#i need to flesh this out more but for now needed to get this out of my system

[seresinhangmanjake]

Hi there! I'm crazy about your stories about Feyd!! Truly brillant!! I've sren your accettino requests...wanted to know if you could a Feyd x reader where they are married and she let him keep the harpies. One day, while Feyd is in a council, reader gets attacked or someone tries to have his way with her and she's saved by the harpies, who kills the man and than take her to their room to care for her, and when Feyd arrives he reward them or something....you choose the endind.

Thankss

Protecting His

Feyd-Rautha x reader

Warnings/Notes: I made it a little bit different, so I hope that's ok. Mention of attempted assault, but it is not detailed. Goes with my His series, but you don't have to read it before reading this. I know this could've been smutty, but idk, the inspiration just didn't take it that route.

Words: 1360

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

“I apologize, my Lady,” the harpy says as she dabs alcohol along the fresh slash on your forehead. “It’ll only be a minute more.”

Your chuckle is a weak breath of air. “You saved me. The last thing you need to do is apologize,” you tell her. 

She briefly pauses her work before continuing. “Our Lord na-Baron will not understand,” she says. 

She’s probably right. Red will be blinding his vision. It’s enough that a guest in your home—an invited guest, a welcomed guest—tried to take advantage of you in a moment when you showed him kindness, but a plethora of additional factors will only heighten your husband’s fury: the fact that you allowed yourself to be alone with another man, even though that was against your intention; the fact that that man touched you and tried to do more; the fact that you’re bleeding because of it; and the fact that Feyd wasn’t the one to protect you, and in his place, one of the harpies was forced to step in. As if they weren’t in enough trouble already. 

He’s been deciding what to do with them for days now, trying to figure out if they have enough use elsewhere to be worth keeping alive, but he’s been coming up short, and you know their fates at the hands of your husband are unlikely to be forgiving. 

They’d been so good for so long, so well-trained after they tried to take a bite out of you—literally—as you slept by Feyd’s side almost a year ago to the day. That act of disobedience cost them each a finger, but from learning their lesson, they eventually became trustworthy enough for Feyd to assign them as your handmaids. And they maintained the position until the unfortunate incident of one of them losing control. 

She tried to take a nibble out of your flesh, and worse, in a moment when you were holding your newborn son. When Feyd learned of this, he lost his mind. Though the harpy acted alone, Feyd banished the three to the other side of the fortress and took the hand of the harpy who tried to have you for her next meal—this harpy. 

You stare at the stump, a bandage replacing where pale, delicate fingers used to be. She’s lost enough. It’s not right that she suffer a lash to the neck simply for being within range of you. It’s not right that Feyd’s rage will have him do the same to the other two. 

“I’ll make him understand,” you promise her as she covers the cut with a strip of tape, and as if on cue, your husband practically blows the door down with the force of a hurricane. 

His eyes land on you and soften with worry at your injured state. They reharden as they find the harpy at your side. “What did she do!” he snaps. 

You quickly rise to your feet, ignoring the dizziness that slightly blurs your vision, and place yourself between him and the harpy. “She saved me.”

He rushes toward her, but with your hands pressing into his chest, you keep him at bay. “She tried to harm you not a week ago!”

“And now she saved me.”

Feyd sucks in a breath through his nose, his shoulders rising and falling, his chest puffing and deflating. His eyes fall to your face. His brow knits as his hands cup your cheeks. He presses a long kiss to your lips, then says, “Are you ok?”

“Yes,” you say. “He would’ve done more if she hadn’t been there.”

“I gave explicit orders—”

“I know,” you intercept. “But would you rather a dead wife?”

It’s a blow. Not a wise one, considering he almost lost you during the birth of your son, but it’s reality. You could’ve died tonight. The man that wanted to hurt you wouldn’t have kept you alive to name him after the fact, whether you’re the na-Baron’s wife or not. He’s much too high-ranking, and without your voice there to reveal his lies, he could’ve pinned the crime on anyone.

Feyd’s hands drop from your face, and during your husband's brief placation, you glance over your shoulder at the harpy. “It’s best you go back to your cell now. A guard will escort you.”

She bows her head. “Yes, my Lady,” she says before she treads lightly around you and your husband to the door. 

Only once she’s gone and Feyd has settled into his seat at the foot of the bed do you say, “Don’t kill her.”

His head snaps up. “You will not tell me what to do.”

“I’m asking.”

“Why?”

You snort. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Feyd crosses his arms over his chest. “Are you teasing me at a time like this? Your life–” His eyelids pinch and he shakes his head. “You could’ve–”

With a sigh, you move to sit beside him on the mattress. “I’m fine,” you tell him. “But you cannot punish her for saving your wife. It’s not right.”

He pauses in his contemplation before he says, “What was she even doing on this side of the fortress?”

“She said she wanted to apologize to me and that you wouldn’t permit it, so she snuck over,” you answer. “You could’ve at least let her do that much.”

“I couldn’t risk it,” he lightly snaps. “I couldn’t risk you and the baby.”

When your hand lands on his forearm, he takes your fingers between his. “And they don’t have to be around us ever again if that’s what you want, but please reconsider hurting them further. They were always kind to me and–”

“Except when they tried to steal you from me to eat,” he reminds you.

“Yes, well, they were more kind than uncontrollably hungry.”

Feyd stares at you long and hard. His thumb rubs back and forth over yours. “You’re serious.”

You give a single decisive nod. “I am.”

—

When Feyd unlocks the cell door and steps inside, two of the harpies skitter across the floor to Feyd’s feet. They paw at the ankles of his pants. One’s head nuzzles the toe of his boot. He pays them little attention, his eyes on the hunt for the one tucked in the corner against the stone wall. She shies away from the blazing ray of his glare. 

“My Lord, we are very sorry for what our sister did,” the first harpy says—the eldest, the tallest of the three. It is most fascinating to see her so low. She tightens her fingers into the pants fabric, but Feyd kicks her off, and her entire body jolts back like a creature freshly injured.

“So very sorry,” the second, who has backed away alongside her sister, mimics.

“Please spare–”

“Hush, I’m not in the mood,” Feyd scolds. 

“Y-You will kill us?”

Feyd finally tears his stare from the huddled harpy to the ones by his feet. “You can pray to the kindness of my wife that I will not be,” he says. “You,” he juts his head back to the other. “You get a reward that I expect you to share with your sisters.”

Her head lifts from where it was resting atop her knees. Her dark eyes widen a touch. 

“A reward?” one of the others says.

“For us?”

Feyd gives a curt nod to the guard behind him, and a moment later, the man who attempted to take you against your will is tossed into the room. Already battered and bruised, he remains face down on the cobblestone flooring. A groan escapes through his lips, but that and the slightly pinkish hue of his skin from whatever blood remains in his veins is all there is as proof of life. 

“A meal,” Feyd says. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

The three glance at the body and then back up at Feyd. He doesn’t say another word as he turns on his heel and signals his guard to relock the cage. He doesn’t look back as the screams begin to echo through the dank halls. He has better things to do, like tending to his wife. It’s been a long day, after all, and she could use the comfort.

[lovelookspretty]

WAKING UP TO YOU

au!rafe cameron x reader

— in which you wake up in a strange alternate reality that just so happens to be the outer banks universe, and to your disbelief, you’re suddenly in a relationship with the shows most unlikely character, rafe cameron.

warnings: safe, mention of drugs, like one f word

authors note: i need to stop making new series when i havent even finished my last 😭 i get so bored when i near the end of a series LMAO im so sorry. guaranteed this is about to be my next potential series if people like it !!

you wake up with a start, disoriented, the remnants of sleep clinging to you like a heavy fog.

the first thing you notice is the warmth of the sun pouring through the windows, casting golden stripes across the room. you blink slowly, your surroundings coming into focus, and that's when the confusion sets in. this isn’t your apartment.

it’s . . . tannyhill. the camerons’ house. the place you’ve only ever seen on screen, the walls adorned with the unmistakable coastal vibe of the outer banks.

you push yourself up on your elbows, heart racing as you try to piece together what happened. just last night, you were in your own bed, scrolling through your phone, drifting off to sleep amidst the noise of the city. how did you end up here, in this bed, in this house?

your mind races, trying to catch up with your senses.

the sheets feel soft against your skin, and you notice the faint scent of salt and something warm, familiar, clinging to the pillow next to you. it feels like a dream, and the longer you sit there, the more bizarre it all seems.

no.

your heart starts to pound. this is wrong. you were in your apartment last night, you were sure of it. how could you be here now? how could any of this be happening?

you take in the opulence of the room. it's exactly like the show, down to the little details you never thought you'd see in person. the bed feels massive, the room impossibly large.

the panic begins to rise in your chest, your breaths becoming shallow as your mind races to make sense of it all.

and then, from the corner of your eye, you see movement. the door to the balcony swings open, and your blood turns to ice.

rafe?

he steps inside as casually as if he’s done this a hundred times before. and he probably has—because in this world, it looks like waking up next to you is normal for him. but for you? this is waking up next to a stranger, someone you’ve only seen on a screen, a character, an actor.

and yet, here he is, in the flesh, shirtless with his t-shirt dangling loosely in his hand like he’s about to put it on.

you freeze, eyes locking onto his bare chest, the sight almost too surreal to process. his body is toned, like you’ve seen a few times in his films, but now he's standing here, so nonchalant, as if this is all part of your routine together.

your breath catches, panic bubbling up inside as your mind screams at you to make sense of it. but no sense can be made. he’s real. he’s right there.

he catches your gaze and pauses for a beat, his expression calm, almost indifferent, as he pulls the shirt over his head. there’s no shock in his eyes, no alarm at your presence. instead, there’s a faint, almost ghostly hint of a smile on his lips, like he’s seeing something that comforts him. like this is just another morning. another day with you.

“you were sleeping for a while,” he says, his voice low, calm, as if you’re supposed to know exactly what he’s talking about.

but you don’t. you can’t.

your heart is pounding so hard you swear he must hear it. you feel like you're glued to the spot, unable to move or speak. he words are there, tangled in your throat, but no sound escapes.

and rafe? he doesn’t even notice. he’s too busy pulling the shirt over his head, smoothing it out with one hand as he heads toward the dresser, rummaging for something—maybe his keys, maybe a wallet. your eyes follow him, wide and unblinking.

every little detail is telling you this is really happening. the weight of the sheets, the soft scent of the ocean drifting in from the open balcony, the way rafe moves so effortlessly around the space—it all feels too tangible. too vivid.

he throws a glance over his shoulder, not catching the absolute terror that must be written across your face. instead, he just adds, “you good?” like, yeah, just a weird morning. what the hell are you supposed to say?

he turns back to whatever he’s doing, seemingly satisfied with your silence, and your mind is racing.

your eyes dart around the room, looking for anything that could anchor you back to reality, something that tells you this is just a dream, that you’ll wake up in your own bed any second now. but nothing happens. you’re still here. still watching rafe cameron move around like this is just another ordinary day.

and then he looks at you again, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he’s starting to sense that something’s off. not that he’s alarmed—he’s just . . . curious. “one of those realistic dreams again?”

the question hits you like a freight train. the way he says it, so casual, so knowing, makes your stomach churn. it’s clear that, in this reality, the version of you he knows has had these ‘realistic dreams’ before. does he think this is just another one of those?

you know you have to respond, have to say something to keep him from getting suspicious, so, you muster the courage to mutter, “yeah . . . something like that.”

the words feel foreign on your tongue, forced, like they don’t even belong to you. your voice sounds small, uncertain, and you hope he doesn’t pick up on it. but rafe? he just nods.

“i’m heading out to take care of some business,” he tells you, vague, the way he always is when it comes to whatever shady dealings he’s involved in. his voice has that low, dry edge to it, like he’s not too concerned with explaining more than he has to.

you swallow, your mind racing. business. you’ve seen the show. you know what kind of business he’s talking about. barry, he’s a drug dealer. or his dad, ward, who’s capable of anything.

suddenly, you wonder just where you are in the timeline of this world. does it follow the plot of the show? or is this some kind of alternate version of it, where different rules apply?

your eyes stay locked on him as he steps closer, and suddenly, the air shifts. he’s walking toward you with a purpose, and something in the way he moves makes you realize what’s coming before it even happens. you’ve seen this before—rafe being possessive, intense. you know what he’s about to do. but knowing still doesn’t prepare you for it.

he leans down, his hand brushing your hair back gently as his lips press against yours in a kiss that’s too soft, too familiar for how absolutely terrified you feel. the moment his lips touch yours, your mind goes blank.

you feel it—the warmth, the pressure, the sensation of his breath mingling with yours. it’s real. it’s terrifyingly, unmistakably real.

when he pulls back, you’re frozen. your hand instinctively reaches up to touch your lips, your mind racing with the reality of it. this isn’t just a dream. dreams don’t feel this real.

rafe pauses, noticing how off you are, his eyes narrowing as he studies your expression. he tilts his head slightly, and for a second, there’s something almost tender in his gaze.

“hey . . .” his voice is low, murmuring like he’s trying to ground you. “i’ll see you later, alright?”

you can’t speak. your throat feels too tight, your brain too scrambled to form words. you just nod, barely, enough to make him think you’re okay.

he gives you one last look, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his face before he turns and walks out of the room, disappearing into the hallway.

you don’t move for what feels like minutes. the sound of his footsteps fading into the distance is the only thing grounding you as your mind whirls. you’re trapped in his world—his reality—and there’s no telling how or why. but the one thing you do know?

this is real. too real.

because if this isn’t a dream . . . then where the hell are you?

the slam of the front door echoes through the quiet house, and the sound sends a shiver down your spine. your breath hitches, the reality of everything sinking in, and you can’t help the way your hands start to tremble.

you sit up carefully, trying not to make a sound as you pull the covers off your body. your skin prickles from the cool air against your bare legs, and when you glance down, you realize you’re only in a shirt—one that definitely isn’t yours—and your undergarments. it hits you all at once: this is rafe’s shirt. his scent clings to it, the familiar mix of cologne and something inherently him.

your feet touch the cold wooden floor as you swing your legs over the side of the bed, toes curling at the sudden chill. every movement feels deliberate, cautious, like any wrong step could wake you from this strange, twisted dream—or worse, prove it’s not a dream at all.

quietly, you push yourself off the bed, heart hammering in your chest as you make your way to the door. you peek your head out, eyes scanning the hallway. it’s empty. eerily quiet. thank god. but the silence makes everything feel even more surreal.

you pull back into the room quickly, your fingers brushing your hair behind your ears, trying to still the panic rising in your chest. you need answers. you need to figure out what’s happening—and fast.

your gaze darts to the nightstand, where your phone sits charging. finally.

you grab it with shaky hands and immediately swipe it open, your fingers moving fast as you pull up your contacts list. the plan forms in your head as you scroll, desperate. maybe this is all some elaborate prank. maybe your friends are messing with you, and any second now, someone’s going to pop out and yell “gotcha!”

but as you scroll, the names that appear make your stomach drop. none of them are familiar. faces and names you’ve never seen before fill your screen—until you see his name.

rafe.

then sarah. wheezie. even ward and rose.

your breath catches in your throat as you keep scrolling. it’s his family. it’s them.

you swallow hard, continuing to scroll, fingers trembling as the names blur together until you see the ones that make your heart stop.

jj. pope. kiara. john b.

the pogues.

you stare at the names for a second, your brain short-circuiting. your thumb hovers over jj’s contact, the one name that stands out to you more than the others.

without giving yourself time to second-guess it, you hit ‘call.’ the ringing fills the silence of the room, and your pulse quickens with every passing second.

the ringing feels like it goes on forever. each tone stretching out the anticipation, the nerves, the sinking realization that someone is actually going to pick up. your heart races, and just when you consider hanging up, a click echoes through the phone line.

“y/n?”

you flinch, eyes widening, mouth falling open. it’s him. it takes a few seconds for you to even remember how to speak, your mind stalling out completely. then you somehow force out, “hey, i just wanted to see how you’re . . . doing.”

the words stumble out of your mouth in a mess, and you internally cringe at how awful it sounds. god, could you be any worse at this? you wouldn’t blame jj if he called you out for the obvious lie, the way your voice shakes just slightly with every word.

but, to your surprise, he doesn’t. instead, he sounds casual. like he’s known you for years. “yeah, i’m good. why? do you wanna come over? kie’s here.”

your mind reels. kiara’s there? you’re friends with kiara? that’s news to you, but good to know. in this world, apparently, you’re on good terms with the pogues, at least you think.

you quickly pull the phone away from your ear to glance at the time, realizing it’s probably morning. or maybe early afternoon. time doesn’t even feel real right now.

“yeah, i’ll . . . i’ll come over,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant even though nothing about this is normal. the words slip out of your mouth before you really think them through. “where is over?”

“the wreck,” jj replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. right. of course. “but be quick.”

your chest tightens. why do you need to be quick? fear creeps into your voice as you ask, “why?”

there’s a pause, one that feels like it stretches forever, before jj finally responds, his tone softening. “cause we miss you.”

and then, just like that, he hangs up.

you blink, staring down at the phone in your hand as if it’ll give you answers. it doesn’t. you’re left standing there, your mind racing, trying to process what just happened. they miss you?

the idea that jj misses you, that kiara’s waiting for you at the wreck, is both exciting and terrifying.

your eyes dart around the room, like maybe you’ll find some clue that explains how this is all happening, but there’s nothing. just the same four walls, rafes room, his scent lingering in the air, and the echo of jj’s voice in your head.

your mind spins as you sit on the edge of the bed. what is going on in this world?

the characters you know from the show are behaving so . . . normal, so real. there are these new relationships, bits of information that seem to imply some kind of history, things that don’t align with what you know. you’re in their world, but there are gaps—huge, gaping blanks that terrify you because you don’t know what role you’re even supposed to be playing.

you glance around the room, trying to calm yourself as you get up to grab some clothes, already dreading the ride to the wreck.

how the hell are you actually supposed to get to the fucking wreck?

a/n: let me know if u would like to be part of the tag list thru any replies, anons, dms, etc !! notifications are always on <3 this will also lowkey be a jj & rafe x reader series i fear

[youryanderedaddy]

Oleander

Summary: Nine months ago you killed a man. Now you're sharing a drink with his brother. Life works in mysterious ways. tw: female reader, implied murder, captivity, dub - con, hate fucking, degradation, cruel reader

Sometimes you wonder if you’re a good person. It’s nice, almost, to lose yourself in meaningless philosophical battles in your own mind - it reminds you of high school, of balding teachers making you read Kant and Plato, raving on and on about dead men that will never come back to agree or disagree with the countless pages they made you write about them. It’s easier now, though - easy to lose yourself in semantics, to water down hundred years of morals and ethics into a simple question. Am I, the way I am, the way I’ve always been, good? 

These thoughts always come back when the liquor hits your system. You can’t believe Devan let you drink with him tonight. He must be getting lonely, you realize. Your hands are too shaky and slippery to hold the glass, and you end up spilling half of it over your chest anyways. Your shirt soaks the liquor quickly, and the sharp smell of sanitizer makes you feel as if you’re running through a cold hospital corridor. If you squint, you can almost imagine the needle poking at your vein to draw fresh blood. 

Devan watches you with odd fascination - as if you’re a child learning how to walk, and takes a sip straight off the bottle. Were you any less drunk, you’d be disgusted, yet now all you think about is how he’s drinking more and more of the bitter medicine, leaving less for you. And you need it. God knows you need it.

“Messy, murderous slut.” He mumbles under his breath, reaching out to you with a disoriented shake of his hand. “You ruined my fucking life, you know?” He manages to take a hold of your elbow. You flinch impulsively but his hold, in all its drunken angst, is unrelenting.

“You ruined your own life.” You intend your answer to be playful, but it comes out venomous. Maybe you both need some sleep - too bad the bottle is still half full. You pour yourself some more. “You’re 27 with no education, job or any support network. Even your parents don’t call you anymore, because, well… what even are you without him?” You let yourself get closer to the man - so close you can see his eyes illuminate in fear. His skin is warm like concrete melting under the sun. Tonight you are cruel. Tonight you are free - even as the tears fall down your freezing cheeks. “Admit it.” You inhale so quietly you barely feel your lungs. “You fucking love it.”

Even as his hand connects to your cheek in an audible slap, you can’t help running your mouth off. You are absolutely intoxicated - and the sting feels like a kiss to your lonely, untouched face. How long has it been since someone held you?

“You fucking love that your brother died, deep down. I mean, it’s the perfect excuse, isn’t it? You finally have a reason to be this fucking miserable.” Your smirk, filling up with glee - just like a child torturing a helpless ladybug on the ground, it’s so wrong yet feels so right. ”Besides being a lousy loser, of course.”

“How fucking dare you!” Devin flips you over with ease, throwing you on the ground. There is a raw, animalistic sadness in his big black orbs bleeding into his rage, and it makes it impossible to be scared. Even as his thick fist wraps itself around your throat, it’s hard not to burst into laughter. All the good hazy feelings take over logic and now the bleak feels like a big joke of nature. “Joe was… He… He was…” Everything, he tries to say, but his voice breaks into a pained howl and his breathing shallows before the word can roll off his colorless tongue. For a passing moment everything stills.

“It’s all your fault.” Your captor hisses weakly, his hand trembling around your warm inviting flesh. “I should have killed you that first day… that first night.” His fingers dance around your throat, carefully avoiding your jugular. “It would have been so easy. You do have a beautiful neck.” His voice lowers. “It wouldn’t be hard to–” He squeezes again - tight, tighter, and you see stars. “Maybe then I’ll finally be at peace.” He’s staring at you, intently, but it’s himself he’s talking to. 

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes. You can feel a certain fullness in your sides and a dull pain tugging at your collarbone from suffocation - but your mind can’t wrap itself around a single coherent thought other than to hurt him. It’s like the more you hurt him, the more it hurts inside you. “You can’t kill me.” There is no sass in your tone, no mischief - just plain cold acceptance.

Devin stops in his tracks to stare you down as if you’ve lost your goddamn mind. Then he laughs. He laughs so much his hand slips off your throat and you can finally breathe again.

“And what makes you so sure?” He finally collects himself enough to ask, leaning towards you. If anyone were to see you now, they would think you’re two lovers about to elope. “Because…” You avert your face away from his watchful eyes - there’s something about them, a wild flame that makes you sober up quicker than you’d like. “I’m the only person you hate more than yourself. If you kill me, the game is over.” You give him a sad smile. “And you’re all alone again.”

The man grabs your chin, forcing your lips to pucker up like a doll’s. “Like I need a fucked up bitch to keep me company.” He says, yet he keeps moving your head up and down as if he’s inspecting you for damage. As if he cares if you’re bruised, as if his fingers want to feel you for just a second longer. “Then let me go.” You bite back, and you watch his face go dark like a night sky. “No.” The boy - man shrieks, holding onto your arm for dear life. It hurts… but it’s also warm and tight - like an embrace, but not quite. “You deserve to suffer.” He quickly adds, pulling you closer to him. “Then torture me.” You add more fuel. “Do something. Anything.” You sink your teeth into his knees. “For once in your shitty miserable life do so–”

He kisses you. 

You don’t know how to describe the kiss. It’s neither passionate, nor aggressive. It’s desperate, yet it lacks strength. It’s a rushed thing. It’s a memory reminiscent of summer - in a quiet village, after an atom bomb. His lips are the flowers that eventually bloom before they’re stomped by soldier boots. You’re the half - lit match that turns it all to ashes. Your bodies are meant for destruction, and that’s why they fit together perfectly. 

“Let me have you.” He almost pleads once you separate, breathless, on the brink of insanity - as if he isn’t already there. His hands are on both sides of your waist, squeezing so hard it hurts, unstable fingers ready to grab and grope at any shape malleable enough. 

“No.” You wince, but your eyes remain cold and challenging. “Fuck you.” Devin replies, roughly spreading your thighs apart. “Fuck you.” He repeats as he rips into your throat, dragging his teeth against your sweet spot, making you really feel the sharp points tearing into your soft vulnerable skin. The thought of leaving his mark on you makes his stomach turn - and it terrifies him. You try not to look down, but you hear his belt hit the ground and soon his pants follow suit - and then you sense it right against your entrance. Sticky slick whiteness coats your white panties as it drips from the purpling tip so full it might burst by the friction alone.

His hard length rubs along your wet slit and with clenched teeth you anticipate the burn of the stretch, the way he’ll rip your underwear from you, your last protective shield - but it never comes. Yet you see it move in and out, in and out of you rhythmically. You can feel his warm breath on the back of your neck, his rasp groans into your ear, his hands moving your torso back and forth like a carousel. You finally look down. 

He’s fucking your thighs - through your panties, no less. 

“Hold your legs together.” The man barks at you, but his voice is so needy you can’t help giggling even as he manhandles you around like a ragdoll. “T-tighter.” You squeeze your thighs snuggly against his cock - and you hope it hurts him more than it hurts you. You throw your head back, leaning on his shoulder as you jeer gutturally, letting it all out in systematic bursts of laughter that sound more like black cigarette coughs. Or puffs. “God, you’re so pathetic.” You lazily stroke his shaft as it peeks down your stomach, oozing with pre - cum. “I bet your brother would have fucked me like a real man.”

He moves your head to the side with a brute slap, kissing you sloppily anywhere but your mouth - but it still does the trick of shutting you up. “Too bad he’s dead.” He leaves a trail of wet pecks down your throat. Your stomach is sticky. You feel disgusting. “Guess you’re mine now.”

You roll your eyes.

“Dream on.”

[thesassypadawan]

Beloved Husband *part 2* (Unburnt Vader x WifeReader)

Summary:  All throughout your pregnancy your husband has been loving…caring…patient.  However that same patience has worn quiet thin during your last month.  And now wanting nothing more than to be with you…ruin you…breed you again.  He will take and do as he pleases, even if it’s far too soon after the birth of your son.  Even if it take’s all night long.  (A continuation to Beloved Master.)

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), because all the lovely smut.  Size difference, hint of a breeding kink, premature postpartum smex, and Vader’s big dick. 

Notes: Happy Sithtember all you, lovelies! ❤️🖤

🎉❤️A VERY HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY TO @t03soup❤️🎉

- Delirious…  Gently he flips you onto your back.  Head lolls against the plush pillows, soft pants slip past your swollen lips.  “An-Ani, you have to s-stop…” 

- Mind hazy…  Faintly you’re aware of him nudging your legs apart.  Guiding your fingers into place to keep them spread open.  “Can’t k-keep going…”

- Thoughts growing cloudier with each passing moment…  Larger body slots between; pressing down, trapping yours beneath.  Feebly you writhe and wriggle, trying to free yourself.  “I'm not s-supposed to get…”

- With each blissfully painful orgasm…  Glassy eyes meet his golden ones, sinister smile creeps across his face.  “No one tells me what I can and cannot do…”  Chuckling darkly; monstrous length grinding, smearing pre on your folds and stomach.  “Even my own wife…”

- Weakly you sob out as he surges forward once more.  Gummy walls struggling, burning...aching from the intense stretch.  Nails digging, scratching at your thighs.  Familiar pricks stinging at your waterlines.  “I…n-no…I…”

- Swallowing up your pleas; his tongue tangles, utterly dominates yours.  Hips rocking slowly; bulbous tip somehow still hitting, bullying your poor cervix.  “Hmmph…”

- While his metallic digits toy at your sore, raw nipples.  Rolling, tugging them just hard enough to cause fat drops of milk to spring forth…trickle down, mingle with your mixed sweat.  “Please…p-please…”

- Fiery kisses trail, teeth nip at your neck and collarbone.  “Stop your crying, angel,” he growls into your marked skin.  Voice rumbling through you, coil beginning to tighten in your stomach again.  “Don’t want to hear it.”

- Pace increases; thrusts grow harsh, wild.  Curves bounce, jiggle; balls slap heavily, wetly against your bottom.  Sound echoing off the bed chamber’s walls, along with your pitiful babbles.  “But…I-I…”

- “Need this as bad as I do…”  Lips travel lower, hot mouth encompasses your leaking bud.  Suckling, savoring the stray drops of nectar.  Biting the tender flesh that surrounds them, eliciting small whimpers and gasps from you.

- “Have me destroy, ruin you…”  Organic fingers brush, swirl your overstimed clit.  Pinching, flicking; big thumb pressing, squeezing the little nub firmly.  Pleasure building, boarding on the line of agony.

- “Let me back inside that perfect womb of yours…”  Mechno hand slides up, wraps around your fragile throat.  Hold tight, keeping you in place while he slams…attempts to breach past the tight rim.

- “Filling you, making you heavy with another of my heirs…”  Driving deeply one last time, you feel the familiar pop and flood of warmth yet again.  Pussy involuntary clenches, gushes.  Tears flow freely in happiness or sadness, you aren't quite sure.  Because you’re so…

- Delirious…  Gently he pulls out, pries your fingers off.  Easing your trembling limbs down to the mattress, propping your hips up with a plush pillow.  Muttering sweet words of admirations and praises; about not wanting to see any of his seed go to waste, to be sure it takes.  “Good girl…” 

- Mind hazy…  Faintly you’re aware of coos, squeaks coming from nearby.  Catching a brief glimpse of his cock in the firelight.  Coated in your combined juices, tinted slightly in something crimson.  “Must be hungry…hopefully I didn’t drink up all his meal…”

- Thoughts growing sharper with each passing moment…  You lay there numb; content to not move, to let fatigue something else overtake you.  Until a small bundle is placed into your arms, tiny hand reaches for you.  And suddenly the life rushes back into you, the night’s events fade away.  “Looks like someone missed you…” 

- With each happy noise from your newborn…  Clear eyes meet his golden ones, wide smile creeps across his face.  “You’re so beautiful…helpless, hatari…”  Chuckling softly; big hand cradling, caressing your round stomach.  “Think I’ll keep you this way for years to come…”

-  With each chaste kiss placed on the crown of your head…  Forcing, burying the last shred of your old self.  You return your beloved husband’s smile, his kiss.  “I’d love nothing more…Lord Vader.”

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @laylaplease, @loverforoldermen, @anakinsbbgirl, @t03soup, @decaffeinatedunicorn, @avescorner-blog, @vaderswifey, @jediavengers

[shortkinglogan]

Comparing Wade and Logan's healing factors

I keep reading fics that seem unsure about how their individual healing factors work and differ so I'm making this post to help clear it up for anyone who cares (if you just wanna make stuff up for fun more power to ya)

Let's start with

Logan

As far as what he can heal from, it seems as long as there is a small amount of his genetic code, and as long as it gets enough energy, he can regenerated from just about anything.

He needs tons of calories to maintain the healing factor normally.

He can even regenerated from just a skeleton and it only takes a few minutes to happen.

He isn't seen reattaching limbs but I'd assume this is possible under the right conditions, for the same reasons Wade can do it.

There's also the rest of his abilities that are directly effected by his healing factor.

Without the admantium on his bones, his healing factor isn't constantly working, and his senses and instincts become more powerful, making him more likely to go feral. He also cannot regenerated the admantium because it wasn't a natural part of him to begin with.

Feral Logan is like a mental state he regresses into, he has been without the admantium and still not fully feral, seemingly because he has some people to anchor him, though he is still more animalistic like this. He can even be pulled back out of that mental state by just the scent of someone he cares about.

Wade

His healing is very similar to Logan's, yet also very different.

Wade also can regenerated from just a drop of blood if it can get energy to do so, for Wade, instead of an energy crystal thing, it's Logan's energy, growing off him like an ear on a mouse.

His healing factor works about as fast as Logan's as well able to regenerated quickly when needed. Unlike Logan though, Wade has been seen reattaching limbs instead of just growing them back, but it makes sense both could do it, Logan just keeps getting those dismembered limbs thrown miles away or destroyed so he didn't get a chance as far as I know to do the same as Wade.

Now this i see being weirdly interpreted and I feel like I know what's going on.

Its not a "dying factor" it's still a healing factor, it's just weird because of how CANCER works. Cancer is not dead cells, it's mutated constantly growing cells, so a healing factor would not pick that up as something to kill off or heal from, so wades cancer just spread until his entire body, skin bones and all, are nothing but cancerous cells, and stopping the cancer stops the healing because it stops the cells from regrowing, this, stopping his healing (of he wasn't made of cancer he may still be able to heal even if the cancer was stopped)

What his healing factor is constantly working on however is the effects of all this cancer on his body, he probably experiences a different organ failing on him and regrowing almost every day. So what would happen if he had no cancer to make his healing factor constantly work? Could he go feral too?

Short answer no, in fact, Logan's feral state is more because of his other abilities than the healing factor, I feel like a Wade without the cancer would be like Nicepool, not in constant pain and trying to cover it up, not mentally unstable due to many brain tumors, and doesn't really have a reality hole in his brain.

Also in the comics at least, not MCU Wade, he is cursed with immortality by Thanos cause he was jealous Wade was with death romantically, so he literally cannot die, and the healing factor is no longer even a real player in his inability to die.

So in conclusion

Their healing factors work basically in the exact same way, just has a different effect on each of them due to their respective personal traits (cancer brain vs animal brain)

Neither is better than the other, they are equals, at least until Wade starts mackin on death and becomes immortal.

You just can't kill them without starving them first, and even then we know Logan will eat himself (and feed his flesh to Wade) before allowing either to starve.

Side note, they definitely can age (or at least, Logan does, Wade being immortal and all can't now) even with the healing factor, it doesn't stop aging, but it does make him able to live WAY longer than any normal human. Gotta give some love to old man Logan.

If anyone thinks I've missed something or has theories for things that aren't solid confirmed that differ from my own please lmk! 💙💛

[lilacxquartz]

pregnancy woes;

toji fushiguro x pregnant!reader

summary: lil drabble post, i might do more pregnant reader x jjk in the future but i got a request for a milf reader x any, so here we go! requested by @lolitamermaid123 — i hope this was what you were looking for🩵

tags/themes: pregnant reader, very in love toji, praise, validation, suggestive undertones, massage — w.c: ~700

ao3 • masterlist • more drabbles

Nothing prepared you for how lovesick Toji would be when you were carrying his second child. The guy had always been sarcastic, maybe even arrogant, but never before had he been this obsessed with you. From the moment your stomach started showing visible signs of growth; he simply couldn’t keep his hands off of you.

Despite this, you didn’t quite feel the same. You didn’t deny that the miracle of life or what have you was a beautiful prospect, yes, but it was also exhausting on your body. You were not only constantly in a state of simmering fatigue, but you were once again feeling all sorts of puffy and achy with very little that could be done to alleviate the symptoms.

Yet, Toji didn’t quite see it that way. Or maybe he saw it differently. To him, you were the living embodiment of what could have been perfection in his eyes.

Every morning, without fail, he would roll over to his side and wrap his strong arms right around you and pull you in as close as he possibly could. He would bury his face right into the crook of your neck with his large hands palming over the swell of your stomach while acting surprisingly sweet—given who he was and what he did for a living.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his breath hot against the exposed area of your flesh. His voice was lower than usual and thick with sleep.

You mumbled something out in response, although it was barely coherent. You tried to shift away slightly because as it turned out, you didn’t quite feel as hot as you usually did and his touch would only feed your insecurities even further.

“Oh no you don’t,” he teased as he pulled you closer, not quite letting you get away. He could see right past you and you were being harsh on yourself—like usual—and for no good reason.

“Toji, please…” you sighed into a weary groan, appreciating his effort but feeling groggy from all of the exhaustion. “I feel so bloated and big… you wouldn’t get it…”

Toji however simply rolled his eyes. “There you go again, talking down on yourself like that. You have no idea how sexy you look to me right now and it hurts.”

You tried to stretch the remainder of the sleep away to little avail, leaning your head back against him as you finally gave into his hold. “Yeah, well it’s hard to feel sexy right now.”

He shrugged as he didn’t back down, digging his lips even further into your skin while planting lazy kisses along your neck and shoulder. His voice was laced with want and need the more he pressed himself right against you, unable to quite let you go, if at all, “You’re not seeing my vision then, huh? You don’t get it. You look so hot, so incredible like this…”

Finally, you managed to thaw into a slight smile as his words were finally starting to get to you. Even if you didn’t quite believe him fully, Toji had a knack for making you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in the entire world. His attention to you was dedicated and you were his only focus.

“Would be better if I wasn’t so achy though,” you slightly whined while attempting to straighten out your back.

He hummed at your statement, seemingly forming an idea in his mind. “How about a massage then? Give me an excuse to keep my hands on you.”

“That could be nice…” you admitted.

“Yeah,” Toji murmured, repositioning you gently so that you laid against his lap with your back in between his legs. You could tell that he was very excited to this, given what else you felt. “I’ll knock those knots clean out of you, babe. You won’t even know what tension is.”

“I’ll hold you to that one,” you replied, feeling already relieved from just how well his hands could work into your shoulders, kneading and squeezing in all of the right places.

In turn, he leaned down to press a kiss on top of your head as he slowly felt you come undone and relax in his company. “Trust me,” he added, “I'll do anything to help you feel good, you’re doing all the hard work after all in getting our next kid here. So leave it to me to take care of you.”

[fanaticsnail]

Hi Snail, I need you to know I haven't been able to stop thinking about Invitation since I first read it 😭 it's just so absolutely perfect. Vampire Law has absolutely infested my brain, he's haunting me at this point! Every time I try to sit down and write he's the only thing I can think about!! I might have to write something for him just to free myself at this point (but do I want to be freed? I could just think about Vampire Law for the rest of my waking days!)

Oh, but you've invited him in now. Whatever shall we do...

Vampire Law - Punishment

Word Count: 300+

Themes: vampire!Law x gn!reader, mdni, 18+, smut, NSFW, penetrative sex, mean dom law, dacryphilia, blood consumption, a little bit yandere. Part 1 Here.

Notes: I couldn't get him out of my head either. If you ever want to write more for vampire Law, I gotta read it. For now, here's this little punishment. Thank you for your ask!!

The vampire, Trafalgar D Water Law, is absolutely utilizing that verbal confirmation to the epitome of his advantage. He's never going to be satisfied by simply releasing once into your body. Not after all that teasing and taunting.

Absolutely not.

As his cock begins to flood your body with icy ropes of otherworldly release, he'll take a moment to huff out a drunken laugh while he watches you cry at the overstimulation. His treatment was punishing, and his sex-drunk eyes peered down like a predator about to consume his meek prey.

His lengthy, dark eyelashes shrouded his blown irises, his pupils narrowing as they zone in on a fresh bite on your neck. He could sense your life pouring from your body, draining you dry while unloading you full.

“You gonna tap out, brat?” He asked, gently lulling his tongue out to swipe up over your chin, “Attempt to rescind your invitation?”

Eyes foggy and mind clouded, you babbled out a cock-drunk, “Can I do that?”

Law chuckled darkly, moving his lips up to eclipse yours in a cool kiss from his reanimated lips. Tugging at your bottom lip, he bit down on it and dragged it up before releasing it with a ‘pop.’

“No.” His taunt caused you to let out a soft whine, feeling his cock once again spring to life deep within your entrance. Stretching your walls over his girth, he began the slow roll and drag of his hips.

Aligning his thighs with yours, he threw your legs over his shoulders and let out a shuddered groan. Feeling how deep he was in your abdomen, seeing the soft bulge from his cockhead in your stomach had his need once again spring forth and cause him to abuse your tight flesh.

Perhaps you should've thought twice about edging a creature of the night, a soul damned to wander the abyss without a tether to a host.

Law’s right hand reached forward to stimulate you while the other gripped your thigh. His punishment never ceased, only stopping when he truly felt you had experienced enough of his wrath for a single evening.

He hopes you enjoy sailing, because now there was no way he would ever let you go.

[snoopyearss]

wet vagina!

I bring the drip with wet vagina!

a/n: my favorite doja song

Toji Drabble!

cw: reoccurring themes of baby carrying and breeding, size difference, usage of the word ‘daddy’, mating press

I think it's pretty obvious that Toji has some sort of breeding kink. So when you told him to skip the condom tonight, he flung it across the room so fast. He placed you on your back and hiked up your legs to your chest. The movement alone makes your folds slowly spread apart, slick glistening from either side and slowly dripping down because of the foreplay.

"Y'er killin' me right now, you know that?" His voice raspy as he drops a glob of spit right on your clit. You whine softly at the warm sensation. "Toji," you look up at him with such a need in your eyes. "I know, baby." He wrapped his big hand around his dick as he began to pump himself in front of you, using his other hand to strum on your clit. Slowly. “Ugh, fuck. Look at you,” he slowly inserted a thick finger in your fluttering hole. “Fuckin’ soaked.” You squirm under him, whimpering and mewling as he held his finger in. Not moving it what so ever. He groaned as he felt you clench around him, your way of telling him to move. “Please,”

“Oh? You ready my sweet girl? Ready to get fucked raw?” He says it in almost a taunting tone. “Yes, please, please fuck me.” He chuckles as he pulls his finger out of you and wastes no time replacing it with his cock. The contrast has the wind being knocked out of your lungs. “Fuck. This pussy is so wet, all this f’me mama?” The feeling of your velvety walls mixed in with your slick was slowly making him lose his resolve. Your pretty pussy was making so many noises for him with each thrust he administered. “F-fuck! Toji, hah~” your sentences were choppy, moans bubbling up from your diaphragm, getting caught in your throat for a quick second, then forced out of you with every rough thrust Toji would give.

The continuous squelch! Noises had both of you moaning out as if it were a competition. “‘M cumming! Toji I’m-“ the sentence intervened by an intense heat wave crashing through your lower half and spraying all over Toji’s thick cock. “There we go mama, keep goin’ f’me.” And his thrusts wouldn’t stop. They would only pick up in speed since you just got 10 times wetter. It was driving him insane. “Gonna let me cum deep in this tight pussy?” He picks your hips up and starts using you as if you were some type of flesh light, like it was made for his pleasure and his pleasure only.

“Y-yes, please cum I-inside. I need it. Please.” You babbled as his trusts were going even harder. “Yeah? Y’need it? Gonna let me fuck a baby into you?” His nasty dirty talk has your eyes rolled back and mouth agape. “Fuuuck, you’d like that wouldn’t you? Your tummy all swollen with my kid huh? You’d look so sexy with a swollen tummy baby.” He places his large hand on your stomach and rubbed light circles over it, sending small heat waves to your stomach and down to your clit. His dirty talk was so much more intense than any other times you both would fuck, and it was turning you on. You don’t even realize you’re creaming all over his shaft for the second time. “Y-yeah, wanna make you a daddy, Toji.”

The word ‘daddy’ made a switch turn on in his brain as he folded your legs back to your chest, and began jackhammering into you. “Fuckin’ shit little girl,” he groans with each thrust. “Take it, fuckin’ take what I’m gonna give ya. Take it for me.” He thrusts one last time, so deep inside you feel almost feel it in your throat. The warm thick ropes of his come floods you and you already start to feel full. You moan at the foreign, yet very pleasant feeling. Toji softly kisses your lips as he continues to give you shallow thrusts. His way of making sure he did his job of filling you up properly and making sure it takes.

“You were so good for me, pretty.” He kisses you even more. “Didn’t know you wanted to be a daddy that badly Toji.” You teased him. “Shut up.”

[myzticbean]

Smutty dom!Xavier (Sex Pollen Pt. 2)

This is part 2 of my Xavier smut series, On The Job Work Hazards: Sex Pollen Made Me Do It. Find part 1 here. You can read it without part one, but it would make more sense in the context of the story. It's also wild that this ended up being an 11k+ word series🤷‍♀️😎

Quick recap: After a battle with a flower wanderer, you and Xavier unexpectedly get a little frisky, and now you're going to finish what you started. Read on AO3.

Pairing: Shen Xinghui | Xavier / MC (fem! reader) Tags: Dominant!Xavier, fingering (f. receiving), oral sex, ass play (f. receiving), shower sex, consensual rough sex, roleplay (consensual non-consent) -- everyone is an adult, nobody gets hurt 😊

Title: On The Job Work Hazards: Sex Pollen Made Me Do It

I wasn’t quite sure how it happened - I had never been swept away and materialized with Xavier before (I didn’t even think it was possible), but we appeared in his apartment in seconds. I gripped his neck a little tighter, frightened of the subtle power he displayed. 

“Xavier…” I questioned, trailing off as I peered up into his face. His eyes were shielded by his bangs, and he wouldn’t meet my gaze. He just slowly released me, letting me slide down his body.

He tapped his watch, and there were beeps and alarms from both of our hunter units as we officially entered the decontamination protocol. In unison, we both took off the watches and set them aside. 

“Do you want to shower first?” he asked, voice quiet and restrained.

He didn’t want to meet my eyes, and I felt a little hurt. “I…did you change your mind?” I ask, a little hesitant but not quite sure how to read his body language. Just minutes ago, he seemed so confident and sure of what he - we - wanted. 

“No,” he said, startled, his eyes jumping up to meet mine. “I just didn’t want to pressure you in case you decided you…didn’t want…”

I sighed in relief, pulling out my ponytail and letting my hair fall down around my shoulders. I could see the bright yellow pollen still dotting my hair, skin and clothing. 

“Xavier, sometimes…” I shook my head lightly. “Look, I’d tell you if I didn’t want to. Haven’t I always been honest with you?”

“Sometimes too honest,” he agreed, nodding slightly. “It can hurt my feelings.”

I bit my lip, trying to stifle a smile. “Shaddup.”

“Like that,” he said.

“If you don’t take your clothes off and join me in the shower, I’ll definitely just go back to my apartment instead,” I replied, starting to unfasten the various buckles and straps on my hunter vest. 

His hands immediately got to work, quickly unfastening his buckles and zips, and just as I shimmied out of my vest and undershirt, he was already standing nude in front of me.

I gaped, my eyes drifting down his body in a slow, visual caress. His skin was so pale and smooth (practically hairless except for a few scattered dustings of ultra-light ash brown hair), but a pink flush had started at his cheeks and worked its way down his neck and shoulders. 

“You…” I gulped a little, watching his abs ripple as I stared at his body in awe. 

“Do you like it?” he asked, watching the expressions race across my face. He placed one palm on his belly before sliding it down, taking hold of his rapidly-hardening cock. I swallowed, a little breathless.

“Yes.” I tried to bite back a moan.

“Please take off your clothes, I want to see you too,” he said, his whispery voice more urgent now with his need. He didn’t step towards me, simply watching as my hands started moving once more. I bent down to slide off my boots and socks, and pushed my pants and underwear down over my hips. 

As I stood back upright, he appeared in front of me, the heat radiating off of his skin and warming mine. I could feel goosebumps race over my flesh, and his masculine scent and the soft rustle of his hair twined around my body. I had never wanted someone the way I craved him.

“Touch me,” I half-begged, half-demanded. My nipples hardened in the slightly cool air conditioning. 

He reached out, trailing one finger across delicate collar bones before dipping down to trace along the curves of my breast. Using one finger, he scraped gently over one nipple. I inhaled quietly, my head tipping back slightly as he used his fingernail to scratch along the surface again, and then for a third time. My sensitive flesh tingled, red and slightly puffy.

“Your mouth too?” I wanted it to be a command, but it came out pleading instead. 

“Hm,” he said, neither a yes or a no, simply shifting a little closer. He knew what I wanted, and where I wanted his mouth, but instead, he barely moved to allow his chest to brush delicately against mine, the heated touch of his skin almost like fire to my sensitive flesh. 

His hand drifted away from my nipple, instead sliding down my ribcage and settling at the small of my back. He lowered his head, his soft hair a gentle caress against my cheeks and neck, and he pressed a small kiss to the underside of my chin. 

I tried to bite back the whine of dismay, lifting my chin a little higher to encourage him to trail down my neck and shoulders, but he didn’t move. His tongue darted out to take a lick, and then another, the soft, slick muscle a hint of things to come. I pressed my thighs together unconsciously.

“You said you wanted to be fucked…and then loved. Is that right?” Xavier asked, his voice somewhat muffled against me. 

“Yes,” I whispered. “That’s what I want.”

“Then I’ll need to get you ready,” he murmured, pressing another gentle kiss to my neck before he stepped back, holding out one hand. “Come with me.”

I eagerly placed my hand in his, letting him tug me into the spacious, cream-colored bathroom. His apartment was a lot nicer than mine, but I didn’t stop to take in all the details, just watching as he flipped on the switch in the shower to warm up the water. He let me go to get a thick towel, and I was a little amazed at the casual confidence in his nudity. But I supposed if I had his body (and other gifts), I’d be pretty confident as well. 

“Let me brush my teeth first,” I said, watching his tight little ass clench as he opened a drawer and pulled out a new toothbrush for me. I got to work while he hung up the towel on the hook next to the shower door, and he motioned me inside after testing the temperature. I stepped into the spray, the hot water a welcome jolt after the sudden coolness of the apartment following an energetic battle.

“Xavier,” I murmured, unaware of how affectionately I said his name as he soaped up his hands and started stroking up and down my body. My neck and shoulders, arms, breasts and hips, he left no part of me untouched. He knelt down in front of me, soaping my legs, but his eyes were glued to the curves and folds between them. He toyed with the small patch of soft, dark hair I had trimmed right above my pussy.  

“I like this,” he said. “You are…perfect.”

I blushed furiously. “You don’t-” I started to say before he cut me off.

“I’m not being polite, and I’m not lying. You are so beautiful.”

I shivered, the feel of his calloused hands rubbing up and down my legs sending a jolt of pure pleasure through me. He dipped me back into the water to rinse off.

“Let me wash you too,” I said, reaching for the soap.

“Next time, honey,” he promised thickly. He washed and rinsed himself off with record time, thrusting his head under the spray and scrubbing his hair roughly as I moved out the way to give him room. 

I laughed as he rushed, the warm steam in the shower adding the hazy, almost surreal experience. I could hardly wrap my head around how we just shifted from partners to lovers in less than an hour. 

He suddenly spun around, wrapping his arms around me and tugging me closer to his body, resting me against his chest and my stomach pressed against his eager, straining cock. 

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he said, staring down intently at my surprised face, his blue eyes so dark they looked almost black. 

“So long?” I asked, a little disoriented, but he didn’t answer me, instead lowering his head and pressing his lips against mine. I parted my lips on instinct, awash in sensation as his tongue slicked along my bottom lip and entered my mouth. Our tongues tangled together; he deftly rubbed the roof of my mouth, skimming over my teeth, and even coaxed my tongue to follow his back into his mouth. I returned the favor, the feel of his thin, sweet lips on mine and his breath panting into my mouth as we exchanged fervid kisses. 

I could feel him, hot and trembling against my belly, and I undulated against his hardness in an unspoken invitation. 

“Turn around and put your hands against the wall,” he commanded, his voice tight and low. “Spread your legs, honey.”

I did as he asked, in no mood to play any games, and I bent forward, resting my palms against the cold tile. My excitement rose when I heard him kneel behind me. He spread the cheeks of my ass, exposing me to his gaze.

I whimpered, clenching a little in nervousness, but he just hushed me with a gentle hum. “That’s it, honey, just like this. I’m going to taste all of you now.”

It was indecent the way his voice caused an almost visceral reaction, my pussy damp and excited. 

“You’re so pretty, so pink and wet,” he said huskily, trailing his lips over one cheek and then the other. He suddenly nips me hard, and I can feel a blooming warmth from the bite. I groaned, my head lowered as I shifted back, hips arched and begging for his mouth. 

“Please,” I whispered, body aching. The arousal that had begun following our battle came roaring back with a vengeance. 

He trailed long, slender fingers up the damp slit of my pussy, his thumb rubbing a slow, meandering circle on my clit before sliding back down once more. The puffy folds were so sensitive, pink and flushed from my excitement, and tingled with every gentle stroke of his fingers. 

I moaned, unable to help myself, arching my back and spreading my legs a little farther apart. 

“Good girl,” he murmured softly, lips still pressed against the soft curve of my butt as he watched his fingers play in the damp folds, spreading them apart to expose my wet, quivering pussy. He grunted, obviously pleased, as he tugged playfully on one little fold.

“Why are you teasing me?” I grumbled, pressing my forehead against my hands. “I didn’t tease you like this.”

He immediately shifted, nipping a little harder and pulling back to admire the mark. “Alright, honey. I hear you.”

He immediately strengthened his strokes, going from light, playful touches to a more demanding tug. Using two fingers, he pinched my clit, massaging it with his calloused fingers in an undulating motion, tugging at the swollen hood.

I gasped, rocking back before pressing forward into his grip, pressing my clit more firmly against his fingertips. I could feel my body clenching in pleasure, empty and unfilled. 

“Xavier, gods, please,” I sighed in pleasure, the edge of a moan in my words. 

“That’s it, use my fingers. I’m going to get you nice and wet for me, okay?”

I shivered, pleasure racing down my spine and pooling between my legs. I could feel how damp and sticky my thighs were, the shower spray a distant hum of white noise. 

“Yes, yes,” I panted. “Please.”

He let go of my clit, trailing those deft fingers back up my slit, circling the quivering hole and coating his fingers with my wetness. Using one finger, he dipped inside, just barely breaching me before pulling back out. I groaned before gasping when he sunk his finger back inside a little deeper, working me open.

With his other hand, Xavier spread my cheeks, fingering the tight little bud of my ass that I had only ever considered something shameful. My cheeks flamed in embarrassment at the whine of ridiculous pleasure that escaped from me when I felt him circling the little ring.

“Oh, no, I-” I started to say before my words were cut off. He had pressed a finger more tightly against my ass, not breaching me, but the pressure had me clenching even tighter around the finger he was pumping inside of me.

“You like it,” he murmured, as if a little surprised but very pleased. I could tell he was turned on, his voice a little raspy now. 

“I’ve never…” I couldn’t finish the sentence as he slipped a second finger inside my pussy, curling and stroking the soft, quivering flesh inside. I breathed heavily, panting, my body bowstring tight. It had been a long time since I’d had a lover, and I was used to my own slim fingers or a vibrator. His fingers were deceptively long, filling me in a way I never could before. 

“Yes, oh my gods, yes, feels so good,” I moaned. “Give me another.”

He followed my orders this time without argument, slicking a third finger and easing it inside of me with a slow, steady pump. I felt full now, almost too full, and I loved it. I arched and pressed back, back against his fingers and the hand he used to stroke my ass. 

“That’s it, honey, just like that.”

For a moment, I thought I’d come just from his words, but suddenly, I could feel his tongue burrowing next to his fingers, licking around them as he continued to thrust them, slowly but steadily, into my pussy. I could hear tiny gulps, as if he were drinking nectar, a hum of pleasure vibrating his chest as he captured every droplet. 

I started shaking, my legs quivering as I could feel the wave of pleasure starting to crest. I wanted to come so bad, but at the same time, stretch it out just a little longer, the feel of his fingers and tongue fucking into my pussy about to drive me over the edge. 

“Oh, y-y-yes,” I stuttered, my hips writhing back on his fingers and mouth. I pressed my forehead even harder against my hands braced on the tile. Suddenly, I felt his mouth disappear, and I whimpered in loss, before a sudden exhale shook me as I felt his tongue tracing around the bud between my cheeks. 

I gasped, the filthy image of his tongue buried between there immediately raced through my mind, and the slick, deft tongue he used to press against my flesh shot me into orbit. I climaxed so hard I saw stars, my body gushing and clenching around his fingers and tongue. I cried out, sobbing and rocking back onto his hands. I could feel the fluid racing down my legs as each throb of my orgasm rocketed through my body. 

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I wailed, his mouth furiously licking and sucking as his fingers thrust into my harder and faster, chasing and extending my orgasm. 

“X-X-Xav-Xavier,” I stammered, my tongue heavy and tired as I finally started to come down and he pulled away, my legs trembling and almost giving out. He caught me in strong arms, holding me tightly against him, my back pressed to his chest. I could feel his dick throbbing where it nestled between my buttcheeks.

“You did so good, honey. That’s it, just breathe,” he said softly, burying his face in my neck as I tried to steady my breath. 

“That…that was…amazing,” I said, still somewhat breathless, but I stretched in pleasure, lifting my hands to drape over his neck as he stood behind me. 

“We’ve only just begun,” he replied, somewhat cheekily I noticed with a lifted eyebrow, but he sounded so happy that I let it slide. 

“Let’s finish up here, I want you in my bed,” he murmured as he lifted his head. We stood there for a few moments longer just cuddling closer. 

I stepped back into the spray, hastily washing away some of the slick between my thighs, my body still a little shivery with aftershocks. He watched me, soaping up his hands and sticking them in the spray around me, rubbing over my tummy as the water sluiced down our bodies. 

He stepped back, reaching outside the glass door to grab our towels as I turned off the spray, and we dried off in comfortable silence. I giggled a little as I bent over, towel drying the damp strands of my hair and swiping down my legs.

“Why are you laughing?” he asked, his voice questioning. 

“I just thought it was a little funny that this morning, I woke up with no idea that we’d be…uh…together like this,” I said, smiling as I flipped back my hair and wrapped the damp down around my body. He hadn’t bothered, just hanging the towel back up and stepping out of the shower nude. 

He walked casually to the sink, swishing a little mouthwash as he stared at me in the mirror. After he had finished, he lifted his head to watch me drape my towel on the hook next to his and saunter out into the bedroom. I caught a glimpse of something soft, but shuttered, in his eyes. I wondered what he was thinking about…but it wasn’t the right time to ask, not when we both had something else on our minds. 

I collapsed on his unmade bed, sprawling on the sky blue bed sheets and his fluffy white comforter bunched up under my hips. When I flipped onto my belly, I could smell the scent of him in the pillows and sheets, sweet and sugary (telling on his probable affinity for eating candy in the bed), and his warm, inviting scent. 

He paused when he walked into the room, a clean towel in his hands that he threw over the footrest at the end of the bed as he watched me wallowing in his sheets. I wanted to leave a mark of my own scent behind, I thought, so that after I left, he would be reminded of me perhaps. 

He crawled onto the bed, kneeling beside me, and ran his hands up the back of my thighs and over my butt, his fingers digging in a little as he traced them up to my shoulders. I wiggled a little, sighing as he trailed over my ribs and spine, and laughed at the ticklish sensation. He laid down beside me, moving the hair off my neck and giving me a gentle kiss, his chest pressed against my arm and back as he hovered over me. 

“Xavier,” I murmured quietly, turning my head towards him as he propped himself up on one arm. The other hand smoothed up and down my back, hands warm against my skin. 

“Yes?” he asked, watching his fingers as they tickled along my hips. 

“It feels good,” I answered, stretching a little into the caress. 

He hummed a little, thoughtful and quiet as he touched every part of me that he could reach. I flipped over, watching his hand trail along my skin as I moved, and it settled just under the dip of my belly button. 

“What do you want me to do to you?” he asks in a low, rumbling tone - quite a departure from his usual whisper-soft voice. I liked the difference, knowing that I was hearing it because he was turned on and just as attracted to me as I was to him. 

“Hmm,” I said thoughtfully, reaching up to rub his cheek, swiping a finger over his parted lips. He captured my finger between his teeth in a gentle bite before letting me go. “I want your mouth, your teeth and tongue and fingers, and I want your cock pounding into me while I come. I want my legs over your shoulders, I want you to fuck me from behind, I want to be on top of you and ride you until you think you might die.”

I smiled naughtily. “I guess I’m saying, I want it all.”

“That’s a long list for tonight, but I’ll see what I can do,” he answered casually. I gulped.

“It doesn’t have to be all at once,” I muttered. I draped my arms over his neck, tugging him closer. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

“Haven’t we already kissed?” I questioned back, smiling.

He just watched me, hovering above me propped on one arm, the other tracing over one nipple before pinching it. 

“Yes,” I hissed, lifting my head in a silent beg for his mouth.

He smiled, a small one but there in the soft corners of his lips, and lowered his mouth to mine. Before today, we had never been this close, this intimate, but we were rapidly learning each other's likes and dislikes. I liked it when he nipped at my bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue, his mouth neither too wet nor too dry against mine. He liked it when I sucked at his top lip, licking along the seam of his mouth before my tongue dipped inside. 

I breathed out a happy sigh when he pulled away, his nose nuzzling along mine as we breathed together. I combed my fingers through his damp hair, brushing the bangs back so I could see his face.

“I know a little about what you like,” he starts, his voice quiet and restrained. “What do you not like?”

I wasn’t really sure how to answer. How could I admit how generally normal my sex life had been? A few short-lived relationships when I was at the university, and one or two dates after I joined the hunter’s association didn’t make for an exactly thrilling love life. 

Maybe he could see the conflict, or confusion, in my expression, because he gave me another quick, deep kiss before pulling away again. “How about this? Are you okay if I play a little rough?”

“How rough are we talking about? I don’t want any blood,” I said, staring up at him. 

“I won’t hurt you like that,” he soothed, brushing a hand over my face, and tugging gently on a lock of dark hair. “Did you like what I did before? Bites and…” he paused, pinching my nipple again, but a little harder this time.

I gasped, nodded, and said “yes” on a long exhale. My nipple felt a little sore, but the pleasurable tingles overrode any discomfort. He leaned over, sucking the abused nipple into his mouth, pulling strongly at it. I grabbed his head, cradling him against my breast, and jerked when I felt his teeth clamp lightly over the tip. The grip got steadily harder, though, and I could feel a flash of pain and pleasure clouding my mind. I jerked, shudders wracking my body. He tugged at it once more before pulling away with a soft little pop as he let me go.

It was flushed red by his mouth, and I shivered, the damp skin prickling as he puffed a warm little breath over my breast. 

“It seems you like a little pain with your pleasure?” he asked, but I could tell he already knew.

I nodded. “Not…not a lot,” I said, a blush on my cheeks. “But I like how you make me feel.”

“I’ll check in with you, okay? If you feel like it’s too much, I want you to say something. Green means you’re good, yellow means we need to take it slow, and red means no more. Got it?”

I nod. “Got it.” He was much more experienced with this than I was, I noticed. I tugged him down, brushing my lips over his. “What about you? What do you like?”

He smiled, catching his bottom lip between his teeth before he let go. “Hmm, that’s a conversation for another day. This is all about you, honey.”

I pouted, my lips pursing. I didn’t like that answer, but he swept me into another deep, searing kiss before I could argue. I slumped back to the bed once he released me, panting. 

He lowered his head, nipping along my neck to the meat of my shoulder, using his teeth in a slightly harder bite. I grunted, writhing and feeling trapped by his teeth but incredibly excited. I’d never had another lover bite me like this - sure, a few love nips, but this was an actual bite. I could feel the imprint of teeth when I rubbed a hand over it, my mind a little hazy at the tender sensation. 

“What color, honey?”

“Green,” I said, digging my head into the pillows and arching my neck in blatant invitation. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, resuming his exploration. He slipped down my body, his mouth licking and sucking along the curves of my breasts before baring his teeth and biting down once more. A little harder this time, and as he released the clamp of his teeth, he sucked the flesh tightly into his mouth, his tongue licking along the trapped flesh. He was leaving a mark this time, an angry red bordering on purple. 

“Oh, yes,” I moaned, the release of his mouth sending tingles shooting through my body, endorphins rushing to fill the space where pain had once been. He chuckled darkly, his face pressed between my breasts as he reverently kissed each mound. 

“That’s it, I want to hear you even more.” 

He went on, his hands and lips skimming over my body. I felt like there was no inch left unmapped, and I was panting by the time he finally knelt between my legs. He lifted one of my legs, propping it on his shoulder and rubbed his hands firmly from my ankle to my knee. He turned his head, biting the meat of my calf, but not enough to leave a mark. 

“I’m going to use my fingers until you’re nice and ready for me, honey, and then I’m going to put your legs over my shoulders and fuck you deep into this mattress.”

I watched as his eyes locked on my pussy, now exposed with one leg thrown over his shoulder. I bent the other knee, digging my heel into the mattress and opening myself up to his gaze. I gripped the sheets since I couldn’t reach him, my body already aching and ready.

“Please,” I shamelessly begged. “Hurry.”

He tutted, a small sound, but I could see the smile in his eyes. “I don’t want to rush,” he said softly, his eyes lowering as he surveyed my body under his. “I promise I’ll make you feel good.”

He reached down, gripping his cock with one hand as he knelt between my legs, his long, slim fingers wrapping around it. He stroked it, almost casually, as he watched me undulate with barely suppressed need.

“Xavier, you’re teasing me,” I pouted, my eyes glued on his hands. I swallowed hard, remembering the taste and feel of him in my mouth. His eyes were dark as he watched me, and I could tell he was practically reading my mind.

“Next time, I want you on my face while you suck my cock,” he sounded a little pained, watching as I licked my lips. 

I nodded fervently, fists clenching in the sheets. “Please,” I begged again, trying to spread my legs even wider.

He didn’t tease me anymore, releasing his cock to grab my thigh as the other hand stroked up and down my damp slit. His thumb pressed against my clit, circling, while his fingers slowly dipped into my pussy. I was still wet from the play in the shower, no resistance against his entrance, so he easily added a second finger. He stretched me gently, curling his fingers and stroking that soft, spongy spot that had me groaning in pleasure.

His fingers curled and pressed forward, before he paused and went still, the pressure high and tight. I tried to wriggle my hips, arching and squirming. “Xav,” I whined, “keep moving.”

Instead, he lifted his second hand, two fingers clamping on my clit again, and between the pressure on my clit and in my pussy, I could feel myself rapidly building towards another climax even without extra stimulation. I moaned, thighs quivering. “I’m close,” I panted. 

He massaged his fingers before releasing the pressure on my clit, and I could feel the blood rushing back into the tender area. He added one more finger, three buried deep as he curled and stretched me a little more before he finally lined himself up between my legs.

“You ready, honey?” he asked, voice tight and sultry, his pupils blown wide as he looked down at me. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” I chanted, canting my hips up. I could feel the stretch in my hamstrings and thighs as he pulled my second leg over his other shoulder, my butt cradled between his thighs as he centered himself. He tilted forward, curling over me, and eased himself into my body in pulses. Pushing forward, withdrawing, over and over as he opened me up to fit his cock. I instinctively tightened as he bottomed out, wanting him to stay inside deeper, longer, filling me up.

He grunted, hips pulsing forward in a slow, methodical roll. I could feel him pressing against me, full and deep, and it was almost painful how good it felt. I threw my head back, gasping his name. 

“Give me your color, baby,” he ordered, “because I’m going to start now.”

“Green,” I promptly replied, thighs clenching in excitement. 

Without holding back, he spread his knees wider for better traction, one arm wrapped across my legs and the other braced beside me as he leaned over, and I felt him pull back and thrust in, hard and deep and fuck, it hurt so good, I cried out. 

He picked up an almost brutal pace immediately, his cock rubbing against the sensitive walls of my pussy with the angle. All I could feel were short, sharp thrusts before he pumped into me so deep I could feel him against my cervix. Each movement sparked a rough drag against my clit, sending a shockwave through my belly. 

I couldn’t even speak, my throat tight as I panted for breath. He kept thrusting, but it wasn’t mindless, it was with precision on just how deep he knew I could take it. And that faint edge of pain dissipated when he suddenly shifted, the edges of his cock now rubbing against that perfect spot inside of me with each thrust.

I went nova. I clenched my pussy, tight like a vise around his cock, demanding more. My fingers were digging into the mattress, and I could hear the faint tearing sound of the sheets. Tears leaked from my eyes as I was rapidly overwhelmed by pleasure, his cock pumping into me at a steady pace as soon as he realized he had gotten the perfect angle. 

“Y-y-y-yes,” I tried to say, teeth chattering. All I could see were his shoulders arched above me, blocking out the light as he fucked me into the mattress, just as he promised. I was locked down tight, unable to get any leverage to push back against his thrusts. 

I was almost insensible. “Harder, fuck me, yes, fuck, harder,” I tried to demand, but I don’t know if he could even understand me. He didn’t change his tempo, though, no matter how much I wanted him to go even deeper, his cock spearing into me over and over again. 

I reached up with one hand, scrambling for purchase at his shoulder, and he curled over, my body rolled up even tighter, legs trapped as he fucked me now even deeper than before. Every thrust was winding me up even tighter. 

I dug my nails in, scratching at him in my mindless pleasure. Warmth coiled between my legs, trembling from the stretch, and suddenly, I clamped down. Spasms and waves of pleasure burst forth, and I could hear the sound of his cock fucking into my clenching, wet pussy. 

I cried out, tears streaming from my eyes, mouth open as I panted and gasped for breath, my entire body shivering with white hot flashes of heat and electricity from one of the most powerful orgasms of my life. He held me firmly, and I was unable to move away even as I began to grow more sensitive, but my climax kept cresting over and over again, unending, as he continued to thrust into my flexing pussy. My clit was overstimulated and sensitive, red and flushed as it dragged along his cock. His eyes were locked on me, tracing over my face and body obsessively. 

I tried to writhe from the pleasure, but I couldn’t move, and excitement continued to flood me as I realized he had me exactly how he wanted me. There was nothing I could do. I sobbed, pleasure hazing my thoughts, and I felt like I was going to pass out. 

“Color,” Xavier demanded harshly, sweat peppering his hairline and glistening on his chest and shoulders as he maintained his rhythm. 

“Y-yellow?” I say somewhat questioningly. I was having a hard time catching my breath, and I knew as I came down from my orgasm I was going to be very sensitive, but I didn’t want to stop.

He hummed, slowing down though still pulsing inside of me, more gently now. “Let’s try this,” he says, and carefully pulls out. He lets my legs fall free and helps me flip over to my belly.

“On your knees, honey,” he coaxes. “That’s it, good girl. Rest your head on the bed, but lift your hips. There we go.”

The praise is…honestly, it was really doing it for me. I blushed and hid my face in the ragged sheets as I got into the new position, lifting my hips and arching my back. I turned my head a little, glancing over my shoulder.

Xavier was flushed, face and chest pink, damp from exertion and control. He was mind bogglingly gorgeous, the ropey muscles of his arms tight as he gripped my hips and abs clenched as he braced himself behind me.

I can feel the traces of my orgasm dripping down my thighs, damp and flushed as I move my legs further apart to let him slide more closely behind me. He stroked one hand over the curve of my butt before he drew back his hand and swatted me. I was more surprised than hurt, the slight sting of his palm print vividly red against the pale skin of my butt.

I gasped, rocking forward.

“Color, baby,” he reminded me.

“Green, very green,” I said, voice muffled in the sheets as I clench my hands.

He slapped my butt again, not any harder, but this time on the other cheek for a matching handprint. I bit down on my hand to smother my desperate whines. He didn’t go any further, just lined himself up and slowly sunk back into me, my pussy clenching around him as if to suck him in further.

He slipped a hand around my waist, his fingers dropping to rest over my clit. Not a lot of pressure, just a teasing stroke as he began to pick up his pace. He held on to my hip with his other hand, controlling our rhythm.

I groaned, my face turned to the side as I tried to breath through the sensitivity. I hardly ever went through the effort of multiple orgasms when it was just by myself, and I felt a little rusty. I bit my lip in stifled amusement at the thought, though I caught him tilting his head as he watched me, the slap of our flesh getting a little louder. 

“So good,” I whispered, allowing myself to sync into the feeling of his body against mine, the heat of his skin, the thickness of his cock slipping deeper into my body. I shivered, a little tired and sore, but the ache seemed to heighten the slow deluge of pleasure.

“One more time, honey,” Xavier murmured gently behind me, his hips smoothly rolling forward, sinking into me. I was so wet, the slick glide of our bodies audible in the otherwise quiet bedroom. 

“I-I can’t,” I said, tear tracks still damp on my cheeks. Almost as if mesmerized, he stretched out on top of me, leaning down to press along my back, licking tenderly at the tears of pleasure still dripping down my face. 

He braced himself over my back, his hips still pumping, and I could feel the soft skin of his testicles brushing my ass each time he bottomed out. He was sticky with my orgasm, the scent of my body and my pleasure filling the room. He inhaled deeply, eyes like midnight, pupils blown in pleasure. He tweaked one of my nipples playfully, before pinching it harder a second time.

“You can, I know you can,” he answered, his voice whispery soft and seductive. 

“No,” I whimpered. “I really can’t.” But I clenched around his cock, wet and needy and sore. I needed more. As if uncontrollably, he fucked me harder, deeper, groaning as I caught him off guard. 

I realized what had set him off, and I hid my grin as I turned my face briefly away from him. I gave a faint struggle, whispering a soft “green”, before I raised my voice.

“No, Xavier, please, I’m too sore. I can’t,” I cried, letting out a little sob as tears welled in my eyes a little more. I could feel the sheets under my cheek growing damp. I struggled as if to try to pull away from him, twisting and reaching forward towards the headboard with one hand. 

He growled, a flush spreading down his chest as I felt him get impossibly harder inside of me. Gods. I’d never done anything like this before, but I was so turned on, I could feel my thighs stained with my slick. 

“No, don’t,” I said, struggling a little harder, my hands scrabbling for purchase against the mattress. He gripped my hips so hard, I knew I’d probably have bruises in the shape of his fingertips, and fuck, it was so deliciously bad. He stretched out on top of me, pressing me deeper into the mattress now, gripping my wrists in one hand.

“Take it, baby, I know you can handle it.” He nipped my earlobe hard before sucking it into his mouth, laving his tongue around the shell of my ear. He had me pinned down, splayed underneath him, and finally let go.

He fucked me hard, losing any gentleness he had remaining. I cried out, my body quivering from the bombardment, sensitive and on fire. He angled so deep I could feel him tight and hard, and I was stuffed full. 

“Ah, ah, ah-” I panted with each thrust, my voice muffled as I pressed the side of my face into the mattress. He wrapped one arm under my waist, holding me tightly against him as he abruptly lifted one knee, my leg hooked around his, changing the angle until…

I sparked, spasming around his cock, squealing as I felt a release of fluid. I screamed into the mattress with my orgasm, tears gushing from my eyes as I cried out over and over. I could feel the warmth between our bodies as I squirted in pleasure, and a groan rumbled through his chest when he felt it. 

I felt him lose his rhythm just as I started coming down, becoming more jerky until he pulled away, fisting his cock a few more pumps to jet his release on my back. I sighed with a small ‘ah’ as I felt the heat of his come in stripes along my skin. He moaned, head lolling to watch with narrowed eyes filled with pleasure as he aimed the last of his release on one of the handprints on my ass. 

I sprawled bonelessly on the bed, dazed, while he slumped next to me, both of us panting. I shivered, the last vestiges of my multiple - incredible - orgasms rocketing through my body before I finally started to settle. He breathed deeply, his cock slowly softening against his belly as we lay in complete disarray on his bed.

“Wow,” I murmured, voice husky and strained after screaming through multiple climaxes. 

He nodded before turning his head to look at me, one hand reaching for mine where it rested limply on the bed. He lifted my hand, brushing a tender kiss along the knuckles.

“You are so beautiful,” he answered, his voice also raspy with a post-orgasmic glow. 

I blushed, a silly response considering this man had already licked my ass, fingered me to orgasm and then blew my literal mind with the best sex I had ever had, but his sweetness never failed to catch me off guard. 

“You are too,” I said shyly, half burying my face into the bed and grinning as I watched his face, now relaxed, curve briefly with a small smile. He kissed my hand again before he groaned a little, rolling off the bed to his feet.

I chuckled, not daring to move with all of the fluid still dotting my back. “You sound like an old man,” I said, missing the look he darted my way. He stretched, rotating his shoulders as he stood unconcernedly nude, both of our fluids smeared across his belly. He reached for the towel at the end of the bed and wiped my back gently to remove the traces of his come, before he casually swiped it over his cock.

“If you have the energy, we can wash up,” he said calmly. 

“And then a nap?” I asked hopefully.

“And then definitely a nap.”

[wayrad]

20 plsssss

of course, anon! i turned this prompt into a #the wrath of the lamb what-if. enjoy!!

for prompt 20: “get away! you’re hurting him!”

Gale’s mouth fills with spit. They’re holding him down, two German officers on both limbs, their fingernails pressing crescent moons into his flesh. He’s gagged with the collar they usually keep around his neck. Salty leather bites into his tongue, saliva-slick. His yells are choked back into his throat.

Haussmann nods his head. His specs fall down the bridge of his nose.

A Luftwaffe grunt pulls the metal rod out of the fire. It’s black burnt, edged red with fire, a heat Gale knows all too well. Reminds him of before, of cigarettes snuffed against his forearm, the fire of whiskey down his throat. The sweltering air during his heats in the omegahouse, before.

The grunt edges closer.

“Don’t,” John yells, muscles shaking where he’s strapped to his chair. The smoke of his scent fills the room entirely. “I’ll fucking kill you, I swear to God, all of you—”

“Do we need to muzzle you too, Major Egan?” Haussmann asks, smiling. Gale pulls his arms again; more of an automatic movement at this point. “Because that can be arranged.”

John hacks against the concrete floor. “Fuck you.”

The grunt is standing in front of Gale now. He looks to Haussmann for something. A message, a word, the snap of his fingers.

Gale’s eyes slam shut. Maybe he can think himself somewhere else. Somewhere nice. If he’d let himself go to London with John, to some hotel, with some king sized bed. Somewhere far from here. If he can think it, he can almost believe it.

Haussmann pulls his shirt higher. Exposes the vulnerable flesh over his spine, the very top where his vertebrae protrude from his skin. “Now you’ll really belong the Reich, hm, Major?”

Gale can feel a tear burn its path down his cheek. His legs kick pathetically. “Stop,” he gasps, muffled, incoherent. He wants to plead with them, but knows pleading’s never gotten him anywhere.

Haussmann cups his chin. His hands are warm and tender, his smile saccharine. And then he looks to his subordinate. “Do it.”

Gale feels the cry rip from his chest before ever hearing it. Smells it, his skin, blistering beneath the hot iron. Nothings ever smelt this bad in his life.

“Get away!” John screams, chair legs thumping against the floor. He’s going to break out of it. Gale needs- needs him to break out of it. “You’re hurting him!”

Haussmann laughs, because that’s the point, laughs because he’s got all the power and he’s swelling with it. Having John’s omega, Harding’s property, here, wearing his mark. Fucking alpha head games; anything to get his knot up.

Haussmann doesn’t move his fingers from Gale’s chin. He spreads the drool around with the pad of his thumb, tracking his mess everywhere. “How do you still smell so sweet?” he asks,

John’s hands are fisted against the chair’s arms. His biceps pull the uniform jacket taut, the binding rope across his chest and legs thick and unbreakable. He’s stinking up the place, maybe even worse than Gale is.

“I’ll kill you for this,” John says, his lip curled in a snarl.

The grunt pulls the branding iron from Gale’s skin. For a sick moment it sticks; pulls, then releases. Gale mewls beneath the gag.

Haussmann smooths a hand over his hair, gold streaked with grime and worse. “I bet,” he says.

[strangelittlestories]

When one of the last fairy godparents died on my doorstep and passed on their domain to me, they made one crucial miscalculation: I was terminally un-magical.

Now, you might think I mean ‘terminally’ figuratively here. But you would be astonished how quickly foisting a fairy legacy onto fully mundane folks can produce lethal consequences.

In this case, the issue was the wishes. That’s a fairy godparent’s job, right? You’ve got a number of godchildren, selected because they are in some way magically deserving, of interesting destiny, or unfortunately cursed. These kids will usually have some problem that can be solved by tactical wish application.

But if you’re a normal mortal, you will likely spend your first week on the job in active denial about the wishes that start turning up. It’ll just be one or two at first, faintly glowing like stars beneath your skin, carrying with them the gentle suggestion that now might be a great time to start transmogrifying root vegetables into modes of transport.

Then more of them turn up. And they get brighter, bigger, more insistent. Suddenly, your skin is filled with a galaxy and there is no quantity of cleverly applied scarves and no amount of expensive concealer that will hide it. It’s as if your insides have become student accommodation and the residents have decorated with an improbable number of fairy lights because it will look good on the ‘gram.

You start getting sensory migraines that paint flows of impossible colours across the world. Your teeth feel like they are constantly vibrating and you can always taste cinnamon. You can feel your liver and your liver feels wrong. You look in the mirror and you seem to be moving in stop motion, winking in and out of reality.

And a dozen little tinny voices are hovering the back of your mind insistent that *only you* can solve their problems. These problems may seem inconsequential - a boy who really needs to go to the ball, a girl who needs horseriding lessons, a teen who for some reason needs to avoid arts and crafts - but the longer you ignore them, the more you *know* in your bones that they are vital.

Speaking of vital: this is roughly when the banshee showed up to let me know that the sheer quantity of magical potential in my body was now approaching ‘fae nuke’ levels. Apparently, if I did not start bleeding off some of the excess, this would get *very bad* for me and everyone around me.

In short: the critical mass of wishes contained within my pitiful mortal flesh was acting like a magical black hole. It was sufficiently aetherically dense that my body was becoming more a part of the Faerie realm than the mortal plane. If it reached the tipping point, it would effectively become a portal between worlds.

This wouldn’t be too bad for an actual fae. As the banshee explained, this was one of the ways fairy godparents got around. They call it ‘wishful blinking’

But I was not built for containing a magical wormhole, so yeah … fae nuke.

So … I started granting wishes.

Making dreams come true without magic, by the way, is a *whole production*. I called in every favour. I utilised every skill. I pulled elaborate cons. I tricked parents into hiring me as a party planner/tutor/life coach/etc. Then I used the income to hire help. The banshee even pitched in (we ended up getting drinks a few times).

Eventually, there were enough of us that we needed a home base. So I bought a warehouse/office space.

And that’s how I started the first ever Wish Fulfilment Centre.

---

Thanks to a Word of the Month Club member for the prompt of "Wishful".

Want to submit your own words to be used as puns in my stories? Consider supporting me on Ko-Fi with a recurring donation https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

Burning Love

Chapter 6

Main Masterlist | Fic Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

There were, in fact, lizalfos’ in the library.

Wind was already fighting the creature, an unconscious Wild sprawled on the floor by a bookshelf, while Warriors and Legend danced around a second one. Four charged into the fray, slashing at the back of the one attacking Wind while he had the element of surprise. The creature hissed in pain when the blade connected with its armored back.

Four hopped gracefully over the lashing tail of the creature, allowing Wind to stab at its vulnerable underbelly. The lizalfos screeched, swinging its claws in a wide arc that would have torn his stomach open had he not ducked in the nick of time, slashing a nearby bookshelf in his stead. Books rained onto the floor below with heavy thuds, but he paid no mind to the destruction.

There was a piercing scream and Four snapped his head just in time to see your body collide soundly with the one of the many bookshelves, an absolutely massive lizalfos looming over your hunched form. There was a large gash on your right bicep, and he didn’t need enhanced vision to see the small amount of blood you spat out upon impact. Reaching behind you, you grabbed what appeared to be a large textbook, letting a fierce yell as you smacked the creature's face with all your might, but he knew it wouldn't be enough.

With a grunt of exertion, Four launched himself at the first lizalfos, slashing at it's throat with a battle cry that rivaled even Wilds, then, still clinging to the dying monster, swung his sword with deadly accuracy at the lizalfos attacking you, which shrieked harshly as the blade embedded itself in the creature's flesh.

There were several more shrieks as the last of the monsters were finished off, and an all-consuming silence settled in the building.

You were the first to move, wobbling over to examine Wild's fallen frame, tightly clutching your injured limb. Wind joined you, expression filled with worry. "Is he okay?!" the sailor caught sight of your arm and gasped: "Are you okay?!"

"I'll be fine," you said through gritted teeth, and it pained Four to see you in such a state. "We need to get out of here before more show up."

The doors to the archive slammed open. "What in Hylia?!" exclaimed Sky, while Hyrule swore under his breath and rushed over to you and Wild. "What happened here?"

"You tell me," you grunted, swatting at Hyrule's hands when he attempted to heal you. "Don't you dare– Wild's worse than I am."

Hyrule hesitated, green sparks illuminating the skin of his palms. "But–"

"Now, Hyrule," you hissed, tone brokering no argument. With a solemn expression, Hyrule relented, placing his hands on Wild's chest. You pulled a roll of bandages from your satchel and began to wrap Wild's head, crimson blood already blotting the fabric from the nasty gash on the champion's forehead.

Four would have been a fool to miss the pained grimace marring your expression every time you pulled the bandages tight, which is why he slid beside you and removed the roll from your trembling hands. "Hey–"

"Please," he said, because it was the only word he knew would freeze you in your tracks. "Let me."

You held his gaze for a long moment. Four returned it with a determined glint in his eye, and you relented with a sigh, leaning against the nearest bookshelf, eyes fluttering closed. "...Fine."

Four deftly continued your work, weaving and twisting the bandages around Wild's head until there was no blood to be seen. One of your eyes cracked open, watching him work. Dried blood flecked the corners of your mouth and expanse of your rough palms.

There was a shuffling sound as Hyrule patted Wild one last time, moving towards you with a determined expression. This time, you didn't shy away when the traveler laid his hand over the brunt of the gash, a familiar green light illuminating the torn, bloodied skin. If anything, you looked relieved, tilting your head against the shelf behind you.

"Do you think they came in through a portal?" Sky asked softly. "Hyrule and I were outside and we didn't see anything enter."

"That is concerning," Warriors piped up, looking at the corpses with vague interest, though he quickly grimaced at the amount of damage the archive had sustained. "We have two people down, we need to get out of here."

Everyone murmured in agreement, until Legend skidded around a splintered bookshelf, a rare look of panic on his face. "There's a portal!"

Four felt himself pale at the thought of one of those accursed things as silence reigned supreme, only broken by a pained groan that sounded vaguely like 'oh no' from Wild. The champion propped himself up on his elbows, his expression a picture of disgruntled confusion.

"Wild?" you called, trying and failing to scramble forward when Hyrule pushed you down with a hushed: "I'm not finished."

"What happened?" Wild asked groggily.

"A lizalfo knocked you out," Wind answered.

"My head hurts... did I fall?"

"A lizalfo knocked you out," repeated Wind, though his tone was slightly less sympathetic.

"Aww," Wild moaned, but it was swiftly cut off by Warrior's exasperated sigh.

"Someone carry him, we're burning daylight."

Twilight shrugged and bent to lift the errant hero, while Four busied himself with assisting Hyrule with dragging you to your feet, slinging his arm securely around your waist. You were too exhausted to protest, following his lead as the group made for the portal.

"Any idea where it goes?" Sky asked, though Four had a feeling it was mostly to himself.

"Nope," Legend responded, drawing his sword and pointing it at the swirling portal. "But we're about to find out."

You awoke on your bedroll. Or, rather, a bedroll that looked close enough to your own that you didn't bother questioning it. The sky was slightly cloudy, and the air carried a familiar rainy scent that reminded you of home.

You shifted to your side, hissing softly as your muscles screamed in protest, and took stock of your surroundings. Most of the Links were huddled around the crackling fire in the middle of the clearing, while Time and Warriors stood a bit off from the group, talking in hushed tones.

Crunch, went the ground as a pair of boots entered your line of sight.  You lifted your gaze, squinting slightly to make out Twilight's face amidst the blazing sunlight.

"How ya feelin', medic?"

"Sore," you grunted, forcing yourself into a sitting position, ignoring the rancher's offered hand in favor of studying the unfamiliar landscape. "...Where are we?"

"'Wild's Hyrule," Twilight wasted no time plopping down beside you. He nodded to your shoulder. "How's the arm?"

"Still attached," was your response, grinning at the slight chuckle from the rancher. "Do you need something?"

"As a matter 'o fact, I do," oh no, your brain supplied, and you couldn't be held responsible for the suspicious expression that graced your features.

"...Should I be worried?"

"Not at the moment," Twilight admitted. "'M not the best at this, but I'd like ta address somethin' with ya."

You raised an eyebrow, cocking your head. "About...?"

"Four."

Oh Hylia.

You pinched your temples. "Please don't tell me he threw up on Time again."

"Miraculously, that ain't it," the rancher joked before his tone turned serious. "He's physically fine an' dandy."

"...You know doesn't reassure me, right?"

"Hush, 'm trying to tell ya somethin'," Twilight cleared his throat and you fell quiet. "I can't tell ya everythin'--it ain't my story ta tell--but he's got somethin' going on right now an' he's worried 'bout what'll happen if he tells ya."

Um.

"He thinks I'll hate him?" You questioned, desperately hoping that wasn't the case. Above everything, Four was your friend, and you would sooner fight a lizalfo than do something so drastic. "Why?"

"'Cause he's a mooncalf," Twilight grumbled, and you wondered if it had anything to do with their conversation at the inn.

"Right," you deadpanned, scanning the camp for any signs of said hero. "I don't suppose you've seen him?"

"Seen who?" Four's voice intoned behind you, and, for a moment, all your brain could muster was speak of the devil and he shall come.

"'Bout time," the rancher grunted, laying a heavy pat to your head as he departed with a wink that seemed to say: 'good luck', you're gonna need it'.

"What was that about?" Four asked, and you shrugged, not trusting yourself to respond. The bedroll dipped slightly as he joined you on it. "How's your arm?"

You snorted at the feeling of deja vu that swept through you. "Still attached!"

Four laughed and your heart managed to skip a beat; it was a nice sound, coming from him. "I'd hope so," he flashed you a sweet grin. "Do you need anything? Water? Food?"

You shook your head. "I'm fine, just needed some rest."

"I'd say so… who you knew you had such a mean swing!"

You raised an eyebrow, the ghost of a grin lingering at the corners of your mouth. "Me? Have you seen what you can do with a sword?"

"Ah," the already present flush on his cheeks darkened and it was, well... you supposed you found it rather cute. "It's nothing, I'm good enough to do my job."

You deadpanned. "You took out two of those things in less than a minute."

"Well--" Four's blush deepened and you almost felt bad. Almost. "It's not--"

"--the same?" You interrupted, crossing your arms across your chest. "I beg to differ."

Instead of admitting defeat, Four mirrored your posture with a vaguely petulant expression. "...You're impossible."

"You're just figuring that out?"

There was something terribly, horribly wrong with him.

Four had always considered himself fairly level-headed, stoic... Hylia, even confident, so why did he feel so... so weak when talking with you?

Perhaps it was your gaze, sharper than steel and softer than silk, boring into his very soul, or the way you reached out to tenderly check his blazing temperature for the nth time, a healthy flash of concern flitting across your features. Maybe it was the way his heart jumped with every second next to you, or how he wished time would come to a stop when you were together.

And, of course, there was the distinct urge to never leave your side, to stay with you until the end of your days; an idea that seemed more tempting with each passing day. It was almost mortifying how appealing the rancher's 'suggestions' now seemed to him, though Four was still determined to grapple with the impending reality of Twilight's theory, which, also, was beginning to make an astonishing amount of sense to him. It explained everything; the temperature, his unusually ornery attitude, and the embarrassing stab of possessiveness he felt in his soul when he witnessed the rancher sitting on your bedroll earlier.

There was only one problem: you, both the problem and the solution. Even if he made peace with his... nature, who's to say you would agree to that with him? While he was sure height wouldn't be a dealbreaker for he, he worried that you only saw him as a friend, despite the glaring evidence that Twilight practically preached existed.

It was all so confusing, he thought, watching with a small smile as you helped a groggy-looking Sky prepare lunch; a delectable-smelling curry that he couldn't wait to dig into. Your arm flexed as you chopped a bird leg into small cubes, laughing as Warrior made a quip that was all but ineligible to his one-track-mind, and Four nearly excused himself to the woods then and there.

"Ugh, are you still staring?" Legend's voice broke through the fog, and Four immediately scowled. "I think I'm going to barf."

"Nice to see you too," he deadpanned. "Aren't you supposed to be bossing everyone around?"

The pantless hero snorted, hands on his hips. "Don't turn this on me, smithy; you're not subtle."

"Oh yeah?" Four challenged. "And you're telling me you are?"

"Shush, I'm trying to instill some wisdom in that thick skull of yours."

"Goodie."

The bedroll shook as Legend practically threw himself down on it. "It's getting real painful, you know."

"...Dare I ask what?"

Four blinked in shock when Legend poked him in the chest. "Watching you moon over the medic like an idiot, that's what."

"Hey now--"

"Don't 'hey now' me, smithy," the veteran interjected, though there was no real heat behind his words. "You're going to fix this or Hylia help me, I'm going to do it for you!"

Four was lost for words, suddenly glad the others were well out of earshot. "I-- excuse me?"

"You're excused," snarked Legend, and the smithy wondered if he had finally descended into madness. "Now, we'll be at Kakariko Village before noon tomorrow."

"Uh," Four said. "That's nice?"

Legend's eye twitched. "If I have to witness another week of you two dancing around each other like rabbits, I'm going to lose it. Get it together, Four."

With that, he was gone. Four watched Legend's retreating form with disinterest, though the other hero's words had given him a fair bit to mull over, as if he did already have a thousand other things to think about.

Until you called his name, bearing two bowls of curry, and the smithy found his mind becoming carefully blank once more. You plopped in the spot Legend had just occupied, handed him his food, all the while chatting innocuously about how excited you were to see Karariko for the first time.

Four dug into the curry with gusto, nodding along to your words. Only when you turned to grin at him, the handle of your spoon sticking from between your lips like a pipe, did a revelation brighter than the sun crash down onto him.

Four didn't recall falling in love, but he sure as hell remembered the feeling.

Twilight, you dog! XD

I swear someone'll knock some sense into Four.

[karlachismylife]

Desnuda Tu Mente

Requested by @emotional-support-slut and how could I not??

CW: gn!sub!reader, suggestive, but not too explicit, consensual dom/sub dynamic, knifeplay, mild bloodplay, mild bondage, teasing, reader referred to as pet once.

(Title from "Boca Rosa" by Angela Carrasco)

Huge thanks to @valscodblog/ @thealtofvalleyxdoodles for proofreading my Spanish!!

also who do i beg for more gifs with my Goddess, especially from Soap interrogation? like excuse me, I need a gif of her with the knife and being all up in our face and shooting us and- all for science ofc

The only restraint physically put on you is a plastic cabel tie, its edges biting into the skin of your wrists as you hold your clutched hands between your thighs; but you make no mistake to assume this means you're allowed much movement.

To remind you of that, there's a stainless sharp blade gliding up your abdomen, getting caught in the wrinkles of your clothing.

If Valeria wanted, she could press in just a little, and the blade would cut you open like a flimsy bag of goods, spilling your festive red all over the floor.

She doesn't. The tip of her knife travels up, up, up - you don't feel its cool directly, the blood rushing through your body probably too hot and warming the steel up, yet you still shiver as it passes your solar plexus. The spot's too soft no matter how tense you are under the straightforward threat, flesh dipping pliantly, ready for Valeria to sink the blade in and twist.

"Tsk. ¿Tienes miedo?" She leans closer. So close that you see your own reflection in her dark eyes, hear the wet movement of her tongue licking over her canine as she bares white teeth in a crooked smirk. Her smell: sweat, heat, spicy perfume, hair products - wafts over you, squeezing everything that isn't her out of your lungs. Slightly laboured breathing slipping out of her tinted lips rings in your ears louder than the blood pumping like crazy in your temples.

Valeria is all you see, all you hear, all you smell, all you feel. You're at her mercy, your life on the sharp edge of her blade. Yet when she asks if you're afraid, the only second of hesitation before your answer is due to your throat forgetting how to breathe in such close proximity to a goddess.

"No."

Her smirk widens, now both canines visible - she's stunning, the sun itself, never shying away from the duality of bringing life and scorching it. The way her dark hair frames her face, the slightly rough texture of her caramel skin, the piercing look in her eyes as she stares right into your soul, seeking the truth. You almost feel guilty for the melting mess your brain is at the sight of her, she'll have to search through a syrupy swamp of worship and adoration to find at least one coherent thought there.

You almost flinch when Valeria suddenly grasps the back of the chair she pinned you down on and tilts you backwards, leaving you with no support under your useless dangling feet. Sharp gasp escapes you with a delay, excitement and adrenalin rush boiling your face, and your breath hitches as you register the ease Valeria holds most of your weight now with, keeping the chair from tipping over and dropping you back first onto the floor.

Your eyes leave her magnetic features for the first time in what feels like hours - just to admire the straining muscles in her arm, tan skin and tattoos stretching over the bulging bicep. She doesn't need to follow the direction of your gaze to know what has you in awe once again.

The knife resumes it ascension, deviating from the straight route to find its way to your nipple, painfully hard since the very beginning of the scene. Pointy tip hooks under the bud and flicks it, causing you to make another pathetic, breathy noise.

"Que necesitia, mi mascota," Valeria tuts, but there's zero disapproval in the shining look her eyes bear as they skim all over your shivering form. You're sweating, your core strained and quievering from the attempts to find your footing with your slipping toes and not move forward at the same time. "Want me to put you back down?"

Her blade jumps, skipping several life-threatening points only to land straight on your throat. Clean edge now denting your skin without even a thin layer of cloth to serve even as metaphorical protection, the tip pressing into the soft flesh under your jaw.

Valeria draws blood. It stings, because sweat slides right into the fresh scratch. You dare not to swallow, goosebumps covering your whole body, your thighs twitching to close shut and press your own tied palms into your crotch, hot and throbbing.

"Please," you mutter in response, begging before you choke on your drool, uncontrollable desire consuming you the faster the more control Valeria takes away from you. "Want to... need to kiss you, por favor-"

"Oh, I can tell." Her whisper makes white and gold flash in your vision. You're blinded by her sun, eyes rolling back against your will - if it was up to you, you would look at her for all eternity. You jaw threatens to go slack, impaling itself on the knife she's still holding there - your tongue would be cut clean off, forever restricting your from asking for a kiss from a goddess or tasting her sweet smell on every taste bud just from a breath she lets out in your face.

You whine as she slides the blade away at the last moment, scraping along your chin and tilting the chair back onto all four legs.

"Good job. Earned your kiss well," her praise alone is enough to make you ascend to heaven.

But nothing compares to the warm smile you feel against your mouth moments before Valeria cups your cheek and kisses you, sharp tongue sliding between your lips to swirl against yours. White teeth nip your lower lip lovingly, then she pulls away and looks at you once again - that studying, cutting through all layers, deep gaze.

"Always have that crazy look when you look at me, sugar," her thumb strokes your cheekbone before Valeria tightens her grip on your face and makes you tilt your head upwards almost till your neck cracks. "Love you, loco."

Her hot, wet tongue presses into your skin, licking up already drying trail of fresh blood. The scratch stings again, synchronizing with the throbbing ache in your groin.

Oh, how you love your crazy dangerous woman too.

[magdalence]

A MYTH OF DEVOTION CHAPTER ONE.

SEE MASTERLIST FOR TAGS + NOTES

pairing: sylus/mc | reader

rating: explicit (18+)

chapter word count: 6,189

“A complete and full resonance link comes at a steep price. Are you willing to pay it? Do you understand how much it will demand of you? How close you will have to get to me? I see how you look at me like I’m a nightmarish monster.” Sylus smirks, leaning in close enough that you can smell his perfume. Leather, metal, and gunpowder. At least, you think some of it is perfume and not just your attempt at his life.

You agree to try your best to resonate fully with Sylus. He agrees to let you go when you do. Both of you get more than you bargained for.

Devour him. It echoes inside of you as loudly as gunshot that rings out in the darkened room, the edges of it steeped in shadows that press in against your field of vision. Nothing in this room matters beyond how the recoil sends the two of you apart, and you feel sick and excited all at once, then even more sick as the adrenaline spikes and dips: you shot Sylus.

No. His finger pressed down on top of yours.

No. Yes. Already you know you may spend the rest of your life contesting this point, turning it over and over, changing the story as your conscience sees fit.

Sylus slumps back in the seat, life draining from his body, collapsing out of the wound. He won't last long. You've seen people bleed out for less.

Your breath comes in short, dreadful bursts.

His hot and sticky blood coats your hands as you try to press down on the wound, the jagged edges of his ruined shirt glued to your fingers. You don’t know what came over you, only that he lured it forth, that he reached his hand inside of you and hooked his fingers into it, pulling it out with such force that it consumed you. It terrifies you – not just that he has a power like that, but that something lurks within you more than eager to respond.

“Don’t die,” you whisper, a shivering plea in the back of your throat. You press down on his chest, feeling the racing heartbeat underneath your palm. He must be going into shock. The bullet must have ravaged his heart, ripped the veins, torn the delicate network keeping him alive apart. He will die and you killed him and – “Please, you can't die yet.”

“If only it were that easy,” he grunts, pain lacing his words. He grips the pistol, wrenching it out of your hands and tossing it aside. “But you got what you want. You always do.”

He glares at you, and you can’t tell if it’s disgust or a worse feeling that simmers within him. Again, his words brush against something inside of you that slips through your fingers, that evades definition, only: this is familiar. He is. It’s dizzying.

“How… You…” You dig your fingers into the wound and find it closing. The shadowy tendrils of his strange power push your fingers out with a regretful gentleness and you shudder, certain you’re imagining it. Shadows can’t feel like that. Right?

“Worried about me?” He grits his teeth, leaning forward. “You can save that for the day you actually manage to kill me.”

Your mind reels. Has been for days. You can't make sense of him, of what the two of you together means, only that it rips you open and a new self pours forth.

But clearly even that isn't enough to satiate his greed.

He wants something from you, and yet you continue to disappoint him. You can’t resonate with him and it drives something dark and jagged in him to push and push.

And now to top it all off – he can’t die.

You lean back, swaying on his lap as he covers his chest, the shadows stitching in and out of his flesh to pull it back together. A grisly sight, turning your empty stomach, but there's not much left inside you. He's been feeding you, trying to resonate with you, and discarding you, over and over, a cycle you desperately need to break. He is so caught up in proving a point to you that he can't see you.

Think. Think. You have to do something, anything, to get leverage against him. All you have is yourself here.

Ah. Yourself. And a discarded gun. And a desire to change the situation entirely.

You scramble off his lap, the red-tinged smoky shadows swirling around your peripheral vision as you reach for the gun he tossed aside. The brush with death slows him down a little, and you file that away for later, unsure what to make of it all but keeping every single detail as close to your heart as you can without feeling it tainted by the knowledge.

He groans as he peels himself out of the armchair. “In a rush to try again, kitten?”

It’s an insane and dangerous idea, but he brings it out in you. Why not meet his crazy with yours? What do you have to lose at this point? Just a little further...

He stands over you, going down on his knees on either side of yours, his shadows pulling at you to turn around and face him. Your fingers are so close to the gun, and you stretch your arms to reach, an ache shooting down your sore muscles. His hands are cold on your hips even through the clothes, like searing ice.

“As fun as it is to watch you try, I have had enough of that type of pain today.”

He flips you over, and his smugness vanishes. He looks almost concerned, and you take in the expression with an open mouth, resisting the urge to lick your lips. Right now, you need to control every single muscle in your body to not risk the gamble as you aim the gun at yourself, your point proven: he wants you alive and unharmed. A weight you can use to re-balance the scales.

The barrels burns your chin and you grimace from the searing heat, but refuse to yield. Your finger rests on the trigger, taut and ready to pull. If he makes one wrong move, you will shoot yourself, and with the way that he freezes, scowls, it tells you everything you need to know. This is the only leverage you need to bring him to heel.

“My, my. A kitten with claws. Your pristine hunter get-up could have fooled me.”

“Do you think I won’t do it?” Your heart beats so loud you can barely hear your own voice.

“I have my doubts.”

“But not enough.”

He leans in closer and you tighten your grip on the gun, eyes wide. His nostrils flare, a twitch in his lips, and he curls his hands around your wrists.

“Don’t,” you warn.

He looks at you, and it’s staggering how much it aches. Strange, how guilty he makes you feel over this. As if you are betraying a secret between the two of you, long forgotten – but not by him. His memory sears you with its heavy weight. You blink, trying to focus on how hot the metal is underneath your chin, still burning from the shot you – him – the two of you, together – fired into his chest.

“Interesting play,” he drawls, voice deep and edged with annoyance. “And what now?”

You swallow.

“You want me to resonate with you, correct?”

“Have you just now figured that out?”

His way of annoying you could be studied at university, the way it fires off immediately in your synapses.

“And that’s all you want?”

He’s silent for a long while, eyes roving over your face yet refusing to meet your gaze directly. Finally he lingers in your lips, the grip on your wrists tightening. “I can tell you are angling for a deal.”

“Yes. If I resonate with you, fully, with everything I have… Will you give me the information I want, and will you let me go?”

His eyes snap up to yours, a cruel smile on his lips. “A complete and full resonance link comes at a steep price. Are you willing to pay it? Do you understand how much it will demand of you? How close you will have to get to me? I see how you look at me like I’m a nightmarish monster.” Sylus smirks, leaning in close enough that you can smell his perfume. Leather, metal, and gunpowder. At least, you think some of it is perfume and not just your attempt at his life.

“I can handle a monster. And I would pay the price, if you give me your word. If you promise to honor your end of the deal.”

“How very brave you are. You should worry about biting off more than you can chew.”

One hand releases your wrists and moves up, stroking your cheek with enough tenderness that you waver, gasping. Your nervous system doesn’t know what to do with the mixed input, with the way you can’t pin him down.

“I accept.” He says it so softly that for a second, you’re not sure you heard him right. “We have a deal.”

He’s close enough that his breath brushes your lips, and a shudder travels through your body. Turns out that is all he needs. He slides his hands over yours, tearing the gun out of your hands as his gaze goes hard and cold again, eyes burning red like flame and blood as he glares down at you.

“We have a deal,” you whimper, his hands closing around your throat, a thicker kind of darkness seeping into your field of vision as he face blurs above you.

As his thumbs press down on your pulse points, you feel the yearning deep within you as he tries to resonate, a stuttering power beckoned forth and dying abruptly, fizzling into nothing.

He shakes his head, disappointed. “Have they suppressed you?”

“I…” You can’t breathe, you can’t speak, all you can do is beg with your eyes, pleading for mercy.

“Do not bet with this life of yours,” he murmurs, his face blurring and distorting as you drift under. “There will be no one here to buy your soul but I.”

You desperately try to cling to consciousness, but he pushes you down, the dim light catching on his face as he does. For a moment, you’re not quite sure what you see, a surge of horror and fascination rising like the tide in you as you think you see a glimmer of something… Older. Demonic. Familiar. A lover long lost.

—

You wake up in a bed lined with sheets so soft it feels like clouds against your skin, and the first thing that hits you is an overwhelming soreness. The second, as you writhe in the sheets, trying to take stock of your own body, is that you could have sworn you saw demon horns extending from him, and in the interim zone between dream and waking, you wonder…

Blinking at the bed canopy above you, you try to shake it off. Get a grip. Sleep deprivation and his viciousness have gotten to your nerves, affecting your grasp on reality.

Pushing back the sheets you rub at your face, not feeling quite in your own body. Your dry mouth aches, and unsticking the tongue from your palate feels torturous. Stiffly, you get out of bed and freeze in front of the mirror, staring at yourself in nothing but your underwear. What has he done with your clothes? What has he seen?

Staggering into the bathroom, you find a set of towels next to a rack of clothes in your size. You note, rather dryly, that all of them in shades of crimson or black. His colors. After showering and rinsing every inch of your body, you pick out the simplest shirt and pants available, grimacing at yourself in the mirror.

Your body slowly starts to feel like your own again, as if the attempt at resonance lingers, ruptured something in you.

Have they suppressed you? What did he mean by that? The skin at the back of your neck itches, uncertainty wending its way throughout your mind. This place feels odd, strange, plucked out of one of those nightmares that fade away in the morning. Except it's all real. And you made a deal with the devil instead of running from him this time.

As you leave the bedroom you hear distant music and at the far end of the corridor a set of double doors stand open, yet you stubbornly try each door you pass on the way, finding them all locked. There's no clocks on the walls and your grasp of time has slipped. Even peeking out through the windows does little to help with that. It’s hard to tell what time of day it is, the skies of the N109 Zone always darkly overcast, the streets steeped in a grey miasma.

You enter through the heavy oaken doors and find Sylus sat at a long table full of dishes, a veritable cornucopia of food that makes your stomach scream to be filled.

“There you are,” he says, closing a book and putting it down on the table. “You slept for almost a full day.”

“You were the one who choked me out,” you say, jutting your chin out defiantly, one hand idly picking and poking at the foods overflowing on the table. The urge to devour overwhelms you, but you restrain yourself -- at least temporarily. “Is that your take on being a good host?”

“A regretful necessity,” he says, folding his hands. “You were throwing your life around so carelessly I saw no other way forward than intervening.”

“You forced me!”

His eyes glint dark and threatening. “You chose that route.”

“Because you cornered me like an animal, pushing, demanding...” You shake your head, frustrated with how quickly he riles up annoyance in you.

“What am I demanding of you, kitten? Something that should be simple -- resonance. Yet you seem hellbent on making it more difficult than it needs to be.”

You shoot him a glare, tipping over a delicate glass purely out of spite.

He watches you silently, his gaze so heavy that every movement feels like being caught in some dark undertow. You rub at your throat, feeling a tight soreness where his fingers closed around it.

“Did it hurt?”

“It didn't feel great, no.”

“My condolences.” He's quiet for a beat, lips pursed. “What do you like to eat?” How oddly disarming.

You try to shake the thought off, sniping back at him.

“Already planning my last meal? Are you intending to extract a resonance by force? It won’t work.”

He shakes his head. “So I can put in an order with the chef, since you don’t seem to want any of this.”

“How can I trust that you’re not poisoning this food?”

“Is that what has you all concerned? It wouldn’t serve any function. I need you, don’t I? So you need to eat, or else we won’t get anywhere, and you certainly won’t be leaving at all.”

With an exasperated sigh, you pull out a chair away from him and sit down, your ravenous body betraying your petulance. You are starving and he’s set a meal fit for a king. Even your willpower has its breaking point.

“How long do you intend to keep me here?” you ask, trying to avoid digging in for as long as possible. It's a fool's errand, but you are nothing if not one here, clinging to every shred and sliver of defiance and choice you can wrench from him.

“We made a deal, didn’t we? If we put a fine point on it, we even signed it in my blood. We will be here as long as it takes for you to do what must be done." He leans back, resting his chin in his hand. "Now, eat. Find some enjoyment in being my guest.”

Picking at the food, you hesitate, struggling with that imperative: resonance.

You aren’t even sure how you resonate. It just… Happens. And for some reason, you can’t get anywhere with him. It dies before even connecting, something inside you recoiling in horror and disgust. And what if you can’t? What if you never manage to resonate with him? Will he keep you forever, until you’re old and wrinkly? Or will he grow tired of the wait and go back on his deal, take it by force? Would you be able to survive that?

All these questions you can’t answer roiling in your head, knotting your stomach.

Your stomach growls again and he shakes his head. “Eat,” he repeats, not a shred of tenderness. He’s so impossible to read. “I wouldn’t want you starving for our little excursion today.”

You tear off a piece of bread, sinking your teeth into the soft fluffy innards and have to swallow a sigh. It's delicious and you don't want him to know that anything he brings you could ever be pleasurable.

—

Of course, nothing about Sylus is simple. A quick trip becomes a motorbike ride, speeding down dark roads through the N109 zone. All you know about this place comes from material curated by someone else, briefings, dramas where a doe-eyed girl falls for the wrong guy and ends up here. There’s something about this place, the smell, the way it coats your tongue, the way it seems to warp around Sylus, the way it becomes him, but your thoughts stutter each time he takes a turn, each time he zigzags between cars more expensive than five annual salaries you get paid. N109 is an enigma, and he sits at the heart of it, moving through it like he owns it.

Maybe he does. Maybe Onychinus is more than the Hunters ever knew.

And now he has you digging your fingers into his leather jacket, body pressed too close to his as you hold on for dear life as he wends his way through side streets, into deeper and quieter neighborhoods.

Above, the red and black sky hangs heavy, clouds blotting out the sky. Not having the stars to look at makes you feel suffocated, only you didn’t realize until now how much the clear sky meant.

When he parks you’re the first to climb off, shaking your hair free of the helmet and following him inside a warehouse. In movies your grandma loved to thrill at, this is the place the criminals would go for shady deals, maybe to bury a body underneath wet concrete – but before it got gruesome enough the hero would swoop in and save the damsel in distress.

Only there are no heroes here. Just the two of you and a shopkeeper wiping his hands on a rag, looking nervously between the two of you.

Sylus pulls up a chair, flipping a knife between his fingers as if it is nothing more than a mere toy, though you know by the style of it could easily cut through a finger or two with little effort.

“I got you a guinea pig,” Sylus says, not looking at you, not a shred of emotion on his face. “It’s about time we made use of a living test subject for your project.”

Your stomach drops, icy and terrible, and you turn on your heel to try for the door. Of course, you only get to watch it slam shut in your face, Sylus’s shadowy tendrils reminding you that there is nowhere here for you to go.

“We had a deal,” you say, biting back the fear and rage, trying to keep your voice as even as possible.

He won’t look at you.

You take three shivering, deep breaths before going along with the shopkeeper. There is no way out but through. You remind yourself that you wanted to come to the N109 zone, that you wanted to be here to find out the truth, that you knew the risks would be high.

While the scan runs, you pretend to drift in your thoughts, but you keep listening as they chat. From it, you can infer quite a lot: Sylus has been gone for quite some time, his direct involvement in the explosions in Linkon are tenuous at best, and the shopkeeper speaks to him as if he’s a revered man. Fascinating details that weave a complicated web, and acting as if you are too wound up to pay attention… Well, hopefully, Sylus will make a misstep somewhere and you can use it against him.

Sylus acts different too. Cold and detached, as if there is a constant calculation running through his mind and he is not pleased with the current sum.

The scan finishes, and the man shakes his head. “She won’t do for the alteration,” he says apologetically to Sylus. “Normal readings, but suppressed.”

“External suppression?” Sylus asks, snapping the knife in his hand in two and throwing it away as if it is a mere toothpick.

“I doubt that.”

Sylus gets up from the chair and approaches you, grabbing your chin and tilting your head up. “What has been done to you to make you forget,” he mutters, his eyes peering deep into yours – but he is looking for something beyond who you are in this very minute, in this rusty workshop.

“There’s never anything wrong with me,” you say, wrenching your head free from his grip. “I can resonate fine with others.”

“Is that so?”

He pulls you up onto your feet. “I have tried and tried to bring it forth in you, yet you resist. Perhaps a different kind of stimulation is in order.”

In the corner, something dark lurches awake, shadows slithering through the cracks and joints of a dormant robot.

“What are you doing?” you ask, watching as he pulls out a gun – the gun you shot him with, and you could swear in the flickering lights it still looks stained with his blood. He loads it up and puts it in your hands as the robot jolts awake, unfolding itself from its dormant state to be far bigger than you.

“Stimulating you,” he whispers in your ear, a sneer playing at the edge of his voice. “Don’t disappoint me this time.”

His shadows infuse the robot, awaken it. It doesn’t move right. It doesn’t look right.

“Getting cold feet?”

“We had a deal,” you repeat, holding the gun without wavering despite the visceral unease coiling inside you.

You remember this robot’s make now, it caused quite a problem in the fringe neighborhoods in the grey zone borderlands between Linkon City and the N109 zone years ago. Whoever built them made them with one intention: to disrupt all Hunter activities with ruthless efficiency. The manuals kept updating with a desperate fervour, trying to stay ahead of the programmer’s fine-tuning them and never quite making it.

Above all, you remember the closed casket funerals.

“I am doing my part to get you there. Are you?”

“Cheater. Liar. Bastard.”

“I am that and many other things besides,” he whispers in your ear, pressing against your back. “You have one bullet, and it is programmed to kill lost little Hunters like you. Where do you aim?”

The manuals flip through your head, years outdated. The head? The searchlight eyes? The joints?

“One bullet.”

And you don’t trust him enough to not let you die, not in this very moment, not as the robot readies its weapon and fixes on you. It’s so close you can smell the metal and oil of its body.

Time slows down as he breathes against your ear, his heart hammering against your back. He surrounds you, overwhelms you, his scent in your nose, his voice in your ear, his presence flush against your body. It’s difficult to think, and you surrender to it, letting instinct honed by years of training pick your aim.

And you hit the bulls eye.

The robot lurches, inches from you, and you shudder, letting out a gasp.

“Perfect,” Sylus murmurs, grabbing your wrist and pinning you to the wall. “There it is.” He links his hand with yours and you squirm, trying to get out of his grasp. “Now. Alter her.”

“You are insane,” you say, your heart rate spiking as your Evol flares up, bright and brilliant, thrumming in your veins. “This isn’t what we agreed to, we…”

“Relax. You can handle it.” His fingers slip between yours, and you feel that peculiar call deep inside you, intertwining with your veins, snaking around your spine. It is not entirely unpleasant – but it yields nothing.

It fizzles out between your hands, and Sylus stands back, brows knitted together.

“Why?” he asks, glaring you down even as he addresses the other man.

“Her Evol doesn’t work like others. It utilizes the magnetic waves generated by the human brain. Ergo… If she doesn’t like you…”

Sylus scowls. He looks at you and you can’t quite discern what it is he’s feeling, a maddening swirl of disgust and resentment on him. There’s a storm brewing underneath his exterior, frustration threatening to bubble over – and deeper, there is a disappointment so palpable it wrenches your heart asunder. Not knowing how to meet what he wants unsettles you.

“So I was right. You’re just using me.” Anger masks the unwanted feeling – hurt.

He lets go of you. “Funny, how you’re doing the same.”

You’d be lying to yourself if you pretended there isn’t a part of you that enjoys defying him just as much as he seemingly loves to antagonize you, but he seems different this time. Dejected, even.

He leaves the workshop first, and you roll your wrist left to right, knowing there's no use trying to run; everyone is so damn loyal to him. They’d rat you out so fast. What has he even done to earn it? All you have been able to read in his classified files hint at crimes upon crimes. Your kidnapping is going to be added to that in due time, no doubt.

You throw the shopkeeper a long glance, but he avoids your gaze. There’s nothing more here for you.

Outside, the stagnant air of the N109 zone feels like a balmy wall. It’s sticky to breathe, even in the middle of the night, and in this place all the din and churn of the place is muted, distant. It makes all the sounds you two create feel outsized.

Sylus is leaning against the wall, staring off into the distance, the unreadable mask of his fixed firmly into place.

“Does this place ever get sunshine? Daytime?” Your attempt at breaking the tense energy between the two of you feels flat, hollow.

“No,” Sylus says flatly.

You stare at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “You tried to find a shortcut on the deal.”

He smirks, half-hearted. “I tried to motivate you with an appropriate stimulation.”

“Appropriate? That thing could have killed me!”

“It didn’t. I wouldn’t risk you that callously.”

“Somehow, I don’t believe you.”

He snorts. “Pity. You should. You want to get out of the N109 zone, and I am the only one willing to give that to you, provided you do what I ask for. However…” He turns his head, looking straight at you, his gaze so sharp and cold that it cuts through your chest. “It seems we will struggle with that.”

“I have managed to resonate with others,” you say, telling him the truth. He is the first one where you try and… Nothing.

“I know.” He doesn’t elaborate for a long time, eyes drifting away from you. “And did you find them loveable? Did you find them palatable?”

If you didn’t know any better, if you didn’t already know that he is just using you for his own ends, you would be tempted to say he sounded… Hurt. Maybe even jealous.

“They were nice. You could try that.”

“Nice.” He rolls the word around in his mouth, seemingly amused at it, as if you have spoken a joke only he is privy to. “Am I truly that horrid that you can’t stand the thought of coming around on me?” He smirks, but his eyes are narrowed. “Or is it that you want me to play the role of monster again?”

Again?

There’s a hundred questions you want to ask him, but… Will his answers be truthful? Deep down you know if he asked the same ones to you, you’d evade, withhold, and lie. Why should he play it any different?

The two of you are silent, staring each other down, neither wanting to be the first to yield. You can’t help but wonder what will happen to you here, with him, and how much it might change you.

His eye flashes red, and the seething voice flares up inside you for a brief and searing moment, whispering devour him take him peel him apart he’s all yours, and you blush, a knife of desire-fear-loathing-want twisting itself deeper into you.

“Cheater,” you hiss, averting your gaze, pulling away from his preternatural control.

“You sound hungry,” he quips, nodding to the motorbike. “Don’t you want me to feed you well?”

Oh. He can hear that. You blush even deeper, pressing your lips shut as you climb on, resolving to scratch his leather jacket to pieces for each sharp turn he takes.

—

Back at his home, which might as well be an elaborate prison for how difficult it is to navigate, he leaves you as soon he steps over the threshold. All the windows and doors leading out are locked, not that you are truly keen on going out to explore the nighttime streets of the N109 zone.

For hours, you try to entertain yourself, avoiding both him and his masked helpers, though the strange and robotic crow is harder to shake. It follows from room to room, perching high on a bookshelf or a chandelier, keeping you within its gleaming ruby-red gaze at all times. It’s distracting, and all the books you try to open blend together, the wine you uncork sours on your tongue, and your mind reels with half-finished thoughts, such as: who is he, what does he truly want, how long will I be here, what’s wrong with our resonance link, he could stand trying.

All to no avail.

Finally, you find your way back to the room you woke up in, and you shower off the day. The shelves are lined with sleek bottles, all of them with their unique smells: cedar wood, musk, rose, vetiver. You pick through them, using too much, letting it drip down the drain. If all you have left are these little acts of defiance, no matter how pointless they are, you will use them for all they are worth.

It seems only fair.

On the vanity shelf you find the same elegantly packaged skincare and perfumes. You repeat the process, knowing it means nothing, but it stokes that simmering fury in you, feeds it with what you need. He is terrible. Frustrating. You don’t need him. You don’t want him for anything but what you can get out of him. These are two truths you have to hold on to, no matter what, no matter that strange and and red-hot thread within you he brushes against at the oddest of times.

You pause, spraying one perfume bottle against the inside of your wrist. It smells familiar, but you can’t quite place it – it is not one you can ever remember buying yourself, but it is like a distant outline of a memory, a photograph long faded…

“Having fun?” Sylus asks from behind you, interrupting your wandering thoughts.

Catching his gaze in the mirror’s reflection, you pull the silk bathrobe tighter around your waist, but it clings to your humid skin, making you feel exposed.

“What do you want?”

“Mephisto let me know, with quite some concern, that you were in my room.”

“Yours?” You freeze, bottle still in your hand. “But I…” That means he let you sleep on his bed. Why? Why would he do that?

“You are wondering why. It’s simple: I needed to keep an eye on you.”

Ignoring his edged statement, you hold up the unlabelled bottle. “What is this perfume?”

His eyes darken. “Do you like it?” he asks, but there is a depth to his tone that slithers in under your consciousness.

“I just want to know where you got it from.”

His lips stay shut, and between this and everything else he’s thrown at you today, you are tired. You put the bottle down on the marble sink and slip past him out of the crowded en suite, intending to go anywhere else to sleep, even if you have to do it on a couch.

Brushing against his arm you catch a whiff of his fragrance, and it stirs up a flurry of memories, both of what he has done to you here and something else, far more diffuse and distant. Leather and smoke, and another note underneath that, more complex and evocative…

He stops you, pulling hard on your arm.

“Let go,” you say, trying to free yourself from his grip.

“I am doing nothing,” he replies, and you turn to see your hands pulled tight together by a shackle made out of golden light.

“What is this?”

He holds up his hand and yours follow, the chain linking the two of them short and taut. You tug, and there’s an ache that runs down your arm. Stepping back, it gets worse, and trying to yank yourself free makes you hiss from how it hurts.

“Stop that,” he groans, holding your hand still. It seems the pain goes both ways. He takes a few seconds to compose himself before turning his hand over, looking at the links. “How ironic. Our Aether cores must be creating this.”

“Well, sever it.”

“The only option I see is cutting it off.”

You poke at it with your fingers, dismayed at feeling how it is barely a physical connection, yet it can manifest such physical pain at any attempt to forcibly remove it.

“How?”

“Well, above or below your wrist, the choice is yours.” He smiles despite his harsh words, and you yank at it again just to make him wince in pain.

“Not funny.”

“You have no sense of humor.”

You groan, rubbing at your face. “I’m stuck here, stuck to you, and you laugh at it all. I just want to sleep.”

He gestures at his bed. “Then sleep.”

“With you?”

He holds up your hands, shaking the link lightly. “How else?”

“I can’t sleep with a stranger in my room.”

He scoffs. “Such a shame. I thought we had grown closer by now.”

“We have not.”

With a heavy sigh, he pulls back the sheets and scoops you up into his arms, depositing you on the bed before laying down next to you. You scramble to pull the sheets over you and scoot as far to one side as you can, the space between you yawning empty save for your linked hands, and you try very hard not to let your hand touch his.

“There,” he says, reclining against the headrest and picking up a book from the nightstand. “Now you can sleep.”

But you can’t. Not really. His presence throws you off, and every time you try to close your eyes they shoot open again for every minute sound he makes, every movement and shift of his body on the mattress.

And you want to ask him about the perfume, about what he does to you with his eye, why he wants so badly to resonate with you, but each time you glance up at his face you swallow the questions.

“I thought you said you wanted to sleep,” he says, looking down at you with his wry half-smile. “Yet here you are, looking at me like I am your tormentor.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Do you want to add that to your list? So far you think of me as a cheater, a liar, a tormentor…” His eyes flash. “A monster, no?”

You press your lips together, trying not to inhale too deeply of that perfume of his, the way it peels out these traitorous things in you bothers you far more than him in this moment.

“The faster you resonate with me, the sooner you can leave.” His soft-spoken words cut through the silence.

“Don’t remind me.”

You roll over onto your back, draping an arm over your face. A part of you wants to scream, another part wants to cry as you assess the situation you are locked into: resonate with a man who might hate you more than you hate him, or die of old age locked up in his house. You walked right into Onychinus’ well-laid trap, and he swallowed you whole.

Your jaw trembles, a wretched half-sob escaping your lips, much to your humiliation, and you tense up expecting him to pounce on it, to ridicule you for being such a weak little kitten.

Instead his fingers brush against yours softly. They are cold, sending goosebumps shivering up your arm, but you hold your hand still, letting him touch your fingers. He moves slow, meticulously, brushing his fingertips against each knuckle and nail, keeping it light as a feather.

It doesn’t feel bad at all. In fact, when he slows down for a moment, you breathe in shakily.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, grateful that you can’t see him, that you are hiding your wet eyes underneath your arm.

It’s a mercy that he remains quiet.

It’s an even greater mercy that he keeps touching your hand, over and over, soft and slow, until you drift off to sleep.

[sinsandsuccubus]

High on the Beach - Urban Wyatt

Context: Urban gives you a proposition - having sex while high.

Genre: smut

Word Count: 1.4k

Pairings: Urban Wyatt x Fem!Gf!Reader

Warnings: 18+ ! Sexual Activity

a/n: I wrote this while I was in line at the DMV to get my car inspected. Then got high and finished it. If you notice any mistakes, thats why.

Please DO NOT ENGAGE if not older than stated age. Reader's discretion is advised. I am not responsible if YOU CHOOSE to continue.

-

Masterlist ☽☾

The beach was just about empty at this time of night, the sky now a beautiful deep blue, the waves crashing against the shore. You and Urban had been to this spot numerous times now, this being where your third date had taken place.

It had been a little over a year since then, and now the place often became a spot where the two of you would come at night to smoke, sitting underneath a large rock, its front and middle portion open, resembling the opening of a clam shell.

You took a hit off your pen, the smooth flavor coating your tastebuds. Urban looked over and laughed, taking a long drag off his blunt. You turned to look at him, squinting your eyes.

“What’s so funny Wyatt?” You questioned him, placing your hand on his thigh.

“You smoking out of that flavored USB stick.” He smiled, taking a sip of his drink.

“Hey! Just because I want my weed flavorful instead of tasting like grass doesn’t permit you to make fun of me! I’m still smoking weed.” You pouted, smacking your boyfriend on the shoulder. He smiled at you, kissing your pouting lips.

The kiss started quickly, before turning into a demanding sensual kiss. Urban pulled you into his lap, the blunt still between his fingers as he kissed you, holding your chin. He pulled back from you, a trail of salvia following your lips.

“Why’d you pull away?” You questioned, looking into his blue eyes.

“We haven’t talked about this before, but I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” Urban spoke, looking off to watch the waves. You turned his chin back towards you, pecking his lips once more.

“Well, out with it.”

“I’ve wanted to try having sex while we’re high.” He spoke softly, looking at you through his lashes, waiting for your response.

You rolled it over in your head, Urban taking note.

“You can say no. I just…. I know when I tried it for the first time, it felt amazing. And I want to experience that with you.” He smiled, you nodding your head in response.

“I’m down.” You spoke confidently, smiling at him. A blush grew on his cheeks, you kissing them as a reassuring gesture.

“We can stop whenever you want to, I don’t want you to feel pressured.” He began to ramble, you taking the blunt out of his hands before putting it in the ashtray next to the blanket the two of you were sitting on. The beach was deserted, your concern about being caught flying out the window.

You pressed your lips against him, the kiss turning needy as you grabbed his face and he grabbed your waist, moving you to rock your hips against his dick.

“You’re so hot.” He spoke, picking up his blunt and taking a hit before kissing you again, blowing the smoke into your mouth.

You took it in, kissing him a little longer before pulling away, and blowing the smoke back out your mouth. You coughed slightly, Urban turning your head towards him as he let out a chuckle, kissing your lips. He began to pull and tug at your clothes, pulling your shirt over your head. The lace of your bra appeared from under your shirt, Urban slipping his hands under them to pull at your breast.

“Fuck.” You moaned out, tilting your head back. You began to roll your hips on your own, placing your hands on his shoulders.

“Baby, I need you to take your pants off.” He spoke, looking at you in the eyes, urgency in his fingertips.

“Take off your shirt first.” You spoke, moving to kiss his neck. You sucked and bit into the skin, pulling and tugging at the flesh. He then pushed you away, pulling off his shirt. You moved to his chest, sucking and pulling at the skin of his collarbones, feeling his muscles move against your mouth.

“Fuck, baby.” He moaned into you, taking another hit of his blunt.

Before you knew it, both of your pants were gone and you were sinking onto his dick, moaning at the fullness.

“Baby.” You moaned, taking another hit from your pen before rocking your hips.

“Mmm,” Urban responded with another moan, pulling you down to kiss him.

You planted your feet firmly, slowly beginning to bounce up and down on his dick. It was hitting all the right places, your body shaking with each ride down. Your speed began to slow, almost coming to a complete stop before resting your head on Urban’s shoulder.

“Y/N… baby, gotta move,” Urban mumbled into your neck, kissing the sensitive skin.

“M’cant. It feels… too good. I need to…” You moaned at the plunging sensation in your lower body, your pussy spazzing.

Your eyes fell between the two of you, where Urban had decided to fuck up into you, positioning himself to go further deep inside you.

“Ohfuckohfuckohfuck.” You continued to moan, your body beginning to slowly shake once again.

“Rub your clit, rub that fucking clit.” Urban commanded, your body tensing at his tone. You followed his instructions, rubbing your clit faster and faster.

When you couldn’t continue, Urban paused, coming to a stop before flipping the two of you over, your back warm against the heat of the sand.

“Looks like I’ll have to do it my damn self.” He grunted, placing your legs over his shoulders before pounding into you, using a free hand to rub at your clit.

“Urb- Urban, please. I’m gonna-“

“Cum for me. Cum on this dick, baby, I want it.”

Except you didn’t cum.

You squirted.

Fluids splattered all across his abdomen, his dick pushed out of your pussy.

He looked at you, mouth open before muttering a silent fuck, and pushing back into you. Your body began to shake, your legs spasming amongst his shoulders.

“Urban, I’m too sensitive-“

“Take it Y/N, take it. Make me cum, make me cum pretty girl.” And once again you let go, your orgasm rushing over you.

“Fuck fuck fuck.” And with that Urban pulled out and came, rubbing the tip of his head over your clit. You squirted some more, Urban letting out more grunts, sensitive. The two of you breathed together, Urban falling on top of you in exhaustion.

“Fuck, baby, that was-“ Before he could finish that sentence, you covered his mouth, pushing him off of you.

“I hear footsteps.”

The two of you scrambled to put your clothes on, shaking from adrenaline as you hid your greenery in your tote bag. Urban quickly laid down and pulled you on top of him, pretending to be asleep.

It worked, as two beach officers turned on their flashlights and peered into the area, Urban sitting up to act blinded by their lights.

“What’s going on?” He shielded the lights from his face, you tagging along in his acting skills as you rolled over and clung to him, tucking your face in his side. The officers turned their flashlights off, looking at the two of you.

“It’s past hours. You need to leave the beach.” One of the officers spoke, the other tilting his head.

“What are you guys doing out here this late?” He looked between the two of you, Urban pulling you closer before he spoke up.

“She had a rough day, figured I’d take her to the beach to watch the sunset. I guess we fell asleep to the sound of the waves.”

“Sorry officers, won’t happen again.” You winced, playing along. The one officered nodded his head before the other spoke.

“Mmm, it’s not a problem. Some people come out here for other activities. That’s why we monitor the beach” He spoke, walking the two of you back to Urban’s car after you packed your things.

“Really?”

“Yup. Mostly sex. My partner and I have caught quite the amount so far this year.” You turned to the other man walking alongside Urban, nodding his head in agreement.

“That’s disgusting, I wouldn’t want to get sand in my butt.” You spoke, the two officers laughing in response. Urban looked at you and rolled his eyes, a chuckle slipping his lips.

“What she said.”

[lilacxquartz]

blur into you;

choso kamo x f!reader

a/n: choso won the vote for last sunday’s poll, so here we go <3 • themes: smut, riding, kissing, needy choso, whimpering, soft choso • w.c: ~700

ao3 • masterlist • more smut

Choso’s soft plump lips were the most addicting thing you knew. He drew his face closer towards your own before sliding his tongue inside your mouth, unable to keep himself from exploring as much of you as possible. Softly, he brushed his big strong hands around the contours of your body, pulling you over him to straddle right over his lap.

Using slow, gradual motions, he swept his palms over your frame, caressing your supple skin. He was always careful to never hurt you; his main focus always to make you feel wanted, needed and adored.

Ever so gently, he pushed his hands plush against your breasts, teasing your nipples into blooming peaks all the while you tenderly grinded your hips over his quickly building arousal, feeling him harden right beneath you.

Choso slid down his black baggy sweatpants, pushing his fingers below the waistband, allowing his cock to spring free. You followed suit as he did so, shuffling out of your underwear before lifting your hips up ever so slightly before sitting yourself down over him. He couldn’t help but shudder out whimpering gasps as you grinded along his shaft, teasing your glossy lips along his length.

You watched his reaction with a pleased expression as he quickly became flustered; his usual blanched appearance now betraying rosy hues. Using one hand, you guided the tip of his cock over your entrance, tempting him to push inside of your awaiting warmth.

He couldn’t quite keep himself contained as you teased him; the knuckles on his hands turning almost white from just how hard he gripped at the bedsheets. Reaching out to hold onto your hips, he guided you over himself and eased into you, gently plunging forth and letting you take him in slowly.

Choso’s breath fluttered as he took in the sensation. His breathing quickening into short, quivering huffs from the feel of you settling over him—so slick, warm and intoxicating.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, unable to keep his eyes off of you.

You hummed with appreciation as he complimented you, planting your hands flat against his broad chest. “Yeah? Y’think so?”

“Yeah,” he lazily murmured, wrapping his fingers around the curve of your hips as he guided your motions, “so beautiful, so hot—I don’t think I can ever get enough of you…”

He thrusted upwards into your hilt, filling you up completely. The sensation was almost overwhelming from feeling his cock buried in between your legs, from feeling just how deep he could go from you grinding over him.

“Is this okay…?” he asked, concerned that he might be hurting you from the sudden increased pace.

However, you shook your head. “No, no—this is fine, Cho—I like this, I love this—“ you gasped although your sentence had been cut short from the flooding pleasure that rose from within you.

His hands continued to guide you the best they could, although he too, had quickly surrendered to bucking at a restless fervour, pushing, urging you to take more and more of him—as much as he could give you—all the while his touch remained forgiving, not once betraying his wanting need.

With a ragged whine, you could hardly take much more, “Cho—“

“—I’m almost there too,” he panted, spearing himself deep into your cunt with a feverish intensity.

Holding on tight against his shoulders; you dug your fingernails deep into his flesh, painting him with bruising, bleeding crescents. Quickly, the internally building warmth blossomed and coiled and tensed, before snapping into a flood of pooling warmth.

In a hurried rate, Choso pushed himself ever so slightly upwards as to tug you down and press against his chest. While he furiously rutted, you sought comfort by pulling on the locks of his messy black hair as the two of you blurred against one another. Your legs soon clenched over him, his raspy moans sending you completely over the edge a second time before at last, melting flat against him.

Choso caught up after; pistoning his hips in a wild frenzy before one final pushing thrust forced him to finally let go and release all of his built up tension within you. You writhed in sweeping pleasure as his cock twitched and emptied inside of you, filling you up to an almost spilling brim before reluctantly pulling out of you.

And as both of you raced to recollect both of your breaths—your eyelids felt heavy from him stroking your hair, drooping shut and surrendering into a much needed sleep—feeling spent yet still so perfectly entwined.