like it's your turn…

Picking up your goblet you see he did finish it, okay next step. Standing you feel all the alcohol you consumed immediately go to your head, deep breath, then go. Making your way over you try to not stumble into people as you push to your destination. Keeping your eyes on Rolan you rehearse the lines in your head over and over, as you get closer.

Rolan almost like he can sense it then flicks his eyes to you, watching as you approach. Swallowing to ease your dry throat as you continue to make your way over still keeping your nerves despite your stomach being in knots. Then his lips curl into a slight smile and you freeze…shit…looking down at your hands reality hits you suddenly, you're drunk and about to proposition him, you can’t do this…he is just going to dismiss you… the thought makes your chest ache and the feeling of your drink coming back up.

Looking back at him he tilts his head looking at you concerned smile fading and that's when the fear of rejection rushes you. Opening your mouth you go to say anything, maybe smile at him something to mask your panic but it fails. Your lips tremble and before you know it you're rushing to the exit.

Finding the exit you look back to Rolan, he’s up from his table and seems to be trying to make his way toward you, he looks completely confused and maybe…hurt. You can’t do this…not when you're drunk and on the verge of puking.

With that, you're pushing out of the tavern and running off into the cool night of the city. As you're running past one of the city's allies you catch in your peripherals Astarion with that person pinned against the wall as he kisses against their neck leaving them moaning into his hand. You must have caught his attention from your running, he looks at your fleeing figure and calls out to you.

“I guess it didn’t go well?”

You don’t bother to give him a response, his advice might have worked for him but you're going to have to try a different tactic.

Note to self, do not try to drunkenly ask out your crushes, it only ends in you making an ass out of yourself and puking up all your stomach contents. Thinking back on it you can only think back on the look on Rolan's face…the confusion…the disappointment…Maybe you should go talk to him? You don’t want him to think that you're trying to ignore him. You were drunk and didn’t want to spill your guts all over him. Feeling freshly invigorated you decide that you should apologize for running off. Who knows maybe the conversion could lead to something.

Arriving at Sorcerous Sundries you're not even fully sure if he would even be there, the tower might have been the better bet. However, your guess is shown to be a good one when you see Rolan placing some tomes on the shelves. Gods, you could watch him work for hours…his dexterous hands placing everything so carefully. As you watch you think you almost see his tail wag before he’s fixing it down. The smile it causes to your face can’t be helped, though he is always so composed he still slips at times.

As you watch Rolan work you have the oddest sensation come over you that you too are being watched. Turning your head you jerk back slightly in surprise seeing that Lae’zel’s yellow eyes are piercing into you with her trademark intensity. It’s quite odd that she is in here, she's not one for spells but as you're looking past her you see that Shadowheart is with her thumbing through a tome. That makes more sense, you're happy those two have become better friends. Especially since they did try and kill each other.

Smiling you give Lae’zel a smile with a wave, she only narrows her eyes more at you as you move to go talk to Rolan. Approaching his tall figure you're taking in every inch of him.

He's beautiful, from face to physique, you watch as the muscles from underneath his robes flex from his movements. It’s funny wizards are not known for their strong builds but Rolan's arms and back are a dead giveaway to his hidden strength. Looking up you trace down the length of his horns to where they disappear into his soft chestnut hair, twisted in that half-up style. You wonder if you two get closer in the way you hope he will let you play with his hair, it appears so tantalizing and soft…everything about him is tantalizing…

In your approach your mind is running through a quick daydream of running your fingers along his horns and through his hair; it causes you not to pay attention to where you are stepping. With the perfect explanation for the night at Elfsong in your mind, you're ready to smooth things over with him. Just as you're reaching out you suddenly see Rolan's shoulders shoot up teasing like something just hit him. Confused you lean forward more but that's when you feel it, something is wiggling under your foot.

Looking down you see that your boot is crushing his poor tail underneath your weight. Mortified, you quickly step off of it. Karlach had told you how sensitive her tail was when she yelped when someone sat on it, so having it crushed underneath a boot sure is not a great feeling. Rolan's back stays teased as he turns slowly, his tail swiftly moving away from you to go to his hands. His eyes look as if he could thunder wave you out of the building.

“I-I am so sorry Rolan, I- I didn’t see your tail.” you ramble out as quickly as possible

“How do you not see the appendage handed down from my-!” Rolan stops his yelling and takes a breath, his hands tightening on his tail. There is now a mark from where you stepped and you feel even worse.

“Here let me-” Reaching out for his tail you are quickly stopped by Rolan holding up his hand and shaking his head. Rolan tail in hands starts walking away mumbling a language you don’t know.

“I’m sorry!” You call out to his fleeing figure as he ascends the stairs.

Running your hands down your face, your intentions of apologizing to him for Elfsong completely disappear as you make yourself look like a complete ass again to him. Looking through your fingers you see that not only is Lae’zel still staring at you but now Shadowheart has joined her in watching your screw-up. You make your way over to them with your head down silently standing with them as Shadowheart keeps at her browsing.

After a couple of moments, you see Rolan coming back down to the shop, his eyes meet yours. A part of you thinks you should go back over to him and apologize but you don’t want to annoy him further so you give him an apologetic wave. Rolan just huffs slightly with a nod before turning his back to you to get back to work. Leaning against the shelved wall you let out a long sigh.

“What am I going to do…”

“You mean about your crush on the new master of the tower?”

You turn your head to stare at Shadowheart for her comment but she doesn’t even bother lifting her eyes away from the spines of the tomes.

“How…what…”

Lae’zel cuts in “Your lusting is obvious, sighing with your head in the sky with your pathetic pinning,” -wow ouch…

A stray giggle leaves Shadowheart and you're quick to narrow your eyes at her as she bites her lip to silence herself. Crossing your arms you look back at Lae’zel

“I am probably going to regret this, but Lae’zel what is your advice? How should I go about asking Rolan out then?”

The question is intriguing enough to make Shadowheart put her tome down and look at Lae’zel as well. Lae’zel rolls her eyes for a second before folding her arms and moving her fierce gaze to where Rolan is now helping out a customer. Lae’zel eyes narrow at him, sizing him up as she studies him before she turns back to you with a huff.

“I would not ask, I would grab that teeth-ling by the horns and command him to do as I say.” The direct advice makes Shadowheart burst into laughter drawing attention from people near you, though you can’t seem to meet their eyes because you're too busy giving Lae’zel a confused look.

“I don’t think that would work with him…”

“Tis’k, you do not know this unless you try. Now go grab him by the tail and mount him forming a flesh bond with your desired.”

You're staring at Lae’zel gobsmacked while Shadowheart practically rolls on the floor with laughter.

“Lae’zel! I can’t just mount him!” you whisper yell at her.

“I don’t know, she might have something to the direct approach” Shadowheart soothes

You glare at her “Oh you're done laughing on the floor?” She smirks with a shrug, absolutely no help.

“Fine, I will gather him for you.” -what?

Lae’zel starts going towards Rolan but you are quick to grab her and drag her out. As the puzzled patrons watch you carry out the githyanki fighter cussing you in her native tongue with Shadowheart trailing behind you, smirk on her face. You try to rush out as quickly as you can mortified that Rolan might be seeing the display.

Once outside you put her down with an apology, Shadowheart quickly places a hand on Lae’zel’s shoulder to prevent her from cutting off your head. “Why not try talking to the guys for advice? Maybe they can give you the male perspective on things.” Shadowheart offers.

Thinking for a moment you find that she might have a point, it might help to ask the guys for some advice.

Piercing your lips you study the smiling wizard in front of you waiting for your question.

“Actually Gale I don’t know if I should ask you for advice on this.”

Gale's face changes from a smile into hurt then moves to irritation, “Wh- and why not?” he practically huffs.

“Because the last time you tried to get a person to like you you ended up with a bomb in your chest.”

“Magic orb…” he mutters while Wyll laughs, nearly choking on his wine.

“Okay, Tav what advice are you needing? We can try our best to help aid you.” Wyll smooths out the tension of the room.

“Well…the thing is I need some advice on asking someone out. I figured our most intelligent and most charismatic party members would have some great advice.”

Wyll and Gale look at each other like they can detect each other's thoughts before they turn back to you “You're talking about asking out Rolan aren't you?”

You purse your lips and narrow your eyes at the duo, “Who told you I was coming?”

“Astarion and Shadowheart, they sang like canaries. Told us about your ...Mishaps” Gale says somewhat sing-songy.

Sure he might have gotten a bomb in his chest but at least he got some for the goddess… And Wyll Mr. Prince Charming, half the girls in the city who were in love with him and his fancy footwork. Hopefully, they will have some good advice. You watch as the two men start pacing along rubbing their chins deep in thought. You appreciate they are taking this so seriously for your sake.

“So have you at least tried? Asking him out? I know you two are pals but have you ever eluded to it.”

You give Wyll an unamused look “Yeah I tried, but then something horrid goes wrong, I’m either stepping on his tail or about to puke.”

Wyll nods trying to understand, “Maybe you could try to do an action, like an impromptu dance at the tavern between friends? The music is plentiful, and as you two sway along the music you can tell him with your eyes.”

You watch as Wyll mimics the swaying of a dance keeping intense eye contact with you, but Gale comes behind him and places a hand on his shoulder stopping him. “Don’t think that will work with Rolan, he's….kinda dense…”

Gale then lights up with the idea, “Why not ask him for some magic lessons? He can show you the ways of the weave and as you two flow through it, you can send him your thoughts.”

You think for a moment, you have had him teach you magic before but…that was at the grove…and things were different. You hold that memory when he taught you his trick dear and you're about to agree to it. But you stop…if Rolan rejects you during that…it would ruin that spell for you forever…

“Yeah…he's a strict teacher…can we think of something else…Something that can explain how I feel but I don’t have to choke over the words too.”

Gale and Wyll sit and think for a minute, then Wyll is snapping his fingers with an idea, “Why don’t you write him a letter!”

You look at Wyll a bit skeptical, “A letter?”

“Now that's the way to a wizard's heart, through the written word. Grand idea Wyll! Plus that helps with your shyness you can just hand him the letter! No conversion required!” Gale praises.

You think for a moment, writing isn’t exactly your thing but it might be your only option left. Plus you're sure Gale and Wyll will help you through it! With a nod, you give them the okay and Gale is already conjuring up some paper and quill. They sit themselves on both sides of you and help you get through your thoughts. You thought it would be best to keep some more private feelings to yourself. They both seemed to be rather…really into letter writing, Gale helped fill the letter with praise of Rolan's grandeur with magic. While Wyll helps you spruce it up with flourishes about how your heart dances for him. It turned out a bit cheesy but Wyll and Gale seemed to have a good time. Maybe they should start a poetry club?

Letter in hand you pace outside the shop, the letter was a great idea when Gale and Wyll were helping you write it but now… Now that you're here to give it to Rolan you're finding that familiar nervousness is eating away at you again. Peeking through the door you see that Rolan isn’t in the shop. It just seems to be his hologram today…Perfect! Now all you have to do is place it on the front desk for him to find later. That way if he isn’t into it you won’t have to meet his rejection immediately. The thought of Rolan looking at the letter and frowning pops into your mind, but you shake it off. Just place it down…easy…

“Tav! Hey!”

Pausing you Turn around and see Karlach running towards you waving with a huge smile on her face. This is not good… It's not that you don’t want to see Karlach, she is amazing and you two have become incredibly close. The reason that this isn’t good is that Karlach isn’t exactly…subtle… Karlach is a complete badass but when it comes to love and romance she is a complete softie gushing about it to everyone. Wyll had told her about a crush of his one time and she had gushed about the story to anyone who would listen. It’s truly sweet that she loves love so much and gushes about her friends' conquest, but you're trying to be subtle here, placing the letter then leaving quickly, if Karlach finds out about it she's going to give you being here away.

“Hello soldier, what are you doing loitering around Sundries? Waiting for someone?”

“Oh, no no…I just have this letter to give Rolan.”

“Oh! What's it about?”

“Just some questions about…spells…and curses…if he can detect the traces of the magical…What are you doing?” you quickly change the subject not being able to think of a good lie.

“I was just at the Forge of the Nine catching up with Dammon, I had found some good iron ingots and wanted to give them to him, he could use them more than me anyways…” -oh Karlach you cutie

Karlach looks into sundries and appears to be looking around a bit, her smile slowly dies away before she turns back to you, “Well, I think you're out of luck soldier, Rolan doesn't seem to be around.”

You shrug trying to seem as unfazed as possible, “That's fine, I will just leave it on the front desk.”

“Or you could give it to-”

“No! No the desk will work, I mean…it’s important but he will find it.” you quickly interject.

Karlach looks at you somewhat confused before she shrugs with a smile and follows you in. Finally, through the doorway, you quickly make your way to the desk and you feel…good! Finally one of your plans is going to work and you have Gales and Wyll's advice to thank! Maybe if this all goes well you will treat them to a drink at Elfsong. You will finally get your feelings off your chest, sure…it’s not exactly how you envisioned, but all the other attempts failed, this is easy and mess-free.

Right as you reach the desk, something tells you to look up. Looking up you see Rolan descending the stairs wrapped up in whatever tome he is reading. He hasn’t seemed to notice you however so maybe you can just drop the letter and run-

“Hey Rolan! What udder luck, Tav has a letter for you!” -shit

Rolan looks away from his tome, eyes seeming to widen when he sees you and Karlach. You feel all the blood rush to your face as his eyes meet yours, you can’t quite tell if he is pleased to see you or not, kinda of appears to be…annoyed…or surprised? Damn that handsome studious face!

Your hands tighten on the letter, you go to quickly place it on the desk and rush out but in the blink of an eye, the letter is out of your hand. Instead of it being in your hand or on the desk it's in Karlach’s hand as she is going towards the stairs…to Rolan…going to hand it to him! Oh, hells!

Rushing over to her you quickly snatch the letter from her hand. Karlach seems taken aback by your action, “Hey? What the fuck?”

Karlach tries to take the letter back after you rudely snatched it. “Tav isn’t this for him?”

“Uh…Yeah, but I changed my mind…”

“Changed your mind? But you said it was important?”

Karlach goes to take the letter from you again but this time it is not so easy to take from your hand. Now in the middle of Sundries, you and Karlach are having a tug of war over a letter while Rolan looks at you two trying to piece together what is going on. With some quick moves on your part, you're able to shoulder check Karlach, not knocking her over by any means but just enough to cause her to loosen her hold slightly.

Feeling successful you smile to yourself that you were able to get it back, but when you look back at Karlach your smile fades. Her eyes are narrowed and you see the hints of flames starting to spark around her, she looks pissed and you are about to get it. Looking up you see Rolan at the bottom of the stairs approaching you with a very irritated look, it makes sense you did have a fight in the middle of his shop.

Shoving the letter down your pocket you do the thing that you only seem to know how to do nowadays, run.

“Ohhhh…..so you wrote him a love letter….”

“Yeah…I wanted to just leave it on his desk but…that didn’t work out….”

You and Karlach sit on the stone wall looking out into the city watching the sunset. Of course, when you ran off she chased you down and demanded an explanation. You gave your explanation and that's how you are here now pouring your heart out to her.

“Tav, I think you're going about this all wrong.”

“Oh? How do you figure?”

“Well sure everyone giving their advice is nice but…I think you should just do what feels right to you. Instead of worrying about what he will say just…just stop being so scared and talk to him. Be honest. All these games, and trying to be sneaky isn’t how to do it. ”

You take in her words for a moment before you speak, “So…you're telling me Lae’zel had the best advice? Being direct?”

Karlach laughs “What I am saying is stop being so in your head Tav. Instead of talking to everyone else about this, just go talk to him. I promise it will be best that way.”

“When should I do it?”

Karlach hums then shrugs “Fuck if I know. Maybe it will just hit you.”

A smile spreads to your lips and you nod your head “Thanks Karlach, that...that's some really good advice…”

Karlach smacks your back, basically knocking the air out of you. “Don’t worry I am here for all your relationship advice needs!”

“So, how's Dammon?” you say coyly

“Oh don’t even start.”

Laying in bed you think about all the advice your friends gave you and how all the advice had turned out. Why does this have to be so hard….

Looking outside you see how late it is, people all around are either asleep or going home to rest but as you lay you listen to the stillness of the city. Then your thoughts go back to Rolan. How you ache to be held in his arms…to get to look into those golden eyes on a dark still night like this. To talk to him about everything and nothing as his fingers gently caress your skin. You know you would so easily melt under his touch. How it would comfort you, how you want to comfort him.

Rising from your warm bed you go to look out into the night of the city. With a click, you open the window and are met with the shivering cold of the night. A chill runs through you as you lean out and admire the star-dusted sky. For some reason, your thoughts go back to the night of the grove celebration. Rolan was being teased by his siblings as he focused on his fireworks show. They didn’t seem to be impressed but you clapped for him, before he gave some response about adoring fans there was a moment in his dark eyes where those golden fires shined just for you. That's when the glittering flickers within you started to storm. At the time you thought it was maybe residue from the magic, but now you know better.

Holding your hands out into the still night you mimic the moves that Rolan taught you after a few goblets of wine after he got more comfortable around you or maybe just got tired of your begging. As you gesture you feel the fluttering of magic down your arms to your hands, motioning your arms up you release the spell. You used to call it just simple fireworks. Though after that night it now has a new name for both of you; Rolan’s Fire

“What are you calling it?”

“Rolan’s Fire. You have to admit it has a nice ring to it.”

The bursting lights grow in a flash then dim in a beautiful marriott of colors and white light. The elegance of the spell always fit him and it never failed to fill you with warmth, but now you still feel the bite of the cold despite how many memories of him you conger or how many times you spill the lights from your hands.

“Just talk to him…” Karlach's words echo in your mind. Of course, it’s that simple, but would it be enough? Could you even be able to articulate how he sends sparks through you? Would he want you to? Or would he want something different…Clenching your fist hard, your mind running rampant with thoughts, with advice, with what you should do. Then finally you come to your decision.

The cold air stings your face as you run down the dark streets. With every step, your mind screams how this is crazy but your heart urges your tired feet forward. Running as fast as your legs can take you, the city and the few late-night pedestrians blur beside you as your eyes keep forward to one goal. Ramazith’s Tower.

Running up to the tower you don’t even give yourself a minute to catch your breath before banging on the doors with all your might. You know you won’t be able to rest until you finally settle this with him. Rolan needs to know, you need to know so you can function again. The pinning of your heart has thoroughly consumed you, it’s time. If only this damn door would open!

The frustration you feel gets released as you beat against the door,

“Stop beating against that damn door!”

The voice sounds rough with sleep but still has that formal tone you have grown to listen for, to adore…

The door swinging open you immediately feel those sparks. His hair, usually tied back so precisely is knotted back in a messy rush, he looks surprised to see you. His handsome face contorted to scrunch in confusion at your slummed body still trying to catch your breath. Staring at him in this state is not helping you catch your breath in the slightest.

Rolan's chest, usually concealed underneath his robes, is now exposed showing off his toned chest covered in those defining ridges that decorate his red skin. Unable to help yourself, your eyes follow the trail of his ridges to his abs then the simple trousers that are keeping the rest of him from you.

“Tav?” his voice is laced with concern before it's going back to his usual irritated one. “What are you doing here? Going to act like a lunatic then run off again?” Rolan steps closer “What's been going on with you? I thought we were friends and you keep avoiding me! So what is it now that is so damned impor-”

“Rolan, how do I ask you out?” you interrupt while still trying to catch your breath.

“Wh-What?” Rolan's dark eyes are wide, any trace of sleep has been knocked out of him by your question.

Pushing past him you walk into the tower. The tower has usually been lit up when you have seen it before, but now it's dark and intimidating. Turning to look at Rolan he still has that shocked look on his face. You know your question is sudden, but you couldn’t think of anything else. Nervously you begin rambling.

“Look, I know it’s a sudden question but I don’t know what else to do. I have asked everyone for advice, and I just can’t seem to do any of it right. So might as well just ask the source right? Because all the stuff I have tried I choke, or Im making a complete ass out of myself. So please, just tell me…so I can do it and get this…nonning ache out! I know the reject-”

During your pacing rant, you feel hands cupping your face gently, slowly they raise your head to have you meet his golden eyes. All the words die off in your throat, Rolan’s is staring at you so intensely. With him so close you take in the details of his horns, the freckles peppering his red skin. The feeling of his hands warming your skin, you want to stay like this forever but you just wish you knew what he was thinking.

“Rolan I-”

“Quiet.”

Rolan’s command instantly silences you. The sparks you have been feeling are erupting into a storm of excitement that rushes through you. His thumbs carefully brush against your skin only making you lean in closer. Rolons eyes glow in the darkness, you want to tell him how they set you on fire but right as you're parting your lips Rolan dips down and presses his mouth to yours. His soft lips make all your thoughts melt away. The thundering sparks are bursting into a warmth throughout your body. Rolan’s Fire…

Slowly as he keeps guiding your lips with a growing intensity, then carefully you feel your body being guided back. Once you feel your back meet the wall you break the kiss with a gasp, but it's only a quick second before his lips are pressing to yours once more. Rolan's hands slide down from your jaw to your hips bringing them closer to press against himself. A soft moan leaves your chest when you feel the hardness of his arousal straining against you.

Rolan slips his tongue between your lips to taste you, the deepening of the kiss causes you to tighten your thighs feeling yourself getting wetter with each pass of his tongue. Your hands find a place on the hard ridges on his warm chest, as you trace over them slowly you feel him groan into the kiss. Then Rolan breaks the and his warm breath fans over your ear as he speaks.

“Ask me now.”

The words barely register in your foggy mind as you feel Rolan slipping his hands underneath your shirt.

“What?” You can hardly manage the word, your shaky breath makes Rolan lean into your neck with a smile and a kiss, slowly he drags his soft lips against your skin sending shivers of excitement through you. Then his voice is back in your ear purring his words to you.

“Ask me out again…tell me what you want…please…I need to hear it.”

The hands underneath your shirt find your breasts and crease them as you stumble a moan trying to find your words.

“Rolan…”

“Yes?”, he whispers as he strips your shirt from you. His eyes roam over all your curves before he leans into your exposed chest, palming and lightly teasing at your sensitive skin.

“I want you in every way possible…I..want you,” you practically cry as you feel him move from your chest to sink lower, sliding his lips against your stomach. Once reaching the hem of your pants he tugs down your pants, rolling your pants and underwear down carefully exposing your wet sex.

Kneeling now you feel his lips press against your hips causing you to arch them forward. Shaky hands slide up the back of your thighs, suddenly you feel one of your legs being lifted to hook over his shoulder. Heart beating out of your chest you look down to see his eyes are already on you as he waits patiently on one knee. His eyes are completely blown with desire and you can feel the anticipation in his shaking touch as he rubs his hand on the outside of your thigh.

“Go out with me?” you ask desperately.

“Gods yes,” he groans before pressing his face into your folds, his hot tongue quickly finds your clit nudging and licking against the bundle making you throw your head back in a sharp gasp.

Rolan being a quick learner latches onto your swollen bundle, sucking and twirling his tongue against it. The sudden stimulation has a moan escaping you then quickly your hand comes down to grasp one of his horns, holding on desperately as you watch him ravishingly pleasure you.

Rolan's eyes widen then roll back as your grip gets tighter on his horn. The groan he releases from the sensation vibrates through you, tightening the coil in your stomach. The slick from your quivering slit is rolling down his chin. Moving slightly he laps his tongue to taste more, Adjusting so his perfect nose is rubbing against your clit. His tongue breaching your insides makes you grab both horns as you pull him in closer. You moan his name like a prayer as you ride against his face.

The more you tug on his horns the more he groans, he can't help but grasp hard on your behind making you whine more as his nails dig into you. Your stomach starts to suddenly tighten more as his velvet tongue finds the sweet stop within you.

“There! Fuck there! D-Don't, Ah!” you push your hips off the wall but he's quickly pushing them back against it to keep you still.

Keeping his eyes on you, he watches as the hot wave of pleasure rushes through you. Clasping your hand over your mouth you moan and shake as your orgasm hits. Rolan eagerly licks and sucks up your release as you ride out your high.

Finally coming down from it Rolan starts to move away from your spent cunt, though before he's moved away completely he gives a quick nip to your clit making you let out a sharp whine.

Body feeling feverish you lean and brace yourself against the wall, trembling and breathing heavily. Rolan rises from his kneel and you watch in awe as a mix of your arousal and his spit glistens against his perfect face. He brings his hand to wipe his face, his eyes flicking down at you as he smiles then licks up the residue from his fingers.

“Meet me at Elfsong tomorrow night?”

Stars in your eyes you nod absentmindedly at him, “Yes…”

Gods you can’t wait for tomorrow…

899 notes · View notes

bzurk · 28 days

Text

DARK-FIC, MDNI:

Graves puts on a show for the 141, with your begrudging help.

CW: non-con, abduction, gags, restraints, threats, noncon filming, choking, asphyxiation, spanking, non-con oral, non-con PIV

buckle up shit gets rough 💅

Your consciousness flickers back to life like a candle flame in the dark, fragile and tenuous. The first sensation that creeps into your awareness is the cold—an unforgiving, biting chill that seeps into your bones, rendering your flesh numb and unyielding. It feels as though you have been submerged in a frozen lake, the icy tendrils of the water wrapping around your limbs and squeezing out every last drop of warmth.

As your senses slowly begin to sharpen, you realise that you are seated, your back against the unyielding hardness of a metal chair. The bindings around your wrists and ankles are rough and unyielding, cutting into your skin with every slight movement. They hold you in place with ruthless efficiency, like iron serpents coiled around your limbs, their grip inescapable. Your head throbs with a dull, insistent pain, a reminder of the brutal blow that brought you to this desolate place. It is as if a cruel giant has hammered a stake into your skull, each heartbeat echoing with agony.

The gag in your mouth is a vile intrusion, forcing your jaws apart and filling your mouth with the taste of sweat-soaked cloth. Your tongue presses against it reflexively, but there is no relief to be found. The fabric is soaked with your own sweat and saliva, a bitter reminder of your helplessness. It stifles your breath, making each inhale a laborious task, and you can feel the edges of panic nibbling at the corners of your mind, like rats gnawing on the last threads of your resolve.

The cell around you is a study in desolation. The walls are stark and bare, their surfaces pocked and scarred by years of neglect and violence. The dim light that flickers from a lone bulb casts long shadows across the floor, turning the room into a grim tableau of light and darkness. The air is thick with the stench of mildew and decay, mingling with the coppery tang of your blood. It fills your nostrils, making you want to retch, but the gag stifles even that. Your muscles scream in protest as you shift slightly in the chair, trying to alleviate the pressure on your bound limbs. Every movement sends ripples of pain through your body, like shockwaves from a distant explosion.

Your skin feels like a canvas of bruises and abrasions. You try to focus, to gather your scattered thoughts, but it is like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. The memory of the struggle is a fragmented mosaic in your mind – Graves, Alejandro throwing the first punch, getting slammed against the SUVs, Soap dropped by a bullet, flashes of fists and boots, your neck held in the crook of an elbow, the sensation of being dragged, sinking your teeth into flesh, the world spinning in a nauseating blur after a blow to your head.

In the silence of the cell, you can hear the faintest echoes of distant footsteps, the murmur of voices, the sound of a lock turned and a door opened. The wall to your left creaks.

“See? Yer’ colonel’s fine,” Graves’ southern drawl leaked through the gap below your door.

“¡Te mataré, traidor! No eres más que un patético perro faldero. te mataré-” Alejandro’s voice carried, full of indignation and unadulterated rage, silenced by the slam of a steel door, an echoing boom that rumbled over your skin. You couldn’t help the way that it had you flinching against your restraints.

The sound of heavy boots approaches, each step resonating through the cold concrete like a drumbeat of impending doom. Your heart hammers in your chest, a wild, caged thing desperate for escape. The door creaks open, the rusted hinges protesting as light spills into your cell, harsh and unrelenting.

Graves steps into view, a sinister silhouette framed by the doorway. His icy eyes glitter with malevolent satisfaction as he holds up a phone, the camera lens gleaming like the eye of some predatory beast. He points it at you, capturing your dishevelled, battered state for all to see. The light from the screen casts an eerie glow on his face, accentuating the cruel twist of his lips.

"Can’t say the same for your corporal, though," he drawls, the smirk never leaving his face. He turns the phone so you can hear the voices on the other end of the call, though it's muffled by Graves’ hand over the speakers. “Two hits to the head and she was still kicking. Real fighter, aren’t ya, doll?”

He approaches closer, still recording with his phone. You grind your teeth against the gag in protest as he invades your personal space, your body arching against the chair in a futile attempt to escape. But Graves remains unfazed, reaching out to ruffle your tangled hair with his free hand.

"Stitches! Stitches, can you hear me?" Soap's voice crackles through the speaker, laced with urgency and concern.

The sound of your callsign, spoken with such desperation, cuts through the haze of pain and fear. It’s a lifeline. Your team knows you’re alive.

"Get your hands off of her,” Captain Price's voice follows, steady and resolute, deep and gravelled enough to rumble the strongest of foundations.

Graves laughs, a chilling sound that sends shivers down your spine. "You gonna make me, Captain?" He leans closer, brushing the matted hair from your face as the camera captures every detail of your bruised and broken features. You glare at him fiercely, defiance burning in your eyes despite the gag and restraints.

"Graves, you son of a bitch!" Soap shouts, the fury in his voice palpable even through the phone. "If you hurt her—"

“Hurt her? Why would I do that?” Graves continued stroking down your hair, purposefully antagonizing your captain. “I’ve got her right where I want her. Ain’t she a pretty sight like this?”

His fingers stopped and gripped, twisting the length of your hair around his palm before tugging, forcing a whimper from your throat as your head was wrenched back. The pain shoots through your scalp, sharp and searing, pulling a reluctant tear from your eye. The camera hovers, unblinking, capturing every moment of your torment, every flicker of pain.

“You piece of shit!” Soap’s voice is raw with anger. “You touch one more hair on her head, and I swear—”

Graves’ smile widens, a predator’s grin. “Oh, I’m touching more than just her hair, Sergeant. But don’t worry, I won’t break her. Just bend her a little.”

The pressure on your scalp increases as Graves tugs harder, your neck straining painfully against the force. The room seems to close in around you, the walls pressing in with their cold, unfeeling silence. But through the pain, you latch onto the sound of your team’s voices, their fury and concern a lifeline in the storm.

“Graves, you coward,” Price’s voice is like a growl, low and threatening. “You won’t get away with this. We’re coming for her, and when we find you—”

Graves interrupts with another laugh, releasing your hair and stepping back. “I’m counting on it, Price. But until then, enjoy the show.” He lowers the phone slightly, giving you a moment to see the faces of your team on the screen. Their expressions are a mix of rage and helplessness, a mirror of your own emotions. Price and Gaz stand shoulder to shoulder on one half of the screen, while Ghost stands behind a fuming Johnny on the other half.

You lock eyes with Soap, seeing the anguish and determination there. His jaw is set, his fists clenched, a promise of retribution burning in his gaze. Price’s eyes are cold, calculating, already forming a plan.

Graves puts the phone in a pocket on his vest so that the camera can still see, and he grabs the back of your chair and drags it to a wall, the legs scraping against the floor with a grating screech. The chair rocks back on the two hind legs until you're forced to bend your neck, the chair tilted awkwardly against the wall. Graves steps between your knees, looming over you like a vulture ready to pick at a carcass.

The tilt of the chair strains your neck and shoulders, a burning ache spreading through your muscles. Graves' presence is a looming shadow, his eyes glinting with sadistic pleasure as he looks down at you. The phone camera captures every angle of your discomfort, every twitch of pain and defiance.

He leans in closer, his face inches from yours. The stench of his breath, a mix of stale tobacco and cheap coffee, assaults your senses. "You know, you’ve caused me a lot of trouble," he murmurs, his voice a low, menacing drawl.

The pressure of his presence is suffocating, his body a wall of menace between your knees. You struggle against your bindings, but they hold firm, digging into your flesh. The cold of the wall behind you seeps through the thin fabric of your clothes, adding to the pervasive chill that has settled into your bones.

Graves' hand moves to your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His grip is firm, fingers digging into your jaw. "Look at you, all tied up and nowhere to go," he sneers, his eyes scanning your face with cruel amusement. "They’re gonna come get you, aren’t they?”

The sound of your team’s muffled voices reaches your ears, a background murmur of anger and frustration. They are watching, helpless and furious.

Graves’ other hand traces a path down your neck, his touch a vile mockery of gentleness. "Pretty as a peach," he says, his voice a twisted parody of admiration, your cheeks squished together under his fingers and digging into your teeth painfully. “Bet you’re as sweet as one, too. You gonna be sweet?”

He patted his hand over the thigh holster on his leg, holding a deadly, mean-looking bowie knife. A clear warning. You nodded so frantically that your head kept smacking against the wall, exacerbating your spinning head.

The sound of metal teeth unzipping fills the room with an eery, cold silence.

“Enjoy the show,” he had said. He wasn’t going to- to do what you thought, right? Surely, he can’t be that cruel.

Your thrashing resumed, now more frantic and feral, your wrists and ankles scraped raw and bloody by the zip-ties holding them in place and your muscles screaming in agony at every move. His hands held your head still.

Behind your closed eyes, you could sense the ominous presence of his shadow expanding, feel the way it engulfed your hunched, curled-up form like an oppressive storm cloud. Your skin, cold and clammy, was peppered with goosebumps and quivering with involuntary shivers. Yet, paradoxically, sweat beaded at your pores, and your breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps. His hands slid from your cheeks, dragging the fabric gag down with them, and you inhaled deeply, desperate for air, urging your eyes to open again. You had to see what was coming, had to remain vigilant.

But your gaze was transfixed on the small, glossy blackhole of the phone camera, no matter how much you willed yourself to look away. It was closer now, nestled in Graves’ vest. He had swung his legs over the sides of the chair, his thighs framing yours, his unzipped fly at eye level. From this vantage point, the commander loomed like a monolith, a dark titan eclipsing the single overhead light. You had never felt so diminutive - a mouse ensnared in the paws of a lion, trapped with no escape, its sharp canines bared in a sinister, malevolent smirk. You were about to be devoured, and he would enjoy every second of your suffering.

In that moment, you felt more like prey than ever before, ensnared in a game where the rules were set by a merciless predator. Your mind raced, searching for any possible escape, but the options were bleak, and the weight of your predicament settled over you like a shroud. The world had narrowed to this claustrophobic bubble of fear and anticipation, where every second stretched into an eternity.

His proximity was suffocating, a tangible force that pressed against your very being. Every inch of your skin crawled with the awareness of his presence, the heat of his body seeping into yours, the faint, almost imperceptible scent of his sweat mingling with the stale air. You were acutely aware of every detail: the coarse texture of his vest, the roughness of his stubble, the faint flicker of amusement in his eyes as he toyed with you.

One of his hands reached over you, stopping so close to your neck that you could feel its warmth radiating. His forearm tensed in your peripheral vision, gripping the back of the chair that was pressed against the wall. His other hand seized the phone, and your heart seemed to freeze.

“Turn it off,” you rasped, your voice barely more than a desperate whisper. His hand inched closer to your throat, the side of his thumb grazing your fragile skin.

“You gonna tell me where they are?” he hummed, his tone casual, almost amused, as he watched you clench your teeth in defiance.

“Never,” you spat, finally tearing your gaze from the camera to the commander, delivering your most scathing glare. Graves merely chuckled, a low, chilling sound, turning the phone around before tucking it back into his vest.

This was infinitely worse than the back camera.

The fabric of his pocket obscured the bottom half of the screen. You wished it covered it all, wished it would disappear into the darkness that surrounded you.

You could just make out the upper portion of Johnny and Ghost’s feed, the gloom of the unknown house they had bunkered down in shrouding their surroundings. The recordings were severed horizontally, the top half belonging to your captain’s feed. Every pixel of his and Kyle’s figures was sharp and distinct, bathed in the cold glow of the screen. They were situated in what appeared to be an office, standing rigidly behind a wooden desk stripped of any belongings. The room was plunged in darkness, the only illumination emanating from the screen’s spectral light.

Kyle was teetering on the edge of panic; his brows were knit together in a tight, anxious furrow, and his eyes darted back and forth between Price and the screen, unable to settle. His body language betrayed a barely contained fear, a coiled spring ready to snap.

In stark contrast, the captain was a statue, eerily still, his face a mask of unyielding stoicism. If not for Kyle's visible distress, you might have thought their feed had frozen. The captain’s eyes were locked onto the screen with an intensity that seemed to cut through the darkness, a sentinel unwavering in the face of an impending storm. The silence was heavy, oppressive, as if the very air in the room had thickened, pressing down on them with the weight of the unknown.

Graves’ hand tensed around your throat, his thumb digging into the hollow of your windpipe, “Last chance to speak, peach.” He palmed himself through his pants with his other hand, the movement visible in your peripherals but you refused to look, refused to acknowledge it. This wasn’t happening.

“I don’t know anything,” you wheezed out, the awkward angle of your neck impeding coherent speech. It wasn’t a lie. You really didn’t know anything.

“I know you don’t. But your captain sure does.” The commander pressed against your neck again before rubbing his thumb in short strokes up and down the thin skin.

“You’re fuckin’ sick-” You heard Soap growl, the speakers muffled by the commander’s vest.

Your eyes scrunched shut impossibly tight when you saw the first glimpse of flesh, pressing your lips tightly together and trying to angle your head away. You focused on the sound of blood rushing through your ears, the throbbing of your heart too fast, thudding loudly in your skull.

“Open up, corporal,” Graves commanded, prodding at your cheek with something hot, smudging your skin with a bead of liquid.

Your stomach roiled, threatening to expel whatever it held. He dragged the smooth heat over your lips, and you held your breath to avoid breathing him in. You’d surely be sick if you did.

Your team would have a front-row seat to you throwing up. They’d think you weak. They’d worry, do something hasty. Like giving up the bombs’ positions.

You swallowed it back down. Graves could feel your throat bob beneath his hand and laughed.

His fingers clamped down over your nose, cutting off your airflow with an iron grip. You thrashed in a panic, eyes snapping open to stare into the cold, unfeeling lens of the phone camera. Each second without breath built a relentless pressure inside your skull, an unbearable vice squeezing your temples and pressing against the backs of your eyes. Refusing to surrender, you clamped your lips shut, a silent vow to suffocate yourself rather than give in to his sadistic whims.

But defiance has its limits. Your lungs quickly ignited with searing pain, a primal agony that clawed at your chest and sent your nerves ablaze. Tears welled up, blurring your vision, and your eyes throbbed with each pulse of your racing heart. The world around you faded, your senses dulled to nothing but the thunderous drumbeat of your life force hammering against your eardrums. Every cell in your body screamed for air, a desperate chorus of survival that you could no longer ignore.

Involuntary spasms wracked your frame as your body's betrayal became inevitable. Despite your ironclad resolve, your lips parted in a frantic, gasping surrender, drawing in the sweet, cursed oxygen with a ragged, shuddering breath.

You hardly got more than a couple of lungfuls of air before his heat landed on your tongue, prising your jaw open.

You gagged, fighting the intrusion, but it was no use. The commander was impossible to budge. The salty tang of the man on your tongue made bile rise up your throat again, burning the back of your nose with its pungent foulness. Swallowing it back down took all your willpower, and you felt tainted, soiled in a way that not even a thousand showers could wash away.

“That’s a good girl,” Graves crooned, his voice disgustingly condescending. His grip on your jaw and throat loosened, content to just rest it against your windpipe. A warning.

Your breaths came in short huffs through your nose as you tried to regain control over your raging emotions, desperate to not give him the satisfaction of seeing you break. Tears left shining trails down your cheeks as you glared at him defiantly. The smell of his aftershave lingered, coating your senses with a sickening film that made your throat spasm more.

He was unforgiving as he shoved himself further into your mouth, making your gums flood with saliva. Graves starts pumping in and out, his cock embroidering a burn in the hinges of your jaw.

His wiry hair meets your nose, and you realize - an idea buzzing in the very back of your brain, a stupid, stupid idea - there’s one thing you can do. He takes up your whole throat, and it threatens to suffocate you once more, to deprive you of oxygen for his own selfish gain. Between the throbbing in your skull, the burning in your lungs and the ringing in your ears, you managed to sink your teeth down, just fast enough to dent flesh before Graves squeezed at your throat with both hands and pulled himself out.

You could hardly make out his yelling and swearing over the pounding in your head. A dark vignette was creeping into your vision, blocking out the corners of the room. There was so much pain and pressure in your head you swore both your eardrums had ruptured - why else couldn’t you hear anything but static? His fingers press and press and press, but you can’t feel it, just the phantom pressure your brain thinks it should be feeling.

Suddenly, the world flashed back to life like an explosion of confetti, a burst of lights and colours shimmering around you. The room snapped into sharp focus, every detail hyper-real and jarring. The harsh overhead light cast long, stark shadows that danced erratically with every movement. Graves’ face, twisted in anger, loomed over you, his mouth moving furiously, though the sound still reached you as a muffled, distant echo.

The pain in your head ebbed slightly, enough for you to register the rough texture of the floor beneath you, the cold, unyielding surface grounding you in this nightmare. The oppressive heat of Graves’ presence was a tangible force, his fury radiating off him in waves. You could feel his breath, hot and heavy against your skin, mingling with the metallic tang of blood and sweat in the air.

The room seemed to pulsate with a sickening rhythm, each heartbeat pounding in your ears, syncing with the residual throbbing in your head. Your vision wavered, the edges blurring as you struggled to maintain focus. Every nerve in your body was alight with a dull, throbbing pain, an all-consuming ache that left you breathless and disoriented. You fought to hold onto consciousness, to keep the encroaching darkness at bay. The world around you was a chaotic symphony of sensations, each one more overwhelming than the last. The cold bite of the floor, the harsh glare of the light, the oppressive weight of Graves' anger - it all crashed over you like a relentless tide, threatening to pull you under.

When the world finally stopped spinning, you took stock of your body. The cold, unyielding floor pressed against your chest, your tied hands resting in the dip of your spine, the uneven surface underneath your stomach and hips. The chill of the air gnawed at the bare skin of your ass, an added cruelty to your already tortured state.

You turned your head, wincing against the sharp protests of your muscles, the cold floor a shock against your damp cheek. Every movement felt laborious, each breath a reminder of your vulnerability and the agony coursing through your body.

Then came the crack of skin on skin, a sharp clap that sliced clean through the air and echoed off the four walls. The sound reverberated, stark and unforgiving. You couldn't hold back the sob it wrenched from your chest, the sting against your rear smarting and burning with a fierce, unrelenting intensity. Your body tensed, muscles tightening involuntarily as pain surged through you. A forearm weighed down your back, forcing you to remain in place.

With a whistle and a clap, his hand came down again. The second blow was even more brutal, the impact radiating through your body, leaving a fiery trail in its wake. The sting deepened into a throbbing burn, and your cries filled the room, a testament to your suffering. Each strike, each sound, each breath became a stark reminder of your powerlessness, the brutal domination exerted over you. The room seemed to close in, the walls pressing tighter as if to contain your torment.

“M’ sorry!” You blubbered, your cheek smushed against the floor, your body jolting forward with each slap. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“That’s what we like to hear, doll.” Graves drawled from your side, smoothing his warm hand over the burning skin.

“Stop,” you hissed out between clenched teeth, resting your forehead against the cold concrete. Your chest was resting against the floor, but your hips were resting over his thighs, his stomach pressing into your arm.

“I didn’t mean to get so angry with you,” he cooed, placating, demeaning. His hands slid from your bottom down to your knees, running up and down the sweaty skin of your thighs. “Let me make it up to you.”

You gasped and struggled anew when his fingers grazed the apex of your thighs. You clenched your lips, trying to hold back a whimper that threatened to spill past. He chuckled, low and menacing, purposefully pressing his erection into your arm.

“No,” you spat between clenched teeth, but there was no venom in your voice. His touch sent a shiver down your spine that you couldn’t control. You clenched your fists at the twinge of arousal and humiliation surging through you. Graves chuckled darkly, his fingers continuing to tease lightly, sliding between your slit, touching your entrance with the tip of his middle finger. Without warning, he sinks a finger into you, easily following your hips when you try to squirm away.

The noise you make sounds wounded, and you only become more distressed when you see the way Graves’ eyes are trained are yours, his desire palpable.

It’s harder than you’d admit to keep from moaning. He’s skilled with his fingers, the three of them - because he’s shoved another, then another inside of you, ignoring your squirming. His wrist is bent at an awkward angle but it doesn’t seem to bother him as you squeeze your thighs around his hand.

“Feel good, hmm?”

“No,” you say on a moan, your hips working against your will as your peak rises in you, your heart stuttering in your chest.

“Pretty girl,” you hear him coo, a big and warm hand smoothing unruly hair behind your ear. Your eyes fly open as you pant, nearly cross-eyed with pleasure. “Oh, you’re right there aren’t you? C’mere,” he huffs, and you hold back a whine when he removes his fingers, pushing at your shoulder and side until you roll onto your back, crushing your arms. The cold floor stings your sore ass, but the pain doesn’t matter when his fingers dip into you again, straight back into his brutal pace and bringing you right back to the edge.

“Look at them when you cum, baby,” Graves urges, leaning over you fully, pulling the phone from his vest to angle it right over your face. Your eyes burst open, your mouth prepared to protest, but it’s too late.

It rocks through your body, sending shocks from your toes to your scalp. Your eyes roll back in your head as your entire body goes tense, Graves not giving you a moment of rest as he finger fucks you through your orgasm. A moment later, he pulls his fingers from you. You can’t help but wince, at both the loss and the way he pats the meat of your cunt before pulling his hand away completely, replacing it with the head of his cock.

When you try to kick out at him, the room is buzzing, still spinning. “Don’t,” you whimper, weakly pushing your boot against his shoulder. “Please, stop.”

“You didn’t enjoy it?” He mocks, reaching down to spread the lips of your pussy, showing the camera how they glisten. “Sure looks like you did.”

You’re openly sobbing now, your cheeks slick with both sweat and tears, hips bucking against the floor as he pushes inside of you. He’s slow at first, almost languid, then pistons in a slow, hard thrust that makes you wail from both the sting of the stretch and the raw overstimulation. It hurt so much, it felt like he was splitting you apart at the seams.

“That’s it, good girl,” Graves moans into the air as he slides in and out faster, harder, and you can do nothing but scrape your nails along the floor beneath you as a second wave of pleasure washes over you. You can see them now, through blurred vision and tears - they’re watching.

“Goddamn, doll,” Graves groans, his motions becoming more erratic as he grinds against you, “you feel so fucking good.” His hips smacked against your abused ass, and you could only whine uselessly, biting back a moan that threatened to escape your lips as he hit just the right spot. You buck up into him involuntarily and his grip on your hip tightens.

“Stop it, stop it- hah-” you panted wildly, struggling weakly against the hand pressing on your stomach, inching closer and closer to your clit.

“Squeezing me so fuckin’ tight,” he punctuates his point with a hard thrust, shoving your body upwards along the concrete. “You don’t want me to stop, do ya? If you did, you’d tell your boys to give me what I want.”

Your boys.

You barely managed to crack open one eye, face-to-face with the back camera again. A small mercy.

Why hadn’t they stopped this?

Your legs were shaking uncontrollably as Graves rested them against his shoulders, rising up on his knees and folding you in on yourself. He watches you squirm as you adjust to the new angle, spread impossibly wide around him, his cock bludgeoning a new space inside of you.

“C’mon, baby,” he grunts, hips rolling into you in a slow, sensual rhythm that makes your toes curl. “Show them how good it feels. You know you want to cum again.” The hand resting against your pelvis dips further, his fingers brushing against your clit torturously.

“No-” you begin to whimper, but it catches in your throat as he presses down on a sensitive spot, once, twice, thrice sending pleasure up your spine and stealing your breath away.

“That’s it,” he coos, as if he’s praising a well-behaved pet instead of fucking the very life out of you. “You can do it, come on, show me what I know you can do.”

The humiliation of it all makes you see stars, and you use whatever willpower you have left to keep yourself from cumming again.

“Look at you,” he scoffs, angling the phone with one hand so the camera could get a better look at your stretched pussy as he slammed into you from above, “You’re gonna cum for me again, aren’t you?” The shame that seared through your veins burned hotter than any bullet ever could. You shake your head no, but the motion is weak, half-hearted. “I know you are,” Graves growls, panting right in your ear, hot and heavy. “Tell them how good it feels. Go on, tell them.” He pistoned into you with renewed vigour, his balls slapping against your ass as he picked up speed, his breathing harsh in your ear.

“It- it feels- haah,” you panted, “Graves, it feels-”

“Say it.”

“So good, so good!” You moan, the walls of your pussy clenching around his cock as another orgasm tears through you, and the last semblance of pride you had left vanished. “Feels so good, fuck, so good.”

Graves’s grunts became louder, more aggressive in your ear, his pace relentless as he drove into you like a pile driver, his cock wringing every last drop of pleasure you had left to offer while you spewed a litany of cock-drunk praises.

You’re vaguely aware of Graves groaning his own pleasure as he came, collapsing on top of you like a dead weight. His cock twitched inside you, and you could feel the warmth of his spend filling you up. You lay there, catching your breath as best as you could, hiccuping and completely fucked-out.

When it was over, Graves pulled out of you with a wet sound, leaving you feeling empty and wrecked. Exhausted. You collapsed onto the cold concrete, tears staining your cheeks as your eyes wandered to the camera again.

You couldn’t bring yourself to feel ashamed, too exhausted. Your brain was a puddle of mush in your skull, sloshing around uselessly.

“Fuck, look at that…” Graves groaned from above you, spreading your pussy with his fingers. You could feel him leak out of you. “Maybe I’ll keep her after all. Didn’t care enough to stop me from ruinin’ her.” He sloppily scooped up whatever escaped before shoving it back into your cunt.

You knew what you signed up for when you enlisted.

The greater good above all, putting your life on the line for the sake of the mission.

So then why did it hurt so bad?

Why had none of them stopped Graves?

He turned the phone around for you one more time.

“What d’ya say, doll?”

Your eyes flickered over the screen, passing over the four boy’s faces. All stoic, still and stern. Kyle and Johnny looked significantly paler, ill, but neither had given in for you.

You nodded dumbly at Graves, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks.

119 notes · View notes

inkykeiji · 10 months

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character: bonten!mikey x fem!reader notes: a day or two ago teddy and i were daydreaming about sucking on our Daddies’ fingers and i genuinely haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since!!!! warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink, hair pulling, oral fixation (finger sucking), somnophilia + minimal prep, mention of drugs words: 1.3k

If he’s being truthful, Mikey doesn’t really mind when you suck on his fingers—kind of likes it, actually; likes feeling useful, likes the way your tongue pulses and jumps just a bit as you draw him in a little further, suck around him a little harder, likes to pacify you—provided that it’s feasible.

You know when to ask, know that if Daddy’s busy cleaning his guns or cutting his drugs that he needs both hands, that his pretty girl can’t be greedy, now, just because she needs something to suck on. No, on those days you can usually be patient enough, can usually wait until Daddy’s finished with whatever important business he has to take care of. But sometimes, if you’re really needy, and you’ve been extra good, you might get lucky—he might let you stick his cock down your throat, let it sit all heavy and hard on your tongue as you kneel sloppily between his spread thighs, chin on the edge of his chair, hands planted between your folded knees and palms pressed flat to the floor, all conscious and intentional, since Daddy has a rule against touching during times like these, claims it distracts him, and we can’t have that, now, can we, sweetheart?

No, Daddy. Of course not, Daddy.

Daddy has a rule against sucking at times like these as well—this isn’t about getting him off or making him feel good, after all, he had told you. This is just about giving his whiny little baby something to fill her mouth with, something to fill her mouth up, to keep her occupied and quiet while Daddy works. If he feels your tongue start to curl around his shaft, if he feels your lips begin to pucker and your cheeks begin to hollow, he’ll be yanking you off his cock in one harsh, swift motion, with his knuckles rooted at your scalp and a growled curse spit through his teeth—and then you’ll be in real trouble, and you definitely don’t want that!

But it’s when Daddy’s sifting through boring paperwork and poring over mind-numbing files and notes—full of gruesome photographs and disturbing details—that the perfect opportunity arises to lend you his hand, to let you wrap both palms around his slim wrist and take his fingers into your mouth.

He knows that’s exactly what you want when you curl up next to him on his plush office couch, gazing at him with glittering eyes and your bottom lip siphoned between your teeth, but he won’t give it to you; not until you say it, of course, not until you explicitly ask for it—because good girls ask for what they want, don't they?—keen stare veiled by feathery lashes and voice trembling with a desperate sort of humiliation.

But he’s sweet as syrup when he nods and allows you to suck two of his fingers into your eager, waiting mouth, silky praises falling from between smirking lips. Because you’re so good for him, swallow so well for him, take his index and ring finger all the way in for him, right to the third knuckle, the edges of your teeth gently scraping the sharp protruding bones.

The metal of his rings clacks against the back of your teeth, platinum and white gold warming in the heat of your mouth as your tongue coils and curves around the bony digits, laves over the bumps and ridges of each knuckle and joint. Foamy saliva pools in all of the dips and crevices of the jewellery, coats the surfaces all slick and slimy and leaves the gems encrusted in the metal gleaming.

The underside of the rings feel smooth on your tongue, tip tracing around the arc of each one, slow and studious, almost as if committing them to memory. The metal has a slight tang to it, smearing the zest of sweat across your tastebuds, bitter and salty with a hint of the rusted blood still caked beneath his nails and lining his cuticles.

The pads of his fingers stroke your tongue in slow, rhythmic motions, petting the slippery little muscle in a tender caress—mindless, soothing, habitual—as tired onyx eyes skim the pages crumpled in his free hand. Delicate fingers hook around the bangles encircling his wrist and tug, begging for more and whimpering nonsensically around his flesh—more, Daddy, more, more, gimme more, pretty please.

And he does, of course, his sweet, greedy little girl, permits you to draw him further down your throat, copious amounts of drool oozing from the corners of your mouth as your lips tighten and your tongue squeezes—so much so that it’s trickling down your chin and dripping off your jaw in heavy, viscous cords, drizzling all over your chest and clavicle.

It leaves behind the prettiest streaks of shimmering spit, and Mikey can’t help but press down on the back of your tongue, enraptured as another tiny torrent of saliva seeps past his fingers to spill down his hand and collect in the lines of his palms.

The action earns him a pitchy yelp, sound vibrating around the tips of his fingers, and he snorts a little, fingers rubbing your tongue in a crude sort of apology.

Sorry, baby, sorry, he’s murmuring in response, though that smug, sadistic little smirk toying with the corners of his lips tells you that he’s not sorry at all.

His fingertips are pruned by the time he’s finished shuffling through his documents, soaked and soggy with your saliva. Your mouth’s finally gone slack, a telltale indicator that you’ve fallen asleep, dribbles of drool rolling down the side of his hand and his wrist as you breathe, calm and even and soft, around the digits lodged down your throat.

Your teeth have left cute little indents in his knuckles and the underside of his fingers, but he doesn’t mind, running the tip of his own tongue over the jagged little craters carved into his skin and humming softly to himself.

It always has his cock twitching in his trousers, straining against the thin material, and on the nights where he really needs it—when the day has been abundantly challenging, excruciatingly exhausting, full of collecting debts and deaths—he’ll rearrange your pliant body, push your head down and hips up and panties aside and use his already sopping hand to wet you just enough to comfortably take his cock, burying himself to the fucking hilt in one swift, sharp thrust and revelling in the gorgeous little gasp of surprise that claws its way past your sleepy lips.

Stay sleeping, sweetheart, he always tells you, murmured into the skin behind your ear and punctuated with a chaste kiss. Just let Daddy take what he needs.

And so you do, every single time, ever his good girl, his best girl, nodding into the corduroy couch cushions and mumbling out some garbled sentiment of affirmation.

It’s never graceful, always shameful, lacking his usual skill and subtlety as he pathetically ruts into your sweet cunt, flush hips grinding into your thighs gone sticky and slippery with desperation, humping away unevenly at you until his cock is pulsing viciously and he’s breathing out a curse against the damp nape of your neck, filling you with thick cream.

He always takes a moment to admire you after, too; to admire the mess he’s made of you, the masterpiece he’s made of you, calloused thumbs spreading your fucked-raw lips and watching as his cum cascades out of you slow and sticky, using the hardened pad to smear it across your cunt—glazing your clit and your slit and your inner thighs; painting you in him, pressing into the splotches of navy and grey those sharp hipbones carved into soft flesh—before he hoists you up, collects your boneless body in a heap in his arms and decides it’s time for bed, finally, for the both of you.

#mikey x reader #mikey smut #bonten mikey smut #bonten mikey x reader #bonten mikey x you #sano manjiro x reader #sano manjiro smut #mikey sano x reader #mikey sano smut #mikey x you #tw:daddy kink #tw:drugs #tw:somnophilia #inky.mikey #inky.tr

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itsabouttimex2 · 4 months

Note

Hello! I have a request: How would Wukong and Macaque react if the reader accidentally got stuck inside the scroll of memory and met their "old brotherhood era"-selves?

And a little bonus concept: how would they react if their past-versions tried "adopting" the reader and attempted to keep them inside the scroll?

(I’ve done students and friends, so I thought I’d go with blood children for this fic!)

Sun Wukong’s first move is to panic. However it is that you get trapped in the scroll, he freaks out. The better scenario is that it was just an accident, and you put your hands on something you should’ve known better than to touch. Then he can compose himself properly, with nothing to light the fuse that his nerves have become.

If you were, however, explicitly imprisoned by an enemy, then the old Monkey King comes to visit in more ways one. Wukong attacks your assailant head on, ending the extremely one-sided fight the way he would have in his youth- bloodily and lacking in restraint or mercy. There’s no hesitation, none of his learned compassion, none of the kindly teachings of Tang Sanzang.

All that matters to him right now is that someone touched his kid, and that they’ll die for it. He wishes the manner and method could be more personal, but the important part is getting you back.

Then he can methodically track down every last bit of information about his mangled corpse of a foe, and snuff out anyone else who might be interested in laying a finger on you.

But those plans are for a later day.

Wukong leaves behind a few clones to take care of the corpse and approaches the ink-cursed artifact with a determined glare.

“Dad’s coming, bud. Just hang in there.”

With those few words, he dives into the scroll himself, ready to start rioting through his own past to find you.

He really, really hopes that you don’t see anything too awful. In spite of his modern-day oddities and long-lasting flaws, he really does care about being a good influence and keeping you out of danger. Wukong wants you to see the best of him- learning diligently under Master Subodhi, establishing the sanctuary that is Flower Fruit Mountain, defeating the Demon Bull King. The very best he is and has to offer, to the world and to you.

Instead, he finds you curiously watching in on one of his meeting with the demons he once called his brothers. With that knowledge in mind, maybe they could be called your long-lost uncles.

At least, you seem to think so, or at least think that they can’t be all too dangerous, because you jump down from the tree that you’re standing in to get a closer look at the mixed crew of demons and celestials. The dry leaves beneath your feet loudly crunch and fragment as you step on them immediately giving away your location to the team.

Past!Wukong; ever eager and far more reckless before he had matured in his great journey, is the first to go looking for you, honing in on your location with ease.

The real Wukong watches from a close distance, knowing that his old self wouldn’t try to hurt you. None of the sworn brothers would hurt you- they weren’t bad people. Just severely misguided and well-intentioned. He could wait for an opportune moment to snatch you up and escape. He wanted to rush in, gins blazing… but alerting the Brotherhood was a bad idea. Trying to take on everyone at once wasn’t exactly ideal, especially with you nearby. Even if no one was outright trying to harm you, crossfire was a very real worry.

So the Great Sage reminds himself- no one will hurt you.

Past!Wukong himself, especially. He might’ve been somewhat arrogant and power-hungry and misguided back them, but his intentions were good and he was far from a villain. He knew that.

And, he would never hurt one of his own kind.

The scroll’s version of the Monkey King stops short in shock, staring at you with wide, glittering eyes. Love at first sight, just the way the real one had felt when he held you in his arms, new to the world and bundled tight in a blanket made from strand of his own hair.

The simian’s tail sweeps across the ground, lightly thumping grooves into the dirt- a clear sign that he’s about to pounce. You don’t pick up on that in time, and aren’t prepared for a memory of your father to spring on you with wide-open arms.

Past!Wukong scoops you into his powerful, furry arms, holding you close to his chest as he jumps up and down, nearly squealing in glee. He swings you around a little too fast, nearly losing grip of you during his last rotation. And before you can argue to protest or shake off the newfound nausea plaguing you, he unceremoniously plops you down and starts to groom through your fur, chatting to you hyperactively. His words are fast and energetic, most of them about how he thought he and Macaque were the only mystic monkeys in the world, and how great it is to have another, and how much all of his brothers are going to love meeting you.

Wukong would be waiting for an opening for quite a while, it seemed.

In spite of his caution, he’d grow impatient soon enough. He didn’t want to share you, after all- not even with himself.

Not every parent wants a kid to follow in their footsteps. Macaque intentionally never speaks of his past to you, unless it’s something that will make him look or sound good. You don’t need to hear about him being a doormat to his sworn brothers. You don’t need to hear about him trying to kill a group of innocent pilgrims. And you don’t need to know that; in spite of his fighting prowess and shadow magic, he was killed by the greatest hero the world has ever known.

Macaque knows that you learning these things would shift your perspective of him, perhaps irreparably. He wants you to think of him as your personal hero, as a guardian and defender and as a warrior, capable of taking on and defeating anyone.

So he’s careful to curate the information that reaches your ears. Nothing about beating a holy monk unconscious. Or about manipulating, attacking and trying to kill the Monkey King’s successor. Or his brutal and unprovoked assault on the Dragon Palace of the East Sea.

You aren’t going to turn out like him- Macaque plans on making sure of that. Yes, he’ll teach you his skills. He’ll course you in chain whips and spiked staffs, put you through rigorous training to ensure that you become a master of the shadows as he is.

Macaque cherishes you more than anything else in the world. You may well be the only thing he cherishes at this point. And he understands that he might not always be around to protect you, or that an enemy might come creeping to you while he’s off. He won’t always be by your side, no matter how badly he wants to. So you have to train with him, learn his ways, master his skills. He’ll wrestle you out of bed and into the dojo each day if he has to.

But you aren’t going to be his sidekick or successor, no matter how much you beg or plead. Even if you break down crying about how much you want to help him, or how you worry about him and his safety, he shoots down your offers and attempts. He can’t lose you. He’s lost far too much by now to risk his child’s life.

Macaque understands why you want to help him, he really does.

The two of you had been separated for five hundred years. He had died when you were young, and left you alone in an ever-changing world, forced to grow and survive without him. You had been embittered by the struggle, but never allowed it to break you- you resolved to remain the person you had always been, the person he had taught you to be.

You had wanted to preserve his memory.

Five hundred years later, and you were just as he left you, though a little sour, and perhaps hardened from strife.

But it had been you.

Macaque had tackled you down on sight, bearing down on your form with wide open arms and teary eyes, allowing himself to be vulnerable for once. In return, you had wept into the fur of his chest, tightly clinging and clutching to his frame with arms and legs alike, refusing to be parted from the father you had lost so long ago.

It was supposed to stay like that. And it did, for a while, the two of you content and ready to start healing side by side.

But the Scroll goes and ruins everything, taking you from him as he stands and watches, helpless to save you.

He’s not too unlike Wukong here- his reaction massively differs depending on whether or not you were attacked or simply made a mistake and handled the scroll improperly.

Except he’s far more brutal than his rival ever would be. Wukong; even enraged at you being endangered, has the compassion (and urgency) to finish his foe quickly, settling for a single decisive blow over a hundred slow and torturous attacks.

Macaque’s sable hands do not spare that golden mercy.

He rips the attacker apart piece by piece, the shadows around him thrumming with white-hot rage as they pump out clone after clone. They angrily snag flesh with clawing hands and tear it away, slowly plucking the screaming assailant to the bone.

Allowing his thirst for vengeance to blind him, Macaque stands for a while over the fresh corpse, satisfied and content with the outcome of the fight. He laughs and taunts, kicking the skeleton around for a moment or two.

And a bone rolls right to the scroll that contains you.

The demon snaps into high gear, reminded that you that you’re alone and probably scared in an unfamiliar place, with no way to get back home.

Macaque rips the scroll open, plunging into inky depths before him without a second spared to hesitation. All he leaves in his wake is a single shadowy portal. He’ll create a second inside the scroll, allowing you both to escape unharmed once he finds you.

All that’s left to do is track you down- and he’s sure that he knows where to find you.

Because he spent such a needlessly long time with your attacker, you’ve already been swept up by his scroll counterpart, held in his arms carefully.

Past!Macaque is a gentler, softer version of your father. He’s worried about you, a simian like himself, scared and alone in an unfamiliar place.

You cling back to him, not ready to accept that you were torn from your father once more, just as helpless this time as you were the last. This man isn’t really your father- he’s not real at all. He’s an ancient facsimile, a lingering ebon remembrance of what Macaque once was.

But maybe a little bit of the real deal resonates in this raven replica.

Past!Macaque bears an immediate, intense fondness for you, wrapping you snug in his arms, trying to soothe your frightened tears. He gently pats your back, in the hope that he can console you enough to have a proper talk. For some reason he can’t quite understand, he wants to know more about you.

You only get a few minutes into that talk before your father tracks you both down and smashes the duplicates head open.

Revulsion and nausea turn your stomach in circles as the real Macaque carries you out of the scroll- you might be a little traumatized by what he’s just done, but it’s nothing that he doesn’t have under his control. (It is, actually, but he’s a little too prideful to admit it.)

But all that matters to your father is that he has you back. Aren’t you lucky?

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere Sun Wukong #Sun Wukong #Yandere Macaque #Macaque

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luvrbug · 2 years

Text

When they have a crush on you

«─────────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ───────────»

▸ Characters; Law, Kidd, Luffy

▸ Warnings; GN reader

▸ a/n; my first OP work !!!! im still trying to grasp how to write for them but !!! i hope you all enjoy :] (psst- requests are open!)

«─────────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ───────────»

-> LAW

▸ Law refuses to show any emotional vulnerability. So when he realizes that YOU are the one making his emotions go absolutely haywire- its not a good scene.

▸ He cares about you so much. He doesnt form attachments easily, so when he does prepare for him to never let go.

▸ He starts to avoid you. Like, you cannot find him on the polar tang type of avoiding. He's afraid to put you in serious danger, he's wanted by the world covernment, has billions of beri on his head- he couldn't stand to put you in more danger.

▸ Law SAYS he is perfectly content with holding these feelings in until he dies. He is lying. At some point his frustration comes to a head and he just , corners you in the sub after not speaking to you for THREE WEEKS and word vomits all his emotions out while looking like a tomato.

▸ If you accept law is . surprisingly elated. This commitment doesn't feel heavy or scary like he imagined. He's not the biggest fan of PDA but he ABSOLUTELY links pinkies with you when walking around. (bepo, shaichi, and penguin are yall's biggest fans ever. they SO hide in the bushes during the first date and get discovered 😭)

▸ If you reject law .. he'll retreat back into his shell. He was open with you, and now he probably wont be. ever again. Really awkward interactions ensue.

-> KIDD

▸ He's so oblivious to his own emotions !!!!!! He's so mean to you all the time but he's killing anyone who lays a hand on you. He feels nauseous and feverish and embarrassed whenever he's around you but he's anxious and jittery when you're NOT around!

▸ He gets sooo jealous too. you could be like, sitting next to someone and he'll be breaking a tankard in his fist 😭.

▸ HE TRIES SO HARD TO IMPRESS YOU!!! He's smashing someone's face in extra flashily when you look his way. Carrying super heavy objects when youre in his vicinity. showing you all his latest inventions. He's almost like a really aggressive, abrasive puppy waiting on you to praise him.

▸ He probably blurts out all of his feelings when you sit just a little too close after one too many beers. He's raging at you for "making my head all spinny" and "making me feel like im gonna vomit glitter" while Heat and Wire are cackling in the background. Killer has his head in his hands while Kidd continues his drunken rant.

▸ If you somehow manage to wrangle him back to the ship and accept his confession, you will have a clingy, kissy kidd to deal with. He will not let you go. Your post-confession gift is a cranky, hungover kidd.

▸ If you reject him ... Kidd practically explodes. Not at you, but everyone who pisses him off is getting chewed out 10x as bad. He's hurt, and he needs time to tend his wounds. Your friendship will never be the same, but he won't make your life a living hell.

-> LUFFY

▸ Luffy is straightforward, honest, and determined. If he likes you, he'll say it loud and clear. He doesn't exactly know the line between romantic and platonic feelings, so it'll take someone like robin or sanji to clear that up for him.

▸ He is also very physically affectionate. Where you go, luffy goes. You have to practically beg to go to the bathroom alone. Skinny, Tall, Short, Chubby; luffy loves it all! He gomu-gomu no cuddles you constantly.

▸ He doesn't really get jealous. He trusts you! And he knows youre great, so obviously everyone would want to spend time with you! Just make sure he's in your top priorities.

▸ Luffy's confession is in everything he does. He never steals from your plate unless he's given permission, always makes sure you get the best cuts of meat / best quality veggies. He may just suddenly hold you and kiss you if hes in the mood. Luffy is probably on the aro/ace spectrum, so your relationship may be on the platonic spectrum some days + the romantic spectrum some days.

▸ If you turn down all of Luffy's advances, hes naturally a little let down. He won't stop caring about you, but he'll attempt (key word; attempt) to give you space and not be so affectionate. (how could you possibly turn this boy down >:[)

#one piece fluff #one piece headcanons #one piece imagine #one piece reader insert #one piece scenario #one piece x you #one piece #one piece x reader #law x reader #trafalgar law #trafalgar law x reader #eustass kidd #eustass kidd x reader #eustass kid x reader #luffy x reader #monkey d luffy

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grandlinedreams · 8 months

Note

Hii !!! If you haven't done it already , can you make a part 2 to https://www.tumblr.com/grandlinedreams/732931737043255296/hehe-hi-lovelov-luvvv-the-angst-u-write-could (sorry I can't create hyperlinks due to my pc crashing everytime I try !) ? I loved it so much that I neeedddd a 2nd part that's just as angstyyyyy. I love your angst so much !!

Hiya!! I absolutely can, but i also got asked to resolve it well so I hope I can do this justice for everyone who wanted a part two! First part [here]

[Heads up!: canon typical violence, hefty dose of angst, hurt/comfort]

It's been a week since you bargained your freedom for Law's, offered your services to barter for his safety ㅡ and you still don't regret it.

The ship you've been forced onto is a far cry from the comforts of the Polar Tang with battered wooden floors and a hull that you're surprised withstands the waves that crash against it.

The crew also is nothing like the one you're used to ㅡ not that you see much of them. You spend most of your time at a desk with varying maps spread out before you, pen in hand as you're demanded to make note of any and all locations to treasure or anything of interest regarding the One Piece.

"If I find out you're lying, or if any of this is a trap," your captor hisses, pressing the sharp edge of a blade to your throat, "don't think I won't slit your throat and throw you overboard for the sea kings."

You don't bat an eye, even as metal bites into your skin, the warm drip of blood that follows. "I don't doubt it."

Your captor ㅡ Hendle, or whatever he'd said his name was ㅡ glares at you, clearly unhappy that he hadn't gotten the reaction he wanted. "I'll have someone drop food off. Don't even think of looking for an escape."

And then he's gone, leaving you with only maps and the guttering glow of an oil lamp for company. You reach out with the clink of the ever present seaprism stone cuffs, trace a narrow line of ink towards a place you've circled, tapping it thoughtfully.

Though it's a long shot and requires a heap of hope, if you can somehow leave a clue or evidence behind, if Law is tracking you (which you have no doubts he is, Trafalgar Law is a lot of things but one to abandon crewmates is not one of them), he can find it.

You bite your lip. It's a stretch and it'll have to be something both subtle and obvious enough to be from you ㅡ but you can at least try.

ㅡ

Though you're also a pirate, helping these kinds of pirates makes you feel slimy as you watch yet another chest of glittering gold and jewels be pried from its hiding spot and hauled back towards the ship.

"You've got an eye for treasure," Hendle tells you, eyes you in a way that makes your skin crawl and your fingers twitch with the urge to ball into fists. "I could get used to having you as part of my crew."

Anger flares. "I'm already part of a crew," you tell him flatly. "And it isn't yours."

The fist that connects with your jaw is expected given that the other times you've spoken out it's been met with swift violence, but the ring on his finger catches on skin, splitting it open.

"They're not going to rescue you," he growls, fury clear in his tone. "The sooner you understand that, the better."

And then he stalks off, leaving you alone. He clearly thinks you'll follow and while the idea of bolting is tempting, you know you're not going to make it far.

Blood drips slowly down your cheek, and you bring your hands up with the rattle of chain that's become frustratingly familiar. Swiping a finger against your skin, you stare at the tacky red, debating.

You can't ask for a pen, have no way of leaving proof you were here that won't disappear otherwise or be overtly obvious ㅡ this will have to do.

ㅡ

And so it goes ㅡ with every island that you end up on, you find some way to leave proof of your presence and hope that it's enough to point the right way.

If Law is even looking for you. You want to believe that he is, but what if he isn't? Logic is cruel ㅡ that he's wasting more resources than necessary to come after you. That he should cut his losses and move on.

It's a cold knife thrust between your ribs and up into your heart, piercing with the ache and fear that this is your life now, days measured by how useful you are.

What happens when you stop being of use? After all, there's only so many places you know of, and only so long you can get away with lying about information pertaining to the One Piece. Hendle is bound to figure it out sooner rather than later.

You stare at your wrists, the rubbed raw quality where the stone has chafed, the slow sap of any and all energy you manage to find by sleeping. And even when you do sleep, it's far from well ㅡ worries and fears follow you into dreamland, torment you with what could happen.

And what would have happened if you'd never done any of this in the first place. You've lost count or how many dreams you've been wrenched out of with a gasp, cold sweat beading on your forehead as you tried to push away the images of Law being killed in front of you, of feeling helpless to save him.

This, you decide, is far better than that.

ㅡ

This is the last island you've been able to mark on the map. Hendle has said nothing to you about what he plans to do with you, but you can assume it's nothing good.

Which is why you keep your eyes trained on him and the men that follow him, waiting until their attention is elsewhere ㅡ and then you bolt.

You know you're unlikely to make it far, but it's worth the way you can hear shouting behind you as you run as fast as your legs can carry you.

The chain clinks as you gasp for air, acutely aware of the burn of your muscles and ache of your body ㅡ but you keep going. You have to. Whether Law rescues you or not, you can't stand the idea of being around those thugs for another minute.

You'd rather die.

Something sharp bites into the meat of your left shoulder, makes you stumble and nearly topple before you correct your balance and keep going. Warmth leaks down your arm, white-hot pain that you use to ground yourself.

You can't defend yourself, best bet being that of running into someone who will be kind enough to help ㅡ and if you can make it that far in the first place.

You want to go home. You want the warm metal walls of the Polar Tang and the hum of machinery, the dumb jokes and silly arguments ㅡ you want your family. You want ㅡ

"Room."

Law.

"Shambles."

Your feet aren't kicking up dirt and pebbles anymore, the brief jolt jostling your shoulder and making you hiss as your legs give out.

You don't fall, though ㅡ familiar hands catch you, familiar tattoos ㅡ Law. He's here, he's real ㅡ he came to rescue you.

"You made it," you say softly as he picks you up, mindful of the way your shoulder is still bleeding. "You're late, though."

"I know." Law's lips press to your temple, and he closes his eyes as you lean into the touch. "I'm sorry."

#ㅡanswered.#one piece scenario #one piece x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader

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https-furina · 7 months

Text

ft. kaeya x gn!reader

angst, no comfort, character death, not proofread.

i’ll format, name, etc. this another time.

love doesn’t seem to be easy to come by for him. he’s spent years chasing after traces upon traces of love, clinging to the feeling that one day he’ll feel that pathetic warmth once again. dumped in mondstadt with seemingly no recollection of his family, his home; where he belongs.

crepus and that red haired little boy took him under their wing without so much as battering an eyelid. they housed him, raised him and didn’t even consider any alterior motives. they treated him as their own; brother and son. he grimaces at the thought of crepus’ ponytail that diluc takes after so much, the rough red stubble on his pale face that scratched kaeya’s soft baby cheeks whenever they hugged.

that night flashes in the dark of his eyelids whenever they close shut for the night after a long day at the knights of favonius’ headquarters. the metallic tang of blood, the waft of the smoke from the fatuus’ bullets and the fresh soil dampened by the rain. he recalls it all, his brows furrowing when he sees diluc huddled by crepus’ body.

he’d been too late.

when he started loving you, trusting you enough to bring you close enough past the cocky façade he puts up in public, you saw his quieter moments when he’s head deep in paperwork, no longer throwing flirtatious comments in your direction or when that forsaken day rolls back around and he thrashes in his sleep, pulling the covers of himself and crying out for his father, the only one he knew - crepus.

he swore he’d never be too late again.

thunder roars overhead and this scenario is all too familiar, except some roles have swapped. he kneels in the wet mud, not caring for the cleanliness of his attire as he clutches your body close. the familiar dark clothing of his brother stands not too far away, illuminated by the flashes of lightning. the rain soaks their hair, sticking it to their skin.

his tears blend with the rain, trickling down his face in glittering trails on his tanned skin as he stuffs his nose into your hair. your scent is fading, being overwhelmed by the rain. kaeya’s sword lays discarded in the mud not too far away, glittering with the blood of treasure hoarders as diluc too drops his claymore limply.

he truly believed he got to see his brother happy again. he could make the effort himself and try fix their relationship but he knows now that it’ll be like putting a shattered bowl together with a bandage. his heart plummets into the pits of his body as ruby eyes see his younger self in kaeya.

days later, diluc offers kaeya a room at the winery again. the first act of many planned ones to try feel like brothers again and kaeya accepts. it’s quiet but even adelinde is glad to see that young blue haired boy wandering aimlessly around the winery once more.

and it’s diluc now who shuffles into his brother’s bed to hold his shaking form as he thrashes in his sleep, crying your name. calloused hands pull his brother close, tears stinging his eyes as he tries to be brave for him - just like when they were boys.

in the end, they only have each other, don’t they?

#( sealed letters )#・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#genshin angst #genshin impact angst #genshin kaeya #genshin impact kaeya #kaeya x reader #kaeya angst #https-furina

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elryuse · 2 months

Note

*cough cough* yandere Lily showing you the wedding band meaning you're her husband now. can I request a yandere ex-gf Lily?

Dangerous Melody!

YANDERE LILY X MALE READER

The faint smell of bleach stung Lily's nostrils, a counterpoint to the metallic tang that clung to the worn chopping board. She stared down at the discarded blonde hair, the vibrant color now a dull, lifeless mess, mirroring the hollowness that gnawed at her. Minnie, another pretty face removed from the equation.

Lily used to mock Y/n's obsession with K-Pop. Now, she was the one consumed by it, living through his memories, fueled by a twisted jealousy that had curdled into a horrifying obsession. Y/n, her Y/n, the nerdy guy who used to stammer compliments about her singing voice, was now a rising star. He was surrounded by a glittering constellation of K-Pop idols - (G)-Idle, Kep1er, ITZY - each a potential threat.

The initial thrill of revenge, of watching them fall one by one - a "clumsy" fall for Miyeon, a "sudden illness" for Chaeryeong - had morphed into a chilling emptiness. The closer they got to Y/n, the further he seemed to drift, withdrawing from the public eye, a ghost haunted by fame.

One rainy night, Lily found herself huddled in a doorway opposite Y/n's old apartment. She'd become a stalker, her once carefully curated social media presence abandoned, her life consumed by the flickering glow of his window.

A lone figure emerged, his silhouette obscured by the downpour. He moved with the slumped shoulders of a defeated man, the rain blurring the lines of his tear-streaked face. Y/n. Her Y/n, a broken shell of the boy she used to know.

Anger, raw and hot, pulsed through her veins. All this suffering, all this scheming, for a man who didn't even fight for her? He wasn't worth the effort, the thrill of the chase. But a cold, unsettling voice whispered in the back of her mind – he was hers. He'd always been hers.

The next morning, Lily stood before his building, a manic glint in her normally cool blue eyes. The security guard, a young man who'd always fawned over her fleeting visits, stammered in surprise.

"Miss Lily? But Mr. Y/n doesn't want guests."

Lily's lips curved into a chilling smile. "He doesn't have a choice anymore, does he?"

The fear in the guard's eyes was a balm to her frayed nerves. Her fingers closed around the handle of a heavy duffel bag, its contents a terrifying promise.

Y/n didn't notice the rustle of movement outside his window until a bloodcurdling scream pierced the night. He threw it open, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of Lily, her face streaked with a mixture of rain and something much redder.

"Lily?" He whispered, his voice thick with terror. "What… what have you done?"

Her smile was predatory, devoid of any warmth. "Oh, Y/n," she purred, her voice laced with a chilling sweetness. "Just making sure there are no more distractions. Now, come here."

Before he could react, Lily lunged, dragging a rusty chain with shackles from her bag. Her grip was surprisingly strong for someone so petite, the cold metal biting into his skin as she secured them.

"We'll be together again," she crooned, her voice a chilling melody. "Forever this time."

He struggled against the restraints, his voice hoarse with a mixture of fear and loathing. "Lily, no! You're insane!"

"Insane? Perhaps," she conceded, her eyes glinting with a terrifying amusement. "But only for you, my love."

Ignoring his pleas, she hoisted him onto her shoulder, his screams swallowed by the sounds of the rain. The once vibrant city lights blurred past in a dizzying kaleidoscope, a cruel reminder of the life he was being ripped away from.

Their destination – a secluded cabin nestled deep in the woods, a place she'd inherited from a distant relative. There, in the heart of isolation, a twisted love story bloomed. A love bound by fear and obsession, where Y/n became Lily's captive, a broken idol trapped in a gilded cage of her own making.

The K-Pop world mourned their missing star, whispers of foul play turning into cold acceptance. But for Y/n, trapped in the suffocating darkness of their love-turned-prison, there was no more music, no more fans. Only the horrifying reality of his ex-lover, now a monster, and the chilling words that echoed through the lonely cabin: "Forever, Y/n. Forever with me."

#nmixx #nmixx lily #lily #yandere roleplay #yandere blog #yandere stories #yandere #yande.re #kpop yandere #kpop #kpop x reader #kpop x y/n #x male reader

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strniohoeee · 8 months

Text

Luster

Pairing: The Triplets X Female Reader

Synopsis: Chris asked Y/N to join him and his brothers for a smoke session, but when readers lip gloss messes up the blunt they get mad, and Chris takes revenge👄

Warnings⚠️: Smoking a joint, and that’s all. This is based on a tik tok I saw. I’ll put it at the end of the story. I thought it was so funny, and had to write it😭

Song for the imagine: Wu-Tang Forever- Drake

The worst part about showing the triplets how to smoke was that they thought they had better weed than me. Because of this they would always call me over to test out their new weed.

My weed was always the best, but they’d never admit that. But hey a free joint is a free joint, so anytime they asked me to smoke with them to try their weed I was fine with it.

I think the runner up for best weed was Nick, and I’m not sure who the fuck his plug was, but that shit almost beat me, but key word ALMOST. Matt and Chris hated this because they wanted to be better than Nick so badly.

Today I filmed a get ready with me for my YouTube channel, so I did my makeup. I loved makeup, and I haven’t put my makeup on in so fucking long. I did a shimmery glitter on my lids with fluffy lashes, and a brown lip liner with super glossy lips.

I was getting ready to remove my makeup when I got a text

Nightmare Blunt Rotation😧🍃

-I got some new weedddddddd -Chris

-good for you…my shits better-Me

-Come smoke with us pleaseeeee-Nick

-ehhhhh I don’t know-me

-Not knowing if you want to smoke weed is bizarre. Get your ass over here-Matt

-I just filmed a video, and have to edit it for my channel-Me

-Who gives a fuck!!! Come over now- Chris

-Fine god damn- Me

-YAYYY! See you in 10? -Nick

-I was going to take off my makeup

-We can not wait for you to remove your makeup, and do a whole 30 minute skincare routine just come over here with your makeup on- Matt

-OMFG yall are down bad to smoke, fine-Me

-YESSSS see you in 10-Nick

I grabbed my purse and my water canister and headed out. Driving 10 minutes down the road

-Let me in bitches-me

10 seconds after sending that message Matt opened the door

“Yoooo bitch” I said hugging him

“Look at you with your face all done up, you look good” he said hugging me back

“Thanks” I said pulling away and following him up the stairs

“Have no fear the bad bitch is here” I said announcing my arrival

“Never say that shit again” Nick said giving me a dirty look

“Alright Mr. Crabby pants” I said rolling my eyes at him

“Ready to smoke the best weed of your life?” Chris asked showing me the joint in his fingers

“Yeah sure whatever you say” I said rolling my eyes at him

We headed outside to the yard, and sat in a circle

“Y’all go first I want to film some tik toks” I said

They all started smoking while I filmed some tik toks of myself

“I don’t know Y/N…..this shits good as fuck” Matt said to me

“Yeah let me see” I said taking the joint and taking a hit, letting it fill my lungs before exhaling

“What do we think?” Chris asked me

“Mmmm it’s good” I said shrugging my shoulders

“It’s better than what I had last time” Nick said

“Yeah it is better I will say, but I don’t know I like mine the most” I said to them

We continued to smoke, until Chris sucked his teeth

“The fuck is all this sticky shit” Chris said examining the joint

“Let me see” Nick said grabbing the joint and looking at it

“The fuck is this” he said laughing, Matt took the joint and looked at it

“It’s making the joint unravel” he said passing it to me so I can look at it

“Yall are so fucking dumb, that’s my lipgloss” I said laughing

“Who the fuck smokes with lipgloss on” Chris said

“Well me…yall didn’t let me remove my makeup, so suck it up. Lick all that brown lipgloss off” I said laughing at him

“You made it unravel” Matt said looking at me with a straight face

“MY BADDDD” I said laughing and applying more lip gloss

“Stop putting that shit, I’m about to roll another joint, and you’re not fucking this one up” he said beginning to roll another joint

“Hoes mad” I said shrugging my shoulders

I took my phone out to film a tik tok

“These fuckers are mad that I got lip gloss on the joint, like can’t a bad bitch smoke in peace” I said to the camera

“Not when it’s making the joint unravel” Chris said

“Yall this is my nightmare blunt rotation….I can’t even smoke with my lip gloss on” I said shaking my head

“Take that shit off” Nick said laughing

“NEVERRRR LET ME LIVE” I said to him

I looked back at the camera “He mad cause my lip gloss is poppin” I said

Suddenly Chris leaned over, and wiped my mouth with the back of his hand wiping all my lipgloss off

My mouth dropped and all my lip gloss was gone…..

They all started to laugh behind the camera

“Chris your fucker” I said leaning over and smacking him

I ended the video, and posted it. Immediately it started to get so many views. All their fans were dying laughing, saying how this is such Chris behavior

“Your fans are on my side you bitch” I said to Chris

“Too fucking bad don’t be smoking my shit with gloss on” he said making a funny face at me.

We finished the second joint, and just sat outside laughing and talking, and we eventually ordered some food. We filmed tik toks and watched some movies.

The End

Hope yall enjoyed this one. This was personal self indulgence LMAOOO😭🖤

-J💅🏽

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets imagines #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo #Nick Sturniolo #Spotify

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bloodycassian · 1 year

Text

FILTH!! - Reader x bat boys. rhysand x cassian x azriel x reader18+ NSFW! !!!NSFW!!

go to the ******** for just the dirty stuff.

Reader is a sex worker, threesome/foursome, DP, light bondage, ‘toys’ aka shadow play??

Need warred with fear in the pit of your stomach. The scent of males blowing through your open window was cut off sharply as soon as you’d woken in your heat, but the smell still lingered. It was a choking thing, torturing and setting your pussy dripping with every step through your apartment. You went around, lighting candles, fanning yourself to ease the discomfort the summer air brought into your home.

You’d woken early, while the sun was setting before your shift. The pleasure house would be one worker short tonight, it seemed. Your fingers trailed to your waistband, then lower. Palming your mound of sensitive flesh. Even through the clothes, you could feel the extra warmth your body radiated there. Your mind worked slowly through the haze of hormones. On one hand, you could make an absolute killing tonight at the brothel, but on the other lurked danger.

In Adrata, sex work was embraced just as any other court tradition was. Not only did it make the city calmer, but it kept the population of the court steady if an Alpha and Omega found mates in each other. It was an economic business. And you worked at one of the busiest of them.

Deep in the coastal row of homes and food shops was the small, unnoticeable building where you worked. Some nights were filled with the stench of fish and the sea, but most were full of the spicy tang of Alpha sex, along with a salty breeze coming in from the ocean.

Tonight -and until your cycle ended- could make rent three times over. The only downside to the idea was potentially finding a mate. Since your last partner had decided that their royal duties were more important than being with you any longer, you’d felt scorned. Aliksos had been a spoiled, royal asshole the moment you’d met them, and so had their parents. You blamed yourself, really. Thinking that the child of court advisors would want to spend the rest of their lives with you was quite frankly, out of touch.

So the idea of finding someone who could see themselves living with you like Aliksos had been was… repulsive. They hadn’t been your mate, but any form of relationship right now sounded outlandish.

The lace in your hands glittered in your soft faelight. It’d been a gift from them, one that made up for a massive fight over the dishes not being done.

What better way to get rid of it than having some greedy alpha pay you too much to rip it off?

Smiling, you dressed yourself and pulled a long coat over your skimpy clothes before heading out the door.

The brothel wasn’t too far away, thankfully. The bouncers, Marcis and Kalus - two omega males with skin like seal coats - parted the way, and guided you to the back rooms where you could prepare for your night. “You’ve just made us the busiest guardsmen in all Adrata.” Marcis chided when you began removing your coat. It was a thin thing, reaching to your mid calves. More of a slip really, meant to cover your scent while you walked to work.

“You’re welcome.” You smiled. “I’m your job security, don’t be so upset.”

“I’ve already got Kenna’s approval to set a house limit, so don't make any promises to anyone.” Kenna was the owner and manager of the house, her rules were strict and well known throughout the city. Her fury and blood oaths were even more renowned. You were proud to have her accept you into her space, and grateful that her rule protected you from smaller, less accepting pleasure houses that would demand half rate pay for you renting their space.

While sex work was allowed in Adrata, it didn’t mean that the crown didn’t take it’s own share of coin. Pleasure houses had to be approved by the council before opening, and any significant amount of work done without paying the high lord’s tithe could result in trouble in a royal cell.

Plus, you didn’t have to search for clientele if you had a space.

The alphas would find you, if they really needed it.

Like the one that now paid you triple to use your feet on his cock. He finished quickly, at least.

The next customer was actually a set of three. Normally, two was your limit. Having too many alphas in one room could get dangerous quickly, and where was the fun in that? But the third of this group had requested only to watch. With the amount of gold marks they were bringing in, you had expected them to demand a private show at their place of choosing, but you were pleasantly surprised when the largest of the three strolled in with a full cup of mead in hand, obviously ready to stay a while.

His chin length curls were pulled back in the front, revealing rounded ears that led you to glance at his wings. An Illyrian in Adrata wasn’t unheard of, but in your years of living in the city, he’d been the only one you’d actually seen.

Aside from the other one that stepped through the door behind him, his hair shorter but just as curly and dark. Immediately the room was flooded with their alpha scent. One of them was already aroused, the sharp scent of sweat mixing together to compliment each other. They could have been related, if it weren’t for their face shapes. While both breathtakingly gorgeous, they had a air of danger to them. You wrote it off as your instincts warning you of two alphas, but there was something else there, too.

They shared the same hooded, hazel eyes and full bottom lips, but where the long haired one had high cheekbones and wide features, the other Illyrian was more sharp looking. Dangerously androgynist, almost. If it weren’t for his obvious male build you could have mistaken his blatantly pretty features for a female.

Then, the third pushed the two forward and shut the door behind him, cutting off the sounds of heavy breathing and rousing music.

He looked strangely familiar, like you knew him from a distant memory. His dark skin tone was the same as the others, but his ears were pointed, eyes violet and wild. He raised a tattooed hand, showing a satchel of gold waiting for you. He inhaled deeply, his eyes fluttering as he took in your heated scent.

The room darkened slightly, the faelight quivering closer to the ceiling. The other two males parted for the last, allowing him to speak for them.

“Sweet Omega…” He took your hand in one of his and set the satchel into it. “I’ve heard good things about you.” Something flashed into your mind, something that you didn’t recall. It was like imagining a book, or looking at someone else’s painting. It was too jarring of a memory to even understand what it was of.

You stepped backwards, paling slightly. Realization struck you the moment your mind was allowed to see again. This wasn’t just anyone willing to pay this much for your services. These three were the Royals of the Night court. Your head went dizzy.

Rhysand, you finally remembered his name. Rhysand, The undisputed most powerful high lord in all of Prythian stood before you. Aside him were his allies, and males you thought he only shared a surface level connection with. The Trinity. You’d heard stories of them, distantly in your travels but you’d not understood how striking they would be in person. “I hope your cunt does not disappoint.” His voice was a purr, like honey ready to stick to whatever it touched.

“I think Az is ready for any cunt, Rhys.” The long haired one said, wrapping an arm around the other. Azriel. That made him Cassian, the prince of bastards. You’d heard most of him in your youth, learning that even the most lowborn could achieve greatness.

Azriel, the shadowsinger palmed himself through his tight trousers. His jaw was set, and he looked at you through his lashes. A male ready to pounce.

“I haven’t agreed to anything yet, Cassian.” You emphasized his name, hoping that it would get their attention. you knew just who they were now. The power was equal, in this room. They could follow the rules or get the Hel out.

Cassian chomped his teeth together playfully, making a loud clack that had a tremble running up your spine. He had no idea what he’d just started. You would devour him in an instant if he were alone. Your insides burned at the action though,, igniting from the knowledge that not just one of them, but all three of them wanted you. Three powerful, rich Illyrians that ruled an entire court by themselves.

Financially, and status wise you couldn’t say no.

Many palaces had their own pleasure rooms for royals to use whenever they needed entertainment. These positions usually garnered not only incredibly wealth, but also power in their court.

“I’m surprised a high lord doesn’t have his own Omega to tote around everywhere. Unless he uses you two-” You were cut off by Cassian’s booming laugh. Rhysand’s grin was toothy and amused. Azriel’s devilish smirk was knowing and heated.

“They aren’t used in that sense…” Rhysand stepped forward, his shoes disappearing from his feet. He circled around you, while the others grew closer. Cassian was the first to begin unbuttoning his shirt, taking a steadying breath and reveling in your scent. Azriel remained still, observing every twitch, every tiny movement you made. Your eyes followed the cascade of shadows coming from him, noting the long arms that extended from the edge of the blackness surrounding him.

************

Your breathing hitched when Rhysand’s voice dropped to a whisper, right by your ear. “But you can use them as you wish, tonight.” Your heart was surely audible to them at this point. You turned to face him, and were immediately caught in a warm kiss that shattered any remaining restraint you had against this.

You curled to the high lord, body melding to his when his hands went to your waist. His tongue darted over your lower lip, testing, teasing. You groaned against him, and caught his loose shirt in your hands, ripping it off, the buttons pattering against the floor.

He kneaded you, stroked his large hands over the expanse of your body, reveling in every inch of of you. Then, Cassian was behind you. His warmth unmistakable as he unclasped your top. Not exactly the fierce way you were expecting an Alpha to handle such a stringy thing, but his hands replaced the spot where the covering had been. Rhysand stepped back, to your dismay. He watched as Cassian palmed your breasts, rolling each of your nipples between his thick fingers. You let out a cry, hands scrambling back to grab on to him, to return the favor…

Your back arched against him, and you ground down against the length you could feel bulging against his trousers. The heat that flooded you before was nothing in comparison to the gush of wetness that seeped you now. Rhysand resigned himself to the chair in the corner, and with a wave of his hand he was fully naked. Power shuddered through the room, making goosebumps line your flesh. He watched as Cassian used you, and began stroking himself at the sight.

Cassian’s hand drifted from one of your breasts to your inner thigh, then slowly moved over your mound, cupping your pussy lightly. He hummed in approval, and bit softly at your ear. “Nice and wet for us..” He muttered. A sigh escaped you, hips desperately attempting to rock into his hand, needing the friction. Needing something to pay attention to your aching cunt. “What do you think Az?”

He turned you slowly, feet shuffling to face the door, and the other two. Fully on display for both the dark haired males. Azriel palmed himself through a pair of tight shorts, the rest of his body bare. His muscles flexed, and he gave himself a pump once you faced him. You squirmed into Cassians hand again, breathy pants coming from your lips. Having two of them watch you was… intoxicating. Your body felt like a wire about to snap, ready to break and bend for these males.

“Take off the panties and we’ll be able to tell better.” The shadowsinger’s raspy voice had you quickly obeying, Cassian stepping back while you eagerly tugged the soaked panties down and kicked them towards Azriel. Cassian’s low curse made a shiver run over your body as you stood back up, reveling in the feeling of being free - being open and ready for whatever male to use you.

Azriel’s eyes appraised you slowly, then darted to Cassian. Some kind of silent communication was had, and Cassian was pulling you backwards, with him on to the bed. You fell into his lap, but he quickly adjusted you. Spreading your legs over the tops of his thighs and lining his cock up with your dripping slit. You gasped at the heat of his length pressing over your pussy lips, and groaned further when he thrust over you, coating his cock in your juices. Azriel approached, his eyes locked on to Cassian’s hardness stroking over you.

“Nice and wet indeed.” He hummed, stroking himself as he watched. A bead of precome appeared at his tip, and he drew it down over his shaft, lubricating himself. One of his hands braced on your knee, stroking in time with Cassian’s thrusts. His hands were colder than Cassian’s, and with his presence he brought a curtain of darkness that had you forgetting about Rhysand in the corner.

Azriel leaned down in a swoop, and caught your mouth with his. His tongue tangled with yours, teeth biting into your lower lip when you groaned. His fingers tangled in your hair, and you thought he’d rip you from Cassian’s grasp and take you for himself… but he only tugged your face closer. Crushing your lips to his as Cassian’s thrusts slowed. They became more intent, pushing against your clit at the end of every stroke.

You arched and bucked against Cassian, trying to get him to stop teasing you. You wanted him. You wanted them both.

“Impatient are we?” you could hear the smirk on Cassian’s mouth and wished very much that you could sink your teeth into him at the moment. But you only had Azriel’s lips, so you thrust your hips down when Cassian lifted you, earning a hiss from him when his cock delved into your entrance. “Fuck-” He growled, and Azriel pulled away, watching Cassian take a moment with the head of his cock inside you.

“Give the girl what she wants.” Rhys’s voice was smooth, but his cheeks flushed. Azriel tipped his head and went to his knees before you, and you felt Cassian’s cock surge. You cried out, he slipped futher inside. Azriel’s tongue lapped over your clit suddenly, and your walls clenched around Cassian’s girth. The shadowsinger hummed, satisfied with his work as his saliva coated Cassian. Inch by stretching inch he filled you, easily one of the most satisfying cocks you’d had. Thick and proud, he worked his way inside you until you swore you’d been stretched to your limit.

Fully seated, Cassian palmed your breasts again, allowing you a moment to feel everything. The way his full cock throbbed inside you, how Azriel’s tongue played over your clit lightly, so you wouldn’t come right then and there, Rhysand’s watching gaze. Your heart hammered as you wiggled against him, desperately wanting - needing more. “Gonna fill that greedy cunt of yours.” He muttered, pulling out and sliding you back down his shaft with ease.

Azriel pulled away, letting Cassian fuck you in earnest while he watched. His hands played lightly over his cock, and you wondered just how much pleasure he was getting out of it until you saw the edges of shadow moving… the long arms of them curled tightly around him, one darker area circling around his thigh, then…. Gods- Over his cock, stroking in time with his hand. “Such a good Omega- so needy of a good cock-” Cassian muttered obscenities' while you watched Azriel’s shadows fondle him. His eyes never left your body, until he noticed you staring at the trail of shadow.

“Like what you see?” He let his hand drop to your knees again, and you desperately wished he were fucking you as well. Though his hand had left, the shadow still worked his length, curling different ways occasionally while keeping rhythm. But watching how the tentacle like shadow stroked him was… incredibly hot.

“You… control them?” You panted Cassian’s pace slowing as you spoke.

“I can.” He confirmed, and Cassian unexpectedly pulled himself from your wetness, earning a protest from you. “You’re going to make me come, I’m here to enjoy you.” He said. You didn’t doubt his words, but the loss of his magnificent cock was something to mourn. The tip of him slotted against your ass, and you gasped. “Oh… you like that?” His cock twitched and you nodded. You’d taken ass play at times, but it wasn’t a regular occurrence for you. You definitely wouldn’t be able to take his girth. “Az has the best cock for it, if youre-”

“Yes.” You groaned, needing something to fill your aching pussy. Cassian grinned, and helped you flip over to face him. He caught you in a kiss much softer than Azriel’s and pushed his head back into your folds, staying put while Azriel got on to the bed. There was a coolness trailing up your leg, then around the back of your knee and thigh, where it pulled apart your legs slightly more. The force of it was surprising, as if you’d been pulled by an eager male. It circled over your pussy slowly, playing around where you and Cassian were connected, making you slide further onto his shaft. You both groaned into each other’s mouths, the snaking tendril circling and circling until Cassian broke away to force Azriel forward.

The shadowsinger leaned over your back, and smiled as Cassian lurched upward and caught his lips. They kissed for a moment, and it was like watching fire meet desolate cold. Where Cassian was heated, yearning for more - needing Azriel’s touch - Azriel was fog and mist, evasive and teasing around Cassian’s needs.

The shadow around you and Cassian tightened, then slithered away - going up to your waiting ass. Azriel’s hand was there too, slowly working you in tandem with the shadow pet that he kept. You wondered just how often he’d done this, if it was reserved for anything special or if it was every time. Because he seemed very.. Very good at it.

The pressure and sense of fullness swept through you, and Cassian’s head went back as your walls squeezed around him again. “So fucking tight-” He gritted out, and bucked into you for a few strokes before Azriel’s thighs were pressing to the backs of yours. Cassian grinned and pulled his cock free of you, his hand going to wrap around both his and Azriels, rubbing them together. Sharing your slick.

“You’re torturing her.” Rhys bit out with a crooked smile, devilishly toying with himself in the corner.

You tugged at Cassian’s hair, pulling his eyes back to you. “I can’t help but agree with him.” You breathed. The warrior took a moment, looking into your eyes - “Are you sure…” He nodded behind you, towards Azriel. Fed up and needy, you reached between you, took his cock and aimed it for your entrance, sliding down on Cassian in one fluid stroke. His toes cracked and popped, the breath leaving him a moment while he tried his damnedst not to come undone right then and there.

Azriel’s cock brushed against your backside, a silent request. You arched your back, parting yourself for him. Your slick was heavy enough that he slid in with ease, slowly. Allowing you to adjust to him. You thought you’d burst. Your senses were unfocused, and you laid face to sheet, allowing the two to have their way with you. Rhysand’s grin slowly morphed into something more hungry, while he watched you watch him. He put on more of a show, stroking and pulling at the same pace of the other two.

He must have had a bit of precome leak from his tip, because he tapped at it and brought it to his lips, swiping the saltiness from his finger. That got your attention. The two slowly thrusting into you groaned in unison. You pushed yourself up slightly, breasts going into Cassian’s face, where he licked and nipped at your flesh. “Get over here.” You ordered to the high lord. Your voice was surprisingly deep, rough with the dryness from so much moaning.

He cocked his head to the side, as if wondering if he should grant you your demand. He was the high lord, after all. But he was here, in a brothel that you were presently one of the highest earners. “And that must be for good reason.” The presence in your head whispered. You weren’t quiet sure if it was your own thought or…. You glared at him, guessing that he’d heard every thought that had gone through your head.

He finally rose, and brought his sculpted form to the side of the bed. His cock pulsed, dripping another bead of precome now that he saw what a mess his friends were making of you. The feeling of fullness was making you ache, making you yearn for the release that you’d been on the edge of since Azriel began working you.

“Your pleasure is unimaginable. I enjoy it.” Rhysand leaned down and kissed you briefly, then stood and stroked his cock in front of your lips. You took him your mouth greedily, finally somewhat sated with being completely fully. Pleasuring all three of them.

Azriel was still moving slowly, in and out of you while Cassian kept a faster pace that rubbed through your inner walls, pressing into Azriel. Feeling both of them inside you, pushing and pulling, especially when Azriel pulled your arms behind you and held you steady while you sucked Rhysand’s velvety length… it was enough.

You didn’t fall into the shaking pleasure of orgasm as much as you were pushed into it, unable to control how your body shuddered and wrapped around the males. It pushed you over the edge and sent you moaning loudly, unchecked around the high lord. He pulled out of your mouth, and you bit into Cassian’s shoulder instead. Trying to drown out the scream that was building inside you. As your orgasm washed over your body.

Your walls squeezed both the males still inside you, and Cassian grunted, his breathy pants becoming labored as he pulled out, his come spurting over your ass. His body still thrusted upward, rubbing against the side of Azriel’s cock still inside you. Wave after wave of pleasure eroded your thought, the only thing still in your mind the feeling of Azrie’s perfect cock inside you, and the cool shadow that now circled your pussy, priming you for another orgasm.

You didn’t notice that Rhysand had made his release as well, until you attempted to return to him and noticed he was wiping his stomach, circling the lines of his abs. Cassian recovered quickly, and brought his hands to your arms, just below your shoulders. He held you up with ease, his eyes daring you to complain at the change of angle.

Azriel grunted in approval, and a cool tentacle of shadow curled it’s way around your body, wrapping around your waist and going to your throat, the end of it whispering beside your ear. “I’m going to make a mess of you.” It was distinctly Azriel’s voice, but echoed and other worldly. “I’m going to fuck you until you scream. Until you put a bruise on Cassian’s chest that stays for the next week.” His hands then gripped your hips, and he pulled you back, your ass slapping against his hips. “Bite him, claw at him. Whatever you need, he can take it.” He started fucking you quickly, his hips snapping over and over, pounding you down but his shadows and Cassian were there to hold you up.

Another cool shadow came around, this one felt larger. It went to the folds of your spent pussy, nudging at your entrance. Mother above- You thought, but angled yourself slightly towards it. Azriel seemed to understand, and pushed it inwards. If Cassian had been full… this was perfection. “Good girl. Such a good girl.” The shadow voice whispered.

It molded to you, filling every inch of your insides with it’s cool presence. It entered you and stayed a moment, allowing you to adjust to it. Perhaps it was adjusting to you as well. Then, a pulsing feeling ran through it. It started slowly, so subtle you thought it may have been nothing. But as Azriel fucked you, it grew more prominent. Your eyes went wide as it brushed over your g-spot with pressure that almost had you coming again.

Your eyes met Cassian’s and his grin told you that he knew exactly what was going on.

Another shadow began circling your clit again, and you thought you may never be sick of this. For Cauldron’s sake you should be paying them for this. Azriel grunted and a hand slapped over your cheek, stinging in a sweet way. The pulsing grew more and more, like a drum beat building to a final crescendo. “You’re going to come on me. All of me.” With those final, echoing words, the shadow inside of you set off on a punishing pace. The pressure built to more than just full. You gasped, heart hammering, hands attempting to reach or hold on to anything to anchor you. Your thighs quivered, and the shadow circling your clit sped up. It was too much. So much. With a cry that sounded like breaking, you came again.

Normally, the first orgasm was the most intense. The best in a round of them. But this was an ungodly mixture of so many different stimulation points… you felt as if you were seizing and unable to stop. You went breathless and silent for a few moments, body shaking around Azriel. Around all of him, just as he’d said.

Azriel’s thrusts became erratic and his nails dug into your hips, and you were ready for him. The shadow at your ear retreated, and Cassian was there to lower you to his chest. Your hands trembled as you lay there, cunt soaked with your slick, body heaving with breath as you finally came down from the ecstasy.

The shadows were gone, and Azriel pulled out slowly once he’d gone down in size. Then, he was there with a towel from Rhysand. They cleaned you up together, Rhysnad summoning a plate of hot towels from somewhere. He dabbed your cheeks with one, grinning the whole time.

Once you’d garnered enough strength to hold yourself up, you were able to ask “What are you smiling about?”

He scoffed a laugh, and moved to wipe at Cassian’s forehead. “You had a thought…” He shook his head, “Do I get my gold marks back?”

#reader x rhys #reader x rhysand #reader x cassian #cassian x reader #azriel x reader #reader x azriel #acotar fic #acotar smut

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