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zaldritzosrose · 4 months

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Can't Stay Away Part 2 (Feyd-Rautha x Princess!Reader)

Summary: Second daughter of the Emperor and you were well used to being ignored in favour of your sister. That was, until you met Feyd-Rautha, nephew to the Harkonnen Baron. A tourney of old, bringing back the traditions of champions and favours brought him to your side - but how close would he stay?

TW: Minors DNI, She/Her pronouns, afab reader, mild mentions of neglect towards reader (ignored in favour of Irulan), Feyd being a badass, face sitting, cunnilingus, fingering, lashings of sexual tension, reader enjoying a blood covered Feyd, Irulan being a little bit of a bitchy sister.

Part 1 Here

(Maybe a part 3, we'll see)

Words: 2689

The air was thicker than ever as Feyd finished preparing himself for the tournament. You had helped him repaint his torso before fitting the lightweight and black armour to his body. There had been something so intimate, ignoring your encounter earlier, in the whole situation.

Preparing your champion for battle. Watching as he selected his weapons and psyched himself up for the impending battles. He was fascinating to watch, you realised. And it only made you more excited for what was to come.

“My father has decided we are to publicly show our favour,” You mused, as Feyd hooked his blades into his belt.

You remembered the tradition of favours from the fairytales you had read as a child. A lady would give her champion something special, a sign of her support and luck. Back then, you had found the whole idea ridiculous. But now? The idea that you could publicly claim Feyd as yours, in some way, was enticing.

Soon, you left Feyd to finish his preparations, feeling his eyes on you as you walked back towards the guest chambers. It was only then that you noticed the black smudges of paint on your dress. Your feet moved faster, not wanting anyone to see you in such a state.

You arrived quickly, opening your wardrobe to find an appropriate dress to wear. Your typical choices were far more feminine in fabric than Irulan. Where she chose metallics, more structured pieces for public outings, you preferred softer looks. Flowing gowns that accentuated your figure. Pearls and silks in a myriad of light tones. Always with a hood or veil to match.

Several options were spread out on your bed when you heard a gentle knock on your door. With curiosity, and wrapping your robe tighter around your body, you opened it.

A Harkonnen servant stood waiting, the girl barely looking you in the eye as she handed you a note.

“It is from Feyd-Rautha, princess,” she said so softly you barely heard it, but you took the note and thanked her.

As she left, you pushed the door closed and quickly read.

My princess, not that I wish to command you, but I have one request. Please, for me, would you wear something white. Something to make you stand out on this dark planet. You look so very beautiful in white. Like a goddess sent to tempt me. That is my request. F.

You read the note twice more. He wanted you in white? There was something more to the request and you knew it. But you could not quite figure it out. You had a few options. White was a colour quite synonymous with you, pearls being your favourite jewel as a result.

You looked at the note again. ‘Stand out’ he had said. Asking you to make yourself known. It was something you were quite unfamiliar with, in truth. Having always lived in the shadow of Irulan, you were well versed in fading into the background.

But this was your chance.

You made your choice, picking a gown you had only worn once before. A more fitted design, strewn with layers of pearls that accentuated every dip and curve of your body. As was usual for you, and your sister, you chose an accessory to cover part of your face. But instead of a veil, you opted for a lower face cover, made of silver chains and jewels to match your dress. Feyd wanted you to stand out for him, and there was every chance of that in this.

Something about the choice made you feel powerful. Like you were finally taking a stand. Even if it was a small step.

Feyd stood stock still at the doors to the arena. The first round was being announced and he could hear the murmurings of other warriors in the surrounding chambers. Melee style fighting was first. Each champion would fight, to the death, until the fight was called to an end. The round that followed would consist of any of those champions that remained.

He twirled the blades between his palms, anticipation making his whole body feel like it was on fire. Combat was what he lived for, and these opponents would be a welcome challenge. What excited him more, was knowing you were watching.

Soon, his name was called, and he strode out to the chants of his name, raising his two blades in the air in response.

All eyes fell to you as you entered the room. Everyone from your sister and father to the Baron and his attendants stared. You knew why, and you could not stop the small smile the pulled at your lips.

You sat beside Irulan, who was quick to whisper in your ear.

“You picked Feyd-Rautha? Sister, he is a psychopath…” Irulan whispered harshly, low enough for only you to hear and you fought the urge to roll your eyes.

“Psychotic or not, he is an excellent fighter. Is that not the point of this, to choose the best?”

Irulan scoffed and you ignored her. Feyd had been nothing but kind to you since you had arrived. More than kind in fact. And you were buzzing with excitement at the idea of seeing him fight. There was a feeling, deep within you. Like you needed to be near him.

The announcer called Feyd’s name, and you nearly flew from your seat to lean over the balcony to watch his entrance.

Feyd strode around the arena with confidence. But his eyes searched only for you and soon he found you. The pearls on your dress shimmering under the black sun of Giedi Prime. You looked perfect. Just the push he needed to truly show off, your words from earlier ringing in his ears.

“Win for me, and you can have any part of me you wish.”

He no longer just wanted to win, he needed to. Purely for that promise. He knew he was capable, but he was more determined now than ever.

The announcer began to introduce the fight and Feyd waited for you to look at him. Neither of you hearing the announcer’s words as you looked at each other. But all eyes fell to Feyd when he dropped to a bow for you, making a show of offering himself and his blades to your name.

You leaned over the balcony wall, despite Irulan’s protests and made sure everyone and Feyd could see you. There was no hiding whose champion he was now.

The fight began with a loud bang of a drum, and you watched intently, eyes following Feyd’s every movement. It became clear quickly that there were few others in the arena that could match him for skill. His first two opponents were dispatched quickly, staining the ground below with streaks of blood.

And the rest of the fight continued much the same, Feyd cutting through enemy after enemy with what seemed like pure joy on his face. Blood staining his forearms and face and you found yourself enjoying the sight more than you expected.

You watched as most of the ladies, Irulan included, turned away from most of the gore and violence. You, however, watched every second. Something about it all fascinated you. Especially Feyd. The way he moved, like a predator stalking prey. Cutting down each one with precision and skill.

It was not long before the fight was time out. Leaving only five champions of ten remaining. Feyd included, of course. He wiped his blades on the fabric of his trousers as he was ushered back to the holding room.

You sat back in your chair, letting out a breath you had not realised you were holding.

“Do you really not find this exciting?” you asked, turning to Irulan and the other ladies.

“Watching men fight for our favour and affection?”

Every single one of them looked at you like you were insane. How could you possibly enjoy something like this? It was not that you enjoyed the death per se, but the skill and precision of it all. Watching people who had trained for years show off their skills was exhilarating.

The second round was much the same as the first, though less contenders. And it was clear that some had advantage over the others. It lasted far less time than the first, with Feyd soon coming out as the blood-stained winner.

You stood at the balcony as he was named the winner, the ultimate champion and he repeated his bow from before. But this time you returned it, dipping your head in thanks to your champion.

Feyd was lead from the arena and you did not hesitate to demand to know where he was to be taken.

“You are not going to him.” Your father turned to you, speaking to you for the first time since you arrived.

“And why not, I have every right to congratulate my champion. Would you deny Irulan if her man had won?”

Your father huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. You knew he would not argue, because there was little point. You were stubborn, much like him.

His silence was taken as permission, and you quickly hurried after the guard. You were led down a series of steps before arriving at a room similar to where you had painted Feyd earlier. Except this time, there was a square bath and a bed in the corner. You assumed, then, this was where warriors were allowed to relax after the arena.

“My lord Feyd, the princess is here for you,” the guard called out before leaving you alone to wait.

But you did not have to wait long.

“Princess, to what do I owe this pleasure?” Feyd asked, smirking as he made his way over.

He had yet to remove his armour or clean the blood from his skin and it was a sight that sent a jolt of desire down your spine.

“I believe I owe you a reward, you did win after all.”

Feyd’s smirk widened, forgoing cleaning the blood from his hands and tossing the towel to the side. In a few steps, he closed the distance between you, stopping short just a hair’s breadth from your lips.

“You wore white.”

It was not a question, but it did not feel like a simple statement either. It was like he was thinking aloud.

“You asked me to,” you replied simply, and Feyd raised a brow at you in curiosity.

His hands trailed softly over the layers of pearl, fascinated by each string as it draped over you. You ignored the small red streaks he left behind, it was worth it to have him touch you.

“And I believe your reward is your choice?”

Feyd stopped his exploration at your waist, instead wrapping an arm around you and pulling you tight to him. The tension was back, lingering just below the surface. You had felt it when you first met him. The way he stared, the lingering kiss to your hand. Something had simmered even then and it was almost back at boiling point.

He considered his options for a moment, wondering just what you were willing to let him do.

“A princess deserves a throne, yes?”

You barely stifled the surprise giggle that left you, watching him as he walked over to the bed. Your head tilted as he laid down, stroking a thumb over his lips as he spoke.

“Claim your throne, my princess.”

You hesitated for just a moment and Feyd sat up with a smile. You wondered if he could possibly mean what you thought he meant.

“Don’t overthink it. I have chosen my reward. Sit on my face and let me taste that royal cunt.”

You felt desire fill you at just those words. Something about the directness of it had your skin flushing and heat pooling between your thighs.

“Well, I can’t deny my champion his prize.”

You moved to the bed, watching as Feyd laid back down and waited for you. Your dress wasn’t exactly designed for movement like this, so you made quick work of removing it. Feyd on the other hand, was still clad in his armour. Deep red blood remained on his hands and face. Yet you did not mind.

Now fully bare, you crawled up the bed, not missing the hungry stare Feyd gave you. His hands were quick to tug you to where he wanted you. Large hands found your waist and helped you hover yourself inches above his face. You could feel the heat of his breath on your skin and the anticipation was eating away at you as you waited.

Feyd took his time, holding your waist tight as he inhaled the scent of you. He could feel the heat of your core already and he had not even begun. With slow licks of his tongue, Feyd took his first taste. But just that feeling had your eyes rolling back. It was not the first time you had taken a lover, but it was the first time you had been in this position.

“Feyd..” you breathed out as he took another long swipe between your slick folds, teasing you.

You could feel him smirk against you, and you wordlessly willed him to keep going with your soft, breathy moans.

Feyd was in heaven, if he believed in it. The taste, the heat, everything about you was divine and he was slowly losing what little restraint he had left. With a sharp tug, he brought you flush to his face, burying himself deep within you with a growl. His tongue was relentless now, soon finding a rhythm that had you moaning his name over and over.

“You taste divine, princess, I would fight a hundred men if this was my reward…” he muttered against your skin, switching from long licks to wrapping his lips around your bud.

Your hands quickly found purchase on the bedframe while his wrapped around your thighs, spreading the wider as he began to alternate between lapping at you and suckling hard on your bundle of nerves. Every sensation was overwhelming, and you could do nothing more than moan and pant his name.

Feyd could not get enough. His own arousal strained against his trousers, but he did not care. His sole focus was you. Desperately working to have you come apart for him, to drench his face as you peaked.

Your nails scratched across his scalp as he growled deep into you, feeling the first pulses of your impending orgasm. And it only spurred him on. The wet sound of his tongue against your folds and the sounds of your moans filled the room as he pulled you down closer. As close as he could get you and it still did not feel like enough.

Feyd was quick to add his thumb to your pearl as he felt your thighs twitch either side of his head, telling him you were close.

“Feyd..oh..yes…keep going please…” you were near incoherent as he sped up, the bridge of his nose now pushing so deliciously against your bud that you near screamed as you came.

“That’s it, princess…” he cooed, slowing his motions but not removing his tongue from your depths.

He wanted to drink down every drop, commit your taste to memory. With a grunt, he pulled away, smirking at the mix of dried blood from battle and your slick as it stained your inner thighs.

He helped you roll to the side, wiping his face on the back of his hand before kissing you gently. You looked so beautiful, a look of blissful satisfaction on your face. The look in his own eyes was intense.

He knew he could not keep you at his side, but he had never quite felt like this about anyone else. Like he needed you near him. Like he would not be able to stay far from you.

What he did not know, was that you felt the same. It felt strange, being so desperate for someone you barely knew. But it was you who voiced what you both felt. Though no words could truly describe it.

“I fear I can’t stay away from you…”

@blissfulphilospher @tumblin-theworldaway @lady-phasma @anjelicawrites @aemondsbabe

@alexagirlie @avidreader @connorsui @kaelatargaryen @reemoony

@wo-ming-bai @mamawiggers1980

#feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd x reader #feyd rautha #feyd rautha smut #feyd x you #x reader smut #x reader insert #dune fanfiction #feyd smut

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 7 days

Note

Can we get a part 2 of "get off the floor" ? It was sooo good

you know what? why the fuck not.

get off the floor, m | jjk >> get on the floor, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You order Jeon Jungkook to get on the floor. He says, “Make me.” You make him get on his knees. The exact place he wants to be and the perfect place for him.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; bratty (needy) JK; wedding guests reader and JK get a damn room because they are not-safe-for-public, traumatizing some elevator patrons in the process; public teasing; smut (fem dom!reader + sub!JK, begging, biting, marking, spit kink, f and m-receiving oral, slight degrading talk (not really), whipping JK with his own belt, cowgirl, cock-and-ball torture, edging, forced multiple orgasms) ft. a cameo of certain lil meowmeow chastising them for being horny ;)

“Mine or yours?”

You watched him run the scenarios in his head. “Mine.”

“Ah,” you mused. “Mine then.”

He ran to catch up with your quick strides, looking just about as done with you as you had with him less than twenty minutes ago when he was laying on the floor being insufferable. Deserved. He grumbled under his breath. “Why ask if you’re just going to ignore me anyway?”

You turned and faced Jeon Jungkook, forcing him to stop dead in his tracks and almost collide with you. His white dress shirt was barely buttoned. At least he had the decency to fasten the black vest back up and haphazardly shrug on his blazer. You looked up at him, pointedly, although it was more to fluster him with the lines of your collarbones and cleavage. Instantly wiped the frown from his expression and replaced it with the struggle to focus on your face.

“Why follow if you’re against it?” you asked, completely blocking his path.

“I…” He fumbled with his words. “I’m not.”

“You’re not?”

You both stood in the hallway, so close to the lobby that you could hear voices. You watched Jungkook bite his lower lip, the awareness that if anyone happened to walk by – hotel staff, wedding guest, random patron – would bear witness to you slowly backing him into the wall, expression unchanging, until your chest was pressed against his chest, the smooth curve of your breasts brushing against his bare skin.

You narrowed your eyes.

“You have another thing coming if you think you can take advantage of me,” you breathed. Slowly and with venom.

He seemed genuinely shocked. “No way.” His youth shone through despise his mature appearance. “I want you to take advantage of me.”

You raised an eyebrow.

Jungkook seemed to realize that he blurted out his secret desires a little too loud. His ears began to singe bright red. He tried to raise a hand to cover his face. You slapped it down. He whimpered, pressing his lips together so that only you could hear it vibrating from his chest to yours. You saw his eyes dart about to check if anyone was around.

You grabbed his chin with three fingers, dragging his face back down.

Dark brown orbs shaking, his pink lips parting as you forcefully brought attention back to you. You leaned in, your lips moving against the side of his open mouth, whispering to his lip piercings.

“Then why your hotel room?” you asked rather calmly.

Hesitation. Then voices seemed to be moving towards you both. Panic. Jungkook attempted to escape your grasp, but you gripped his chin harder and shoved your torso into his, stepping between his legs to imprison him against the wall. He gasped in your ear. Hot and saturated with desire. You began to slide your thigh up between his and Jungkook couldn’t speak fast enough, his hands finding your hips and trying to keep you away from his growing erection lest he lose his common sense and give in to all he wanted.

“I wanted to see you in my clothes after,” he whined, squeezing his eyes shut to avoid your stare. “In only one of my t-shirts… And… M-Maybe we could s-share in a b-bed – please, s-stop… I can’t–”

You backed away.

He had not even registered your body heat left until a second later, bolting upright as a group of women turned the corner. Other wedding guests in fine dresses and holding cute colorful purses, deeply engrossed in conversation and fits of giggles, heading to the restrooms presumably to freshen up. You were already walking the opposite way, towards to lobby and the elevators.

You couldn’t help but smirk as you heard Jungkook bolt into a run to catch up.

Careful of your skirt, you stepped into the metal box with a few other hotel guests that seemed unrelated to the wedding. The doors began to close. A tattooed hand smacked the edge of the metal and the elevator stuttered, opening back up again to a red-faced Jungkook in a three-piece black suit with his white dress shirt half-open suddenly confronted by a scattering of startled faces.

And your enigmatic smile.

He weakly apologized and slunk into the elevator.

Now everyone was trying not to make eye contact with you both.

You tugged on the hem of his blazer and pulled him closer to the corner. He could do nothing but obey. From this angle, the rest of the elevator couldn’t see your expression due to his broad shoulders crowding you. Only Jungkook could. He, however, had a harder time of hiding, due to his height and his slicked-back black hair. The elevator carriage began to rise. You spotted him reaching up to smooth back a few stray strands in attempt to disguise previous dishevelment.

You raised your hand.

Jungkook’s dark eyes shot towards the action, warning you and mouthing, “Don’t.”

You traced the line of his pecs. His jaw clenched. You broke into his personal bubble to murmur, “What floor was the hotel room on again?”

Confusion clouded his features. His hand slid to the back of his head. The doors were opening and a few people stepped out. The rest were subjected to the sexual tension brewing in a corner. You smiled up at him, as innocently as a trickster could. Jungkook raised his other hand, probably to point to you to wordlessly ask what floor your room was on, but you scooted forward, grazing hip to hip, causing his hand to ghost your ass. Scarlet alarm rushed to his cheeks.

Your fingertip snuck closer and closer to his nipple.

His right arm dropped hastily and he mashed the button for the nineteenth floor, trying to push your hand down, inadvertently causing your nail to scratch against his already-erect nipple.

It seemed to take everything in him not to moan.

The doors slid open to the tenth floor and another couple hurried out. You gave Jungkook the devil’s smile. He glared at you. And shifted awkwardly. You glanced down. Then back up. He was trying not to look at you while also staring down your chest. Or maybe at the bulge in his slacks.

You paused as you felt his hand settle on the small of your back.

Now when your eyes rose, his did too. Somewhat uncertain. You didn’t move away. He seemed to be searching for something. You didn’t have anything to hide, so you let him look. You saw his lashes lower. He pulled you slightly closer. Leaned in, still searching, and you let him approach, the edge of your lips faintly rising.

A harsh ping interrupted.

“I would tell you two to get a room,” a dry, raspy male voice cut in from behind you.

The metal doors slid open. Jungkook started, backing off, revealing the unintentional audience. Dark olive-green jacket. Black beanie with black hair sticking out from the back. Black track pants and sandals. The pale man was carrying a plastic bag that seemed to be full of ramen. He glanced from Jungkook to you. Shook his head and walked past you both, smelling like fresh-cut pine.

His cat-like eyes found yours as the elevator began to close.

“But I assume that is what you are about to do.”

The not-so-strange stranger’s smirk disappeared as the doors shut.

The light from the panel of buttons switched only once. The doors opened again, to floor nineteen. Only you and Jungkook were left in the carriage. He grabbed your hand and pulled you out to the hallway, practically flying down the halls as quietly as he could. You were still a bit taken aback by the cat-like man who spoke with faint Daegu intonation, but were broken out of your thoughts as you saw Jungkook drop his room card, scramble to catch it from the air, succeed, and then fail to have the card reader scan it because he was pulling out too fast.

Hm.

You placed your palm in front of the reader.

His hand was shaking. He shot you a lost and frustrated glance, but you simply took the hotel key and inserted it into the slot, letting it turn green before removing it and opening the door. You stepped in, followed close by Jungkook. So close his crotch hit your ass. Subtle. The heavy door slid shut, automatically clicking. And then.

Darkness.

For a breathless second, the world was completely, utterly still.

You heard his breathing quicken, as if he finally realized the implications of everything up until now. It was easy to want, Jungkook learned, but much harder to do once the miracle came true. Perhaps that was too nice of a way to put it.

His idea of paradise was clearly not heaven sent.

You caught his hand in the dark, lacing your fingers in his to draw him away from the light switch.

Your name on the tip of his tongue before you kissed him deeply.

In the dark, he hadn’t noticed your body twist, silent as a snake, slipping the hotel keycard back into one of the font pockets of his slacks, and now you gripped his hand, holding it up and out of the way as your other hand roamed his skin, sliding up his collarbone and fanning over his neck. Devouring. You swallowed his gasp and tilted your head, softly coaxing his cries as you pressed your fingertips into the sides of his neck, relishing in the solidness of his muscles and the fragility of his sanity.

“A-Ah…”

You turned your head and used your hand to pivot him the opposite way. His wispy moan breezed past your cheek. It wasn’t quite as important to be silent anymore, but darkness had the ability to hush all, snatching vision away to amplify touch and sound. Your hand cradled his head and forced him down, your lips feathering over his cheekbone.

To his ear.

You circled your tongue, tasting the curve. Jungkook’s moan pitched. You felt him fighting his blazer as you kissed his ear, whisper light, almost noiseless, licking up his neck to feel his pulse against your tongue. Exhaled. His entire body quivered. He threw the blazer down onto the floor and grabbed your hips, almost lifting you in his pleasure, bringing more of his ear to you.

You bit down.

“Oh, fuuuuck…”

His fingers glossed over the slinky fabric, one hand on your ass the other creeping up your back, stroking your skin to guide delightful shimmers up your spine. He provoked you to bite his neck. You teased him with small kisses. Wet tongue, subtly writing your name onto his neck with your spit. A momentary tattoo only you knew. He was impatient, digging his blunt nails into your flesh.

You couldn’t resist teasing.

“What’s the matter?”

His trembling breath drifted down to your shoulder.

“B… Bite me.”

You stepped forward with one leg, smiling as you felt him press back against you, his hardness slipping into the divot of your thigh and crotch. Too many layers of clothes. Just the right amount of not enough.

“I can’t,” you hummed, running your tongue over the line of his neck muscle. “What if you have someone?”

Jungkook sounded a little bit offended and a lot whiny.

“There’s no one but you.”

Before you could become giddy over that – and, anyway, nothing was stopping him from lying – you bit the side of his neck, just under his ear. And sucked.

Hard.

It was an intimacy high unmatched. Skin between teeth, digging your fingernails into his chest, dragging down, scratching him as you bruised him, feeling his embrace loosen because the bliss of pain seized him. A gasping, weak groan fluttered from his lungs, up to his throat, leaving his lips in a drawn-out, sensual song of your name, lazily thrusting up against your thigh. Sweet friction. You lashed your tongue over the hickey. Left a constellation of bites surrounding it. Jungkook whimpered, stumbling as you caught his ear with your teeth and lightly tugged, subtly repositioning your bodies.

You flicked on the light switch.

The sconces on the walls lit up in a soft, pale white glow.

You looked down and the bruises were red-purple, a lasting mark beginning to deepen in color.

Your eyes shifted and Jungkook was staring back at you, panting. His carefully done hair was getting messier with every minute he spent with you. His vest was somehow on the floor. His dress shirt was barely hanging on his shoulders, the spread collar framing the top of his tattoo sleeve. The only reason he wasn’t completely shirtless yet was because the bottom was stuck in the top of his slacks. His belt was still buckled.

You smiled. He seemed flustered by it.

You placed a hand on his bare shoulder.

“Get on the floor.”

His dark eyes glittered. He couldn’t help himself.

“Make me.”

Your smile became a little more sinister. He balked and then buckled when the toe of your heel hooked into the back of his knee, making him lose his balance. You pressed down, firmly, pushing him to kneeling position. Your heel clicked back onto the tile floor as he caught himself, keeping steady as he realized you were using his body to balance yourself.

Jungkook lifted his head. Eyes wide. Hair over his forehead.

You looked down at him with a devil’s smirk.

“I thought you said… That my suit was too expensive to be on the floor,” he mumbled in meek protest.

He tried to be cheeky with it. His deep voice fluttered like butterfly wings.

Instead of truly replying, you stepped a little closer to his spread knees. You watched him hold his breath, then stiffen as you placed your right foot on his thigh. The slit of your dress parted like liquid violet, the deep color catching the light at the high points of your hip and the top of your thigh. You removed your hand from his shoulder, thoroughly keeping him in place with your high heel, and slipped your fingers at the apex of the slit, hiking it up. The heavy scent of your arousal was inescapable. Heavy and musky sweet. His eyes dropped down at the grand reveal, then widened as you traced the edge of the leg opening of your panties.

You curved your fingers and pulled the thin fabric aside.

Jungkook was now face-to-face with your glistening pussy.

“Hungry?” you teased.

His pleading gaze shot back up to your amused expression. You held it in breathless anticipation. Then you answered yourself.

“I hope so.”

Then you grabbed his head and shoved it in between your legs.

You caught a glimpse of his lips parting, pink tongue extending, and then you felt the warmth envelop you from below. His hand slid up your leg, leaving sparks after his trailing caress. Pleasure like soft petals closing in, and you rocked your hips into his face, feeling his tongue spread your folds apart and dip inwards. His wanton groan made your body vibrate. You gave in, riding his face with your head tipped back, closing your eyes. Rather than hearing the wet sucking sounds, you felt them electrify your nerves. From bud to blossoming bliss, causing you hiss with desire, crowning his head with your spread fingers and holding up your dress with the other. Jungkook tilted his head, closing in around your clit while lifting your leg on his thigh, and now the back of your knee was resting on his shoulder, the adjustment spreading your legs further and giving him the space to press his tongue flat to rub more roughly.

You moaned his name, low and seductive, and felt him shudder under you.

You leaned more of your weight on him and he received it well, holding your legs with his hands, licking, sucking, following the thrust of your hips into his face. You could feel your arousal dripping down, sticking to the inside of your thighs and his cheeks. He moaned in his chest and it radiated through your core, crawling closer and closer to the crescendo, ah, almost, your lashes fluttering, your grip on your dress tightening as orgasmic gravity began to pull you down.

“Fuck, Jungkook, I’m going to cum on your face,” you sighed out, twisting your fingers and pulling on his hair.

His muffled whimper sent you over the edge.

You set your jaw and exhaled heavily, bucking your hips into his mouth and spilling onto his tongue, electric elation clawing up your ass and back. Your body tensed up, completely focused on the surge of pleasure rippling through you, pressing your thigh against his ear. Your hand on his head slid down, holding him in place while your rode it out, smearing your release on his lips. You could, just barely, feel his piercings indenting your skin.

You almost didn’t let him breathe.

Then you let go.

Your head rolled back. Opened your eyes to look down, and Jungkook shuddered, his hot breath warming your heat. He leaned in again. Kiss after kiss, his tongue sliding out and licking up, closing his eyes to savor your taste, sending tingles after the high, before slowly opening those dark orbs to look up at you. You brushed his hair back from his forehead to fully appreciate the view.

He raised an eyebrow at you.

You untangled your leg from his shoulder and stepped back, taking away his pleasure.

His hands slipped from your body. Jungkook was distraught, desperation flaring in his eyes, about to crawl after you, but your swept down, flourishing your right hand and catching his chin in your palm, tilting it up.

His lips shone with your cum.

He froze.

You bowed, disrespectfully, bringing your face to his level, breathing in the perfume of your sex mixed with his cologne. You raised an eyebrow back at him even though he was back to being frozen in awe.

“Tongue-tied?”

You taunted him. Jungkook didn’t have the sense or sanity to have a smartass comeback.

“Take mine,” you offered.

And tilted your head to taste yourself.

In. Out. Your tongue outlined his moaning lips and dove back in, thrusting steadily, turning the kiss messy with your release drying on his cheeks and your saliva smearing down his lower lip. You flicked the tip of your tongue just under the center. His eyes were barely open, pupils blown out, unfocused, letting you claim his lips with no regard to himself except for sucking on your tongue when you allowed it.

You heard him swallow.

His eyes rolled back, and his entire body trembled with a breathless gasp.

You drew back to admire Jeon Jungkook on his knees, his white dress shirt pooling at his wrists and waist. All tan skin, gleaming muscles, and stunning tattoos.

His dress shoes and your heels were tossed into an inelegant pile quite unbecoming of you both.

Lust did that.

“Do you have a condom, by chance?” you asked.

You gave him a little bit of shit for having one buried in his suitcase. His toiletries bag shaped with a pink bunny motif, for fuck’s sake. He tried to hide it from you, as if you would find cute offensive. Had he ever looked in a mirror? But you let him be. His occupied hands gave you a chance to free yourself from your dress. You had paid for it to be tailored to your body, eliminating the need for a bra as it was already built in. Your hotel room key was tucked into the padding of the left breast. Creativity had to happen when there were no pockets. You didn’t have your phone or wallet. The wedding had a strict no-phone policy and the meal was complimentary, so you had left your personal things behind in your room. You were careful to hold onto the cups as you unzipped. The thin straps naturally slipped down your shoulders, no longer supported by the tension. The dark purple fabric slid down your body gradually with some help from a light shake of your ass.

You stepped out of it and lifted the dress up, draping it over one of the chairs in the hotel room.

You turned and Jungkook was staring at you with jaw dropped.

Hm.

He had managed to pull his shirt out of his pants. It lay on the floor, its white crispness rumpled with impatience. You pointedly glanced from the shirt to his naked chest. He held the line of condoms with one hand, the foil packaging shining in the light. Your eyes went to his face. He seemed taken aback. Suddenly nervous. You said nothing. With a tick of your head, you bent over and slid your thumbs under the sides of your bunched-up panties and glided them down your legs. Caught them in the air as you stepped out of them.

And placed them on the hotel dresser, right on top of Jungkook’s cell phone that happened to be there.

Your fingertips strayed on the edge as you face him again.

“Oh, fuck me,” he whispered under shallow breath.

You smiled with the innocence you stole from him and advanced.

You wondered if he meant to say it out loud. Didn’t mind his little slip-ups though. His ears reddened as you stopped in front of him. You stared into Jungkook’s eyes. He held his breath. You reached low and unbuckled his belt, gently teasing it apart and pulling from the buckle. It snaked around his waist, freed from the pant loops. The last of it fell into your other palm.

With a swift flick, you drew the buckle and end together, snapping the leather loop sharply in front of Jungkook’s chest.

“A-Ah!”

He came back to life, freezing immediately when you touched the loop to his pecs. It was a smooth grain leather. Very high quality. You grazed it over his skin. Turned it slightly as you neared his nipple, brushing the hard edge over the hard nub. He moaned in your face, biting his lip once he realized his impoliteness. You did it again. His eyelids fluttered, lowering to half-moons, clutching the condoms.

From your periphery, you witnessed his other hand sneak down to palm himself.

You turned the belt in your hands. You held the buckle with your left.

The look in his eyes was divine, craving punishment.

“You like pain,” you whispered. “Don’t you?”

Jungkook gave you the faintest of nods, sinking his teeth into the side of his lower lip, revealing the tiny mole underneath.

You smacked the smooth leather of the end of the belt into his chest.

“Answer me.”

He hissed, clenching his jaw while rubbing the highest point of the bulge in his slacks. You let him enjoy it. You were too busy enjoying the glassiness of his dark eyes.

“A-Ah, y-yes… Please…”

You slapped the leather against his other nipple. He gasped at the sharpness, ducking his head and seeing the slight red mark before you closed the distance, circling your tongue around it and making eye contact. You let your saliva drip. His breathing quickened, watching your every move. You drew patterns on his tense abs with the end of his own belt as you delicately bit down. Switched begin a light tap and a hard spank, all the while kissing his chest. You folded back the belt in your hand so it was easier to use the one end, alternating hits over wet skin and dry skin. His heartbeat raced under your lips. He let out a soft mewl, and then immediately tried to cover up such embarrassing noises, only to be reduced to puppy whimpers as you repeatedly smacked his nipple before roughly sucking on it.

At this point, Jungkook was practically humping his hand.

“Take it off.”

You warmed his shivering torso with your harsh command.

“Stroke your cock while I abuse you.”

Jungkook whined, incomprehensible. He was already doing his best to undo the button. You heard the zipper go down as you straightened. You whipped the belt over his bunched pecs. He gasped, almost a scream, shoving his slacks and boxer briefs down together. You had about a half second to appreciate how hard and how red he was before he wrapped his hand around his girth, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head, and he began to fuck his hand.

His pants didn’t even have time to fall down his thighs.

You did exactly what he wanted.

Licked up his chest. Spanked across the red trail, leaving a reddened mark. You did not give in to the adrenaline, keeping each hit within measured force, switching between hard and soft, not allowing him to become desensitized. The pain was unpredictable. The contrast made each loud slap seem worse than it was. His skin turned red. His eyes glazed over. His head tilted back slightly, the volume of his moans rising, his body rigid. You wondered if he knew that would help disperse the pain, but didn’t ask. The desperate lust was making him drunker than the alcohol he had consumed earlier.

The muscles of his neck tightened.

“Don’t cum,” you warned.

“P-P-Please…” He seemed on the brink of losing it. “Don’t… d-do this…”

You waited until the last second.

Then you shifted the belt in your hands, holding onto both ends, and tucked the loop under his balls, forcefully tugging upwards.

“Drop it.”

He obeyed instantly despite the tears on the edge of his eyes. The heavy weight of his hard cock struck the belt, dipping it down. You lifted the leather to fully cup his shaft and, while holding his terrified, eager gaze, slowly crossed your hands over, trapping his cock in a makeshift leather ring with his belt.

His cock throbbed so strongly that you felt it almost dislodge your work of art.

You raised an eyebrow.

Jungkook panted, waiting for your next order.

You glanced at the dark red-purple tip. It was shiny with pre-cum. Your gaze raised. His eyes were begging yes. His mouth kept up the act.

“N-No, don’t… please…”

“Touch it,” you murmured with the sweetness of a succubus.

His fingertips ghosted the sensitive skin and he almost buckled, shaking his head. You kept your grip on the belt, preventing him from lowering too much. If he wanted to escape you, all he would have to do was back up. But Jeon Jungkook did not want to escape you. He wanted to stare into your eyes and tease the leaking head of hic cock, shuddering and melting under the heat of your gaze, his body surrendering, subservient to your sublime, stinging conquest.

His hips were slowly thrusting.

His palm was against the tip, using the dripping pre-cum to stimulate himself as his fingertips rubbed along the underside. His lashes fluttered, doing his very best to not look away from you while also almost hitting the high of rolled-back eyes. The strong scent of his pre-cum and your arousal mixed together, saturating the air with pure sex. You took in every detail of his face, witnessing his fall to orgasm.

Almost.

You relaxed your hold on the belt.

“Fuck!”

Jungkook bit back his tongue and shot you his most helpless, longing expression. Probably two beats away from pleading you to whip his dick if only for the mere chance of release. It almost worked. Those big eyes truly were your downfall. You forced yourself to step away with a slow exhale, dropping the belt with a clunk and pointing to the bed.

“Lay on your back.”

You barely got the words out of your mouth. Jungkook nearly ripped the clothes off his body. You might have heard a seam pop. You pointed to the row of condoms in his hand and didn’t have the chance to ask before he separated one and ripped it open. On one hand, you wanted to reprimand him. On the other hand, the situation between your legs was getting rather dire.

You, too, were losing patience.

You stood on the edge of the bed, carefully observing Jungkook.

Those eyes trusted you a little too much after you whipped his chest red.

You decided to trust him too.

Slid onto the bed, crawling forward with immoral intention. In between his legs. He hesitated just before putting the condom on. You breathed out over his twitching cock. He whimpered. You loved it. Your tongue extended. With each throb, the head hit the flat of your tongue, transferring strings of spit down his length. His eyelids fluttered. You closed your lips around his hot, thick cock, unable to resist a taste, pressing him to the back of your throat, already addicted to the way he filled your mouth. You thought about edging him again but your pussy was pulsating with need.

You lifted your head, whispering darkly against his wet, shuddering cock.

“Fuck me.”

It was almost a growl.

The condom rolled down and you straddled him for the second time that night, using two fingers to hold him steady before sinking down, arching your back at the slick, full feeling of his cock entering you. It was a long-awaited reward, almost making you dizzy from the finality of it. Both of you moaned in unison. His hands found your thighs, kneading them, and you could feel him watching you, drinking in every detail with his eyes as you sank down, locking your hips to his.

Your gazes connected.

You couldn’t resist.

“Say please.”

His brows knitted together. You clenched around him. The defiance was instantly erased, replaced by submission.

“A-Ah…! Please…” The way your name dripped from his panting mouth was intoxicating. “Please…”

You rolled your hips into his with a firm smack.

The pleasure was glorious, direct, shooting through you from below. You drew up and thrust him back into you, again, and again, your breathing laboring as you rode him, drawing him and you to the abyss of lust. His gaze lingered on your bouncing breasts and he reached up, unsteadily, intoxicated on this feeling and refusing to sober up, sinking his fingers into the soft curves. You exhaled hard, blood tingling, moaning softly as his thumbs ran over your hard nipples, rubbing them in time of your rhythm. His fingertips were rough in the most arousing way, adding to the sensations amplifying each other, and so you let him touch you all over, feeling the edge of your lips tick upwards as your orgasm neared.

“I told you to fuck me, Jungkook.”

With half-moon eyes and a drawn-out moan, his hands slipped down your sides. Grabbed your hips and thrust up, making you both gasp. Hard. Slow. You pushed back down and both of you built to a brutal pace, your hands on his abs, digging your nails into hard muscle, and Jungkook was losing his mind, throwing his head back into the pillow, dripping sweat making his hair stick to his forehead. Your core burned, chasing the high, your back arching as well, matching each loud obscene smack with a satisfied cry, closer and harder and skipping breaths to withhold the faintest bit of oxygen.

Searing tension overcame your thighs.

You moaned to the ceiling and came all over his jerking cock, his groan pitching to a whine as he was suffocated by the spasms. You felt your pussy pulsate, dragging you into wave after wave of blistering bliss. The exertion had rendered you airless, gasping, squeezing Jungkook’s hips with your legs while you felt his grip on your ass tighten, sinking his spread fingers into the softness.

You froze, suspended.

Dying that little death.

You were still for a good thirty seconds. His cock throbbed inside you. You lowered your head, drifting down, down, meeting a fucked-out expression and unfocused gaze.

You smiled.

There was something so dangerous about it that it broke Jungkook from his reverie.

You lifted yourself off him, causing his length to slip out with a wet slap to his lower abdomen.

“W-What…?”

You made sure he saw you do it. Your hand extended, rolling up and he begged, “O-Oh, d-don’t… Please, you’re c-crazy…” and paying his words no mind as you dropped the used condom onto his stomach. You wrapped your hand around his slippery, sensitive cock covered in lube and cum.

Held him in panicked anticipation.

“Say it,” you demanded sternly. “You know what you want.”

The reality of his fantasy devoured him, and Jungkook desperately moaned.

“Please jack me off. Hard. Fast. Don’t stop.”

You gripped tightly and let the adrenaline flow. Power surged through your veins as he flinched, groaning into the pillow, his fingers digging into the sheets. His shaft felt hot, slick, stiff. You kept up an intense, harsh pace, and Jungkook cried out, almost thrashing, loudly whining as he came again. Cum pooled at the purple-red head, foaming as you continued, rising to press your knee to his lower ribs, holding him down. He was losing his mind, too oversensitive, whining, “Please, one more, o-oh fuck, f-fuck, please,” and you reached between his legs, tactfully pinching his scrotum and pulling on his balls with just the right amount of measured force.

Jungkook howled and slammed his head back into the pillow, thrusting up into your hand and orgasming so hard his own scream was cut off.

You ceased all movement.

His throbbing cock shivered and spat out a dribble of white that pooled around your fingers. You relieved his chest from the pressure of your knee. He coughed, sucking in greedy inhales, grabbing your calf as you dismounted. You turned your head. He was incredibly sweaty. His chest was tight. He looked like he had run a hundred kilometers.

Or like you just run him through.

You raised an eyebrow at him.

“I-Is it c-crazy…” Jungkook panted, staring into your eyes. “That I… Want you to d-do that again?”

There he goes again with his antics.

“You really are a pain slut.”

His lips curved into a daredevil, open-mouthed smirk.

“I like that about you.”

His ears flustered red at your compliment. You held his stare there for another uncomfortable second – on his part – and then looked down at the messy, drenched sheets before finally returning to his face.

“You’re sleeping on this side,” you declared, sliding off the edge of the bed to wash your hands.

You spotted his open suitcase on your way to the dark bathroom. It was crammed with clothes. You bent down to pick up one of his t-shirts, a white Calvin Klein, slipping it on over your naked body. Flicked on the light and turned your head to glance over your shoulder.

Jungkook was staring at you from the bed. Big eyes wide. Jaw slack. Black hair messy and all over his sweaty forehead. Naked and oh-so-very hot and perfectly enthralled by you while also being head-to-toe trouble for you, specifically.

Yes, you thought, I’ll keep him.

You smiled with a different kind of genuine pleasure and stepped into the bathroom, hearing the hotel bed fly into disarray as he chased after you.

drabbles masterpost | masterpost

#bts smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook smut

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anonimusunnoaniswriting · 5 months

Text

DEBAUCHÉRIE

⚠️𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈. 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐀𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘⚠️

🎀𝐀𝐠𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐢𝐨 𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝🎀

“I'd suffer Hell if you'd tell me, what you'd do to me tonight”

Pairing: Sub!Nanami Kento x Domme!Reader

Genre: Smut, Porn with plot, Happy ending.

Word Count: 4592

Warnings: PWP, soft domme Reader, plus size reader, female bodied reader, no protection, pussy eating, shibari, good ol' sex.

Summary: It was always a dream of Nanami's to be tied up like a good little boy, one that many partners after hearing would recoil in disgust expecting to be dominated instead... Its been too long since Nanami Kento got laid, so long that out of desperation he agrees to accompany his senpais to a sex club. A sex club where he sees you. But can you make his dream a reality?

A/N: At the end.

He couldn’t take his eyes off you. Lounging on the sofa, directly in his line of view, in the long black dress that hugged every curve of your body, your posture was relaxed, an easy smile on your red lips and a fringe of admirers lapped up your every word. The slit in the side of your dress gave him a perfect view of your leg and the tattoo hugging your calf. Your hands held a glass of red wine that you sipped slowly while your eager devotees tried to stand out to you. Nanami felt like a moth, caught in your fire.

It had been on Geto’s insistence that Nanami Kento agreed to visit the club. Having heard about it from him and Gojo before, he finally swallowed his pride and asked them to introduce him. Debauchérie – an apt name for a sex club, Nanami had mused, remembering the dark red neon sign he had seen when entering.

Gojo had explained to him in detail where they were going; he’d even borrowed an expensive – probably designer – turtleneck shirt of his to wear. It sat snug on Nanami’s frame, the fabric soft and comforting, yet elegant. “You can't wear just anything, Nanamin.” Gojo had warned. “It’s a very exclusive place; it took months before we could become members and bring guests.”

And it was, definitely, no less than thorough. Nanami had had to sign a waiver attesting to his consent and such before even being allowed in. It probably helped that Geto was a “valued” member, given how smooth the process had been.

Seated at the bar, Nanami allowed himself to take in his surroundings. There were small tables and couches all around the room, which, even for a Saturday evening, was not very full. Off to the right, there was a passageway leading to more private rooms, and to the back, there were places for open play that no one had started using yet. However, a lot of patrons had already reached varying stages of undress, and when a very pretty girl wearing nothing but nipple pasties came by and complimented how he looked, asking for his name, the poor man could only choke out a “Ke- Ken”.

The girl giggled and flounced away, but not before throwing him a wink and a flirty, “Nice to meet you, Ke-Ken!” Mouth dry, he resumed scanning the room…and that's when his eyes had fallen on you.

“She’d be a good fit for you,” Geto said in his ear, making him jump. Both he and Gojo had decided not to leave unless he found a partner, and had instead taken seats at the bar with him. “She’s very experienced…and attentive.” Gojo looked over too – his eyes wide.

“Oh, yes.” Gojo backed Geto up. “We had the pleasure of playing with her once. She’s so-o-o-o-o good.”

“You mean…” Nanami looked over at the two men. They nodded slowly and sneakily as he turned back to look at you.

As luck would have it, you chose that exact moment to look toward the bar, your eyes locking with Nanami’s. Realising he’d been staring at you, you gave him a soft smile and signalled a waiter over. Nanami watched as you placed your order; when finished, you looked back at the group around you and said something else, eliciting groans and pouts from most of them. Nanami only understood why when you got up and drifted over to where he sat.

You were even more stunning up close, he admitted to himself. Lips full and plump, painted in a dark red. Eyes framed by long dark lashes and lined in black. You greeted the other men first. “Suguru, Satoru! It’s been a while. Who’s your friend here?” So you were already on a first-name basis with them…

Gojo, almost climbing over Geto, answered, “This is Kento, Mistress. He’s our junior.”

“His first time here,” Geto added, giving up his seat for you to sit by Nanami.

You reached out a hand and ruffled Gojo’s hair. “I’m not your mistress right now, Satoru. You can call me by my name.” The same hand was then presented to Nanami, and you introduced yourself. But all Nanami could think of was that you were already close enough to Gojo and Geto to use their first names, and also how pretty your lips looked with the red lipstick and how much he now wanted to call you Mistress and…

“Nanami? Hello? Earth to Mr. Kento.”

Shit! You’d said something he’d totally missed. Nanami felt his cheeks burn. He pulled himself together, ignoring the throbbing in his ears. “Apologies, I might have spaced out for a moment…seeing your beauty up close caught me off guard.” Behind you, Geto and Gojos eyes widened. They never knew Nanami could be this smooth.

You chuckled – a sound that dripped from your lips like honey – and repeated, “I was wondering if you would like to play tonight. With me.” Nanami’s jaw dropped, but you continued, confidently, “I hope this isn't too forward for you, but we came to a sex club after all so I'll be a bit…forward. I think you’re very attractive, and I’m a Dominatrix who likes playing with pretty boys, so, Kento – I can call you Kento right?”

You cocked an eyebrow and leaned in close. Nanami swallowed and nodded. Your lips widened into a smile. “Would you like to play with me tonight?”

Not trusting himself to speak, Nanami could only nod. But you shook your head. “I need verbal assurance, Pretty Boy.”

“Y-yes. I would like to.”

“Hmmm…” You sat back, smiling sweetly, but crossing your arms in front of you. “Well then, let's go over some basics. You know I’m a domme, so I'm going to take it that you’re subbing for me.” Nanami nodded. “Is this your first time doing something like this?” Nanami nodded again, confirming what you’d thought. “In that case, we can take it soft and slow for your first time, Pretty Boy.”

Nanami blushed.

You led Nanami down a long corridor, entering one of the rooms at the far end. Gojo and Geto had assured him that it was fine and they would not “wait up” for him.

“So…should we continue this in one of the private rooms?”

The room wasn’t too large, but there was enough space for a plush bed covered in black silken sheets, a small black couch and a table with an assortment of toys. It seemed to follow the theme of the club, dark red walls, while most of the furniture was black. The dim lighting made Nanami’s eyes twinkle. This was what you had asked the waiter to prepare for you earlier. Taking a seat on the couch, you patted the space beside you, encouraging Nanami to sit. “We need to establish a few rules and boundaries first,” you began. “When we are playing, you will call me Miss, or Mistress. Is that okay with you?” Nanami nodded, but you shook your head. “From now on, whatever I ask, I need enthusiastic, verbal responses. I will not continue unless I have clear consent from you, Kento.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Your left hand found its place in Nanami’s hair, and you gently raked your fingernails against his scalp.

“Good boy.” Nanami felt his cock twitch. You placed your other hand on his chest. Against him, it looked small, but the command in your fingertips was unmistakable. You ran it along his turtleneck, squeezing at his chest. “Now, is anything off-limits?”

Nanami thought for a moment and said, “Nothing with pee or scat, please. And nothing that will leave any visible marks.”

You nodded. “Alright. I don’t do scat play either and I will not be engaging in rough play with you for your first time, but it is always good to ask and be clear.” Your lips had sneaked closer to his skin during your little explanation, and he could feel the warmth of your breath when you asked him your next question:

“Is there anything you would like to do tonight?”

Nanami blushed. “You don’t have to be shy…” you told him gently. “Tell me, Pretty Boy, how can I make a wild dream come true for you?” You leaned forward and bit your lip.

“I–I—” Nanami could barely hear himself speak as he said the next words. “I want to be tied up and used…would-would you…?”

All the stress of the last few days seemed to catch up with the weary man as his shoulders drooped and he waited for you to be repulsed by his ask, ashamed at how needy he was. Instead, he was pleasantly surprised...you chuckled.

“Is that so, Pretty Boy?” Your tongue darted out licking a strip up your lip.

Nanami's cock twitched again and he let out an involuntary moan. “Oh, do you like it when I call you a pretty boy?” He nodded, then remembered his earlier agreement.

“Yes, Mistress.”

You placed a finger under his chin and lifted his head to make him look at you. His brown eyes were dark, screaming his exhaustion coupled with building need. “Do you have a safe word you’d like to use?”

He shook his head. “I don’t need that, I’m sure I can take whatever you give me.”

You frowned. Your hand still petting his head, you explained, “It is vital that we have one. Regardless of how experienced your partner may be or how hard or soft you play, having a safeword is a basic requirement. If you like, we can use the traffic light system to keep it simple.” Nanami nodded but looked puzzled, so you elaborated. “If you feel like everything is going well and you don’t want to stop or change anything, you can let me know you’re green.” You paused, waiting for him to show you he understood. When he nodded, you went on. “If you like what we’re doing but feel like it's becoming too much or want me to dial it back in any way, you say you’re yellow. I can return to what I was doing previously, or pause and let you have a short break.” He nodded again. You continued. “And if you are very uncomfortable, or hurt, or change your mind and want to stop in any way, you say red.” Nanami couldn’t imagine a scenario where he would have to, but he was grateful for your assurances. He nodded again. “Red means I will stop whatever I’m doing and make sure first and foremost that you are okay. If you’re bound or tied I will release you immediately, if you get hurt you must let me know so I can treat you. I love it when my boy communicates with me.” Saying this, you kissed him at the edge of his mouth, lips barely touching. Nanami blushed pink. You smelled like strawberries and vanilla, and he found himself wanting to bite.

“Red, yellow, and green. I understand, Mistress.” he assured you, itching to start. His cock had begun to harden in his slacks, fed by the ministrations of your hands.

You got up and walked over to the table with the toys. “You’d like to be tied up, wouldn’t you?” you said out loud, then turned to him with a dark blue rope in your hands.

Nanami felt his blush deepen as you strolled over to him. The sound of your black stilettos made a sharp tapping sound on the hard floor as you towered above him. He would do anything for you. “Yes please, Mistress…” His voice was barely a whisper.

You bent down and kissed his head, giving him the perfect view down your neckline. The soft milky mounds of your breasts threatened to spill out of the corset under your dress, mesmerising him. You smirked, hand moving to his crotch. You gave his bulge a gentle squeeze drawing out a deep groan, then ordered, “Get up and strip for me, gorgeous.”

The poor man, caught in the net you cast, immediately followed. His hands fumbled with the belt of his trousers as he half ripped them off his body. He peeled off the turtleneck and folded the garments, laying them on the couch where you sat. He was beautiful. Years of hard training had transformed his body into a wall of muscle. His skin had a light tan and his stomach was tight. You greedily drank in the sight.

He was about to remove his boxers when your voice rang out again, “Stop. That is mine. You can only touch it when I let you. Got that?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Good boy. Now, arms up and legs apart.” Nanami complied, and you rose, circling him slowly. He could feel your eyes taking him in, studying every inch of his body, and he itched to cover himself from your discerning gaze. But even before he could finish his thoughts, your hands were on him, feeling the muscles in his arms, all the way down, body flush with yours. He could feel your breasts pressed against his back., the warmth of your breath on his skin and your nails running down his sides, feeling up his torso. “What colour are we at, Pretty Boy?” you asked raspily.

Nanami responded after a second’s thought, “Green. More! Please, Mistress.” He felt your lips against his back, leaving tiny kisses along some invisible pattern as you complied, feeling every inch of him…except your hand never so much as grazed his crotch, making him pant with anticipation.

You stepped in front of him and picked up the rope off the couch, then unravelled it while making sure he was watching your every movement. The contrast of being so bare – so vulnerable – in front of you was stark. “I'm going to tie you up now, is that alright?”

Nanami nodded, grateful at how gentle and thorough you were. “Please, Mistress.”

You hooked your thumbs on the waistband of his pants and tugged them downwards, allowing his semi-hard cock to spring free. A sharp intake of breath from you made him shy away. Perhaps you would be turned off by his size. But to his astonishment, you kneeled down and gently licked the glans, eyes never leaving his.

“Someone's excited,” you remarked, impressed. Your hands worked deftly – practised movements that hinted at your familiarity with the rope.

Nanami appreciated, when from time to time, you would check in with him, “Is anything uncomfortable?” or “Is it too tight?” and wait for his verbal confirmations

“No, Mistress.” or “It’s just a little painful around the arm, on that last loop.”

You twisted and looped and knotted, and once you were done, you turned him to face the long mirror in the room. Blue vines ran all across Nanami’s chest, crissed and crossed into a five-point star. His arms were bound to his back, but his legs were free. Each line of rope sat snug, not too deep or loose, just enough to make sure that he was unable to move his upper body. The two lines you had artfully drawn against his crotch grazed against his balls every time he made the slightest move. He looked at you, dark pupils blown out in lust. You held his chin, then hooked your fingers onto the rope around his neck and pulled his head to yours, and Nanami’s world exploded. Your lips were hot on his. Your tongue probed for entrance at his teeth, licking his cold cupid's bow.

Reaching down, you trailed a finger up his length. “I want you to kneel for me, Kento.” You had placed a cushion on the floor and Nanami dropped to his knees, looking on in reverence as you stood before him and removed your dress.

The silky fabric fell to the floor in a puddle. You were left in a black laced corset and matching underwear. Taking a seat on the couch, you spread your legs open. Nanami had the most perfect view. “Do you want to see?” you asked him teasingly.

“Please, Mistress.” There was a whine in Nanami’s throat he didn’t even realise he was holding.

“Then take them off.” You gestured at your panties. Nanami fumbled. His hands were tied behind his back, what did you mean…?

“With your mouth, Kento. I want you to use your mouth and take my panties off. And then, maybe – if you do a good job – I'll let you taste me.”

Eager to please you, Nanami crawled over to your cunt and bit the edge of your panties. Desperately, he pulled at the fabric and inched it down with his lips and teeth. He could smell your arousal already, and it made his head heavy. He really wanted to taste you. His cock was now hard, and it bumped your leg. The little friction made him hiss.

“Go on, Pretty Boy, just a little more…” Your encouragement kept him from losing his focus, and he continued to pull the infernal cloth that barely seemed to budge. But with just one more tug, it was around your knees. He stopped and looked at you, pleased with himself.

“Oh that won’t do, Kento. No, you have to take it all the way off.” Nanami’s cheeks burned. All the way off? Down your legs, off your— “Off, come on. And don’t get it stuck on my heels, darling.”

Nanami pulled at the panties again. It was humiliating, being asked to do such a ridiculous task but even more so for the fact that his cock was rock hard and straining. You spread your thighs wide, showing off your glistening cunt. Your skin was smooth. Not that he minded hair but in a moment you would show him why. “Do you want to taste me?”

“Yes please, Mistress.”

“Then turn over and rest your head on the couch. I’m going to sit on your pretty face.” Nanami flipped over and watched as you raised yourself off the couch to straddle his face, your pussy dangling over his mouth like forbidden fruit. A drop of your arousal leaked out, falling onto Nanami’s lips, and he couldn't help sticking his tongue out to lick it. The musky sweet taste of you travelled straight to his cock and he twitched once more.

This must be the nectar of the gods, he thought to himself. His tongue reached out, desperate to taste more of you. “Please, please. Please, Mistress.”

You didn’t torture him further. Sinking your pussy lips onto his mouth, you both let out a sigh of relief. His nose rubbed against your clit, while his tongue lapped at your pink folds. Divine…

A hand in his hair, you pulled him, “Yeah–just like that–good boy...” Your knee was digging into the couch as you pushed your cunt into his face. And Nanami ate your pussy like a parched man. Slurping and lapping up your juices. Sucking on your sensitive bud. He wanted to hold you – to feel the plush of your ass filling his hands; he involuntarily pulled at the ropes that bound him. You stepped back for a moment, allowing him to breathe, then returned to your throne. But Nanami showed no signs of hesitation. His lips found your bud, circling it in his mouth as he started to suck. Loud wet noises filled the rooms along with soft moans from you. “Kento…Such a good boy…Keep going.” You felt his tongue flatten against your cunt, probing at your hole and exploring. His face was messy and wet but he didn’t care. Nothing had ever tasted as delicious as your wet cunt did in his mouth. Nothing had ever felt as good as your thick thighs that squeezed his head between them.

Nanami felt a sharp tug on his hair as you came with a cry, legs quivering. Your head felt heavy and it took you a moment to get off him and look at him adoringly. He knelt at your feet, panting but looking up at you expectantly.

You helped him to his feet and sat him on the couch, placing yourself on his lap. Your hands once again found his soft hair, fingers carding through it. His weeping cock bumped against your dripping core, and you began to move your hips to rub against it. “You’re such a – kiss – good boy. – kiss– following all my orders – kiss – so well – kiss–” Nanami felt a bead of pre-come drip out onto his thigh as you kissed down his neck.

Your pussy lips rubbed against his length as you kissed and licked his mouth. “Let me see you, please…” he rasped, looking down at your corseted breasts. Sounds of his grunts and heavy breathing now filled the room, along with the wet shlick of your skin against his. You undid the front of the corset, letting your breasts spill. A sharp intake of breath from him made you want to kiss him again, but his head dipped down and he took a nipple between his teeth, lightly grazing it before starting to suck at your tit. You pulled his hair back, yanking him off you. “Did I give you permission to suck my tits?”

Nanami’s eyes widened. He hadn’t thought of that. “No, Mistress. I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself.”

You continued, “Next time you do something without permission, you will be punished. Understand?”

Nanami swallowed and nodded, burning with desire now; your pussy was right on top of his cock. One thrust and he could have put it in, but he knew that would not be allowed. He begged again, all inhibitions out the window. All he wanted was to feel you on him. “Mistress, please…”

“Please what?” His hips bucked and he forced them down. “Please fuck you?” You cocked a brow, unsmiling. “After what you just did?”

His dick stood now, painful almost, in need. “I’ll do anything,” he begged. “Please, just touch me–” His voice was cut off by a choked sob and to his surprise, a tear ran down his cheek.

“You make the prettiest little sounds, Kento,” you purred in his ear. “Okay, I’ll fuck you like you want.” And you held his cock as you spoke and slowly slid it into your pussy. “You want me to fuck you like this, right? On my tight wet cunt?” He nodded furiously. “Want to feel me squeeze your cock so good?” Another nod. “Okay, but you aren’t allowed to come…”

Nanami let out a strangled cry.

“You heard me. You asked to be fucked. Not to come. Didn’t you, darling?”

You were a succubus, and Namami was a willing victim. Semantics be damned, he was ready to burst, to spill into your warm wet hole, as you squeezed around him. You cradled his head in your arms, holding him close to you as you slid up and down on his cock. Your combined arousal made it easy, even though he was large.

“Fuck, please– Mistress. So good, you make me – haa…” Obscenities fell from his lips along with pleas, over and over. “Mistress, I need –”

You felt him twitch and stilled. Nanami could have cried. He strained against his bonds, desperately trying to hold on to you, but you were already off him. “To the bed,” you whispered and helped him up. It was difficult for Nanami; he had never been denied for this long when release was so imminent. He stumbled to the bed, grateful for your help, but wishing you would just let him come already. The teasing was maddening and he did not feel he had the patience for it much longer. You lay him down, propping him up with two large pillows before sinking onto his cock once again. His hands grasped at nothingness under him as you leveraged yourself on his chest and fucked him now – no holds barred. Your ass hit his thighs with a loud slap each time you came back down, and his cock was reaching deep inside you hitting your gummy walls that held him in a vice-like grip.

“You wanna come for me, Pretty Boy? Wanna come for your Mistress?”

“Please—please—please.” The words fell from his mouth like a prayer. A prayer to you, his Goddess.

“Then come. Come for me, my Pretty Boy.”

And with that, he was lost. Thick ribbons of ejaculate shot into your cunt, painting your insides white. You collapsed onto his large chest and felt his rapid heartbeat slowing, the rise and fall of his chest now gentle…The ropes around his body rubbed against your nipples, hardening them into peaks.

Lifting yourself off him, you helped him sit up before you quickly removed his ties. The skin was raw and red where he’d pulled. You lifted his hand to your mouth and licked at the angry marks, tasting the salt of his sweat. He met your gaze – still hungry. “ I need you. I need more, please,” he pleaded. “Let me eat you out again, Mistress!”

You smiled and dipped your head so that your lips barely brushed his ear, “I have a better idea.” You pushed his chest, laying him down and turned, straddling his face once more; this time, however, your mouth hovered above his cock. Even though he had just come, Nanami was still semi-hard, and only a few licks and he was back at attention. You glided your tongue along his tip, relishing the gentle shiver that ran under you. But the man wasn’t about to stay still.

Taking advantage of the newfound freedom of his arms and hands, he grabbed your ass, spreading the cheeks, pawing at them, pulling you deeper into his mouth. Soft moans escaped you. You were both over-stimulated and needing release. His lips latched onto your clit and sucked and licked, fully lapping up all he could get. Your peak approached, and you felt the telltale twitch of Nanami’s cock as well. He came just after you did, your thighs closing around his head as you gasped and trembled, orgasm hitting you hard. His cock spluttered and he came with a shout, spilling on your face and tits.

You got off him and used a tissue from the table by the bed to clean yourself up, before lying down beside him and opening your arms. Wordlessly, Nanami crawled between them, resting his head on your chest. You left a soft kiss on his head and whispered, “You were such a good boy for me, Kento. I’m so pleased with you. You were such a good boy!”

“Even if I did things without your permission?” he asked tentatively.

You shook your head. “It was your first time; you were learning. I don’t hold that against you. You’re my good boy.”

Something in Nanami’s chest fluttered. It might have been his heart. “Can we…can we do this again?”

You laughed. Nanami didn’t think he had heard a lovelier sound. “Of course, Pretty Boy. Maybe next weekend. I’ll give you my number.”

It had been three months since Nanami had first met you in Debauchérie; two months since he had become yours and you, his; one month since Gojo and Geto had found out and started teasing him about it. The teasing had died down, but his feelings for you had only grown. In your familiar red lipstick and a gorgeous orange sundress, you walked up to him and sat in the chair opposite his, holding out his coffee and sandwich. “Here you go, my Pretty Boy.”

He smiled, “Thank you, Mistress.”

The End

A/N: Dear GOD this was a toughie to write. I kept going back and changing things over and over because I needed this to be some of the best work I've put out. So I changed and changed and cut and reworked and edited. And now here we are. I did it for you Haitch. You beautiful bastard you. I hope you enjoy it. (I agreed to give her whatever she wanted in exchange she would have to turn on boops.) Anyway, thank you so much for reading! A big big thank you to my editor, proofer, beta reader @ominouslywritinginmyhead. Tagging @actuallysaiyan thank you for always supporting me <3

As always hearts and reblogs are much appreciated and comments will earn you a kissie.

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keeksandgigz · 29 days

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Chapter 2: Au coeur des ténèbres

Part 2 of Words are Futile Devices- A Steddie x Reader Call Me By Your Name AU

Summary: As some weird feelings come to light, you begin questioning your initial opinion of your two guests

cw: some suggestive content, reader's vivid smutty imagination. reader is a bit less of a cunt, brief description of insecurities (nothing too detailed), slut shaming if you squint, kissing, a lot of internal angst, overall a lot of words I'm sorry

word count: 3k

author's notes: I'm so sorry for the wait, but its here!!!

Heart of Darkness laid in your lap as you sat in your father’s study. Eddie typed away at his desk, while Steve looked at some old archeology dissertations from past students. You were often forced to sit in and listen to the guest’s nonsensical jumble of words and phrases in an attempt to sound smart.

You had been scolded by your father twice for trying to interact with Eddie, who seemed laser- focused on the parchment in front of him, the metallic clicking of the keys of the typewriter in the faint background of the stuffy old study. Giovanna had come by twice with a pitcher full of apricot juice from the garden, which the two had gulped down without giving much thought. You saw the way the juice dribbled down Eddie’s chin, how he lifted his thumb to clean off the mess, then wiped his finger on his black cutoff shirt and proceeded to continue typing. His fingers flexed and tensed in between typing, thick and sturdy as he stretched and massaged the palm of his hand with his ringed fingers.

Steve sat on the dark green couch, legs spread, his shorts riding up, up, up bunching at the crease between his thighs and his groin. One of his legs bounced as he reviewed case studies, artifact pictures, lip trapped in between his pearly teeth.

There wasn’t a whisper of a breeze, or a draft, but you shivered nonetheless. The two could’ve been patronizing and condescending, but that didn’t take away from the fact that you saw the way their skin, not yet tan from the sunlight, rippled with sweat at each whisper of a movement in the stuffy study. Steve’s leg bounced as he studied the pictures projected on the walls, his already short shorts riding up with each jump of his leg, exposing more and more of his thigh, you blushed.

This charged silence broke once Steve opened his mouth. He held up another glass full of apricot juice.

“What’s apricot in Italian again?” he asked, wiping remnants of juice from his chin.

“Albicocca” your father said, smiling. He went on a rant about the etymology of the word, which you really couldn’t care about. A fun little rehearsed bit he did every year, the students’ impressed faces beamed up the stuffy study.

“If I can beg your pardon, what you said is slightly wrong” it was Eddie. Surprise tinged your face in hearing him speak up. In the two days that you’ve known him his vocabulary was littered with grateful praises and quiet musings, here it had a slight tinge of pride.

“It’s uh— actually the Greek etymology for apricot comes from Latin. It’s praecoquum, then praecox, then precokia and then we get the Arab al- barquq— albicocca” he mused in a butchered italian, but all you could hear in his observations is just cock, cock, cock. He sounded nervous delivering his lecture, almost as if he was scared of getting kicked out for defying an authority of mind like your father.

Instead, he looked at him with an impressed smile, and Eddie blushed a bit. Steve delivered a friendly pat on the boy’s shoulder.

Not as lucky as many.

Later that day, when Steve stole your friends for a volleyball game on your lawn, you watched his sweaty body, clad in a blue swimsuit, shoulders flexing and shining in the early afternoon sunlight jump up and duck down along with the worn ball that keeps jumping between both sides of the net.

Eddie sat on the lawn, in the shade. His pearly complexion having acquired just the most undetectable sheen of red that threw the boy in a panicked frenzy earlier that morning. He was sorting through loose pages of what appears to be his manuscript.

“Why aren’t you playing instead of staring at me?” his head perked up from the typed up pages, and you could feel yourself heat up. Not even the sun could hide the tinge of pink that colored your cheeks.

“I could say the same thing about you” you stammered out, snippy and embarrassed.

All he could do was chuckle as he motioned his papers towards the book you had ignored sitting in your lap. “I like that book. Heart of Darkness? One of the few books I actually liked when I was in English Lit in high school” he smiled. A smile that seemed genuine, much different than the courteous smiles he had reserved for your mom and dad.

“And that was when the dinosaurs still roamed the Earth?” you curled your nose.

A sardonic laugh escaped the boy.

“Very funny. And how old are you again?” he scooted his butt closer to you, his loose papers now forgotten on the lawn. The proximity made you a bit nervous.

“Twnety-one” you breathed out “I wouldn’t give you any less than fifty- six” you nudged his shoulder and he laughed.

“Shouldn’t you be at some snooty college party right now? I dunno, traveling the world with some sorority sister?”

“And miss this gorgeous sight to behold?” your tone dripped of sarcasm as you pointed at Steve, mid jump into grabbing the ball.

Right as you said that Steve missed, ending up on the grass, a pained moan followed. Eddie isn’t given any time to answer you, stopping in his tracks and to run and pick up his friend to escort him where you were. You couldn’t care less about the physical ineptitude of your guest— if there wasn’t any blood or bones sticking out it wasn’t worth worrying.

“Pass me some water, please?” asked Eddie.. You complied, rolling your eyes as he began kneading the injured boy’s shoulder. He hissed at the first swipes of the long- haired boy’s hands— big and firm. You let down a short swallow.

“Steve you’re tight— you stressed?” Eddie asked, squeezing the juncture between the boy’s neck and shoulder.

“I’m fine Ed” he smiled up at the boy, but instead of moving, Eddie dug his fingers deeper into the golden flesh of the honey- eyed boy.

“Here, feel” he grabbed your hand and placed it on Steve’s warm shoulder— firm and freckled, still wet with sweat. “Isn’t he a bit tight?” Much to your shock you retreated your hand, but the feeling of the smoothness of his tan skin seemed to be encased in the fiber of the palm of your hand.

“Yeah, I guess” you muttered, going back to Heart of Darkness.

Dissatisfied with your curt and cold response, Eddie had your friend Chiara feel the back of the injured boy, whose fingers seemed to linger along Steve’s back for long, almost mapping every mole and mark to store in her mind for later. She was an artist, and an artist’s eye was never wrong.

Steve smiled at the girl, and in return she giggled. Once she left you closed the book in your lap once again.

“Careful, she’s gonna try to draw you naked” you teased Steve, whose eyes seemed to be glued on the way your friend scampered around the lawn.

“Like I’m complaining” he retorted with a cheeky smile, and that made you feel weird.

What did she have that you didn’t? Why didn’t he look at you like that?

You cursed the way you seemed to act too much like a grown up, the way you took yourself too seriously to even participate in a dumb volleyball game.

Maybe you should’ve played.

Taking your towel and your book with you, you made your way back into the house, almost stomping in protest, at the way the honey- eyed boy didn’t seem to spare you a cheeky smile or a wandering eye. Didn’t matter that they both seemed like two idiots who only cared about getting the experience from your father’s expertise, exploiting and squeezing the knowledge out of the overripe peach of his brain, which seemed to become less and less awake with every year that passed.

You disliked the way that Steve seemed to want to make a pass at each and every one of your friends, and them letting him. With his rude and pushy American ways of wanting to make everything his, his property, his Don John-ish manners that made him expect something from everyone he came into contact with.

You hated Eddie’s arrogance in his surveying and picking your brain, making the six year difference between you two seem like a chasm, with his snobbish knowledge of literally every book that sat on your bookcase. Fingers rubbing his stubbly, boyish chin as he examined each and every shelf, spine, title. He always seemed to have something to say with you, wanting to prove himself to the whole world, confirm that he wasn’t just some trailer trash who had finally made it out of the few acres of overpopulated land. You could not remotely fathom how those two were so close together, coming from such different backgrounds.

However, as you tried to silently beg for Steve and Eddie’s attention, that was seemingly anywhere else but on you, like an old, neglected dog, you seemed to realize that, in some twisted sort of way, you wanted to fall victim to their charm.

Like many of your friends did, much bolder, some older, and more confident than you had been, in the past years, not hesitating to pounce on your guests with hunger similar to a hyena. The hunger of a repressed teenage girl who had just reached adulthood, craving everything that came with it– even risque summer romances with men who had traveled around the sun for much longer than they had. Throwing their plump, glowing bodies on the dance floor around the sturdy necks of your father’s students. With every year that passed, you could not escape the vicious circle of your giggling friends, who competed over who would get to lure your guests into their greedy grasp first, and you’d all hear about it the morning after.

You’d heard about gorgeous but incredibly incapable men, well- endowed, but short, much older and more experienced. There was something about their stories, the lightheartedness in their laughs, as if playing with these men’s hearts and minds had become a game, that made you feel like a different person. Coming home and contemplating on leaving the communicating bathroom door open, so that your guest could catch you sleeping on your stomach without any shorts on, or adjusting your swimsuit at the pool right as they passed by to read on the lawn. You never brought yourself to act upon these contemplations, too scared of what your father might have thought of you, and rather, delighting yourself in tormenting your guests as a way to cope with a feeling of inadequacy that seemed to swell with each year that passed.

Ever since Steve and Eddie had arrived– young, attractive, and most peculiar thing of all, there were two of them– your friends could not stop arguing about which boy would have fallen in the arms of your friends. Anna had gushed about seeing Steve’s dick through his tiny, blue swimming shorts earlier that day during a game of volleyball, escalating into a conversation that hours later could not seem to leave your mind, as you sat on one of the lawn chairs of the balcony.

You had not entered your room, afraid your restlessness might have woken the two boys. Nursing a cigarette in between the intrusive thoughts of whether Anna was right. Had she already claimed her prize? A part of you stung at the thought that not even four days into their stay, your friends had already gotten their slimy hands on your guests. A different part had wanted it to be you to have received such attention from the honey- eyed boy. Would he have been attentive and careful? Or full of passion and bravado, much like how he’d presented himself to you since he’d arrived?

“This seat taken?” Steve had startled you. The irony.

You heard him let out a whiff of air, like a muted laugh “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” He sat down on the wicker chair next to you, without waiting for your permission. He took in the still night air that had oftentimes brought you counsel, accompanied by the melody of the night cicadas.

“Can’t sleep?” he mused, playing with the woven wicker on the arm of the chair.

“Didn’t wanna wake you guys up” Your dry response was accompanied by a lazy drag off the half- finished cigarette. Steve reached an arm out in your direction, you took the hint.

“I was downstairs finishing some work for your dad, the jet lag still keeps me up” you watched his lips wrap around the cigarettes, right where your mouth had been just seconds before. Your breath hitched at the realization as he let out the smoke from his mouth, slow and deliberate.

“So, uh, you and Anna? I heard you guys had a thing going on” you passed him the ashtray on the small table next to you as he shook the ash off the cigarette and brought it back to his mouth.

He shook his head, “She’s your friend?” he asked, sardonically, turning away from you to look into the distant trees.

“Not really, rumors travel fast around here” you tried to keep your mouth shut, but something inside you just pushed you to intervene, to let him know that she was certainly not good for him. “And she also has a reputation,” you added, gulping.

He put out the cigarette in the ashtray, fixing his glasses on the bridge of his nose and sat back on the wicker seat “Is that so?” A smirk adorned his face, almost as if he didn’t believe a word you were saying.

You nodded, heating up a bit at the way his legs spread and his shorts rode up his legs “She gets around” You avoided his gaze, looking at Giovanna downstairs in the garden, finishing up her last chores for the night.

“Never stopped me before” he retorted, shrugging. The sour look on your face only made his sly smile slice his face further.

“By the way your nose is curled up I’d say you’re jealous” he laughed, standing up. You heated up at the– very correct and very obvious– observation.

“I am not” you retorted, maybe a little bit more upset than you should’ve been at his dig, standing up abruptly.

“What is it then?” he inched closer to you. You could smell the remnants of the cigarette on his breath. You felt your eyes widen and your throat close up “You’re envious of your friends getting more attention than you? Am I supposed to feel bad for you because you feel inferior to them? Maybe if you stopped being a bitch to everyone that crossed your path you’d get laid too” With each stinging sentence the boy got closer and closer to you, his chest almost touching yours, and with each dig you swelled up with anger. Why was he treating you like this all of a sudden?

Deserved? Sure. You had been nothing but a raging cunt to him since his arrival, but his words seemed to intend to cut deeper than that.

However, instead of hurting you, his words only revved you even further, wanting most of all, to shut up his nonsensical attack against you.

You watched his heated expression as he stopped his ranting, leaning on the railing of your balcony.

“Well? Nothing to say for yourself?” he muttered, his voice much lower than his previous scolding. You couldn’t say anything, inside you were fighting demons you had only heard of from your friends. You were panting as if you had run a marathon, but to him, you were just a child throwing a tantrum.

He scoffed “Y’know what? Grow up” he laughed, before motioning to turn around. Something in your chest pulled you towards him. The need to become more like your friends, that had lied dormant as you had awaited to provocatively lure your guests into your room, had been nudged.

As Steve walked away heatedly, closing the door to his room, you imagined grabbing his shoulder with strength you didn’t know you had and spin him around before crashing his lips onto his.

Kissing him with a hunger that was only for you to satiate. Needing to feel yourself bloom out of a cage that you’d put yourself in because you took yourself too seriously. You imagined exploring his sturdy, tanned body.

As you got ready for bed, peeking your face into your guests’ room, where Steve had fallen asleep without changing out of his clothes. You imagined slipping your hands under his billowy shirt, as his hands gripped your waist so tightly that his fingers could have left marks in their wake. Slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt, feel the softness of the skin underneath, scratching it with his fingernails.

You thought about intentionally upsetting him, just to have him that close to you again. You thought about his reaction to your tongue making its way into his mouth, licking and tasting his lips, his gums, his tongue. Wanting him to have access to you, to look at you. To peek his head into your room to find you asleep on your stomach, wanting him to see your scrunched up face as you transcribed your music, leaning against a tree as you read. Swimming with your friends, but only staring at you, at the way the water would drip off your body, at the way you would look while suntanning.

A devious thought pervaded you as you imagined both of your guests fighting to have you. Fighting to look at you. Fighting for your attention.

You laid in bed, drunk on the vivid images of your body undulating in between the two boys, heated and needy like you’d never been before.

Thank you for reading!! Feedback is much appreciated <3

tagging: @littlexdeaths, @strangerstilinski, @aphrogeneias, @usergeta, @rebelfell, @ali-r3n, @thornsnvultures , @jamdoughnutmagician , @take-everything-you-can, @aol19 , @eddiesghxst , @myspacebrat , @xxbimbobunnyxx , @cryingglightningg , @lavendermunson , @freak-of-hawkins , @eddiesdaydream , @sidereustales

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sadesluvr · 9 months

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Black Christmas - S. Raglan x Reader x M. Schmidt

Mike’s job as a park ranger becomes interesting when a mysterious couple stay five nights in a winter lodge.

A/N: HOLY FUCK. This is my longest and most tiring fic in a while (for all the right reasons) and I’m really excited to share it with you! It was loosely inspired by the req and work by @dilfbabie (HERE) but this has a festive, darker spin. This is for the people who voted for a Steve/William aligned reader, and is porn with plot. Further details in the tags, but this is reminiscent of a Jordan Peele film (aka the best kind of film), so dark themes lie ahead. I really hope you all enjoy it, consider it a Christmas gift ;)

Word count: 5.3K

Tags: SMUT (Porn with plot) / Slow burn / Fem! Reader / Threesome / Brief mentions of abuse / Alcohol usage / Oral sex, male receiving / Fingering / Blowjobs / Voyeurism / Cowgirl (position) / Unprotected sex / Creampies / Psychological manipulation / Deception / Dub-Con (if you squint) / Cheating --- MINORS DNI

MONDAY

Mike had grown to find that being a park ranger was far more amusing than working as mall security. He loved being surrounded by the natural world, and the relatively isolated nature of the job - outside of being with his colleagues - meant that he had time alone. Time to think.

It was even more enjoyable in the winter, specifically the Christmas period, where he revelled in the contrast of the bustle of the shopping district with the tranquil sightings of caribou and squirrels.

It was standard procedure for the rangers to meet the guests of the lodges they inhabited, simply as an act of trust building. Today was no different, except for the fact that he was standing at the door of one of the largest and lavish buildings in the resort, which only meant one thing…Snobby, rich inhabitants.

When you answered the door, your lips parted in a brief moment of shock, adjusting your relaxed posture so that you were upright.

“Hi…” you said, an unplaced smile appearing on the corner of your lips. “Can I help you Officer…?”

“Mike,” he quickly added. “I’m sure you’ve seen me in the pamphlet, but I’m your designated ranger for this district. I’m here for your safety,”

You seemed somewhat confused at this, but also rather appreciative.

“Thanks…” you replied, absentmindedly fiddling with your necklace. “We— Uh, we haven’t looked at that much yet, actually…”

Mike nodded. You’d probably just moved in, likely more desperate for a shower and a nap than read pages of menial information.

“My pager codes should be taped to the wall in the kitchen. Outside of patrols and emergencies — weather, rabid animals, that sort of thing — I’ll shouldn’t be in your hair,”

You cocked your head, seemingly interested in something about him. He was cute; boyish in contrast to his position that was usually reserved for those with blatant machismo. You wondered how he got it in the first place.

You nodded back, fingers lingering on the door as you swung it. “Oh, well that’s great, thank —“

“Babe? Who is that? You’re taking an awful while to — Oh, hello Officer…?”

Your interaction was interrupted by an older, taller man who emerged from the stairs behind you. He was dressed in an off-yellow utility suit - likely for skiing - in which a purple sweater peeked out from underneath. His hair was groomed and he wore large, slightly out of fashion glasses. He rested an arm above you, leaning it on the doorframe, and Mike squinted as he noticed that you’d shifted uncomfortably at the movement before trying to compose yourself.

He was lost in his thoughts, temporarily oblivious to the fact that the man was staring at him expectedly.

“ — Mike, “ he stammered, giving the man his name.

“Your badge says Michael,” he replied, matter of factly.

“I prefer Mike,”

“Hm,” the man mused, the grumble seemingly coming from the depths of his chest. “That’s odd. Usually you guys are referred to by your last name…”

Mike wasn’t sure about you, but this mysterious man was definitely a rich asshole. They always assumed they knew everything.

“It’s Schimdt — Michael Schmidt…but please, Mike is fine,” he replied, shifting his weight and pursing his lips. Strangely, the man’s blue eyes widened, and he cocked his head, softening his demeanour. Your gaze was fixed to the floor uncomfortably, and Mike could only decipher that you were embarrassed by the man’s insistence. The entire thing was borderline uncomfortable.

Yet, at that moment, he smiled.

“The name’s Steve,” he perked up, extending his hand for the smaller man to shake. He took it, and the man’s grip was firm and assuring, leading Mike to believe that he was some kind of businessman.

“Thank you, Mike,” continued sincerely, his voice noticeably soft. “Hopefully we’ll see you around then,”

Mike blinked and glanced at you. You were still, almost motionless, with Steve protectively hovering over you. He could tell he’d interrupted something.

“You too,” he replied, beginning to back away as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Happy holidays.”

TUESDAY

During the ins and outs of his job, Mike had been trying to rack his brain, wondering if he’d ever come across this ‘Steve’ before, but to no avail. Perhaps he’d just gotten the wrong person. Michael was a very common name, after all.

He wondered about you, though. You were certainly younger than him, and although he’d come across his share of problematic couples, there was something far more striking about you than the rest. Steve’s authoritarian presence, coupled with your seemingly shy, introverted own, was usually a cocktail that led to disaster. He wasn’t a cop, but it wouldn’t hurt to keep tabs on you, would it?

It seemed that the time would come quicker than expected. The next morning he’d received a ‘111’ message from your residence, and hadn’t wasted time in making his way up to see you.

Upon being let in, he quickly found out that you were alone, with Steve having run out for groceries. Apparently, you’d been hearing ‘rattling and shaking’ in the vents, and simply feared being home alone with the threat of a robbery looming over your head. He’d checked the vents, scoping the interior out for signs of damage or entry, quickly finding out that badger had made a home inside the walls, earning a good chuckle from the pair of you.

“I’m so embarrassed!” you’d gushed, and Mike had smiled slightly at your flustered demeanour. You were dressed rather nicely for an early morning, in a chic turtleneck, pants and a pair of Moon Boots. It didn’t take a genius to decipher that you either came from, or was in contact with a lot of money.

“No problem…” he chuckled, feeling the quiet instinct to pry. “So, Steve just left you here, even with the threat of an intruder?”

Your shoulders visibly dropped at the fact.

“Pretty much…” you sighed, masking your nervous energy by removing a mug from the coffee machine, pouring some fixings into the liquid before taking a sip, exhaling deeply.

“I know what you’re thinking,” you sighed, and Mike stiffened at the way you were so sincere, eyes locked on his own as you seemingly read his mind. “You have a point, but I like that he doesn’t baby me. But it does scare the shit out of me, knowing that we’re basically in the wilderness. Anything could happen…!”

He nodded.

“Well, you’re more likely to be attacked by kids at Santa’s Grotto than a bear,” he laughed. “I wouldn’t worry…”

You smiled, gaze unwavering as you sipped the drink, admiring the rich taste on your tongue. It was as if you were a siren, beckoning him towards you with an indescribable aura. There was more you wanted to say, but you couldn’t say it.

Biting the bullet, he cleared his throat.

“Hey — This may not be my place, but is everything okay? When he came down the other day I saw you tense up,” Mike finished, and you let out a low hum as you contemplated the implications of his statement.

“We’re having a few issues,” you said, rolling your eyes, apparently brushing the situation off. “We’d been arguing a lot back home, and he booked this trip so we could regroup and stuff. I’m grateful, and I might even love him – but it doesn’t make me any less paranoid. I never know how he’s feeling, y’know? He’s a bit off sometimes…”

‘Off’.

That was certainly one way to put it, Mike thought.

“...Does he hurt you?”

“God no,” you insisted. “He’s just — Well, let’s just say that he’s not all that open about his past,”

Silence.

Mike let out a deep breath and placed his hands on his hips, musing on what you could’ve meant. He averted his gaze to glance around the cabin. It was rather lush, with floor to ceiling windows, marble countertops and rich oak accents; perhaps you were living beyond your means? Every item in his sight seemed relatively normal, blankets, keys, even a small Christmas tree with a few presents underneath. Still, it meant nothing. After all, nobody kept their secrets on display - no, those kinds of things were reserved for a bedroom…Or basement. Or the trunk of a car. Or in the psychological prison of the mind.

“…I should finish getting ready,” your voice interjected. “Thanks for the help, Mike,” you said sweetly, and he nodded before turning around and making his way to let himself out. As he placed a foot down the first step, something turned him around, and he was shocked to see that you weren’t far behind him. He hadn’t heard you follow him.

“By the way —“ he said, clearing his throat again. “I’m doing a patrol on Thursday, so I’ll be around…Just if you need to talk…”

He hoped he wasn’t being too forward.

You smiled, and this time Mike could see the emotion in your eyes.

“Good to know,”

WEDNESDAY

One of the best things about the job were the treetop viewing platforms. It gave a 360 view of the resort, and Mike was able to see near and far with his pair of binoculars. It was certainly a task that Abby would’ve loved, if she were ever allowed to see him work.

On this particular morning, he was scoping out the usuals - people on the slopes, those taking photos, and the general assortment of vehicles that came in and out of the building. Still, he found himself looking westward toward the lodging you were living in. Call it paranoia, or call it doing his duty, he couldn’t pry himself from the familiar outline of the building.

All seemed normal, until he’d focused on the top window, the largest one of the house that sat behind a balcony. There was no sign of you on the outside, other than the table and chairs, but it was what was enclosed behind that glass that worried him.

Sure enough, you and Steve were there. He couldn’t make out from the resolution, but your face was pressed to the glass, with Steve behind you, clearly leaving little room for you to move. Mike felt his chest constrict, tongue swiping over his lips as he zoomed in, silently praying that you weren’t being hurt.

It turned out that hurt was the complete opposite of what you were undergoing. There you were; totally nude with Steve’s large arms around your throat, kissing your neck as he jerked, your body writhing about as he did. Mike knew all too well what you were doing, and it didn’t take long for the blood to rush from his cheeks to his cock, praying that his growing bulge wouldn’t be visible to anyone.

Your eyes were half lidded as you scrambled to hold onto something, and Mike couldn’t help but wonder what your moans sounded like. Were you a screamer or a whimperer? Judging by the way the older man was ravishing you, it seemed to be somewhere in between the two.

Swallowing, he lowered the binoculars, pinching the bridge of his nose as he contemplated what he’d just done. There was no ridding the image from his mind, certainly not when he’d taken in every crevice of your body. He sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets to try to suppress his base urges, storing the image securely for later.

THURSDAY

Mike rubbed his eyes as he slid into the company car, ready to do his rounds. He hadn’t gotten much sleep last night.

His grip remained firm on the steering wheel, carefully navigating the elevated roads. A fresh layer of snow had settled over the past day, and the last thing he needed was to skid off into the trees. It was funny that the winter wonderland around him couldn’t mask the fact it was in a place like this where his family’s life had been turned upside down — where his brother had been cruelly and callously taken…All under his watch.

Sometimes he couldn’t live with himself.

He was at the bottom of the final stretch of lodges when he noticed two figures trudging down the hill. Their arms were outstretched and faces scrunched - and Mike recognised you instantly. Steve was following after you whilst your arms were crossed, clearly having a temper tantrum of some kind. Squinting, he tried to make himself unnoticeable as he listened in.

“I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want me to see her! I love kids!”

“It’s not that I don’t want you to see her, it’s just — Well, it’s not that easy…”

“How could this be difficult? I’m your girlfriend. She’s your daughter. Someday we’ll have to cross paths, right? Unless I’m some silly fling to you…”

“You’re not, okay? You know I love you. It’s complicated - Vanessa, she’s a little volatile —“

“I wonder where she gets that from,”

Frowning, Mike came out of the car, slamming the door with force to alert the two of you. He crossed his arms around his chest, scatters of snow crunching under his boots as he made his way towards you.

“Is there a problem?”

“Mike,” Steve said, any specific emotion unreadable in his voice. He looked the man up and down as if to intimidate, but Mike didn’t budge. “…What’re you doing here?”

“My job,” He said sternly, to which you smirked. His eyes darted between the two of you, and he cocked his head. “Is there an issue here, or?”

Steve cast you a frosty glare, to which you rolled your eyes. Shaking yourself off, you assumed a stricter posture before focusing your attention onto the smaller man in front of you.

“Mike —“ you said, matter of factly. “Be a dear and give me a ride to the leisure centre. I need a masseuse… I have a knot that just won’t go away,”

There was nothing but fury in Steve’s eyes as Mike nodded, stepping to the side to allow you to pass through to the vehicle. As he opened the passenger door for you, he could feel the older man’s stare, burning a hole in his neck and seeping out his insides. Shutting the door, he walked round to the other side of the car, jaw ticking and lips pulled into a straight line. He barely knew Steve, but what he did know was that he was an asshole.

The car ride was silent for all of two minutes when Mike perked up, clearing his throat whilst his eyes remained on the road. He’d only snuck occasional glances at your thighs, and even then he was unable to rid the image of you nude.

“…Who’s Vanessa?”

You scoffed, slumping back in your seat as you lay your head against the car window.

“So you did hear,” you chuckled defeatedly. “His daughter. He doesn’t want me to see her,”

“Oh,” was all Mike could say, and he decided to let you draw the emotion out of your body yourself.

“I hate when he does this!” You exclaimed, arms folded. “He makes me feel so dirty! Like, what the fuck is he saying? That I’m not good enough to meet her?!”

“I’m sure that’s not the case…” Mike said softly. “I mean, if it were down to me, I know I’d love for my daughter and girlfriend to hang out, especially during the holidays,”

The statement caused you to smile, and you shook your head defeatedly.

“I’m shacking it up with her father during the best time of year…” you said incredulously, looking out onto the icy white paradise around you. “She probably hates me…”

The thought of a girl being without her father on Christmas was enough to make you sob, salty tears pricking your eyes and eventually running down your cheeks. Covering your mouth, you let out a little whimper that alerted Mike, his kind brown eyes briefly leaving the road to watch your face. He wasted no time in pulling over, making sure the car was locked in position before he placed an arm on your shoulder, the sudden contact making you break down even more. Before he knew it, you were crying on his shoulder, hiding your face in the fleece-like insides of his jacket. The man remained quiet, but rubbed your back, narrowing his eyes as he tried to piece together your relationship.

He was beginning to lose himself in your scent when you pulled away, eyes red and slightly watery. Your faces were close, and you stared at him in a way that both made him feel guilty and aroused, eyes wide but enigmatic. He followed your gaze to his lips, and he slowly parted his own to exhale, hyper aware of the way his heart was pounding in his chest.

Brushing your fingertips across his cheeks, you leaned up to plant a kiss on his lips, your taste bittersweet as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him deeper. He certainly hoped Steve wasn’t close behind, as he didn’t let go, instead parting his lips to whisper your name as your tongues began to dance against the others’. His hands were all over your body, and he was fairly certain that your hand had made his way to his pelvis, threatening to brush his cock.

He cursed himself when he gasped at the motion, which had caused you to pull away. As if you’d been under a spell, you felt flushed, stuck between wanting to leave the car and staying with Michael.

“Thank you…” you whispered, glancing down before looking out of the windshield. The reception to the rest of the resort wasn’t far from here, and you decided you needed to clear your head. “You’re a great guy, Mike.”

FRIDAY

It had been twelve hours since you’d shared a kiss with Mike, and he was beginning to think he’d known you forever. He couldn’t get it out of his mind, even when they’d received a severe weather warning at midday. Needless to say, he was excited to ring your particular lodge…Just as long as Steve didn’t answer.

“Hey, it’s Mike…We’re expecting a snowstorm in a couple of hours and we’re instituting a 7PM curfew,”

“Shit…Really?” You’d said, somewhat muffled, and Mike could hear you biting down on the fingertips of your thumb. “ I didn’t hear anything about this — Steve’s down at the casino…”

“I’m sure word will get to him,” he insisted. “Stay safe —“

“Wait, Mike? C-Can you come over? I want to make sure everything’s reinforced…”

It was apparent that you and Mike both knew that the lodges, especially the ones you were living in, were more than secure. You’d smiled and let out an exasperated, somewhat overdramatic ‘Thanks’, and had clasped your hands in front of you, leisurely strolling around the building as he confirmed the obvious. You seemed more free, whimsical even, dressed in a deep red couture tracksuit, perfectly painted toes on display. Perhaps the kiss, and Steve’s absence, had brought out the real you.

He didn’t know he could have such an effect on someone.

As he clicked off his flashlight, he smirked at you, to which you returned, and drummed his hand on the countertops.

“Is everything okay, Officer?” you lulled.

“A-Ok,” he hummed, watching as you walked closer towards him, a mischievous grin in your eye. He froze slightly when you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his front, but found himself relaxing into your touch, his own hands finding your hips.

“We have the house to ourselves…” you purred, beginning to stroke the back of his neck, causing him to twitch. He was simply too cute. “…And the view is lovely. But the company’s better…”

He nodded, lost in the way you began to pepper kisses to his neck and breath gently into his ear, that he hadn’t realised that the snow was beginning to fall…and it wasn’t about to stop.

“Shit…” he said under his breath, ruining the mood as he scrambled for his radio. He should’ve been back to the base a while ago.

“This is Mike calling in. The storm came in earlier than expected. I’m holed in at Lodge 305 waiting it out,”

“Received,” the static said. “Keep us updated.”

You could barely contain your enthusiasm at the fact, and Mike chuckled as you excitedly raced to the wine cabinet. It was going to be an interesting few hours.

LATER

“…Part of me hopes Steve never comes back,” you slurred, wine bottle in hand as you sprawled out on the king bed, your tracksuit top since stripped, leaving you in a vest. It was obvious to Mike that you weren’t wearing a bra underneath, neither.

Mike snickered.

“You’re still mad at him?”

“Yup,” you said, popping your ‘P’. “Asshole tried to propose to me at dinner yesterday. I said no,”

He was astonished that you said it so casually.

“Woah…”

“I know,” you grinned. “Wine?”

He looked up at you uncertainly. Not necessarily because it was wrong, but because he had no idea where the night would lead him if he took even as much as a sip. “I-I can’t, I’m on the job,”

“Just a little?” You whined. “For me?”

You watched him intently as he gave in, sipping the drink and holding it on his tongue. When he realised you were staring at him, you broke into a smile, edging closer to him on the bed.

“I love that you take your job so seriously,” you cheesed, running your finger down his arm. “Was this a boyhood dream?”

“Far from it,”

“Hm,” you said curiously, cocking your head. You’d been trying to figure Mike out for a while now. “So what’s the goal?”

“Dunno,” he shrugged. “Just to see my sister happy, I guess,”

Your heart fluttered, and there was an incomparable sensation in your loins, biting up towards your stomach. Whether it was the alcohol, the heating, or something else - your body swelled, and you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“You’re so sweet,” you cooed, in that oh-so famously position in front of his face, arms entangled in his. “I love that about you, Mike,”

“Love?”

“I wish all guys were like you,” was all you said, and you thrust yourself on top of him, his back flat against the mattress. He didn’t stop you; letting you take charge as you straddled his torso, pressing your breasts against his chest as his hands found your body. He was insatiable, greedy yet very needy, and found himself succumbing to your every whim.

Mike let out a whimper as you rubbed yourself gently along his clothed cock, growing irritated at the layer of fabric between you two. You nipped at his ear and giggled, dancing your hands along his body before you reached his bulge, giving it a gentle squeeze before you went back to teasing him with your hips.

“D’ya want me, Mike?” you purred. “Say the word and I’ll be yours…”

“Mmfh…” he grumbled, trying and failing to pull himself away from you, particularly as his hands found your hardening nipples, desperate to take one between his teeth. “What about Steve?” He said from below you. “I could get fired, I —“

Cupping his face in your hands, you stared him down, voice almost emotionless as you spoke.

“Mike, you may not know it, but when you’re rich, you can get away with anything…”

That was enough confirmation as he needed as he arched his back, angling himself up into your kiss. He was both surprised and aroused at how firm your grip was on him, legs quite literally locking him down below you. Your wanting mouth was wide as your chest heaved, grinning down at him as you slid your arm back, down his pants to touch his hardened cock.

Mike shut his eyes and groaned as you tugged on him, expertly sliding your hips down his body, fixing yourself into position so that you were level his penis, your ass in his face.

“Touch me, Mike,” you slurred as you took him in your mouth, giddy as he pulled down your sweats a crack so that he could massage your ass, fingers lingering by your lacy underwear. His touch sent chills down your spine, prompting you to take him further, tongue flat against the underside of his organ. His index finger slipped into your crevice, stroking your walls before he slid a finger into your pussy, making you whimper. It had been so long since Mike had been touched - and had touched someone in such a way - that he wasn’t planning on letting go of the feeling any time soon.

Even if your boyfriend came in.

“Babe? I’m sorry, I got caught up in —“

“Steve!” You said sweetly, releasing Mike from your mouth with a ‘pop’. “How nice of you to join us!”

The wording struck Michael as odd, but he chalked it down to the thick layer of condescension in your voice.

Steve stared right past you and towards Mike, narrowing his eyes. The younger man swallowed, wanting to push you off of him, but found himself drawn to the silent aura of the man, much more the way a bulge was visible in his pants also.

“I can explain—“ he stammered, exasperated as you played with him in your hands, index finger and thumb squeezing the tip as your eyes darted between the two men. How were you so relaxed about this?

“No need to worry about it, Mike,” Steve said, his tone surprisingly sympathetic as he zipped down his own pants. “I don’t mind sharing her...In fact, I love showing my darling off,” he grinned, almost sadistically as he bared his teeth and dimples. Steve placed his larger, calloused hands on your neck, his thumb brushing your cheek affectionately as he did. Mike felt somewhat betrayed by the way there was a glint of happiness in your eye; much more the way he pulled you into a sloppy, passionate kiss as you stroked the older man instead of him.

Once the pair of you pulled apart, his blue eyes were clouded with lust as he patted your cheek, thumb tracing your lips before he pulled away. You kissed the digit tentatively, chin in the air as you glanced down at Mike, silent, but smiling.

Ironically, you were a healthy couple playing a twisted game, and you’d been in on it all along.

Steve cleared his throat, loosening a button on his shirt as you span around, your own pelvis holding down Mike’s own. Mike should’ve despised the situation in its entirety, but the way his cock twitched was undeniable. It was as if this fucked up situation were unlocking something within him, and he didn’t know for how much longer he could hold it back.

“…I love the way men like you look at her and want nothing more than to fuck her brains out. Do you know what it feels like to win? To know that she’s yours?” Steve drawled, watching almost in admiration as you pulled off your sweats, sliding your underwear to the side as you lined up Mike’s cock with your entrance.

“Of course you don’t,” he said condescendingly. “...Your life is about to be hell, Mike. You deserve something good…” The older man hissed, coincidentally aligning with the hiss from Mike’s own mouth who was too much in a state of ecstasy to register the comment. His precum was dribbling on your wet folds, and he longed for a bit of friction.

You placed a hand on Mike’s chest, smiling down at him with the same expression he��d come to fall for in the first place, paired with your soft, unsuspecting voice.

“Do you wanna fuck me, Mike? I bet you’d make me feel so good…”

“Y-Yeah..” he whimpered lowly, and he moaned as you sunk yourself onto his bare cock, gripping your body at the tight, wet pressure of your gummy walls. Steve hummed in amusement as he watched you begin to ride him; slowly at first, giving him enough leeway to insert himself into your mouth.

He’d had you a million times before, but he never grew tired of the sensation. He gripped the back of your head as he moved your face up and down his shaft, groaning as he fucked your mouth in tandem.

“You’ve always been a maneater, haven’t you baby?” Steve cooed. “My little slut,” he spat, and Mike furrowed his brows, feeling his cock twitch in you at the statement. You were clearly just a few rich people with a perverted pastime, and he’d been taken as collateral. He’d probably feel disgusted in the morning, but as of right now he was in heaven.

You steadied yourself on Mike’s cock, pressing down a hand into his pelvis as Steve’s grip tightened on your face, greedy as one hand reached down to grope your breasts.

“Go on, Mike,” he chuckled arrogantly. “Give em a feel,”

You took Mike's hand in your own, throwing your head back at the sensation of being fondled and prodded by two men simultaneously. Steve’s cock was hitting the back of your throat, your nose buried into the fabric of his clothes, stray grey pubic hairs tickling your nose as he did. Mike’s dick was buried in you, and you were 99% sure you’d sheathed himself to the hilt. You hadn’t even needed to move your hips for that long, and Mike had begun to take agency as rock his hips up into your own, the skin-on-skin sounds borderline pornographic.

“Shit,” Mike whispered, feeling his stomach begin to knot up, and you gasped, talking around Steve’s cock that sent vibrations through the spectacled man’s lower half.

“Are you gonna cum, Mikey? You wanna fill this pussy up?” you teased, circling your hips uncontrollably, Mike’s penetrative thrusts becoming shallow but frequent. He groaned in response, and Steve chuckled, one hand your back so he stabilised you, making sure your lush lips were still attached to his shaft. Mike may have been getting the goods, but he owned you, and his pleasure came first. Even in a group of three.

Feeling closer to your own orgasm, you slammed your hips down onto Mike, holding him in position as he came; desperately clutching the sheets as he spilled into you, mumbling to himself incoherently. Steve was gracious enough to pull himself from your mouth, a bridge of spit connecting you two as he did. Instinctively, you jerked him off, your warm hands sliding up and down effortlessly on his sloppy dick, still grinding your hips on Mike as he was beginning to come down from his high.

Steve came with a grumble, and it wasn’t long until you followed him after, grinning mischievously as fresh white trails of his seed painted your face. Glancing over at Mike - who looked totally spent - you ran your tongue along Steve’s pink shaft to clean him up, writhing as you stimulated Mike’s softening cock, producing a groan from the brunette.

You were light headed as you fell back onto the sheets, smiling as Steve stroked your semi-nude body adoringly, lulling you off to sleep.

THE MORNING AFTER

Mike was awakened to a banging on the door, swearing under his breath as he contemplated how this looked. Sitting up, he scanned the room for a sign of you, or even Steve, but to no luck.

He looked out of the window. The snowstorm was over.

Perhaps you’d just gone out for breakfast.

He hurried his clothes on, placing his hands on his hips as he tried to shake the hazy memories of the night before. He was just in time as an officer entered, worried as he saw his colleague enter with guns.

“W-What’s going on?” he asked, squinting.

“We have a warrant for a visitor's arrest,” he drawled. “A Mr William Afton…?”

Mike frowned. The name wasn’t familiar.

The officer raised a brow, leaving the room once the coast was clear. As he did, Mike caught a glimpse of the poster in his back pocket, the face painfully recognisable.

WANTED: Child abduction and murder.

#florence writes!!#william afton x reader x mike schmidt #steve raglan x reader x mike schmidt #fnaf smut #william afton smut #steve raglan smut #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt x reader #steve raglan x reader #william afton x reader #dark! reader #fnaf x dark!reader #mike schmidt x dark!reader #dark fics

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youwouldntdownloadapizza · 7 months

Text

The Pleasures of The Unknown | Kate Middleton x The Unknown (Glasgow Wonka Experience 2024)

masterlist | ao3 | follow @youwouldntdownloadapizza and turn on notifications for updates

When Kate Middleton mistakenly ends up at a magical chocolate factory in Glasgow, she finds herself drawn to a mysterious cloaked figure with a penchant for dark chocolate.

pairing: Kate Middleton x The Unknown (Glasgow Wonka 2024)

rating: 18+, minors DNI

word count: 1.2k

tags: crack, crack treated seriously, crack fic, smut, mild smut, finger sucking, chocolate, sex and chocolate, light BDSM, choking, thigh riding, rpf, bald harry styles, balddry, infidelity, glasgow, willy wonka experience - freeform, glasgow willy wonka - freeform, Balmoral, british royal family, unhinged innuendo

chapter warnings: smut, infidelity

Kate Middleton stared at her bangs in the Buckingham Palace bathroom mirror.

"I can't go out like this," she complained to William. "The Sun will rip me a new one!"

"Kate, my dear," he kissed her on the cheek, turning to lean against the counter. She continued tugging at her botched fringe until he took her hand. "It's just hair. It'll grow back."

"That's rich, coming from you."

William looked down at his royal bunny slippers with a frown. Even they had more hair than he did. Perhaps he should have them fashioned into a wig. He'd have to ask his frenemy, Harry Styles, for wigmaker recommendations.

"I don't know what to do." Kate looked up at her husband with tears in her eyes. He wiped them away with his royal hanky.

"I do," he smiled. Sliding his hand into his back pocket, he produced the royal AmEx.

"Take a holiday, Kate. Go to Balmoral or Hollyrood for a few weeks. Grow them out. Maybe even get that BBL you've been talking about getting. Scotland is a great place to recover from surgery. What with all the free healthcare and all, innit?" he said Britishly.

"You're so right, William. I'll leave first thing tomorrow."

---

Kate double-checked the address her husband had given her as she stepped out of her royal Uber Black.

"This can't be the right place. Balmoral was never this colorful!"

The cabbie rolled down his window. "Don't worry, ma'am, this is Willy's place! Be quick and get inside, it's looking like rain."

With a soft 'innit', the driver pulled away, and Kate was left on Willy's doorstep.

She assumed 'Willy' was short for her husband 'William', but as she entered the foyer, she began to have her doubts. The place appeared to be some sort of magical chocolate factory.

Although sparsely decorated, the place maintained some air of whimsy. Well, less of an air, more of a spritz, but clamato, clamato.

"Soo la voo," Kate shrugged, walking beneath the sparkly, styrofoam rainbow and towards whatever fate awaited her here.

"Ahh, more guests! Welcome!" A depressed-looking woman in a green wig approached her.

"Here, compliments of Willy," she said, sliding a plastic cup containing a splash of what appeared to be sparkling lemonade into Kate's left hand. Into her right went a single jelly bean.

"What is this?" Kate asked.

"Our welcome gift to you! And only $40, such a deal."

Kate supposed $40 was a fair price for such splendor. After all, if bananas were $10, this was surely worth four times that. She popped the jelly bean and washed it down with the lemonade.

"Carry on down the hallway. Your future awaits."

Kate left her luggage and her empty cup with the so-called Oompa Loompa and proceeded down the bare linoleum hallway. That uncanny-valley candy landscape tapestry really ties the place together, she mused.

A voice greeted her at the end of the hall.

"What. Is. That?" A blonde man in a red top hat and coattails pointed towards an unassuming mirror.

Why, that's me! Kate Middleton! Kate Middleton thought to herself.

Kate nearly leaped out of her skin when the creature emerged from behind the looking glass.

"It's...THE UNKNOWN!!"

That's when Kate fainted.

When she awoke, her head was spinning. "Where am I?" She asked to the blackness that surrounded her.

A deep voice answered her. "You're in the walls. This is my home. My own dark chocolate factory."

"Your what?" Kate asked.

As her eyes adjusted, she realized she was in a small bedroom combined with a confectionary workspace, almost a studio apartment of sorts.

"My dark chocolate factory. You see, Willy Wonka seeks only to pump this world full of river-churned, high-fructose, milky delicious bullshit. What I aim to create is something far more sophisticated. Far more complex. And far, far darker."

"Oh? Might I try some?"

"Why of course," the silver-masked, black-hooded creature pulled back its sleeve to reveal long, nimble fingers.

He crossed to his chocolate worktable and dipped his index and middle fingers into a whirring chocolate fountain. The creature stalked towards her, extending the sample.

Kate leaned towards him, but froze. "Before I suck on your fingers, I should probably know your name."

The creature angled his head, as if considering her. "I have no name. I am only...The Unknown."

Kate's heart raced in her chest. That chocolate, those fingers, it all looked simply divine. And if William could be unfaithful, why couldn't she do the same? She deserved it, just this once. As a treat.

She opened her mouth, and The Unknown slid his fingers past her lips. She sucked deeply, the flavor sliding across her tongue and down her throat, the complex flavor and intensity of the delivery method sending shivers down her spine.

"Are you cold?" He asked.

"A bit," Kate admitted.

"Well then," she could hear the smirk in his voice even if she couldn't see it on his face. "Perhaps I'll have to warm you up myself."

Kate bit her lip. "Would you...put your willy? In my chocolate factory?"

His fingers closed around her throat. She drew a sharp breath.

She could feel his breath as he whispered in her ear, "Forget willies. Forget chocolate factories. Allow yourself to submit, to embrace the pleasures of The Unknown."

Kate let out a shuddering breath as she gazed up at that shiny mask. She didn't know what lurked behind it. She didn't care.

She kissed him then, the plastic of his mask hard against her soft lips. And then she was sprawled on the bed, his knee between her legs, and she was grinding against him.

"Oh, The Unknown!" She moaned.

"Please, there's no need for formality. Call me The."

So Kate did. She sounded like the gilded first word of a sponge's term paper as she wailed his name over and over again, into the dark stillness of this secret room behind the walls.

"I'm close," Kate moaned.

"Good girl."

He leaned down to kiss at her neck. The rough edges of the cheap mask scratched at her sensitive skin, but she didn't care. She was lost in the pleasures of The Unknown.

It was the hair that brought her to the edge, something her husband could never give her. The chemical scent of his cheap, black wig filled her nostrils as she rode his thigh, dangling there on the precipice.

"Ohh!" Kate screamed as she came, her thighs shaking with pleasure as she clenched around nothing.

A low, satisfied chuckle rumbled at her throat, and she swooned. After all these years of marriage, William had never rocked her world like this masked stranger just had. As they lay there together, she slipped into the chocolatey darkness of slumber, utterly content.

---

When Kate returned home, butt bigger and bangs longer, William had wanted to hear about her experience in Scotland.

"What was your favorite part?" He asked.

"I learned a lot about myself on this trip," she told him. "But the most valuable lesson was in learning to embrace the pleasures of the unknown."

"See, a little uncertainty is good sometimes!" He teased, tugging on her much-improved bangs before giving her a soft kiss.

"Mm," he smacked his lips. "Tastes like chocolate."

#ao3 #fanfic #fanfiction #crack fic #glasgow #glasgow willy wonka experience #willy wonka #the unknown #glasgow willy wonka #ai wonka #balddry #kate middleton #kate middleton conspiracy #kate middleton missing #kate middleton bangs #kate middleton bbl #kate middleton x the unknown

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delusionalwriter02 · 8 months

Note

Hello! If you’re not to busy I was wondering if you could write for dazai, chuuya, fyodor, and sigma with a reader that wears like baggy clothing(kind of like skater style) but one day they’re at a special event and are dressed all elegantly😱

You should dress like that more often

Dazai, Chuuya, Fyodor, Sigma x GN Reader / Fluff / Headcanons

a/n : Thank you so much for your request !! I love the idea so let's goo, hope you like it. I kept the same "environment" but change the dialogues and interactions for them, I'm sorry if the beginning is the same, I didn't really know how to correctly do it.

Dazai :

The grand reception hall buzzed with an air of sophistication as the doors opened to welcome the distinguished guests. Dazai, draped in an all-black attire, strolled into the venue with an air of nonchalance. His sharp eyes quickly scanned the room, ever observant.

Amidst the sea of elegantly dressed peoples, Dazai's attention was captivated by a figure weaving through the crowd. You, typically adorned in loose-fitting clothing and a perpetually disgruntled expression, had undergone a remarkable transformation for the evening.

Dazai couldn't help but stop in his tracks, his eyes widening at the sight. The dark fabric accentuated your shoulders and narrow waist, revealing a side of you that had been carefully concealed beneath layers of baggy clothes.

He blinked, momentarily taken aback. "Well, well, what do we have here?" Dazai mused aloud, a mischievous smirk on his lips.

-"Don't act all surprised. Thought I'd try something different for the occasion."

Dazai's smirk widened. "Different is an understatement. I didn't know you had such a figure hiding under those oversized garments. Did you hire a personal stylist, or is this a secret talent of yours?"

You sighed, attempting to maintain composure. "I thought I'd make an effort, that's all. Is it really that surprising?"

Dazai chuckled, circling you as if inspecting the change. "Oh, it is surprising. I never thought I'd see the day when you embraced the concept of form-fitting clothing. It suits you, though."

A faint blush colored your cheeks, and Dazai couldn't help but enjoy the rare sight of you, his partner momentarily flustered. As you both continued into the reception, Dazai couldn't resist teasing you about this new fashion choice. Even if, secretly, he hopes that this won't be the last time you wear these clothes.

Chuuya :

The hall glittered with chandeliers as Chuuya made his entrance. His eyes scanned the room. Amidst the sea of formalwear, his attention was captivated by a figure he recognized immediately.

You, who typically favored loose, comfortable attire, had taken a bold step into the world of formal clothing for the evening. The midnight-blue fabric clung to your frame, accentuating curves and lines that were usually hidden beneath more relaxed clothing.

Chuuya raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. "Well, who are you and what have you done to my partner ?" he remarked, his voice carrying a tone of mild surprise. "Didn't think I'd see you strutting around like a runway model tonight."

You were caught off guard by Chuuya's observation, you shot him a playful glare. "I can dress up when I want to. Not every day I get to attend such fancy events."

Chuuya chuckled, his smirk growing. "I never said you couldn't. Just didn't expect you to go from baggy to body-hugging in one night."

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Thought I'd give the fashion police something to talk about. You know, keep them on their toes."

Chuuya laughed, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Well, you've certainly achieved that. I didn't know you had a hidden fashionista side. Maybe I've been underestimating you all this time."

You rolled yours eyes, but a smirk tugged at the corners of your lips. "Underestimating? Please, Chuuya, I can be full of surprises when I want to be."

"Clearly," Chuuya replied, still grinning. "You're stealing the spotlight tonight. Who knew you could turn heads ?"

The conversation continued at length but Chuuya had a hard time staying focused. One wonders why.

Fyodor :

The grand reception hall exuded an air of sophistication as Fyodor's gaze methodically surveyed the room, searching for you. Amidst the elegant crowd, his attention was drawn to a figure moving gracefully through the gathering.

You, typically draped in loose-fitting garments, had chosen to deviate from your usual style for the evening. The pretty clothes you wore accentuated your form in a way that intrigued Fyodor, in more way than one.

Fyodor maintained his composed demeanor as he went to talk to you, "A departure from the usual, I see. What inspired this sartorial change?"

You, meeting his gaze with a confident expression, replied, "Figured it was time for a subtle transformation. People tend to underestimate the power of appearances."

Fyodor nods, "A strategic choice, then. You understand the impact of perception."

You grinned, "Well, I thought I'd add a touch of intrigue to the evening. Keep things interesting."

Fyodor's lips curved into a faint smile. "An admirable goal. Complexity often begets fascination."

You laughed, “A little dance?” you said, holding out your hand. “I have a partner who will be jealous if they see me in such nice company.” Fyodor said, accepting your outstretched hand.

“You’re really stupid,” you replied, taking him further away, away from the people.

A fascinating evening, indeed.

Sigma :

Sigma in his dark attire entered the hall. Amidst the swirl of activity, his attention was drawn to somebody standing in one of the corner, alone.

You who usually favoring loose-fitting clothes, had opted for something different, very different.

Sigma approached with a genuine smile playing on his lips. "Someone's bringing a whole new vibe tonight. What's the story behind the stylish upgrade?"

You grinned, a spark of confidence in your eyes. "Just felt like trying something out of the ordinary. You know, adding a dash of flair to this boring and stupid party."

Sigma chuckled. "Flair, indeed. It suits you. And here I thought I was the only one allowed to make dramatic entrances."

You teased back, "Oh, there's room for more than one in the spotlight. Care to join me for a dance in the middle of it all?"

Sigma raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. "Well, I suppose I could be persuaded. Let's make tonight memorable, shall we?"

Sigma held out his hand, you took it. He lead you to the center of the room, ready to make this evening trully memorable.

Hey! I hope you liked it? I'm sorry for having kept a certain line for all the characters but I must admit that I lacked inspiration to bring about the different situations.

See you <3

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divinityunleashed · 6 months

Note

What have you done to the four Hearts, you fiend?!

"Oh. Nothing much. Just made them realize the truth."

"I want to find Nepgear and strangle her."

"I'm going to destroy every single writing contest that ever rejected my brilliance."

"Every Neptune must be exterminated."

"I want to make sure Veronica is mine. Forever. And ever. And ever. And ever. And ever. And ever. And ever. And ever. And ever."

#ask answered #anon ask #muse: kurome #guest muse: dark purple #guest muse: dark white #guest muse: dark black #guest muse: dark green

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sinfully-divine · 4 months

Note

Alexia quickly started to feel the heat inside her body from Dark Black Heart, she was panting and moaning more frequently. Her testicles was clenching, wanting to release her semen but to her shock, Dark Black Heart trapped its leaking tip by toes, unable to cum properly, and when Kurome was pulling and twisting her nipples, she let out another loud moan.

"P-please, please..." The rebel broke down in tears. "Let me cum, I'm s-sorry, I'm sorry, please f-forgive me. I'll d-do everything you say, but p-please let m-me cum..."

She looked so fragile at this point.

"Mmm... Very well."

Kurome smirked as she and Dark Black surrounded Alexia's cock with their soles, whilst Kurome continued to twist and pinch their erect nipples.

"Cum. Do it now."

#alexia #muse: kurome ankokuboshi #guest muse: dark black #cw: feet

0 notes

kc-writes-sometimes · 9 days

Text

Crown and Kin | Chapter One

Ao3 Account | Masterlist

Chapter One: The Bastard with Violet Eyes

Word Count: 2,641

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Summary: Daella’s journey takes an unexpected turn when she crosses paths with powerful figures in King’s Landing. As she navigates a world where bastards are often overlooked, Daella begins to unravel mysteries about her origins and the people watching over her.

Themes & Warnings: 18+, Character Death, Rape/Non Con, Future Smut, Canon Typical Violence, Canon Typical Incest, Angst, Dad Daemon Targaryen, Bastards and Brothels, Fluff, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, Team Black Centric, Slow Burn, Eventual Romance

Next Chapter ↠

Daella of King's Landing

People rarely paid attention to bastards. Snow, Rivers, Stone, Hill, Waters, Pyke, Storm, Flowers, and Sand—all were cut from the same misshapen cloth. They came and went as they pleased, their movements unmonitored, their musings unheard. Whether they lived or died mattered little to those of importance.

A bastard boy might find glory in battle and be granted knighthood. He could gain both brothers and honour at The Wall, or even pursue knowledge within The Citadel. A lack of name or title did little to hinder a boy from charting his own course and seizing his freedom.

But for bastard girls, the world offered fewer paths. The highest honour they could achieve was to be sold to one of the more reputable establishments on the Street of Silk in King’s Landing. Most, however, ended up working and dying in the brothels of Flea Bottom, just as Daella’s mother had.

Daella didn’t remember her mother well. Was she truly a beauty? Did they share the same pale skin, dark waves, and violet eyes? Truthfully, she wasn’t sure if she remembered her at all. The memory of her had faded, worn down by the passage of each moon since her death. Daella recalled the somberness of the women when her mother died, how they cooed at her as though she were a lost lamb on the cusp of slaughter. Her mother’s name was still spoken sometimes, but always in hushed tones behind silk curtains and makeshift wooden doors.

From what Daella had been told, her mother was a rare prize in King’s Landing, where few had the privilege of keeping company with the Dornish, let alone bedding one. She was loved by guests and whores alike, giving everything and keeping nothing. She even spared a few Silver Stags for the City Watch to ensure the safety of the other girls, which was how Daella ended up where she was.

Her life had been a far cry from that of the ladies of the Red Keep, yet the women of the brothel had always provided for her as best they could. They’d kept her safe, warm, and fed, even subjecting themselves to the ire of men who noticed her skulking around the brothel’s dark corners. It was a strange thing, to be raised in such an establishment without the expectation or encouragement to join the trade. But the women had promised her mother they would care for her as their own, and they had.

As Daella pulled herself from her makeshift bed and set her feet on the cold ground, she could already hear the giggles and moans of the women upstairs. Some were just starting their day; others had yet to finish. She couldn't risk lighting one of the torches scattered around the room, so she fumbled under her bed for the shoes carefully stored there. Her hand brushed the rough black material, and with a small, victorious smile, she silently slipped them on. Peeking her head out of the room, she glanced down the dimly lit hallway to ensure no one had noticed her presence. The side door to the brothel, typically used by the City Watch when they didn’t wish to be seen leaving in the early hours, had often been her means of escape. Slipping through the doorway, Daella made her way onto the moonlit streets.

“Daella,” a gruff voice called from behind her. She turned sheepishly toward the sound, feeling her heart race in her chest. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness just enough to make out the figure stepping toward her.

“Ser Harwin,” she muttered, feigning innocence and stepping backward, just out of his reach. This wasn't the first time Ser Breakbones had caught her sneaking out. Their dance had become almost routine. She’d get caught, he’d chastise her, she’d run, and he’d chase her. But at only six years old, Daella could never make it far before he scooped her up and dragged her home.

“You know you’re not supposed to be out here by yourself,” he sighed, taking a few steps closer and sinking to one knee to look her in the eye. Even on one knee, Ser Harwin was a large man. The women in the brothel often remarked how broad and handsome he was.

“I only needed some air. I wasn’t going to go far,” Daella whispered, attempting to defend herself as she stared at the ground. “I promise.”

“Come, Daella, let’s get you home before you get yourself into trouble,” he said, standing to his full height. His pretty brown eyes watched her intently as he turned to lead her back. The moment he turned his back, she scurried into a nearby alleyway and ran, paying little mind to the shouting behind her. Ser Breakbones really should have known better by now.

The acrid stench of alcohol and unwashed bodies filled the air, causing her nose to wrinkle as she slipped through the throngs of people out enjoying the night’s revelry. Ser Harwin’s voice faded into the background, drowned out by the lively chatter of those pressed against walls or sitting on the floor, taking pride of place in front of the stone square where entertainers performed for coin. Her small stature proved useful as she weaved through the crowds just in time to see a plume of orange flame escape the mouth of the man before her.

Rosalie, her mother’s best friend, often said that as a baby, the only way Daella would quiet down enough to sleep was if the fire burned high and hot. The heat never bothered her, unlike the women in the brothel, who regularly complained that it was already too warm. Daella was almost certain the budget for firewood increased tremendously after she was born.

Another plume of flame pulled her from her thoughts as it ascended into the night sky. As Daella watched the flames recede, she scanned the faces of those surrounding the square. Her gaze froze when she noticed a towering figure across from her, dressed in black with both hands resting on a sword at his hip. The faces around him were a mix of shock, surprise, and wonder as they watched the fire dancers, but this man’s gaze, though shielded by a heavy hood, seemed squarely fixed on her.

“There you are,” came the deep, steady voice of Ser Harwin as he placed a gloved hand on Daella’s shoulder and spun her around to face him. “I’ve told you before, Daella, you can’t outrun a man of the City Watch. Although, you did make it further than normal this time,” he added, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. If Daella didn’t know any better, she might have thought he was proud that she managed to evade him for as long as she had.

“You only caught me because I was distracted,” Daella huffed, pouting as she crossed her arms. Her eyelids grew heavier as her gaze darted between the fire dancers and the swirling crowd. A yawn crept up on her, softening her pout as she fought to keep her eyes open.

As the crowd began to thin and the moon dipped lower in the sky, Ser Harwin grinned and said, “Come now, my little flame, let’s get you home before Rose has both our hides.” He swept Daella off the ground and tucked her against his side. His dark armour was as cold and unyielding as ever, except for the soft gold cloak draped over his left shoulder. Daella noticed his helmet was missing, likely lost during their game of chase, letting his brown curls fall into place at his jaw. No doubt he’d endure another one of the Commander’s long-winded lectures on the proper care and maintenance of City Watch equipment. The men often grumbled about those tirades when deep in their cups, though they wouldn’t usually dare speak ill of their Commander—unless encouraged by wine during their trips to the brothel.

Ser Harwin always whistled while he walked. He couldn't carry much of a tune, nor had Daella ever asked what he was whistling, but she found it soothing nonetheless, especially when she was on the cusp of sleep. As they turned into one of the alleyways leading home, Daella noticed a dark figure leaning against the wall along their path. As they drew closer, the man’s stature and presence became clearer. He held himself much like the figure she had seen earlier at the square.

“I didn’t take you for a man of depravity, Ser Strong,” the man said, eyeing Daella in Ser Harwin’s arms as he pushed off the wall. His tone was threatening, yet a hint of amusement coloured his words. “I would have thought this one was a bit young for you.”

As the man removed his hood, Ser Harwin inhaled sharply, tightening his hold on Daella. Raising her head from Ser Harwin’s shoulder, she tried to get a better look at their intruder. All she managed to notice was his long silver hair, which the moonlight caressed like it did the waters of Blackwater Bay during high tide. She had to stifle the urge to reach out and run her fingers through those strands.

“My Prince,” Ser Harwin said, bowing his head in supplication. “We were not aware you had returned to King’s Landing.”

“That would be because I did not send word. It seems the City Watch has grown careless in my absence.” The previous amusement in the prince’s voice was now gone, replaced by a steely edge. “If a man like me can infiltrate King’s Landing simply by walking through the main gate, I’d say you Gold Cloaks have quite the problem on your hands.” His mouth was drawn into a thin line, and Daella could feel the displeasure and frustration radiating from him. “I wonder, how many of you would even bother to look up if I flew Caraxes over the Dragonpit and across Flea Bottom?”

Daella’s eyes widened, and she gasped as the name slipped from his lips. The fierce conquest of the Stepstones by the rogue prince and Caraxes was a favoured tale among the smallfolk in King’s Landing. Yet, with so many versions of the story swirling around, she was never sure what was fact and what was mere embellishment. Some of the women even said the prince had finally gotten what he wanted—a crown of his own.

“I will be sure to bring your concerns to the Commander at first light, my prince,” Ser Harwin replied with a nod, attempting to move past the prince.

“You never did give me an answer, Lord Strong,” the prince said, his gaze settling on Daella. “But no matter, the answer is irrelevant. I’ve known of your preference for those of us with silver hair for quite some time.”

Ser Harwin’s mouth tightened into a thin line, but as the two men spoke, Daella felt his muscles gradually relax, his grip on her loosening. Before she could stifle it, a soft yawn escaped her throat, causing both men to turn their attention to her with faint smiles.

“Are we boring you, little one?” the prince asked, his lips curling into a smile as he stepped closer, his voice tinged with amusement.

Daella nodded, her eyes now able to take in his features as he approached. His jawline was strong, much like Ser Harwin’s, though the prince’s was clean-shaven. Where Ser Harwin’s nose was crooked from many breaks, the prince’s was perfectly straight. Her gaze wandered over his face until it met his eyes—eyes that were anything but ordinary. Instead of the usual blue or brown, she found herself staring into a pair of striking purple irises. While her own eyes were a pale violet, his were a deep indigo, so dark they reminded her of the midnight sky.

“Is she yours?” the prince asked, his gaze flicking back to Ser Harwin, a smirk playing on his lips.

“No, my prince,” Ser Harwin replied quickly, shaking his head. “She’s the daughter of one of the women who worked at the brothel. I promised her mother I’d look after her.”

The prince’s expression softened slightly, though a hint of mischief remained in his eyes. “A knight playing nursemaid. Now that is something I did not expect to see.”

“I made a promise,” Ser Harwin said, his tone firm but respectful. “And I intend to keep it.”

The prince studied him for a moment, then turned his attention back to Daella. “What’s your name, little one?”

“Daella,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Daella,” the prince repeated, his voice gentle as he tested the name on his tongue. “A name as beautiful as the girl who bears it.”

A flush crept up Daella’s cheeks at the compliment, and she looked away, feeling suddenly shy under his intense gaze.

“Take care of her, Ser Harwin,” the prince said, his tone suddenly serious. “The streets of King’s Landing are no place for a child, especially not one as precious as this.”

“I will, my prince,” Ser Harwin replied, bowing his head once more.

The prince gave Daella one last lingering look before turning on his heel and disappearing into the shadows, his long silver hair the last thing she saw before he melted into the night.

Ser Harwin let out a breath he seemed to have been holding, his shoulders relaxing as the prince’s presence faded. “Let’s get you home, Daella,” he said, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. He adjusted his hold on her and began walking again, his pace quickening slightly as if eager to put distance between them and the prince.

“Who was that?” Daella asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“That was Prince Daemon Targaryen,” Ser Harwin replied, his voice laced with a mixture of respect and caution. “He’s a dangerous man, Daella. Stay away from him if you can.”

Daella nodded, though her thoughts were still fixed on the prince’s piercing purple eyes and the way he seemed to see right through her. Something about him stirred a strange mix of fear and fascination within her, a feeling she couldn’t quite place or understand.

As they approached the brothel, the familiar warmth and muffled sounds of the women’s laughter greeted them. Ser Harwin set her down gently just outside the door, his expression softening as he crouched to meet her gaze.

“You gave me quite the chase tonight, little flame,” he said with a tired smile. “But you need to be careful, alright? This city is full of people who would do you harm without a second thought.”

“I know,” Daella replied, feeling a pang of guilt for worrying him. “I just wanted to see the fire dancers.”

“And you did,” he said, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “But next time, let’s watch them together, alright? No more running off on your own.”

Daella nodded, the weariness of the night finally catching up to her. “I promise.”

“Good girl,” he said, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head before rising to his full height. “Now, off to bed with you. Rosalie will be waiting.”

Daella gave him a small smile before slipping inside, the familiar warmth of the brothel wrapping around her like a comforting blanket. As she made her way to her little corner, she couldn’t shake the image of the prince from her mind. Something told her that tonight was only the beginning, that her path and Prince Daemon’s would cross again. And when they did, she wasn’t sure if she would be ready for what it would bring.

But for now, she was just a little girl, a bastard with violet eyes, hidden away in the shadows of King’s Landing, where no one of importance would think to look.

Next Chapter ↠

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wndaswife · 2 years

Note

If requests are still open, is it possible to get a subby milf Wanda x neighbours daughter college student r?

If not all good, I love your blog 💚 you’re actually so talented, I’d read your shopping list if you wanted to publish it…

love thy neighbour

wanda maximoff & fem!reader

tags: smut, sacrilege (a lot), cunnilingus, fingering, semi public & public sex, infidelity, manipulation, slight obsessive & possessive behaviour, angst, fluff, sub!wanda maximoff, dom!reader. MINORS DNI.

word count: 9237

summary: You meet your new neighbours when you visit home for the holidays. With homemade treats and friendly advances, Wanda seems to have intentions of becoming closer with you, and she won’t settle for anything less.

a/n: this took weeks to finally work on but im so thankful for your request, this christmas fic couldn’t have been done without it <3

Your semester was finally over.

Exams were finished.

Assignments were finished.

Buying groceries for yourself and attending weekly class were finished.

Until next semester came around, anyways. But that didn’t cross your mind when you wheeled your luggage up the snowy driveway of your house and to the front door where you knocked.

You were glad for a white Christmas, though your tremulous drive back begged to differ.

But nevermind that.

The front door of your house was pulled open and a gust of warm air from inside laced with the palatable scent of homemade dinner embraced you.

Nevermind any of it.

Your mother pulled you into a hug and your father took your luggage up to your bedroom.

For the next few weeks, you could forget about anything that didn’t have to do with the holidays and spend every day of it precisely how you wanted to, schedules and deadlines finally be damned.

There were a few things that had changed around the house since the last time you visited, including a strangely-decorated Christmas tree in the corner of your living room that your father had obviously decorated on his own without listening to any of your mother’s input.

You spent the next forty minutes in your bedroom unpacking in time for dinner downstairs with your parents. Perhaps if you had known there’d be guests, you would’ve changed out of your casual jeans and hoodie.

It was only until you stepped foot downstairs in the living room when you reconsidered your attire. But just then, a family of four came into view- a tall finely-dressed man and who you assumed to be his wife turning to look at you.

“This is our daughter, Y/N,” your mother introduced, stepping over to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. She mused, “She came home not more than an hour ago.” Her face turned to you with a proud smile.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” the tall man greeted, extending a hand that you shook. “I’m Vision, and this is my wife Wanda. We’re your neighbour across the street.”

Your eyes moved from him to the woman beside him dressed in a wine red turtleneck and black slacks. Her dark brown hair streaked with shades of blonde was curled up to above her shoulders. She, contradictory to you, was dressed in the spirit of a formal dinner.

You wondered if it had become a tradition for your parents to dine with them since the last you’d visited. It made you feel particularly casted off from your own home as you knew little of who the family standing in the middle of your parents’ living room was.

“We’ve heard much about you, Y/N,” Wanda commented. Her voice was even-tempered and soothingly soft. “We’re glad you could make it home for the holidays as your mother and father have told us how demanding your program is.” You found you could do nothing but nod in understanding, a considerate smile on your lips.

She continued, “These are our twins, Tommy and Billy. Say hello, boys.” The two children, dressed as formally as their parents were, waved at you. One was holding his mother’s hand and they both shone polite smiles at you with the intention of being friendly.

You waved back at them with your own smile that you hoped looked as welcoming as you intended. It’d been awhile since your street had any children.

“Shall we take this into the dining room?” your dad spoke suddenly, outreaching his hands to take the casserole in Vision’s. With a nod, the dish was exchanged between the two men. The twins trailed behind your father as your mother began a conversation with Vision.

Wanda was standing beside you before you realised she had held herself back a moment to be able to walk with you. A warm smile was directed at you when you looked over at her, eliciting the first sincere upwards tug of your lips since you arrived downstairs.

Her arms were pulled forwards by Tommy and Billy and she followed their excited lead over to the adjacent side of the table where the rest of her family’s seats separated you from her side.

Your mother began serving the plates, asking neither of the guests of their preferred amount of portions other than you. Had it really been so long since you were last home?

When you looked up from the mashed sweet potatoes, curious green eyes caught your attention- it was Wanda’s, staring across the table and at your face. Not anywhere particularly, but rather running down the way your hair tucked behind your ear or the curves of your lips as you told your mother you didn’t want any cranberry sauce.

Her eyes left you once yours found hers. It was almost a bit strange, certainly, but you dismissed it as curiosity.

“Wanda is a member of the church here, Y/N,” your dad said as he poured you a glass of ginger ale.

“Wow,” you responded, looking up from your plate in front of you to nod at her in indication of a peaked interest.

Your mother continued, “She’s a choir leader. Three, sometimes four days a week, she’s volunteering for services at the church around the block. She’s really quite talented. Composed a number of pieces herself.”

Wanda said with a sheepish smile and a flick of her wrist, “She doesn’t want to hear about that, do you, Y/N?” Her eyes were on you again, but with more intention when she maintained eye contact that time.

You cut a piece of casserole from your serving and shrugged, looking back up to Wanda, then around the table to your mother. “I wouldn’t mind hearing about it,” you answered and took a bite from the portion you had scooped onto your fork.

Wanda’s eyes seemed to follow the direction of your fork that moved past your lips, then maintained focus as she watched you chew.

Vision and your father started up a conversation which called for everyone’s attention at the table with their central positions between everyone. Perhaps you’d seen it wrong, but it took Wanda a few moments for her to direct her attention from you, even when her husband moved onto another topic.

Finally, once Tommy’s exceptional grades were brought up in his physical education class, Wanda focused her attention on him and away from you, running her hand down her son’s arm admirably. She did the same for Billy when she mentioned his joining of the school’s soccer team.

After about an hour and a half of listening to yours and Vision’s family’s conversations with the occasional input from your end, you were washing dishes in the kitchen while everyone conversed in the living room. You were relieved to have some time to yourself. Dinner with guests took you for a bit of a surprise.

“Is it alright if I put these here?” a soft familiar voice asked from behind you. Wanda came into view as she rounded you to the sink holding three empty wine glasses.

Though you did enjoy meeting her.

“That’s fine,” you answered her and went back to rinsing a soapy plate. She placed the wine glasses on the counter beside the sink.

You expected for her to leave the kitchen as silently as she had come, but she leaned against the kitchen counter and your eyes flickered over to her.

“Did you enjoy dinner?”

You nodded. “I did enjoy it. It’s been a while since I’ve had a big home cooked meal like that.” She said something about agreeing to have enjoyed dinner in response.

“Did you like the casserole?”

Restraining the confused furrowing of your eyebrows that you felt beginning to tug onto your expression at Wanda’s question, you simply nodded again. “It was good. I thought the chicken was really great,” you told her, recalling the meal in detail.

“Did you make it?” you asked, looking over to her when you took a wine glass from the counter and began washing it.

Looking pleased that you suggested it, Wanda responded, “I did. The secret to it is a few pinches of paprikash in the marinade while the chicken sits the night before.”

You could hold back the amused smile that formed on your face as you listened to her sudden commentary on cooking. “That’s cool,” you replied with a nod. “Yeah, it was great. Do you and your family often come over for dinner?”

“Not very often. Most Saturdays and some weekdays if we can.”

“So, you’re close to my parents?”

“We are,” she said, almost hesitantly. “They were very kind to us when we first moved in.”

You nodded again and ran a soapy sponge through the inside of the final glass.

The older woman played with her wedding ring between her forefinger and the pad of her thumb. The moment her lips parted, Vision stepped into the kitchen.

“Wanda, the boys are ready to head home,” he told her. Wanda straightened. She answered him with a silent nod before looking back over to you.

Turning the sink off and drying your hands on a dishcloth, you said, “It was nice meeting the two of you, and Tommy and Billy.”

Vision smiled at you from across the kitchen, then raised an arm to beckon his wife over. Wanda looked back at you over her shoulder and you caught a glimpse of the soft curve of her red lips before she was at her husband’s side.

You joined your parents in time to wave goodbye to the twins as they walked across the street to their housr, Wanda and Vision holding a hand of each child. They were a conventional-looking family, the dark-haired wife bundled up in her jacket with a scarf and pair of gloves while her husband wore a sandy woollen trench coat. Their sons were squeezed between them as they waved back at your parents before their front door shut.

Guilt settled in the base of your stomach as you headed upstairs to your bedroom after bidding a goodnight to your parents. The curiosity of your neighbour’s eyes, the awkward twirling of her fingers as she approached you after dinner.

Had she wanted to get to know you?

There was warm familiarity in having everything placed as they normally were now that you were back home. Settling under your mounds of blankets while scrolling through your phone was a comfort as you no longer had anything weighing you down now that winter break had started. But the guilt of having overlooked Wanda gnawed at you still.

It didn’t matter all too much, did it? You were neighbours and you’d see each other around- plenty of time to make up for how you disregarded Wanda’s attempts at conversing with you. The two of you would likely not end up being any more than cordial neighbours with the differences that lay between you, but Wanda had been kind enough earlier that night and the least you could do was repay her for it.

You padded downstairs in the late afternoon, freshly out of bed after you heard the doorbell ring. You recalled amidst your sleepy daze that your parents were at work which forced you to drag yourself out of bed and open the front door.

Soft hair topped with a knitted-hat, rosy cheeks, and a familiar red scarf from last night greeted you once you opened the front door. The brisk winter air bit at your body half-dressed in a loose shirt and shorts, making you realise you were standing in front of your neighbour who had evidently gotten herself dressed up to visit your house.

Wanda’s soft smile dissipated into furrowed eyebrows and a concerned downwards curve of her lips. “Have I come at a bad time?” she asked you, the deep white dish in her mitten-clad hands lowering.

“Oh, no, no, no,” you blabbered and raised your hands to your hair, pushing it back behind your ears in an attempt to look presentable. “No, it’s not a bad time. But my parents aren’t home if that’s who you’re looking to talk with.”

“I was actually hoping to talk with you,” Wanda said. Something laid behind her words, though you could not decipher if it was due to the cold or some sudden onset of nerves. Blank and perhaps unfriendly confusion must have unintentionally come over your features for Wanda looked down at the dish in her hands, eyes flickering away from anywhere but yours. “But I understand if I’ve come at a bad time. I made brownies for you and your parents, so if you’d prefer I can just drop it off.”

Something opportunistic bloomed within you, a chance to make up for last night, and you stepped back into the house. “No, please, Wanda, come in,” you told her and gestured your arm back in a short sweeping motion, implying for her to step inside with you.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to overstep.”

“You’re not overstepping, I promise. I’ll take this from you so you can hang your things up.”

Finally, Wanda entered the front foyer and held the warm dish out which you took. While you brought the deep dish of brownies into the kitchen, you heard rustling behind you as Wanda hung her jacket up and placed her boots on the mat.

“Did I wake you?” Wanda inquired as she walked through the living room and into the kitchen behind you.

You lied, “I was laying around doing nothing productive upstairs before you came.”

“I’m glad. I hoped I didn’t bother you,” she expressed relief.

“Do you want to have some of this now? I can cut it up for both of us.”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

Soft clinking of plates and forks sounded through the kitchen as you wondered what Wanda might be doing there. She took a seat at the small kitchen table in front of the oven, her movements almost completely silent if not for the squeaking of the chair’s foot against the floor.

After you turned and placed a plate with a brownie slice on each side of the table, you poured two glasses of water across from each plate.

“Thank you,” Wanda said and lifted her fork between the pad of her thumb and the side of her middle finger. Her wedding ring reflected the winter sunlight from beyond the kitchen window. A singular prong from her fork pressed into the decadent-looking brownie before she spoke again, looking up from her plate to you. “Y/N, if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a question. I’ve been a bit curious about you.”

“Curious?” you repeated, looking up at her too.

With a nod, Wanda hummed in confirmation before asking, “You attend school so far from home. Don’t you feel… worried? About the distance from your parents and your hometown.”

“I suppose I do sometimes,” you pondered aloud. “I think most students who study away from home feel a bit awry about living so far.” In silent understanding, Wanda nodded and sliced a small portion of the warm brownie onto her fork. “Why do you ask?” you asked her.

“Your parents mention you often,” Wanda mentioned and looked up to you. “It reminds me of when I was around your age, I was quite interested in pursuing studying abroad. I was curious about whether you enjoyed it.”

You took a bite of the warm brownie to give yourself a few moments to think. “I’m only a few hours away, but I do enjoy it,” you answered finally. “You didn’t end up studying abroad?”

Wanda’s fork clinked against her plate. “No, I could’ve never done something like that,” she said. “My upbringing was extremely religious. I didn’t end up studying Orthodox Catholicism in the detail that my mother had hoped, but I was able to take a few English classes throughout my time at school which I loved very much. I adored Shakespeare.”

Orthodox Catholicism, was that right?

You wondered about Wanda’s personal beliefs, the opinions she might reserve about you should the two of you have any conversation past than the cordial neighbourly discussion. You didn’t press her about religion.

There was much she told you that you didn’t expect from her. She was first a dedicated churchgoing housewife then a lover of classic English poets.

A few slightly awkward moments passed as the two of you forked bites of Wanda’s brownies into your mouths between sips of cold water.

“Do you bake often?” you found yourself asking suddenly. When your eyes were laid on Wanda’s face, she did not look as uneasy in the silence between the two of you as you initially imagined she would.

Wanda answered, “I do when I have the spare time. For lunch after church services I attend, I sometimes bring over a few dishes of mine.”

“I’m sure your family loves them. You’re a talented cook.”

Green eyes watched intently as you took a drink from your glass, and Wanda smiled. “Thank you,” she said, sounding sincerely grateful for your compliment. “I hope I’m not making you feel uncomfortable, Y/N, I was just so eager to get to know you.”

The more you got to know Wanda, the cautious housewife with an impulse to please that volunteered at the church a few blocks away, the more you untensed around her. “I don’t feel uncomfortable at all. I’m really glad to get to know you a little too,” you reassured her. And you really did begin to enjoy being in her company.

Laughs came from her much easier as time passed in the kitchen together, then divulgences about her family life and congregation were shared with you as you sat together on the living room couch.

After an abrupt ringing of her phone, her husband calling her to ask if she could pick the twins up from school instead of himself, Wanda stood from the couch with you. But before she stepped into her boots, she asked with a coy tone of voice, “Would you mind if I used your washroom for a moment before I left?”

“Of course, it’s no problem. There’s a bit of an issue with the sink in the washroom here, so you’d have to use the one upstairs. Do you know where it is?”

Wanda confirmed that she did, and with her jacket on, she ascended the stairs up onto the second floor of the house. Her steps were barely audible as she walked across the floor and to the washroom across from the staircase upstairs.

While you carefully covered up your neighbour’s homemade brownies and placed them in the fridge for your parents to try once they came back from work, the woman you only just began to know as an unassuming harmless housewife sorted through your bedroom.

Nimble fingers pulled open your dressers’ cabinets then your wardrobe. She tucked pairs of underwear you owned into her jacket pockets that she adored as she sorted through them. She took photos of your perfumes and shampoo, the pills that belonged to you behind the washroom mirror. She looked over photos of you and your friends that decorate your desk and small areas of your walls, flipped through your notebooks and ran her eyes down your handwriting.

Leaving everything as it had been before she slipped into your bedroom, Wanda silently closed your door and with the washroom door open upstairs, she ran the sink for a few moments as she looked through the photos she took of your bedroom.

She joined you back downstairs after an appropriate amount of time, a soft smile on her bare pink lips. You were sitting on the couch scrolling through your phone when you looked up at her.

“Thank you,” Wanda said and wrapped her scarf around herself, then her woollen hat onto her head next.

You arose from the couch and opened the front door for her. “It was nice meeting with you,” you admitted as Wanda stepped into her boots and swung her purse around her shoulder.

“Likewise, Y/N. Thank you for making time for me,” she replied, moving past you to stand on your front porch. “See you soon.”

With a polite wave and a smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes, Wanda stepped off of your porch and headed across the street back to her house.

As you shut the front door and went back upstairs to the comfort of your bedroom, the warm feeling of appreciation for growing so close to your friendly neighbour veiled any possible suspicion that Wanda had been in your room.

You did not fall back asleep once you buried yourself back in your mounds of blankets and pillows, but instead scrolled through the internet on anything about Wanda Maximoff.

Photos of polite proud smiles surrounded her at her old church came up, then articles with her name mentioned because of her community volunteering contributions, and a Facebook profile hardly used besides a few published photos of her family and a profile picture from a time where Wanda’s hair was shorter and blonder than it presently was.

It was later in the evening when you wished to let Wanda know that your parents loved the dessert she made that you realised you didn’t have her number nor did she have yours.

Wanda’s family did not come over for dinner that night.

You took special care in washing her empty dish clean- the best one could do cleaning a dish for confections.

Twinges of embarrassment ran through you as you envisioned yourself through another’s perspective, making a fuss over a dish as an excuse to see your neighbour. You convinced yourself it’s what all cordial neighbours would do.

With that, you shut the kitchen light off and went to bed internally conjuring up every phrase you’d bring up to Wanda later that next morning.

Deciding to keep up good impressions, you woke up earlier that morning around nine. Dressed up for the visit across the street, you walked over to Wanda’s house.

It was a nice morning. It wasn’t actively snowing, but glistening white blankets covered the sidewalks and the street’s roofs. The sun was beaming down on you, enough to warm the tip of your nose yet maintain the brisk chill of winter.

With the dish balanced in one hand, you knocked on Wanda’s front door. You could see the warm gold and red outline of a Christmas tree past the living room’s partially opaque curtains and a variety of plants that decorated the windowsill.

The front door opened and your neighbour appeared dressed in a tan dress and sheer black latex tights. She seemed to be ready to head out.

“Y/N,” Wanda breathed your name out, a smile on her red lips. “Hello.”

You answered, tempted to look past her and into the warm ornate Christmas decorations in her house, “Hi. I wanted to return your dish. My parents really liked it. They told me to thank you.”

“Oh, yes,” Wanda said, looking down at the dish in your hands. “Come in. I’m happy you all enjoyed the dessert.” She closed the door behind you and a wave of deja-vu came over you as you recalled yesterday afternoon.

The subtle scent of homemade treats and cinnamon enveloped you as you stepped into the warm home.

Wanda lifted an earring from her palm and turned to look into the small mirror beside the door. “I’m just getting ready for mass. Vision is at work and the boys are at school. Do you have any place to be?”

She looked over at you from the mirror once both gold stud earrings were put on.

“No, nothing planned for today,” you replied finally.

Wanda took her dish from your hands carefully and headed into her kitchen. She offered, her voice echoing through the hallways to you still standing in front of the door, “Then would you like to accompany me to church? I’m not volunteering this morning- just attending the service.”

“Would it be okay? I don’t think I’ve ever been to your church although I’ve lived so close for a while.”

You heard a small amused laugh from Wanda in the kitchen. “Of course. The church is open to all- newcomers and old,” she answered.

You bristled at that terminology.

Newcomer.

Even if you accepted her offer, you didn’t anticipate being a regular attendant.

Wanda returned to the living room with her purse slung over her shoulder and a winter coat on. She leaned down beside you to slip a pair of heeled Oxfords. “Let the message of Christ dwell among you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom through psalm…” she recalled the Bible verse, “hymns, and songs from the Spirit, singing to God with gratitude in your hearts.”

When she straightened, she was smiling over at you. “Attending mass is always a pleasure for me. I would like to extend that joy to you. But it is your choice. You don’t have to come.”

Though she gave you every opportunity to deny her, to turn away and say that you would rather occupy your day doing something else, you found it difficult to envision any sort of dejection as you peered at her curious green eyes through her rimless glasses.

Without a moment’s thought, you answered, “I’d love to go.”

Your neighbour’s smile upturned into a grin and she nodded once. “Perfect. I was planning on walking as Vision has the car. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I have my car parked in the garage, I could drive us both there,” you offered immediately, stepping back to allow Wanda to open her front door and step out onto her porch with you.

With a cheerful chirp and a beaming smile, Wanda spoke, “Sounds like a plan.” After locking the door behind her, she hooked an arm around yours and the two of you crossed the road together. You helped Wanda into the passenger's seat and then slid into your own.

On the way there, Wanda discussed more of her religious upbringing with you once you asked her about her passions. You worried you were imposing yourself too harshly on someone you had only just begun to know, but curiosity got the best of you.

Wanda Maximoff was a traditional churchgoing housewife with two children and a perfect marriage. She baked for your family and offered to take you to one of her church’s masses. She was perhaps the kindest woman you’d ever known.

How could you stand to reserve your questions about her personal alignments any longer?

Fortunately, Wanda seemed open to sharing with you what you were curious about. Her mom was, alike to her, a hardworking stay-at-home mother who tended to her and her twin brother in their childhood. Her father was a tireless man who worked every hour possible to earn for his family. It seemed the differences between her families was generational, wherein family dynamics and generational wealth shifted somewhat since Wanda last lived under her parents’ roof.

Through schooling and religious camps, she met her husband at the age of nineteen. He was her summer camp counsellor who was nearly seven years her senior.

Her parents loved Vision, a well-mannered man with priorities set well into the future and capable of supporting a family of three- perhaps even up to two more members if they ever wished to grow. They settled down when Wanda was twenty-two.

Now at thirty-three, Wanda was still happily married with two twin boys in a quiet neighbourhood wherein she had a high standing at her local church and general community.

As a college student yourself, her feats were daunting but impressive all the same. Wanda was an amazing woman.

Thus, the number of well wishes and brief conversations Wanda partook in as the two of you walked from the church’s parking lot to the building’s vast front doors did not come as a surprise to you.

Though it had struck you as odd as you noticed how adverse Wanda was to introducing you to members from church and her other community friends.

Unless any of them mentioned you as you stood right beside her, she wouldn’t mention you at all. Even the most obvious of referrals to you, eye contact made or a nod in your direction, would be ignored. If it wasn’t the most explicit of mentions of your being there, Wanda would squeeze her arm around yours and walk ahead with you.

Wanda would introduce you along the lines of, ‘This is my neighbour, Y/N. She’s come to spend the holidays at home.’

‘How kind of her to come attend mass with you,’ they would say.

Wanda would nod politely, though uncharacteristically without any further remarks. Even compliments on her choir sessions and composed songs which Wanda would typically flush at and dismiss as overt flattery were responded to with unadorned expressions of gratitude.

Finally, the two of you took a seat at the front pews, Wanda’s hand on your hip.

“Come sit close to me, Y/N,” she told you, hushed. “We don’t want to get separated.”

With your head ducked and your chin tucked close to your chest, you whispered, “Do we have to sit so close to the front? There are some seats at the back.”

“We must sit up front and pray as such. Settle here with me. I will show you how to worship.” She took your hand and led you down into the pew.

You sat down beside her, shuffling right and left in accordance with the rest of the church’s members also taking their respective seats on the same pew as you and Wanda. But with a hand on your knee, she kept you close.

Wanda kept a watchful eye on those around the two of you as if hoping to me keenly observant of something. Then, the priest, dressed in his black alb that nearly reached the floors, created an illusion that he was gliding across the front of the church. He reached the front, by the podium and its microphone, and exchanged a few silent greetings with those sitting at the front pews.

In response to a small wave from him, Wanda nodded cordially at the priest.

Wanda slipped her jacket off. It pooled by her hips and she placed her purse between her hip and yours. You did the same with your jacket.

The church’s service progressed, a series of kneeling and standing, hands clasped together and chins tipped upwards. You listened to Wanda sing along with the church hymns while you followed from a songbook.

The mass sang a handful of Christmas songs and you were amused as you listened to Wanda sing.

She did have a nice voice. It was soothing and demurely sweet.

You should’ve expected it, but you were stunned all the same. She was a model woman, a model Catholic, a model wife and human being. You looked away from her then, at the realisation of her sterling magnificence.

Suddenly, as if she had been aware of the way you stared at her throughout the entire service and was attuned to every shift of your focus, Wanda looked down her shoulder at you, who was slumped slightly down onto the pew’s kneeler.

“Y/N…” Wanda whispered, eliciting your attention back up to her. “Are you paying attention?”

You nodded, correcting your posture to kneel as Wanda was.

“But each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed,” the priest continued to read from the Bible perched up on the pedestal. “Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death.”

Gentle flipping of the thin pages echoed through the church’s speakers and he continued, “For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world.”

“Will we be seeing you next mass, Ms Maximoff?” the priest asked by the exits of the church once the service came to an end.

You stood beside Wanda, awkwardly, averting your eyes from those that passed you who peered at you curiously, an unfamiliar face standing beside perhaps the most well-known member of the church.

“Are you alright?” a voice suddenly cooed.

You looked up from the ornately tiled floor to the woman beside you- Wanda, looking over you with a curious gaze. You managed a nod, perhaps one that was at least almost convincing.

But Wanda looked at you for several moments more.

She bid a farewell to the priest and hooked her arm around yours. Then, wordlessly, the two of you walked past the opposite flow of people walking by the two of you.

You rounded a corner together, revealing an empty hallway that led to a closed room at its end. Moving forward, Wanda turned the knob and allowed the two of you in.

A silent room enveloped you, the colourful stained windows reflecting a soft myriad of colours into the four-walled room. Smaller, then, the two of you moved forward, to what appeared to be a wide wooden closet.

Wanda unhooked a latch, pulling the door open and stepping into the confessional booth. She tugged you towards her then closed the same wooden door, confining the two of you to the right wooden box.

You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, you could feel it in your fingertips.

Your breath hitched and Wanda placed her hands on your hips, stepping forward into the tight booth and removing any space from you.

“Y/N…” she whispered, her voice a fragile gust of warm breath. “The prodigal daughter, how terribly I’ve fantasised of you. You are all I’ve ever hoped for myself.”

Her hand found your cheek, fingers fondling your soft skin and running her nails down to your chin gently. “So brave and kind,” she continued. “So smart. And pretty.” Her cheek pressed against yours, her lips ghosting against the lobe of your ear.

“Wanda…” you muttered, turning your head and disconnecting your cheek from her own. But she moved closer again.

“Trapped in a marriage like mine, a studious child then an ever-dedicated wife and mother. Never having any other path, Y/N. You…” Wanda pulled away from you to look into your eyes. “I admire you.”

One of her legs moved past yours so Wanda could turn your body and push you downwards onto the seat of the confessional. Her dress hiked up her satin-covered thighs as she sat herself down on your lap, her purse and jacket a forgotten mess on the floor of the booth.

“Only a moment passed after your mother firstly told me about you- her bright daughter studying the program of her choice in a campus hours away- and it was only that very moment it took for me to become taken by you,” Wanda recalled.

She placed both hands on either side of your face, making you look up at her. “You lied to me when I woke you up that afternoon. You’re so considerate of an old woman like me.”

Her words were a nonsensical score as she spoke, “Everything I’ve ever done- planned, written out, premeditated. Otherwise engaged. Unfulfilled.”

She took her glasses off and placed them by the edge of the seat.

All you could hear in the confines of what was nothing to you but a wooden closet was the racing of your heartbeat and the hasty inhales and exhales of your shaky breaths.

Nevertheless, Wanda continued. Her hips began moving down against your lap. Her thumbs stroked your cheekbones in what felt like admiration.

“But Y/N… you were so sudden. I don’t want to wait- don’t want to pretend I’m not counting down the moments until you shove a hand up my dress and run your fingers through my wet cunt.”

Your eyes widened and you bucked upwards in a sudden panicked realisation of Wanda’s intentions, which only elicited a small whimper from the older woman. You watched as her thighs spread apart further, allowing your lap increased access to the clothed pulse of her desire.

“You’re married to Vision, and-and with Tommy and Billy…” You fumbled your words as you racked through the logistics in your mind, “And you’re my neighbour. You’re a friend of my parents.”

“You’re making excuses,” Wanda reprimanded. Her grip on your face became tighter, ever so slightly so the tips of her fingers pressed into the hollow areas beside the corners of your jaw. “What’s next? I’m too old for you? Not pretty enough? Maybe I’m not tight enough for a young girl like you?”

Her head tipped to the side inquisitively. Her eyes were solemn, though you couldn’t tell whether it was from a sincere feeling of dejection or not.

“No!” you protested with a fervent shake of your head. “Wanda, you’re-”

“Unappealing, then. I don’t attract you.”

Her eyes were sharp, piercing through your skull as if to interrogate you.

You blinked up at her, simultaneously bewildered and intrigued at the woman perched up above you. Had a potency like this only been slumbering beyond her unassuming smiles since you’d first met her?

Further, your mind wandered, curious about this angle of her and where her thoughts and feelings had hidden before now.

“I think you’re beautiful,” you admitted. “I really do.”

A pleased smile came over your neighbour, gracing her features and bringing with it the delicate expression you thought you had known. “Then? What limits you now, from indulging in what you want?”

You answered, simply, perhaps simply enough for her to become enraged at your response, “Matrimony.” But Wanda did not become angry. She laughed.

“Suddenly the virtues of the Lord concern you?” she questioned, her eyebrows furrowing together in a strange upwards curl. You didn’t respond right away, for you had nothing to say, nothing to supplement your sudden hesitation.

Wanda’s hands untensed from your face and she tipped your head upwards, supportively. Coaxingly. “Though I can’t say I’m surprised,” she whispered, though there was no need to veil either of your volumes in the enclosed room you were in.

In Wanda’s eyes, you were free, untouched by the manacles of a stubborn future and all its entails. And conversely, you were still restrained by your morality.

You were there, hanging from the precipice of indulgence and convention.

Wanda stroked your cheek with the back of her knuckles. Who would be more worthy to teach you the ways of the Lord than her?

“I’ve thought it through,” she said. “This is why I’ve brought us here. A booth of confessions and an absolute absolve of sin- anything unholy and unfaithful. Nothing is sinful in the house of Christ. My Y/N, anything we shall do here is our own. The Lord will forgive me. He will forgive us.”

Then, in a shaky exhale, Wanda spoke, “Take me as your own, Y/N.”

Your lips parted and you looked up at her in shock.

One hand detached from the side of your head and Wanda took your wrist with her hand. Then in a swiftly-led sleight of hand, your palm was pressed against her breast. With her fingers placed behind each of your own, she made you squeeze the malleable swell beyond her dress. Her head lolled back, the smooth plain of her neck and expanse of her throat becoming exposed to you.

“All yours,” Wanda sighed. Her head moved forward and she met your eyes again, though her body was arched backwards so she could roll the space between her thighs against your lap. “I will give you my body, my vessel and my blessed spirit. Oh, Y/N, take me, please.”

A small space formed in the centre of your lips when they parted in attempts to protest. But Wanda was faster.

She pulled herself forward and her chest slammed against your own, your warm breaths mingling within the mere inches between your faces in a sharp exhale at the impact. “Please,” she pried once more. The tip of her nose brushed against yours. “I want you.”

A sharp gasp escaped from beyond Wanda’s now faded red lips when your hands met her hips and you pushed her off of your lap. Initially, she slipped backwards, but your arms rounded her waist and you pulled her to the opposite side of the bench within the limited space you had in the booth.

“Y/N-”

You stood from your seat and slid a knee between both of Wanda’s. With a nudge, you parted her thighs and leaned down to capture her lips with your own.

It was a harsh action, for Wanda winced and she pulled away at the taste of blood. Your fingers wrapped around the back of her neck and prevented her from moving away. Painfully, lips pressed against the clashing of teeth.

Still, perhaps out of instinct or an intrinsic desire to be tamed, Wanda reached up and pushed at your shoulders.

Your hand reached down and pulled her dress up her thighs so they wrapped around her waist. The hem of her dress scraped against her skin as you did, and although her upper thighs were clothed by her satin tights, Wanda hissed from the contact and its sudden sharp pain.

Nails raked down against her soft lower stomach when your hand slipped further up her dress and tugged her translucent black tights down so they slipped down and pooled around her ankles.

Wanda’s arms reached up and wrapped around your neck, pulling your face down to her level. She kissed you again but you remained towering above her.

One of your arms pressed against the wooden wall behind Wanda’s head to perch yourself up, and the other travelled down between her thighs.

Your lips parted occasionally in soft wet pops between breathless pants.

Slender fingers shot down between Wanda’s legs, red manicured fingernails tucking themselves beyond the hem of her wet panties. You slapped Wanda’s wrist and her eyebrows furrowed in frustration when her hand jerked away from her core. But you were quick to appease and pulled her panties down for her.

Her slick made the soaked fabric of her underwear stick to her folds briefly before they were pulled down entirely. Wanda’s spread thighs halted the downwards descent of her panties and they snagged at the edges of her parted knees.

Cold fingertips pushed through the older woman’s sticky lips and Wanda shuddered. Her head lolled to the side, her chin meeting her shoulder.

Before returning back to holding yourself up above her, your hand wrapped around one of Wanda’s thighs and pulled her leg up around your hips so you could angle your wrist between her thighs more comfortably.

Weakly, she tried to hold her leg up around your waist. You stepped forward so her leg bent backwards further and you could hold her up with the pressure of your front. Her other leg focused on staying as parted from the other as the confinement of her panties wrapped around her knees would allow.

Finally, your fingers delved past the rim of Wanda’s opening. Your digits were warmed by her smooth walls and her back arched from her seat.

“My Lord…” Wanda moaned out, her lips pulling upwards in a wide grin. “I offer my thanks for the pleasures of the flesh- of my sacred body.”

You tucked your face in the crook of Wanda’s exposed neck. Your tongue ran up the pulse of her neck, eliciting a long moan from your neighbour.

Two fingers spread apart and curled within Wanda’s walls and the sweet sound of her parting pussy reached your ears. With the space you made for yourself, your fingers picked up speed and your arm surged forward then back.

Wanda was a melted mess against the booth’s wooden partition. Her hips jerked up desperately for more contact but her loose hold of her leg around your waist offered no leverage. She was left to arch and whine helplessly underneath you.

“Y/N,” she breathed out, her eyes fluttering open to look at you. But your face was buried deep within her neck, nipping and sucking at every inch of her soft skin that your lips danced across. She exhaled again, sharply this time, “Y/N!”

Regrettably, you parted yourself from the warm enveloping and lifted your head to look up at Wanda.

Her eyebrows were stitched together and her expression was contorted. If one could not hear the melodic sounds coming from her, one might even think she was in pain. But despite her position, helpless and without any semblance of leverage over you, the corners of Wanda’s lips arched up into a satisfied grin still, though granted it was one that quivered.

“Faster. I’m going to come,” she panted out.

You abided by Wanda's wishes and, rapidly, your fingers quickened. The confessional booth shook as you thrusted your fingers into her. Wanda’s shoulders jerked backwards in response to each entry, the pain near bruising.

“Oh, God…” she trembled. “Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin.”

You advanced forward so her knee pressed into her chest. You silently mused at the way Wanda’s leg bent backwards further to allow for you to push yourself against her.

Your forehead pressed against her own and with open eyes, you watched the contortion of Wanda’s face and the parting of her lips, the rising and falling of her breasts beyond her dress as she panted.

One arm slipped from around your neck and reached back. Wanda’s fingers grasped at the metal divide of ornate patterns against the partition.

You groped at her breast, switching periodically as her chest heaved.

“Have mercy on me, my Lord,” Wanda whimpered, her eyes screwed shut so tight that she saw wisps against the insides of her eyelids. Scattered psalms and Bible verses spilled from her lips and reached your ears in such an abrupt and perpetual way that nearly made you question if you were the God that Wanda cried out for, the Lord she presently worshipped as her slick dripped down her inner thighs and coated the seat beneath her.

A sharp yelp came from Wanda’s constricted throat, “Ah, Y/N! I’m going to… my God, my holy God, I repent! I repent for my-”

Her voice broke and she cried out.

“Y/N!”

The last arm hanging from around your neck tightened around you as she came, raspy cries leaving her throat raw as she moaned out strings of your name.

Her body turned to mush the moment the last waves of Wanda’s orgasm washed over her. Her leg slipped from around your waist and her fingers tumbled from the partition’s divide.

Weak pants left her as her eyes shut, too fatigued to even keep them open. Wanda’s body was slumped back down against the wooden wall behind her. Her body shuddered and she groaned uncomfortably when you slipped your fingers out of her hole.

“Wanda…” you whispered. “Are you okay?”

Your arm wrapped around her waist and you helped her sit up. The older woman only hummed out a tired moan in response, her head nodding ever so slightly.

Your coated fingers slipped past your lips and you ran your tongue across it, licking it clean of Wanda’s tangy-sweet juices. Your hand moved forward to her mouth and your thumb swiped across her soft bottom lip.

Wanda’s tongue darted out weakly to taste herself on her lips.

You met hers with your own in a soft kiss and her eyes fluttered open. She kissed you back and smiled against your mouth.

She uttered softly, her whisper raspy and evident of the effects her cries had on her throat, “Do you want to leave now?”

“Not yet.”

You got down between her thighs and pulled her panties down further so they fell to her ankles atop of her tights. Wanda chuckled and repositioned herself on top of you. Her hands found either side of your head, steering you gently as you kissed her lower stomach and hips. She hummed, feeling pleased while your lips ran across her rolls and stretch marks.

Soft tufts of wispy hair tickled your upper lip as you travelled south. You pressed gentle kisses to Wanda’s outer lips.

When you finally buried your nose into her cunt and dragged your tongue through her folds, Wanda grinned. Your thumbs delved into her slick petal-like folds and spread them apart, allowing your tongue to lap up the sweet nectar of Wanda’s pleasure. Her head fell back against the wall behind her. Her fingers played with the hair at the back of your neck as her back arched up from her seat once more.

Three more orgasms racked through her body before you left the confessional together.

“Did I guilt you earlier, Y/N?” Wanda asked as the two of you exited the church. It was empty, the service long concluded by the time you finished with her. She tightened her jacket lapels around her as the cold winter air enveloped her warm body. After being in the stuffy confessional booth for nearly an hour, it was a harsh awakening. “Did you touch me out of pity?”

You turned to her when you reached your car in the empty parking lot. It had snowed a notable amount since the last time you were out. “No,” you answered. “You didn’t guilt me into anything. I did what I did because I wanted to.”

“Truly, I didn’t mean to force you,” she continued despite your answer. She stood on the other side of your car’s hood, her words leaving her in white tendrils in the cold air. “I was under the impression you felt the same passion for me. Was I mistaken?”

From across the snowy hood of your car, you peered at her. At least now, you knew more in the field of reading her. Her words were not accusing nor vexed. They were words of reflection, the lingering sentiments of having partaken in what she did with a girl so much younger than she.

But Wanda wasn’t feeling guilty, was she?

Did she regret what she’d done?

You looked away from her and moved to the back of the car to get the snow brush from the trunk. “It wasn’t a mistake,” you uttered though the side of your car shrouded you as you finished your answer.

You unlocked the car and heard Wanda slip into the passenger’s seat while you brushed the loose yet thick layers of snow from the vehicle.

Once the snow was cleaned from the car and you put the brush back into the trunk, you got into the driver’s seat.

An inevitable silence came over the two of you as you started the car and waited for the engine to warm up.

Thick flakes of snow, perhaps each half an inch wide, fell scattered and delicately onto the windshield only to melt into clear crystals once the heat from the car warmed it.

“Do you regret it?” you asked suddenly, your voice a low hum synonymous with the buzz of the running car.

Much to your relief, Wanda answered through a soft sigh, “No.” She turned her head and looked at you. “I don’t.”

Then it was your turn to feel some streak of guilt.

“Not for a moment in my life have I ever done anything so spontaneous,” she told you. “It felt so wonderful to make a decision like that on my own, on little premeditated thought.”

“You’re married,” you pressed, turning your gaze towards her.

Wanda urged, “I didn’t choose that. I love my boys, as does my husband. But, Y/N, what we did was something that I’d chosen. Do you understand?”

You shook your head.

She took your hand, moving it from your own lap to on top her thigh. She stroked the back of your hand with her thumb soothingly. “I do not regret it,” Wanda stated firmly.

Then she continued. “But I will not act under the pretence that you do not have every chance to make something more of yourself,” she added, eliciting your curiosity. You peered at her through her glasses.

“I do not wish to deny you any opportunity because of what we’ve done. You are not in my debt because of what you’ve given me.”

You felt your face contort at the statement and you pulled your hand away from her. “You aren’t a price to pay, Wanda. You’re not a substitute or a stepping stone,” you said.

She scoffed. “Please. Don’t you know how old I am now, Y/N?” Wanda inquired, though you knew it was rhetorical. “I have two ten-year-old children and a husband of eleven years. There is nothing I can give you that you cannot receive from someone younger, a selection as easy as picking a ripe fruit from a blossoming tree. I have nothing to bear for you.”

“You think that concerns me? It doesn’t. If it should have, then I wouldn’t have come to the service with you today,” you informed her plainly. The way in which you spoke such devotion to her bewildered Wanda. The confidence in your admission as if it were common knowledge- it planted something unsteady in her.

“You speak of the confidence your choices give you, but what of mine?” you said. “What we did, it was not done only because you chose and I swayed. In my own decision, I was unambiguous. There’s nothing more to it.”

Wanda’s breaths were steady and her blinks even-tempered. After a moment, her lips parted and she spoke, “You choose this? With me?”

“With everything in me capable of acting on my volition.”

“Which is plenty?” she attempted to clarify.

“Plenty enough to fill a dozen churches and several more.”

A sharp barely audible inhale came from Wanda and she straightened.

Then, in a swift and careful motion, she leaned over and kissed you.

The car’s heating was left on as you pulled Wanda onto your lap. You unzipped her dress and unclipped her bra, pressing kisses to her soft breasts and mapping her body out with your hands. Your lips wrapped around her rosy nipples. Her lipstick stains decorated your face in gentle shades of faded red.

Her arms wrapped around your body as she bounced on top of you, welcoming your fingers into her once again. And again, and again.

The two of you fucked in that otherwise empty church parking lot until you both grew tired, after which you dressed Wanda back up in her clothes.

Sitting on your lap with her head on your shoulder, Wanda uttered, “Hear my soul speak. Of the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly at your service.”

“Which verse was that?” you whispered back.

“It’s not a Bible verse. It’s Shakespeare,” she answered and kissed your neck. Your eyes fluttered shut as did Wanda’s, her hand brushing against your cheek softly.

Wanda lifted her head. When you opened your eyes, she was looking down at you. A smile was on her face and her bottom lip was taken between her teeth. “Years it’s been since I’ve quoted him,” she thought aloud.

She tucked your hair behind your ear and kissed the tip of your nose. She then confessed, “I’ve missed it gravely.”

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda x reader #marvel smut #wanda maximoff fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

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hoshinoyozora · 2 years

Text

Tale of the Timeless Couple

🖤 Pairing: Yandere! Malleus Draconia x Female! Reader

💛 Word Count: 1,1k+

❤ Warnings: -

[Edited]

Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission. Also, don’t ask for a sequel unless I like the story enough to write one. Please reblog so other people can see my stories!

Youths were known for their naivety, and just like many others, it was the cause of your downfall too.

Beguiled by the promise of happily ever after, as shown in those romantic movies and books, you’d mindlessly agreed to eternal life with your soon-to-be husband, Malleus Draconia. It was especially enforced by the bitter knowledge that Crowley had never intended for you to return, and that you’d have no means of funding yourself after graduation due to the lack of necessary documents. It was either you marry a rich man and become slightly more ‘recognized’ as the proper citizen of Twisted Wonderland, or doomed to work as a maid in someone else’s house. Malleus, of course, saw no error in your judgment, despite the seeming shallowness of it, and swiftly carried out your transformation.

Due to your relationship with him, you’d always been a part of his little family. But only now did you fully integrate into it, into their lifestyle. The Draconia Family. The Royal Family.

It was blissful in the first few years, as many marriages were, burdened only by the new responsibility of being a ruler to both humans and dark creatures. Malleus and Lilia helped you with the Royal affairs, while Silver and Sebek familiarized you with the Draconia knighthood system. Sometimes, Malleus’s grandmother would visit and chat with you, offering either piece of valuable advice or rumors that would aid you in some way. You weren’t really allowed to go anywhere anymore, and definitely not without tight security. But Malleus permitted you to attend your friends’ weddings, just as how he permitted them to attend yours; a visit that excited nearly the guests in there due to it being a Royal one, and thus, exclusive.

Their occasional letters were probably the highlight of your day, and you thanked Malleus for having the bigger heart not to get jealous and cut off the only connection to your past and humanity. Your heart warmed when you saw pictures of their babies, noting all the resemblances in their features, and mused about what kind of face your child would have.

It was serene.

Until it wasn’t anymore.

Perhaps it began when you received Deuce’s letter containing a photo of him and Ace in an overdue reunion at a restaurant. Your eyes, sharper from the transformation, noticed all signs of aging on their faces. Instinctively, you touched yours and felt only the youthful smoothness of the skin. You rushed to the mirror, and your stomach sank once you realized the signs would never appear in you. For some, it might be a blessing. But for you, it only served to remind you of what you lost.

Your humanity, in all its glory. Ugliness and beauty. The smoothness and the wrinkles.

And then, several years went by, until Jack passed away peacefully in his sleep, surrounded by his big family. You mourned in your office whilst clutching the letter Ace sent to you, unable to attend the funeral without messing with everyone’s schedules.

Black was the color of the Draconia family, but that day, it took on a special meaning.

Ace followed, still a mischievous man to his old age with a more tamed pride. Deuce remained as a policeman until a particularly nasty magic incident occurred, leaving Epel as your only living friend. No longer fixated on the idea of a ‘manly man’, he confessed to you that he was actually lonely. His wife had long died, and his children had all grown up and moved out of the house. You wished you could’ve visited and comforted him, but once again, duty was your obstacle.

Until you belatedly found out that Epel had suffered a heart attack after helping with his family’s farm.

“What are you thinking about, my love?”

A pair of arms hugged your swollen stomach from behind, but you remained motionless as you gazed through the window. Malleus rested his chin on your shoulder and stared at your profile.

“Well?”

“Nothing much.”

“You know better than to lie to me, my love.” said he, twirling a lock of your hair with his left finger. “If you have a problem, you can talk to me and we shall find a solution together.”

Malleus wouldn’t understand that the problem you had was beyond repair, and you feared his response should you reveal the truth.

“All of my friends died, Malleus. Except Sebek, but he’s just a guard to me now.”

“Humans have always had short lifespans.”

You flinched, and you wondered why you reacted that way when you were basically near immortal now. Perhaps some human instincts hadn’t fully disappeared yet.

“I miss them.”

Malleus fell quiet, and your heartbeat slowly picked up with each second passed in silence.

“It is a normal reaction,” he drawled as though empathy was something unfamiliar to him. “and you’ll get over it in due time.”

You wetted your lips, preparing yourself to ask the question that had been haunting you.

“What would you do… if I were to go home?”

“You don’t think I’d allow you to do it, do you?”

You stiffened in his embrace.

“… What?”

“Crowley had always been very slow when it comes to finding your way home, but he hadn’t completely stopped until I ordered him otherwise.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Luckily, you learned that it was futile to place any hope on him, so I wouldn’t have to inform you anything.”

“Why…?”

“Why? Because we were meant to be together, of course. The moment you agreed to be my lover is the moment you agreed to be mine forever.” Malleus sighed blissfully, tightening his hold on you. “And it doesn’t really matter whether you accepted my proposal or not, although it does make everything a whole lot easier. I don’t wish to hurt you, after all.”

You were mistaken. You were horribly mistaken. There was no happily ever after in marrying him. Financially, yes, but mentally? Literally?

“What about my friends?”

“I told you, they’re humans. They have terribly shorter lifespans than ours. Therefore, I don’t need to worry about them so much. Not when they’ll die sooner or later.” Malleus hummed, swaying your body in an invisible yet haunting tune. “Although, of course, I still have to supervise all of your correspondence.”

It was understandable, and you should’ve expected it. Some letters might contain threats, however unlikely it was, and Malleus was merely ensuring the safety of everyone involved. But the knowledge that he read everything that you wrote to them – intimate things that you were more comfortable sharing with your friends than your husband – unnerved you.

Maybe it was why he spent more time with you when you complained to Deuce about him being busier nowadays.

“Now, don’t overthink about the past. You’ll upset our baby.”

He caressed the bulge in your stomach, where the long-awaited child resided.

A shame that you couldn’t share baby pictures with your friends, not even the news of your pregnancy.

#twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst imagines #yandere twst #yandere malleus #yandere malleus draconia #yandere malleus x reader #female reader #twst malleus #twisted wonderland malleus #malleus draconia

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weepingwonder · 3 months

Text

Lost Boy

In which there is a portrait of Regulus Black hanging in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

The first time Sirius Black steps into Number Twelve Grimmauld Place and finds the screaming portrait of his mother, he nearly decides to burn the place down with the memory of her in it. Even after he’s pulled the curtains shut on her snarling, furious face, her yells echo off the walls and reverberate in his skull. He might as well be back in Azkaban for how miserably sick it makes him. He wants to sink his nails into something, to feel blood gushing up between his fingers.

Grimmauld Place is a knotted, twisted sort of space. It is dark and disorienting, and even a whole childhood spent within its walls was not enough for Sirius to become fully familiar with it. Layers and layers of old magic leave a sort of burnt smell in the air and wrap around his chest like a vice. For some, it would feel comforting, like coming home. For Sirius, it is a tight, oppressive thing. He's been running out of air since the moment he stepped inside.

There is a part of him that is tempted to sit there in the hall and tuck his knees into his chest with his hands over his ears. For one despairing moment, Sirius wonders if he's merely traded one cell for another. Not even the dementors could make him feel as small as his mother could.

But Sirius, for all that he has tried to shed his family name, is still a Black. So he straightens his back, tilts his head up, and puts his shoulders back as he walks through the house. They are all dead, he reminds himself, and he is alive. And isn't that just ironic? That he could spend his whole childhood raging against his family, only to be burdened with the task of carrying the name alone. It makes him want to vomit.

As he walks, lights flicker on, though it does little to brighten up the place. He makes his way to the kitchen, stepping gingerly through the sitting area and halting at the sight of his mother’s favorite chair next to the fireplace, the cushion still slightly depressed from years of carrying her weight. It’s as if she has only just gotten up, perhaps to greet a guest or grab the morning paper to read.

“Never thought I'd see you step foot in here again.”

In Azkaban, Sirius often replayed every conversation he could remember having with James. He would agonize over every inflection, clinging to the cadence of his friend’s voice. He was so afraid of forgetting.

But this voice. He could never forget it. He'd know it anywhere, no matter the horrors, no matter how much time has passed.

He looks up, and his heart seizes in his chest. There, just above the fireplace, sits a portrait of his little brother. He is depicted just as Sirius remembers him: sharp features, steely eyes, an impassive expression on his face, still slightly rounded with youth. It is so undoubtedly Regulus that Sirius wants to run. It is all at once too much for him to handle: the hurt, the longing, the resentment, the disgust, the grief. But he can't run from it, so he does the next best thing.

He turns into a dog.

Regulus looks down at him with a raised brow. “This explains a lot. You never were very good at getting a handle of your emotions,” he all but sneers.

Padfoot raises his hackles, muzzle pulled back into a snarl.

“Really, Sirius,” Regulus sighs. “Aren't you a bit old for the dramatics?”

Padfoot growls.

“I suppose they didn't just let you out of Azkaban, then?” Regulus muses. “Not sure the life of a fugitive suits you, but even Mother would be impressed you managed to break out.”

At the mention of their mother, Padfoot barks loudly.

“Of course, we both knew you didn't belong there,” Regulus continues. “No one knew better than us that you'd never betray the Potters.” Even to Padfoot’s ears, Regulus’ voice sounds bitter. “Mother was most displeased that they wouldn't even give you a trial. Said it was an insult to the family. Stormed the Ministry, even, but Crouch was too eager to have everything wrapped up and much too righteous to be bribed. Truly pathetic.”

Despite himself, Padfoot finds himself listening intently. Most people, he thinks, would take this story as a show of Walburga Black’s love for her son. But Sirius knows better, and so does Regulus.

“She only made it a few years after your incarceration. I watched her go mad. I don't suppose talking to a portrait of her dead son everyday helped much,” Regulus says, as if he's simply filling Sirius in on the morning news. As if they're old friends catching up over tea. As if there's not a chasm of grief and anger that sits between them. But Regulus was never very good at voicing his emotions either, so maybe it’s fitting that they've both reverted back to doing what Blacks are best at: enduring.

“There were times, near the end, where she thought she was talking to you. Her greatest failure, she always said. Her biggest regret.” Regulus looks down at Sirius with a look he can't quite parse. And you? Sirius wants to ask. What do you think?

He's not sure either of them could bear for him to ask it aloud, and he's sure he already knows the answer anyway. Padfoot flattens his ears back, and growls again. It comes out a bit like a whine instead.

For a long moment, Regulus simply watches him. Then, quietly, he murmurs, “Welcome home, Sirius.” His mouth quirks into the barest hint of a smile, no doubt indulging in the irony.

And Sirius, well. He can't do this. He can't do this. Above all things, Azkaban was a monument of grief. He had cried for Lily and James, cried for Remus, cried for his old life. His life Before. But when he was most cold, and equally as out of his mind, he’d cry for Regulus. He thinks, in some ways, he will always be crying for his brother. And having an echo of Regulus here in front of him makes Sirius feel as though he's going mad all over again. He just can't do it.

So Padfoot tucks his tail between his legs with a whimper, turns around, and runs.

From then on, Sirius makes a point of avoiding that room altogether. And if, for some reason, he has to go through it, he turns into Padfoot before Regulus can speak to him and trots by as quickly as he can, but not usually before he catches Regulus muttering something to the effect of, “I see your immaturity is still intact.”

Some nights, though, Sirius just cannot bring himself to close his eyes. He's afraid he’ll wake up in a cell again. He's afraid he’ll wake up in his childhood bedroom. He's afraid of being alone. And god, but he just wants to hear someone talk, to hear a voice outside of his own head.

Before he can even think too hard about it (he tries to avoid thinking entirely these days, except for where Harry is concerned), he makes his way to the fireplace. More importantly, he makes his way to Regulus.

Against all instinct to transform into a dog so that he may bear it easier, Sirius stays himself. The painting of his brother is asleep, and Sirius can't help but notice that it doesn't quite capture how much younger Regulus always looked when he was sleeping. There is a lack of depth to the painting that will never do justice to real life, and Sirius is reminded all over again that his brother is really and truly dead. Looking at it is like pressing his thumb into a bruise.

Regulus opens an eye. “Can I help you?”

Sirius laughs like it was punched out of him. How can he? he thinks somewhat hysterically. What could he possibly fix now?

“Have you ever?” Sirius retorts. He grasps, desperately, at the thread of anger inside of him, and pulls, letting the grief fall away around it. He does not know yet, that anger and grief are one and the same.

Regulus raises a brow. “That’s hardly fair.”

"When has a Black ever played fair?”

“I thought you weren't a Black,” Regulus challenges.

“I thought you were,” Sirius shoots back, but there is a question in it.

“Of course I am,” Regulus tells him, and there is something in Sirius that is inexplicably disappointed. Regulus died upholding Black family values. What did Sirius expect?

“You always did like to lick Mother and Father’s boots,” Sirius sneers. “Was it worth it? Dying for your cause.”

Regulus tilts his head then, considering. His lips quirk for a moment, like there's a joke somewhere that Sirius is not picking up on.

“Yes,” Regulus says simply. “I think it was.”

And it makes sense. Of course it makes sense that the boy who was a blood purist and showed nothing but devotion to Lord Voldemort would think that dying for him in a blaze of glory was worth it. In death as he was in life. It makes Sirius want to burn the portrait in front of him.

“I hate you,” Sirius spits, and Regulus just looks at him, face unchanging. Still a little amused, even.

“I know,” Regulus agrees, and it's not, I hate you too, which, to Sirius, counts for something. Maybe even everything.

He doesn't want to think about it. He turns on his heel, ready for some much-needed distance.

“I’ll be back to burn you,” Sirius mutters.

He thinks he hears Regulus laugh as he goes.

Sirius does not burn the portrait, but of course they both knew he wouldn't. They were always each other’s weakness, and no amount of time or space could change that.

But the days persist, each followed by a night plagued by nightmares and twisted memories. He wakes up gasping, with James’ name on his lips, followed by Lily’s, and always, always followed by Regulus’. These days, Sirius is nothing more than a waking, walking graveyard. He stumbles through the halls of Grimmauld Place, both haunting and haunted.

Almost inevitably, he finds himself back at his brother’s portrait. On this particular night, Regulus is already awake, as if expecting him. Maybe he was. Maybe Sirius has become predictable in his mad sort of grief, and he hates himself for it. He hates how weak he feels, like a child climbing into his brother’s bed after a bad dream. It had always been the other way around.

“You're back.”

“I don't want to be,” Sirius admits.

“I'm not real,” the portrait reminds him. Regulus is not gentle or kind when he says this. His voice is sharp and vicious, merciless as Regulus so often was, as he had to be to survive in a family like theirs.

Sirius clenches his jaw. He wants to reach through the frame and shake his brother’s shoulders. He wants to pull him close, he wants to shove him as far away as possible. The conflict in him swells and spills over, a wretched combination of longing and hate and years of bitterness wrapped in love and life. He does not know what to do with it, he wants to shed his own skin to be rid of it. For one hysterical moment, Sirius thinks he might cry.

He hastily turns himself into a dog and sighs as the transformation dampens his emotions. Regulus gives him a pitying sort of look, and it makes Padfoot’s hackles rise.

He says nothing else, though, and Sirius, in spite of himself, can't get himself to leave. Padfoot’s head droops in exhaustion, and before he can think too hard about it, he lets himself drop to the floor, curling his tail around his body. He knows his brother is still watching him, and as Sirius starts to fall asleep, he can't really bring himself to care.

The first time Sirius brings Remus into Grimmauld Place, it goes about how Sirius would've expected. He was half-afraid the Blacks had drenched the place in some sort of dark magic that would burn anyone deemed less than “pure” the moment they walked in, but instead they were simply met with Walburga Black’s enraged portrait, spewing a litany of curses and slurs their way.

So, it could have been worse. After they've pulled the curtains shut, Remus gives Sirius a look. “That can't be good for you.”

“Well, it's not like it's my choice,” Sirius says bitterly, and Remus gives him a sad look. It makes Sirius want to snarl at him. “Anyway, it gets worse.”

“Worse?” Remus asks, looking slightly ill at the thought. Sirius smiles grimly and leads him to the spacious living room.

Regulus looks up at them when they arrive.

“Bringing half-breeds into the house, now, are we? Mother must be rolling in her grave,” he comments, and Sirius wishes he could punch him.

"Mother no longer has a say in anything. And neither do you,” Sirius says coldly.

“Sirius, what—” Remus looks like he's seen a ghost and, well, he basically has.

“My mother apparently saw fit to have a portrait of Regulus installed,” Sirius informs him. “Of course she couldn't live without her precious son. It's all very sweet.”

Regulus sighs.

“Sirius, you've got to remove this portrait,” Remus says. “This is definitely not good for you.”

At that, Regulus looks supremely offended. “I have more of a right to be here than you do, werewolf,” he says haughtily.

“How do you even know—?” Sirius starts to ask, and Regulus gives him a deadpan look.

“You and your friends weren't exactly subtle in school. Besides, I have been known to actually shut up and observe, unlike you—”

"And yet, you're the one who's dead—”

"Thankfully,” Regulus mutters darkly.

“—and I'm still very much alive, so I will continue to do as I please,” Sirius says hotly.

“You mean do as Dumbledore pleases,” Regulus practically spits. “The man who left you to rot in prison.”

And Sirius flinches back at that because… yeah. He has thought, several times, that maybe he's still in prison, except this time, it’s Dumbledore holding the keys. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, and his jaw clicks shut.

Regulus tilts his head. “So you aren't just his brainless lapdog.”

Remus grabs Sirius’ arm. “Why don't we go make some tea? We can talk about… whatever this is.”

Sirius shrugs his arm away, and Remus coils back, as though burned. Sirius can't bring himself to care.

“Fine. Let’s talk,” Sirius all but snarls and heads for the kitchen without a second glance at Regulus or Remus.

Remus sighs, steeling himself for an overdue conversation with a very volatile Sirius. He's not excited for it. He makes to follow Sirius, and gives the portrait one last disapproving look.

Regulus is looking exceedingly smug. Remus scowls.

Sirius knows Regulus’ portrait will pose a problem as the Order moves in, but he still can't bring himself to move it.

For the most part, Regulus just watches people come and go without comment. A couple of them give his portrait a nasty look as they recognize him, but most of them pay him no mind. But Sirius knows his brother. He knows Regulus is listening and watching intently. He's interested in news of Voldemort’s second rise to power, and Sirius cannot wait to rub Voldemort’s defeat in his brother's face when this damned war is over.

Because it will end. It has to.

So, all in all, Regulus listens a lot and talks very little. That is, until Hermione Granger comes in.

Sirius finds himself quite fond of her. Not just because she's one of the reasons he's free, and not even because of her loyalty to Harry. No, Hermione reminds him very much of Lily Potter. Not just because she's a fiercely intelligent and talented muggleborn witch, but because she, like Lily, is also the perfect mixture of kind-hearted and hot-headed.

Hermione avoids Walburga Black’s portrait like the plague for obvious reasons, but when she finds the portrait of Regulus Black, she can't help but approach it curiously.

“Hello,” she says politely. “I didn't realize Sirius had a brother.” She shoots Sirius a questioning look, and he just shrugs, unapologetic.

Regulus gives her an assessing look. “Yes, well, ‘had’ is the key word there. In any case, Sirius is rather averse to acknowledging me as such. And you are?”

“Hermione Granger,” she says confidently.

“Granger,” Regulus repeats slowly. “How… mundane. Half-blood?”

“Muggleborn,” Hermione says firmly, without shame.

Regulus looks past her to where Sirius is standing. “Mudbloods and blood traitors and werewolves,” he tuts softly. “You always did have such… peculiar taste in company.”

"Fix your language,” Sirius says sharply.

But Hermione, used to Draco Malfoy’s liberal use of the term, remains unfazed. “You're not very kind,” she tells Regulus.

He looks amused. “No, I’m not.”

"Hermione is one of the reasons I escaped the Dementor’s Kiss,” Sirius tells him.

“What a shame,” Regulus says mildly. “I think it would have been an improvement.”

“It would have been cruel,” Hermione says heatedly. “Nobody deserves that.”

“Oh?” Regulus raises an eyebrow. “Not even the Dark Lord?”

“I can't say I think he has much of a soul to suck out of him,” Hermione says icily. Regulus barks out a laugh, and it's so uncharacteristic of him that Sirius does a double take.

“Indeed,” Regulus agrees.

Hermione gives him a thoughtful look. “You worked for him, didn't you? Voldemort. No one ever calls him ‘the Dark Lord’ unless they worked for him.”

If Regulus is surprised by her use of Voldemort’s name, he doesn't show it. Sirius wonders if he’ll lie. He wonders if he’ll correct Regulus if he does.

As it turns out, he needn't have worried because Regulus inclines his head. “I did.”

“Did… do you regret it?” Hermione asks, as if she can't believe this boy, who couldn't have been much older than her, would swear his life away. And Sirius, who has tried to have this conversation before and knows how it ends, prepares himself for the inevitable disappointment.

“You are quite bold for someone of your, ah, background,” Regulus observes, appearing more curious than bothered.

“Am I supposed to be meek and timid because my parents are muggles?” Hermione challenges. “They raised me to be good and kind, which is more than you can likely say for yourself.”

“Some purebloods would kill you where you stand for talking to them like that,” Regulus tells her, and Hermione puts her chin up defiantly.

“I don't make a habit of talking to those kinds of people.”

“That’s probably wise.” He watches her quietly, considering. He seems to be choosing his next words carefully. “To answer your question… I did what I had to do, in the end. And what about you, Miss Granger? Will you be able to say the same for yourself, when it's all over? Will you still be good and kind?”

Hermione clenches her jaw. “I can try to be.”

Regulus looks at her like she's a particularly interesting puzzle he can't quite figure out. The corner of his mouth lifts, just slightly.

“You certainly can.”

Halloween was never going to pass without Sirius getting drunk out of his mind. Remus is already passed out in bed, but Sirius… he can’t seem to rest. He paces through the hallways, jumping at things that aren't there, flinching at the sound of Kreacher rifling through some forgotten closet for some trinket, some memory of what used to be.

Sirius keeps his hand on the wand he's been using. It doesn't feel right. Not like his old wand. But he grips it tightly anyway, and resists the urge to blast the shit out of everything around him.

Azkaban put a stasis on Sirius’ grieving process. It kept him hanging right at the beginning of it. It kept him replaying his last words to Lily and James over and over again, seeing their bodies unmoving on the floor, and his own rough, calloused hands closing their eyes for the last time.

Before Azkaban, when Sirius had found out Regulus died, he didn't let himself grieve at all. He hadn't seen his little brother in years, and there was no body to be found, so he could almost make himself believe that Regulus was still out there, somewhere. That maybe they would eventually cross wands in battle, and they'd get pretty damn close to killing each other but never actually would.

But in the prison, reduced to only his most potent miseries, Sirius was unable to avoid the truth: his little brother was dead. Almost everyone he loved was dead.

And now, here he is, on the anniversary of the worst night of his life, and he is just itching to pick a fight, to release all the pent-up, unfiltered grief that sits right under his skin at all times.

He takes a swig of firewhiskey and makes his way to his brother’s portrait. It's not his wisest idea, but Sirius has never been wise, especially when it comes to his brother.

Regulus takes one look at Sirius and wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“You're an embarrassment,” Regulus tells him, and Sirius just barely resists the urge to throw his bottle of firewhiskey at the portrait.

“I hate you,” Sirius tells him, and Regulus sighs.

“So you've mentioned,” he says dryly. “Is that all?”

“No!” Sirius practically shouts. His ribcage feels tight with a pressure that's been building for weeks, and he digs his fingernails into his palm as if to try and relieve it. Sirius has always been a little too much of everything all at once, and James was one of the very few people who could manage it. But he's not here. Sirius is. He's here and painfully, achingly alive, and he feels a rush of fury at the unfairness of it all. And his stupid, stupid brother—so fucking soft, so weak—how pathetic it is to die licking someone else’s boots. “Why did you have to follow him? Why couldn't you just—why couldn't you just be—”

“Like you?” Regulus sneers.

"Strong,” Sirius spits. “Brave.” Not like me at all, Sirius thinks.

“You’re the one who ran away!” Regulus accuses.

“You’re the one who stayed!” Sirius rages.

Which is worse? The unspoken question sits heavy between them. It takes up all the oxygen in the room and Sirius can't fucking breathe. His chest heaves, heart pounding hard enough that he's sure the room is shaking with it.

For a long while, Regulus says nothing. He looks at a space just past Sirius’ shoulder and Sirius wants to grip his brother’s chin in his hand and make him look at him. He wants bruises to blossom under his fingertips, to feel the warmth of blood rushing underneath skin.

“You didn't ask me to come with you,” Regulus finally says. His voice is quiet, as if he knows how fragile the moment is, as if he's afraid to see what might break.

“Would you have?” Sirius shoots back.

Regulus purses his lips. His eyes lock back onto Sirius. “I guess we’ll never know.”

And Sirius—

Sirius shatters. He just sort of keels over, the air wrenched from his lungs, because for the first time, maybe ever, he is realizing that his little brother is truly dead. That this… this echo of him cannot give him the closure he so desperately wants because the real Regulus never gave it either. Sirius presses a hand to his chest just to feel the thrum of his own heart and, oh god, it aches, please make it stop and Regulus is right there, bloodless, forever stuck on the cusp of adulthood, and neither of them will ever get to know what could of have been, because both of them failed to be brave for each other when it mattered most. Regulus lived with that bitterness until the very end, and Sirius knows, with sudden clarity, that he will too.

He chokes back a sob, shoulders curling inward, and he thinks he hears a low, pained whine coming from somewhere. It gets louder and louder, until there are hands on his shoulders, arms wrapped around him tightly, tugging him backwards, away from the portrait. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, someone—Remus—is telling him and Sirius opens his mouth and screams.

He kicks and snarls and yells as he's dragged out of the room, half-mad with grief and longing and all the love in him he never got to give. He screams louder than his mother, louder than his father, louder than his guilt and his hurt and his shame.

“I tried!” Regulus is yelling, desperately. “I tried to be brave! I betrayed the Dark Lord!”

And Sirius screams, louder than his brother.

#sirius black #regulus black #sirius and regulus #remus lupin #hermione granger #wolfstar #long post

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