#is speaking foreign languages a kink

[hisbucky]

Eddie: Hey, how did that phrase go? What doesn't kill you... Buck: "Was mich nicht umbringt, macht mich stärker." – what doesn't kill me makes me stronger. That's the original one by Nietzsche. Eddie, strained: Didn't know you speak German. That's good to know.

[kihyunsflavor]

Cold shoulder

Pairing: Feyd-Rautha x f!reader

Summary: You are married to Feyd-Rautha, but on his birthday Margot Fenring follows him in the hallways to lure him into her chambers.

Warnings: smut, heartbreak, angst, pet names, breeding kink, manipulation (not reader)

word count: 4.6k

Author's note: English is not my first language. Feedback is very much appreciated <3

A cold breeze grazes your skin as the door to your shared chambers opens, sending a shiver down your spine. He enters with heavy steps and your breath stops for a moment when you catch a foreign feminine scent in the air. You immediately know.

"I'm back, wife," Feyd Rautha says, slowly approaching where you stand. You don't respond. A painful lump forms in your throat as your emotions are all over the place. Big hands gently grab your waist from behind. The scent of the woman still lingers on his skin. It tightens your chest and turns your stomach. You have never felt so sick before. She had her hands on him and he allowed it.

You don't want to believe your own thoughts, wishing this reality wasn't true. She had taken him from you. Your beloved husband, the person you love more than anyone else, with whom you share everything. He is the center of your world.

You turn to face him. "You're back late..." you say, your voice steady but your lower lip quivering.

For a split second, his expression wavers, confirming your suspicions. Feyd starts to speak, but you cut him off. "Don't bother lying. I can smell her on you."

His eyes widen, a hint of guilt flickering across his face, an emotion you've never seen from him before.

"I didn't want to. The witch invaded my mind," he attempts to explain. But you can't believe him. Not after this. He humiliated you, made you feel worthless.

His hand reaches for your cheek but you push it way. „Don‘t touch me.“

Oh how could he betray you like this? How could he share such an intimate moment with another woman?

„I can't believe you did this," you sway, your voice trembling with dissapointment. Tears well up in your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. He's not worth your tears. Not a single one.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. His words pierce your heart, shattering it into pieces.

It kills you.

The room falls into a heavy silence. His eyes plead with you, his hands twitching as if wanting to pull you close. The very thought makes you cringe.

"I never want to see you again," you say as you move past him. He reaches out for you, but you're too quick. Just before disappearing into the dark corridor, you look back at him. "It hurts - so much."

With that, you're gone.

Feyd doesn't follow. He knows he destroyed everything.

You move into a new section of the Harkonnen residence, consisting of a bedroom and a study, far away from your husband. All your belongings and clothes are brought in by your servants to help you settle into your new quarters. You hear whispers among the servants about Feyd's initial anger, refusing to let them move your belongings. Eventually, he seemed to give in and just let them continue, which was unusual for someone like him who rarely yielded so easily. But you pay it no mind, trying to forget about him. He did this to himself.

The first few nights are horrible. You struggle to sleep, feeling alone and haunted by nightmares of him. Each time you see a black veiled woman, luring him into her chambers. When you wake up, your clothes cling to your sweaty skin. You brush your hair back from your face and scan the dimly lit room. It is pretty similar to your old chambers but you've tried to make it feel different with some interior changes.

You hadn't yet discovered who the Bene Gesserit was that had been with your husband, but you were determined to find out.

With your family's influential name, you planned to write to your sister, hoping she could uncover the truth for you.

The days go by slowly, and to your relief you don't see Feyd at all. The pain of looking into his eyes would be too much to bear. Your heart was broken and would take a long time to heal.

You'd never known love before, never had any real crushes growing up. But then, you were sent to marry the na-Baron of Giedi Prime. You hadn't objected, obediently following your father's wishes. Meeting Feyd changed everything. He ignited a passion within you, made you feel enchanted and yearning for him.

Even if he was cold at first, Feyd proved to be a devoted husband. Drawn to your beautiful appearance and your kind but brave soul, it didn't take him long to warm up to you. You could tell he had fallen for you too.

The wedding night marked the peak of your feelings for him, deepening your love. You were nervous he might handle you roughly, especially since it was your first time, so you had asked him not to hurt you. „That‘s what concubines are for. I'd never hurt my wife,“ Feyd had assured you then, having already dismissed his concubines prior to the wedding.

But in the end, his words proved to be a lie. He had kept his promise until now, when he let the Bene Gesserit woman touch him.

It was hard to believe Feyd had done something like this. Loyalty and trust were values he held in high regard. He always looked down on those who lacked loyalty; it was a matter of honor to him.

And now here you are, sitting alone at the table to eat your dinner. You had instructed your servants to bring your meals to your chambers from now on, because there was no chance you'd dine with your husband. Even if he came to fetch you himself, you wouldn't budge an inch. But Feyd hasn't come. Days have passed since you left him, and he still hasn't shown his face, which you're really relieved about.

He knew you well, knew that you needed space, but this time it was different. He couldn't just apologize and gift you something to make amends. This time, there was nothing for you to forgive him for. And if the Bene Gesserit were to get pregnant before you, his actual wife, it would be unbearable.

The thought fills you with anger and jealousy. You wouldn't allow this to happen. You should be the only one to give him an heir.

As you return to your room after a brief stroll through your section, you're surprised to find several packages awaiting you. Despite your reservations, Feyd has still chosen to send gifts. Walking over to inspect them, a servant appears at your side, bowing slightly.

"Na-Baroness, the na-Baron has sent some gifts for you. He hopes you will accept them," the servant explains. Your gaze drifts over the variously sized boxes, and a sigh escapes your lips. "We will send them back. All of them," you declare after a moment. "But let me have a look first." Kneeling down, you carefully open each package, mindful not to damage anything.

Among them are dresses, exquisitely crafted and likely from your home planet. Another holds a perfume you adore, also from your planet. Then there are the traditional Harkonnen jewelry, reserved only for the Baron and his family. You can't help but chuckle at Feyd's selection.

Once you've examined everything, the servants gather the gifts along with your message: Don't ever insult me like this again

Even if this was just the beginning of his attempts to seek forgiveness, Feyd's gesture of sending mere gifts felt somewhat childish.

Days later, you decide to attend the fight held in the Harkonnen arena, knowing full well that Feyd would be present. However, you choose to sit in a secluded area, far removed from his presence.

Your attire consists of a dark red silk dress, a change from your usual colors as the na-Baroness, which typically align with the Harkonnen house's black with silver or red accents. Your jewelry, crafted from rare opal from your home planet, catches the light, accentuating your eyes and lending a radiant glow to your appearance.

Accompanied by two of your favorite servants, you make your way to a seating area. As you settle in, a pair of glasses are provided, allowing you a clearer view of the participants in the fighting circle below.

Slowly, you navigate through the crowd, observing the excitement of the people of Giedi Prime for the fight. Your gaze shifts upward, focusing on the Baron seated high above the arena, his imposing presence making you feel unease. He emanates a terrifying and volatile energy that unsettles you every time.

Continuing on, you reach the spot where the na-Baron and you usually sit. Feyd stands alone in his black suit, his gaze fixed on you. He had waited until you noticed him.

Feeling a twinge in your stomach, you deliberately drop your glasses with controlled movements, concealing the effect his presence has on you. Redirecting your attention to the fighters entering the arena, you're grateful for something to distract you.

Yet, his image replays in your mind. His eyes betray a hint of sadness, dark circles evident beneath his pale complexion. But he had brought this upon himself.

If he hadn't allowed the Bene Gesserit to touch him, you would have been there beside him as always, watching the fight unfold, with his hand possessively resting on your thigh.

Even after a week apart, the pain remains just the same.

The fight was not big spectacle, but it was enough for the crowd. You swiftly retreat to your chambers, after receiving the sign from a servant that the Baron had left. Casting one last glance at Feyd's area, you see his back turned to you. He's likely leaving as well, and you really have no desire to encounter him in the hallways

When you wake up two days later, you notice a basket of fresh fruits sitting on your table. Approaching the gift, you find a small card attached to the handle. Opening it slowly, you read Feyd's handwriting: Please accept these valuable fruits. Feyd.

You stare at the words for a moment, then shift your gaze to the basket. Inside, you see a variety of fruits, many of which are from your own planet and are your favorites —a fact Feyd surely knew. Yet, despite the apparent gesture, you still feel slighted by the simplicity of the gift.

With a dismissive gesture, you instruct the servants to take the basket away. "Share it among the others and send the same message to the na-Baron as before," you command, retreating to your bedroom.

An upcoming event required your presence as husband and wife, na-Baron and na-Baroness. Three days beforehand, you already felt nauseous and contemplated skipping it altogether. However, the Baron's potential anger left you with no choice but to attend.

As the special day approaches, you pace nervously around the room. The prospect of having to play the role of Feyd's wife again fills you with dread. Despite the difficulty, you resign yourself to the task, knowing you must suppress your true emotions and maintain a facade of affection, hiding behind a gentle smile.

In the morning, you receive a package from Feyd, containing a dress intended for the upcoming gathering. The garment, adorned in Harkonnen colors, is tailored to complement his own attire, ensuring a flawless appearance as a couple.

As the servants begin to prepare you for the event, they dress you, adorn you with jewelry, and style your hair elegantly. Avoiding the mirror as much as possible, you can't help but feel a bit of discomfort at the sight of the dress, which reminds you too much of him. The idea that it signifies your connection to him is unsettling, especially since his betrayal with another woman. Prior to that, you had cherished moments when he selected dresses for you or had jewelry crafted from your birthstone.

Once you're ready, you steal a quick glance at your reflection, observing how the dress accentuates your figure. Despite looking beautiful, the nausea persists. You so badly wish to just remain secluded in your chambers, away from him.

Two servants accompany you as you make your way to the grand halls where your husband awaits in front of the towering doors. You catch a glimpse of him, dressed in all black and feel the familiar pain in your chest. It's as if your lungs are pulling themselves together, stealing the air from you.

His gaze is sweeping over you and a faint grin tugs at his lips, but he stops himself quickly. "Good morning, wife," Feyd says, with his deep raspy voice and offers his arm to you. He seems content to see your face up close after two weeks. You halt before him, meeting his towering figure with a glare that could pierce steel. He recognizes the expression, but doesn't show any reaction. You hook your arm into his, taking a deep breath before walking into the grand hall together.

As the event unfolds, nobels from across the galaxy mingle, their voices a symphony of polite conversation. Among them stands the imposing figure of the Baron, his presence commanding attention.

You stand next to Feyd, occasionally engaging in some small talk with others. Despite the pain and betrayal that lingers in between you, you play the roles with practiced ease, upholding the appearance of a happy couple. Yet inside, you feel dull.

In a moment alone, Feyd wraps his arm around your waist. "Let's talk later, wife." He says and gazes into your eyes. You lower your head, staring at his chest and offering no response until he pulls you closer to his body. Slowly, you raise your head and to meet his gaze.

"No, I don't think so," You reply, placing a hand on his chest in an attempt to push him away. But he holds firm, studying your eyes in an attempt to understand your emotions.

"There's nothing to explain, na-Baron," you hiss, putting some distance between the two of you. "I don't want to hear anything. And stop sending me gifts!"

Feyd blinks at your response and takes a step forward. "Just let me finish my sentence. Things have happened that I regret deeply, but I need you to understand why," he begins to explain, but you shake your head. Tears well up in your eyes, and you bite the inside of your cheek to suppress a whimper. "No, no…" Your lips quiver as you respond with a weak voice. "Even just thinking about it hurts me too much." With those final words, you turn on your heel and walk away. Glancing briefly at the Baron to ensure he's occupied, you slip out of the grand hall and return to your chambers.

Your heart races, nearly pounding out of your chest. Feyd's scent made you dizzy, made you longing for him, but you refuse to succumb. You were not one to give in quickly, not even to his beautiful blue eyes. His lips had twitched, after you had raised your head to look at him - his love always displayed so openly for you, unlike his usual expressionless demeanor. And despite everything, you still love him too, but the thought of going back to him, fills you with disgust and pain. He's the one who made you feel this way.

It was not a good night, and the days that followed were just as bleak. The dull ache persisted, and you drift through each day like a ghost. Emptiness pervades every moment, blurring the world around you into a haze. And despite showing not a single emotion to the world, you feel the pain, longing for the warmth of connection that is lost.

After a week had passed since the event, the reply from your older sister finally arrived. You hastily open it, eager to learn whether the Bene Gesserit woman was pregnant. You understood the ways of the Bene Gesserit and didn't object to them, except in this case, where one woman dared to interfere in your marriage. It was all about control.

Since you weren't part of the sisterhood, they needed to ensure a child was born from Feyd that they could raise according to their teachings. However, if they had approached you with a deal for your own child to become a Bene Gesserit, you might not have disagreed.

But this time, you were determined to stand in their way. She wasn't worthy enough to bear your husband's child, especially considering you weren't even pregnant yourself yet.

With trembling hands, you open the scroll and begin to read the message.

Dear sister,

I am deeply troubled by the news you've shared with me. I did not expect this from the na-Baron. But don't worry too much, as I have located the Bene Gesserit. Her name is Margot Fenring, the wife of Count Fenring, the Emperor's advisor. Unfortunately, I couldn't find out why the sisterhood chose her, and I haven't received any updates on a possible pregnancy. Rest assured, I will inform you immediately once I learn more.

With all my love,

Your sister

You stare at the message, sighing heavily. Margot Fenring was a well-known figure in the galaxy, particularly admired for her beauty. Her hair was of a golden blonde with grey-green eyes and attractive figure. However, you weren't concerned about feeling inferior to her; you knew your own beauty had captivated Feyd from the moment he had laid his eyes on you.

The burning question on your mind wasn't why the revered mother had chosen her to seduce Feyd, but rather why she had to intervene at all, and whether she was now carrying his child.

The waiting was unbearable in a situation like this.

A knock sounds on your door, as you put the roll in the drawer of your desk. Curious, you turn around, wondering who could be seeking your attention. Apart from your husband and his two family members, you didn't know anyone else.

With caution, you open the door, only to be met with the sight of Feyd-Rautha. Disappointment flashes across your face, and you sigh, almost closing the door on him again. But Feyd has other plans, his hand holding the door open and making his way into your chambers. Surprised, you walk back a few steps and stare at him. "What are you doing?" you ask, confusion evident in your tone. He doesn't respond, maintaining a cold stare that sends a shiver down your spine. He appears angry or, at the very least, annoyed by your behavior.

As the back of your knees touch your bed, he stops in front of you. "This time, you will listen, wife, or I will tie you to the bed. You can't run away from me every time," Feyd says with a deep, raspy voice. You blink up at him, uncertain of what to do. Part of you wants to escape the uncomfortable situation and to avoid listening to him. But in this moment, he holds full control over you.

A cold finger grazes your jawline softly, lifting your head up. He comes closer, his breath tingling on your skin. "You better listen carefully now. I will explain everything that has happened. Alright?" he tells you, and all you can do is nod your head obediently.

"On this day while I was on my way back to you, I noticed a woman following me. I questioned her about her presence in the area, and she began to manipulate my mind. With a mere blink, I found myself in the witch's room, unable to recall anything except for her whispers in my head," Feyd explains seriously, maintaining eye contact with you.

"She then used the voice on me and forced me to place my hand in a box while holding a sharp object coated with poison to my neck. After passing her test, she continued to use the voice on me throughout the whole time. I couldn't do anything else than listen to her. I tried to break free many times and every time a picture of you flashed in my mind, she redirected my attention back to her," he continues, his eyes darkening as he recounts the experience. You can see the distress he's in as he speaks.

Slowly, your hand raises to cup his cheek, offering comfort. He leans into your touch, visibly relaxing. "Do you know why she came to you?" you inquire, once his nerves are calmed. He nods vaguely. "I am the one who will inherit the title as Baron next, and since you are not a Bene Gesserit, they sent one of them to find out my weakness."

His answer sinks in, and you agree. "That's what I was thinking as well."

Feyd's hands gently cup your face as he leans closer. "I missed you so much, little mouse," he murmurs, leaning down to kiss your forehead. You close your eyes, relishing the sensation of his touch, which you've missed dearly.

"What if she is pregnant?" concern creeps into your voice. Feyd meets your gaze, his eyes filled with determination. "Don't worry, my dear. She won't live to give birth to it, if we receive word that she's carrying a baby," he assures you. "You are the only woman who will give me an heir," he adds with a smirk.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "I should have listened earlier. I just couldn't bear it. Nothing made sense anymore," you whisper, your lips brushing against his cheek. He hums in reply, pressing his lips to yours in a long-awaited kiss.

It turns into a heavy makeout session. With tender care, he guides you onto the bed, slowly undressing you as if savoring every moment of intimacy. As he moistens his fingers with his tongue and begins to pump them inside of you, a soft moan escapes your lips, reveling in the sensation of his touch.

Your body arches with pleasure as he prepares you for him, each movement sending waves of ecstasy coursing through you. "Feels so good," you murmur, lost in the sensation. Feyd's grin widens as he leans over you, his touch both tender and tantalizing.

When he decides you're ready, he withdraws his fingers, eliciting a soft whine of longing from you. "It's alright, my little mouse. I will give you what you want," he shushes. As he frees himself from his pants, your hand instinctively reaches for him, eager to feel his hardness in your grasp.

A low groan escapes him at your touch, but he gently removes your hand, his own need evident in his impatient tone. "Not now," He says, his voice thick with lust. "I can't wait any longer to be inside you." With a sense of urgency, he positions himself between your legs, ready to claim you completely.

He gazes down at you with love and care. "You won’t be able to walk tomorrow," he warns with a sly grin, teasing as he lets the tip of his arousal slide between your heated folds before thrusting inside you.

Once fully sheathed within your tight walls, he leans over you, his arms caging your head to support his weight. In this position, he is able to see your face much better. "I will make you forget everything that pained you these past weeks. You are mine," he growls possessively with his lips attached to the sensitive skin of your neck as his hips begin to move in a rhythmic thrust.

At first, his movements are slow and deliberate, punctuated by tender kisses, until you relax completely under his touch and he increases the pace. Your legs are lifted up over his shoulders, allowing him to penetrate even deeper, luring whimpers of pleasure from you as your nails dig into the porcelain skin of his back.

"So tight. Taking me so well, little mouse," he praises softly near your ear, sending shivers down your spine. Your walls contract around him, gripping him tighter, causing him to groan in pleasure. "Stop it, I'm not going to last if you keep tightening up like this," he warns you, his head falling back in pleasure.

But the sensation feels too good to stop, and you beg him to just come inside you with your voice hazy with desire. Feyd's eyes sparkle at your pleads. "Touch yourself," He orders, encouraging you.

It doens't take long for you to reach your climax, gripping his shoulders for support and screaming his name. He watches your face intently, praising you. "Yes that's it, good girl. Come on my cock."

Without letting you fully come down from your high, he starts to thrust deeper. “Going to fill you up now, you want that?” You whine at his words, nodding impatiently. “You'll look beautiful with my baby inside of you, all big and swollen.” His words drive you insane and with each thrust, he pushes you both closer.

With a final thrust, he releases himself inside you, bringing you to another climax as the room fills with both of your cries of pleasure.

"Afterwards, he takes good care of you, cleaning your sensitive skin with a wet cloth and ensuring you're comfortable in bed. His arms find their way around your body, pulling you closer.

"I haven't slept well since you left," he admits, nuzzling his face into your neck. You chuckle at the sensation because it tickles.

"I also slept horribly," you respond, your hand caressing the back of his neck. But tonight, you sleep better than you have in weeks, knowing your husband is right there beside you, and you never want to let go again.

Fortunately, it's only a week later when another message from your sister reaches you. As you read through it with full concentration, a lump forms in your throat due to the wave of emotions that washes over you.

"She's not pregnant," you inform Feyd, who stands before you. His eyes visibly brighten with relief and he moves closer to embrace you tightly. No words are needed, you can feel each other's emotions clearly.

"Don't worry, my dear. I'll deal with the punishment for the Bene Gesserit," Feyd assures you after a while of holding each other. His anger still simmers, just as intense as the night Margot Fenring used the voice on him. He won't let it slide easily.

You find comfort in knowing that Feyd will handle the situation, likely with the help of his uncle, the Baron. But for now, you push aside all thoughts of pain, focusing on the relief of the moment.

On the same day, after rearranging the last few items in your shared chamber, which you hastily moved back into, a gleaming blade catches your eye. Your husband possesses a collection of blades in various sizes and styles, but you recognize this one as his favorite - the one he always carries with him. You approach the desk and study the blade intently.

Suddenly, strong arms wrap around your body, and you gasp quietly in surprise. "This one is for you," Feyd whispers behind you. Your eyes remain fixed on the knife, his words sinking in.

This blade holds significant importance to him, having accompanied your husband since his childhood when he first learned to fight. It's a profound gesture of trust and affection that he would gift it to you now. Despite the Harkonnen's reputation for brutality and coldness, they occasionally reveal their emotions to those they love. This blade serves as a metaphor, symbolizing Feyd's gift of his heart to you forever.

[b1rds3ye]

Cod men with an so that has a kink for their gear/uniform …thats all

Anon you are SPEAKING MY LANGUAGE at this rate my obsession for people in uniform is unhealthy but it IS WHAT IT IS ✌️(only price and gaz for this one tho, my brain just ain’t braining for ghost and soap 😩😩)

In Uniform

Characters: Captain John Price, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

GN!Reader w/ no physical descriptions

Word Count: 1.4 (~700 each)

Genre: Fluff, Smut 18+/MDNI, established relationship

Warning: Smut, 18+/MDNI, No overly dom/sub themes I don’t think? riding + worship (Price), thigh riding (Gaz), if I miss anything, let me know

A/N: This is the spiciest I've ever written (it pales in comparison to the filth I read but reading vs writing is a whole different story WRITING THIS WAS SO HARD ARGH-)

Captain John Price

Price is not blind. For the sake of professionalism, he doesn’t comment on it, but he can’t help but feel smug when he notices how your eyes trace his chest rig. How it looks almost too small with how it hugs to his chest, the straps that wrap over his shoulders emphasising his thick arms and broad torso. How the extra gear he has to equip gives his already large chest more volume

He will never sacrifice practicality and comfort over visuals on a mission… but if he knows he should just be wandering around base he may just tighten the straps of his gear a little more than usual just so it hugs his form better when he meets you. Just because he’s in a stable relationship with you and a high ranking soldier doesn’t mean the captain can’t have some fun and a little ego boost!

Still, Price is reluctant to test the extents of your uniform kink. His uniforms are often filthy and he can’t imagine anything more repulsive than some crusty blood of the enemy staining the pure haven that is your shared bed. Even after they’re cleaned, there’s a lingering concern that they’re not clean enough

But if there’s anything that John is weak to, it’s you with your hopeful eyes and sweet smile. He’ll triple clean his uniform and he’s ready to for it to join the confines of your bedroom

Even under you, Price prides himself on his restraint. He hasn’t lost the image of a commanding captain, still fully dressed save for the fly of his cargos pulled down just enough to free his cock that is now buried in you. The rough fabric of his cargos leave a pleasant burn against your bare thighs, but it’s nothing compared to the pleasant burn of John stretching you out. You want to move your hips faster, to have him hit the parts you know he can hit perfectly. But no, this night will be slow, cherishing the delicious sight below you.

You shift slightly and you whine at the impossible fullness from within. Distracting yourself from the intoxicating pain you drag your hands along his chest rig. Prying and slipping your fingers into every crevice and bend of straps and pockets, they twitch as an odd aftershock washes through your body. Under your palms John’s chest lifts with every heavy breath. Pressing them flat against his stomach as it deflates, you exhale with him as your relaxing body adjusts to him filling up your every crevice.

John’s hand creeps up to curl around one of your wrists. The plastic coating of his gloves offers a foreign coolness that has your body jolting and you whine as goosebumps coat your burning body.

“Didn’t know you had such a thing for men in uniform,” he simpered, his other hand down to rest on your hip. He idly massages at the plush skin, fingers digging deep down into the layer of muscle. Tilting into his touch, you try and contort yourself to get his hand a little closer to where you’re most sensitive, just that little bit more but he doesn’t relent, his moustache and beard now slightly curved as he watches you with amusement.

“Only you,” you whisper and his next breath is hefty and rugged, accompanied with a satisfied hum that reverberates through his entire being.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Only me.”

You pull your hands back up to his chest rig, you slip your fingers under the securing straps and take a firm grip. Hands dangerously close to his throat, John’s Adam apple instinctively bobs in anticipation.

“Getting handsy, are we?”

“Just need a bit more,” you mutter absentmindedly. You stare at him with blown out eyes. “Can I?”

“Do as you wish.”

Using your grip on his rig, you pull your hips further, feeling him deeper, harder. His hands immediately find purchase on your hips to steady you as you tremor at the new sensation. He only moves with you, his hips offering the faintest of encouragement as he slightly drives them up into you. Once you manage to set a rhythm above him the captain sounds near unrecognisable as he stifles a groan with every tug against his gear.

“Fuck. Just like that, darling.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle is attentive to you, so he is aware of how your eyes scan his body when he walks past. He never thought that his uniform was particularly attractive or attention-grabbing since literally everyone else wears it, but he’s glowing upon noticing that he can entrance you over what’s merely his day-to-day gear

In low stakes situations, this man is teasing you to hell and back. Not directly though, he’ll never explicitly say he knows you have a thing for his uniform, but just before a mission he’ll have you double checking if his chest rig and gear are firmly secured to his body. Of course, they won’t be, and he’ll ask you to tighten the straps, discreetly flexing the respective body parts all the while

Now you can tell when Kyle’s horny. Instead of immediately shedding his gear to wash up and relax with you, he’ll only get rid of weaponry and any contents in his various pockets but the gear and uniform stays on in a (not so) discreet attempt of getting you just as riled up as he is

“Shit, you look so good.”

You let out a halfhearted laugh that morphs into a sigh as you grind your hips against his thigh. Through the flimsy fabric of your underwear, you swear you can feel everything against you. Each individual fibre of his cargo pants, the ridges of the seams. Even through the fabric you can feel the soft swells of his muscular thigh that you’re seated on.

“You should take a look at yourself,” you praise breathlessly.

Even with clothes on, Kyle looked hot as hell. Still in his gear, it made the slivers of his skin that revealed themselves all the more tantalising. His half-unbuttoned shirt revealing skin covered in a sheen of sweat. Sleeves haphazardly shoved up the arm to reveal his lean forearms, veins pulsating with lust as they hold onto your hips like a lifeline.

“Caught you staring earlier,” he mutters. With those godly arms he wraps them around your back, forcing you to lean into him, sweaty forehead against his.

“Thought you were worried about me, but it was really you I should have been worried about.”

His words are lost on you and he only smirks as your hips move forward and back and forward again with reckless abandon. Each drag of your hips getting more exaggerated, more forceful as you strain against Kyle’s arms that selfishly pull you taut to him.

“Let me… move, dammit,” you huff as you struggle to move in his hold.

“What? Is it bad that I want to be close with the love of my life?” he offers an innocent laugh but his eyes are still trained down to where your hips rhythmically meet his thigh with sinful movements.

Grinding your hips, you grunt unexpectedly as a pointed intrusion brushes against your clothed sex, nipping at where it was most sensitive. Christ, Kyle must’ve forgotten to take out a spare magazine in his cargo pockets. The edge of its hard metal giving a delicious contrast against his thick, clothed muscle, you experiment, trying a new angle to brush your most sensitive areas with his leftover weaponry.

It sends a wave of electricity through your body that has you jerking a knee up, one that brushes against Kyle’s hard on and he whines. His embrace only tightens as he tries to silence himself with his face buried in your chest.

“Shit- do that again,” his words are muffled against your skin, echoing through your rib cage.

With the next roll of your hips you pull your knee up once again. The stimulation against his dick has him instinctively flexing his thighs, and you tremble at the extra firmness in between your legs, the sensation evoking a sound of pure sin from you.

Kyle rolls his head to the side to rest on your shoulder, his ragged breaths burning against the crook of your neck.

“Please- fuck - do it again, love.”

You didn’t have to be told twice.

Call of Duty Masterlist

[eskumii]

yandere!incel!tomura shigaraki + foreigner!darling who can't speak japanese

TITLE: " RENT-A-GF " — navi.

NOTES: nsfw (18+ only) below the cut (non-con!! somnophilia!!) reminder: this is merely fantasy, i don't condone. will prob proofread someday lol. enjoy!

PAIRING: yandere!incel!shigaraki tomura x foreinger!reader

GENRE/AU: shigaraki is rlly misogynistic and delusional, age gap (you're older), reader is a substitute english teacher who got kidnapped by bwad gwuys and is now... yeah

CHARACTERS: shigaraki tomura (21), reader (24)

let's be for real: shigaraki was born to be an incel.

and incel!shigaraki is shamelessly self-aware of this, indeed. when he's not out terrorizing innocent citizens with his villainous coups, he takes to the internet to fulfill his insatiable need for an adrenaline rush. gorey video games and brutal death metal makes him light up in glee, but sometimes it's just not enough.

so, instead, he's a frequent on the dark web, diligently scouring sites that specialize in obscure female porn collectives that cater to his twisted kinks. incel!shigaraki glowers at the pictures of stupid, slutty women who prance around in sexy lingerie, but still gets a hard-on because he wishes he had a woman who would do that for him and him only.

and what shigaraki wants, he gets. on another sweaty night in his dark bedroom, he's boredly clicking through the hundreds of entries of women who are being sold for, what he thinks, too high of a price. not that money would ever be a problem for him; if he felt compelled to, he could just kidnap the girl he wanted all over again. so, no, it's not the price—it's what he thinks they're worth based on his attraction to them.

and, so far, all of them are worthless.

you see, the conundrum is that incel!shigaraki has a thing for foreign girls. don't ask why, he doesn't know. maybe he finds it cute that they're so clueless about his culture and language, and he's the one who'll control the narrative that rules their ignorance. maybe it's so cute how they wear their perpetual confusion on their face at all times, like a bratty kid who can't navigate the world without mommy or daddy by their side.

of course, though, women could hardly do anything on their own anyway. every time he came across one they'd wail and cry as he grabbed them by the hair and threatened to kill them if they didn't shut the hell up. they'd beg for their lives or scream for someone to save them, but it would only piss him off more at how useless and brainless they tended to be. he just couldn't help but decay them—they were so noisy and whiny, it wasn't his fault.

obviously, shigaraki has neither patience nor experience with women. in fact, he can probably count with two fingers how many times he's had a non-violent interaction with a woman in his entire lifetime. the mere thought of this drives his insecurities to the brink of rage, but it's not his fault women are so unbelievably tasteless in their choice of men. it's their fault he has to go to such lengths to find a decent woman worthy of his presence.

but imagine his delight when he happens upon a listing of you, an immediately attractive foreign woman who used to be an english substitute teacher of all things. he clicks through your pictures with a renewed vigor, his interest piqued as he studies your unique features. eagerly, he scours through your posted information and it turns out that you happen to be exactly the kind of woman he's looking for.

it's a done deal. the transaction takes less than a few minutes and incel!shigaraki couldn't be more pleased with how smoothly it went. he'll have to leave a good review later on, when and if the woman he's just bought has satisfied him.

it takes just one night before shigaraki finds you literally dropped off at his doorstep like an amazon prime package. you’ve clearly been pampered with the way you’re clad in a skimpy maid outfit; your nails, hair, and makeup are all dolled to perfection. you look exactly like you did in the pictures.

and clearly you're wise beyond your years. you don't speak much because of the obvious language barrier, but you do seem to understand a bit of elementary japanese. shigaraki is delighted by your small mutterings of broken japanese—it’s unbelievably cute. sometimes he'll force you to speak in japanese just because he loves watching you struggle with your limited vocabulary.

incel!shigaraki gets attached to you. you're very attractive in his eyes, and he's completely ecstatic that you're all his. a woman he can do whatever he wants with, and no one would dare question him. the immense power trip sends him over the edge.

that being said, the first couple of weeks are still rather... awkward. you're not happy about being in the situation you're in, but you're smart enough to keep that to yourself. you don't fuss when shigaraki orders you to fetch him liquor or tidy up his filthy room, nor do you complain when he commands you to cuddle with him or keep him company while he plays video games.

"[name], c'mere," he'd bark at you, eyes still glued to the tv screen.

"be a good girl and keep my lap warm, hm?"

he'll force you to wear cute lingerie sets like he's seen the women on porn sites do. somehow you look so much better though, and it feels as though you're teasing him with the way you bend over so much while cleaning. the outline of your pussy through the small fabric that stretches over it has him horny in a matter of seconds. you're such a tease, aren't you ashamed? you just can't seem to stay in line.

however, despite all your obvious sexual innuendos towards him, shigaraki gets no relief. he's resorted to jacking off whenever you go to sleep but no matter how hard or how much he cums, there's an itch that can't be scratched with masturbation alone. and the way you're so shy around him is adorable, sure, but your little playing-hard-to-get act wasn't cutting it anymore.

the remedy? incel!shigaraki starts slipping sleeping pills into your food and drinks.

and it doesn't take long for shigaraki to develop a routine of visiting you while you're sleeping. partly to check up on you and assure himself of your presence, but mostly to creep around the edges of the bed and feel you up. you sleep so soundly that you don't even twitch when he fondles your soft breasts or runs his spindly fingers over your curves.

he almost doesn't want to disturb you; you look so peaceful, totally different than the frightened little faces you muster when you're awake. but the bothersome tightness stretching his boxers taut against its stitches makes it hard to resist his urges. anyway, you're simply doing the only thing a woman is good for: using your body to please him.

his breath is hot and heavy, laced with lust and selfish perversion as he defiles you to get himself off. some nights he just sits and admires your beauty, caressing your face with clumsy, inexperienced fingertips. some nights your shirt is pulled up so he can marvel at how nicely your breasts sit in whatever color bra he forced you to wear.

other nights his cock is nestled between them, thrusting like his life depends on it, chasing that euphoric high he gets when he finally spills his seed across your hardening nipples. and other nights shigaraki is even more daring—cute pajama pants and panties below your knees, face buried between your thighs as he explores every inch of your sweet cunt. he knows it's wrong, but so what? he's a villian, that's what makes it feel so right.

when you make faces in your sleep, he's filled with so much genuine affection—it's almost as if you're telling him he's doing a good job. you love it, don't you? he so desperately wants to hear you cry his name in that precious accent of yours and run your hands through his hair as you lavish your praise upon him for making you cream so many times.

he can't keep his eyes off you. so soft and compliant. you're so pretty while he's stuffing his cock into you and relentlessly flicking your little clit, not stopping even when he feels you clench around him like a vice as you orgasm over and over. not stopping even though you're drooling all over the linen sheets and he's came twice already.

"that's right... y-you gonna cum again? you gonna—ngh—cum all over my cock, you dumb whore?"

shigaraki watches with glassy, intrigued eyes as you squirm ever so slightly, face warped into one of undeniable pleasure as he ravages your gushing pussy. you're such a good girl for him, letting him use you as he wishes.

you're the woman he's chosen to give his virginity to. he's so happy and content that when he cums inside of you for the third time, he doesn't pull out. instead, shigaraki gently maneuvers your body so he can spoon you from behind, whispering tender "i love you's" as if he knows what that means. absently grinding his hips because your warmth is so comforting around his sticky, softening dick.

as much as shigaraki wants to stay and pound you into the mattress all night, the sleeping medication doesn't last forever. not to mention the mess you've made; the sheets are completely ruined and your clothes are strewn about on the floor, long forgotten. it's hot in your room and it stinks of his cum and sweat, but it doesn't really matter. the only thing on his mind is you and how he'll ruin you again tomorrow night.

for now, though, he rewards you for being so good by cleaning you up, smirking whenever you unconsciously nuzzle up to his touch. when your clothes are back on, he plants a tender kiss on your forehead and admires your flushed face from the shadows of your bedside. when the sun begins to rise and you stir in your ignorance, he'll sneak out and act as if nothing ever happened.

incel!shigaraki who doesn't deny that you're just another stupid slutty woman, but you're the only woman he'll ever want to cum inside of. when he returns to his room, he remembers to pull up your archived listing on his computer and dazedly taps away at his keyboard.

"10/10 recommend"

[hanasnx]

❝ talk huttese to me. ❞

── anakin skywalker x reader

MINORS DNI 18+ WORD COUNT: 6k SUMMARY: intent to get his mind off of his hard work, you ask to learn more about anakin’s native language: huttese. when he talks dirty to you in it, you can’t help but beg for more. and he gets off to the fact you have no idea what kind of depraved things he’s saying to you while he pleasures you. NOTES: i used the huttese dictionary linked here just a little, the rest i made up bcos hayden made up a bunch of shit when he spoke it in episode 2 cos george told him to so i’m rolling with that energy | if clarification is needed, there is at one point in the fic that anakin’s dialogue is already translated for you (the actual person reading this), thats cos i didnt want to keep coming up with huttese and the reader asking anakin what it meant so you (the actual person reading this) could understand what he was saying. WARNINGS: explicit sex | established (fwb?) relationship | f!reader | dom!anakin | rough sex | degradation | unprotected sex | no explicit ask for consent— things implied | unclean hands touching sensitive areas (always make sure to have clean hands) | oral (m receiving): face fuck | oral (f receiving) | vaginal fingering | anal fingering | breath play | mentions of slave (both sexually and unsexually) but absolutely no ‘slave kink’ it’s used as a figure of speech sexually | heavily focused on dirty talk | size difference | tit smack | ass smack | squirting | mention of breeding kink | mild dacryphilia ── DISCLAIMER: i want to preface this by saying that i do not think foreign languages are barbaric or that just because it’s not english it’s barbaric. huttese is the language of smugglers, slave traders, sleazy businessmen, and started out as a lingua franca. anakin knows it as the language he used when he himself was a slave, spoken by the people that bought him and his mom, and often criticizes it because of his personal vendetta. they do not reflect my opinion of languages other than english

“Here,” Obi-Wan handed you a ceramic cup of warm broth, “this is what we have. You said he hasn’t eaten?” There was a hint of concern in the Jedi’s voice, and you nodded.

“Yeah, it’ll be fine.” you reassured, “He’s busy, you know how it is.” The temperature from the broth spread through the material to your hands, warming them. You offered Obi-Wan a small smile, hoping to ease his worry.

“Unfortunately, in this case, we depend on him.” Obi-Wan replied, fists resting on his hips. “Without his help, I’m afraid we’re stranded.”

“I know,” you said softly, taking your leave. The pressure on ANAKIN SKYWALKER was necessary, but you could tell it was taking a toll on him, neglecting himself in order to stay focused on his task.

When you entered the hangar of the base, you found him right where you’d left him. Underneath the vessel, consumed by his work. A loud clanging sounded, a curse in a foreign language, and your eyes followed the wrench tossed out in anger. It clattered to a halt, and you set the broth down on a drawer stack. The noise revealed your presence to him.

You saw his hand reach out and point to a tool, speaking again in words you couldn’t understand. Unable to get past what he tried to say to you, you idled. “What was that?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he muttered, sliding out from under the shuttle on the mechanic creeper to give you a sheepish look as he grabs the tool he gestured to. “Forgot.” He wagged the tool at you when he raised his hand apologetically, excusing himself back under the ship. You crossed your arms and leaned your shoulder up against the vessel, eyeing his propped up legs. You didn’t know what to mention. Ask about what he’d said, or audibly observe how cute he was shirtless, streaked in grease and shining with sweat. A curl tugged at your lips.

“No, what was that?”

You heard him sigh, resuming his activity on the underbelly. “Huttese,”

“‘Huttese’?” you parrot, the tone awkward. The word felt foreign on your tongue. You were unaware he knew it. “Where’d you learn that?”

“Tattooine. I didn’t tell you?” Another sudden noise, followed by another one of his long winded, indecipherable curses from whatever pain was inflicted on him. You could tell he was rushing himself, ignoring safety procedures in order to get this hunk of junk running again. Obi Wan was right, everyone was depending on him as the person with the most experience in ship repair. However, that didn’t leave him a lot of room for error, or for proper rest. You wanted to get his mind off of it for a while. Distract him so he could come back to this with a clearer head.

“Do you know just the swear words?”

“No. Fluent.” he spoke through gritted teeth.

You thought of a joke and scoffed to yourself. “Do you know any dirty talk?“

There was a quiet moment, save for the din of metal. “It’s a very… coarse language.” He slid out to meet your gaze, breathing hard from the heat of his work. Generously, you viewed the expanse of his chest rising and falling. “It would just sound insulting.”

Carried away with how hot he looked, you bit your lip. “Is that a bad thing?”

He flashed a downturn of his lips, blowing air through his nose, “Not necessarily.” He snatched a new tool, and returned to the underside. “Just letting you know it wouldn’t sound pretty.”

“So?”

You heard him scoff.

“You don’t wanna hear what I have to say about you in Huttese, trust me,”

For some reason, you really wanted to find out even though it was a joke at first. Absentmindedly you rubbed your thighs together at the thought of him degrading you in a filthy tongue. It was nothing new to you, Anakin has always been obscene when it came to dirty talk. How would this be any different? “How come?”

“It’s that it’s… it’s cacophonous. Double voweled. The language of barters, slave traders, sleazebags. To associate it with you- seems wrong.” You wondered if he felt that way about it because of the unfortunate circumstances of his childhood. This was going in the opposite direction you wanted it to. “It’s not beautiful. It’s barbaric. Blunt. It would sound worse directly translating it to Basic.” You listened thoughtfully as he talked, and your eyes drifted over his tool table to the drawer stack.

“Oh!”

“What?”

“I forgot to tell you, I brought you something. It’ll keep up your strength,” Carefully, you retrieved the mug as he shimmied out.

“Something for me?” He raised his brows and he sat up at the recognition you were about to hand it to him. He reached for it, brought it to his lips to sip it. It was flavorless. “Appreciate it.” He decided it was best to ration it, leaving it at his side as he settled against the shuttle, drawing his knees to his chest to rest his arms on them. They were swollen, thick, and veined. Even his metal arm that began at one of his elbows was attractive to you. Reminiscing the many times he’s used it to bring you to your knees. What was it about him that made you want to lick the sweat off him? You sat down next to him, mimicking his position. “What were we talking about?”

“Huttese,”

“Right,”

“Teach me something,” you flirted.

“Teach you something?” A hint of an amused smile ghosted his handsome features.

“Yeah, I’d like to know. Something easy.”

“Something easy…” he parroted thoughtfully, bowing his head as he contemplated. “Kark’s an easy one.” He straightened only to incline towards you.

“Kark?”

“Kark.” he nodded. There was a stark difference between how you two pronounced it.

“What’s that mean?”

“Fuck,”

“No, I mean like a sentence—!” Anakin ignored your true request, continuing on, childish grin growing.

“—You want a sentence? A sentence- Okay, kark. As in, I’d really like to kark you—“

“—Ani,” you scolded playfully, nudging his shoulder with your hand. He snickered.

“Really, it’s only an expletive, it’s not used like we use ‘fuck’.” The way he gazed at you made you feel warm. “There’s a different word for that.”

A pensive moment passed before you piped up, “So, show me something else.”

“You still want to hear dirty talk?” he asked with a knowing glint in his eye. Since you thought it might be funny, you obliged.

“Sure,”

“Let me warn you one more time, I don’t think you really wanna hear it—“

“I do! I do. Seriously, satisfy my curiosity.”

Anakin hummed. “If it’s for curiosity then…” His head bumped the shuttle as he searched the ceiling for answers, “Let me think,”

You waited, toying with the ends of your hair. You eyed the way his curls propped up against the hull where the back of his head rested. You had half a mind to reach over and brush through his locks with your fingers when he interrupted your admiration.

“Okay, I got it,” To occupy his hands, he snatched up a rag hanging from his pocket and started wiping the grease from his fingers, and you noted the length of them. “Uh,” It’d been a while for him since he’d had to piece together a sentence like this. He tossed the rag. “Naga bu eechu,” The words were stiff on his tongue as he was figuring out how to arrange it, until he relaxed, letting the next roll off his tongue more smoothly, “et kah to. Peenta kay rada.” He glanced at you to gauge your reaction, but you looked at him expecting him to continue.

“What does that mean?” you asked with wide, intrigued eyes. There was something inherently masculine about the way he spoke this language. His voice got deeper, the sharp consonants were punctuated with a twitch of his nose as if he was stifling the habit to sneer his lips.

Suddenly bashful, he raised his brows with a single nod. “Directly translated?” He was apprehensive to reveal it to you. In truth, he was planning on saying that and nothing else, leaving it to your imagination. He adjusted in his seat, lifting himself up to face you more and you did the same. Resting his chin on his hand, he ran his fingers over his jawline to fidget as he stared at the ceiling in thought.

He met your gaze, and told you the meaning like you asked for. “I want to put my full fist inside you. Split you open. And sit down to eat.” There was no romance in his tone. It was matter of factly, pressing his lips into a thin line.

You inhaled, mouth opening to say something. You furrowed your eyebrows, “You’re right. It is a little… violent.”

“It lacks a certain decorum, yes.” Anakin nodded.

“Would it be better if I spoke Huttese too?” So you could better understand what he was saying, instead of recovering the words in Basic.

“Not really, no.” As he’d said, it was harsh at every angle. It wasn’t known for being frivolous, it was known for getting a point across. It was impatient. You were getting a little impatient hearing it come from Anakin’s mouth. Especially talk so foul.

Maybe it was the fact he was bare chested, or the personification he took on when he spoke in Huttese, but you found yourself chewing your thumb, and asking for more. “What else would you say about me?” Anakin was taking another sip of his broth when he heard your question, and pivoted his surprised attention in your direction.

“You wanna know more?”

Soundlessly, you shook your head yes.

Anakin chewed his lip as he held your eye contact, having to tear away in order to keep from getting ahead of himself. Answers were already piling up in his mind, “Naga seeta pon nuda— reeta seep.” This time around, you noticed his confidence had heightened, and it only added to your intrigue. “Nudaonnud to soot. Scrit ah seepa fin teese.” That same expectant expression adorned your features, inviting him to clarify for you. He explained, “I want you sticky— slippery with fluids.” You swallowed hard. “You’d look so fuckable with my hot cum glazed on your face. Strung up in your hair and dribbling down your tits.” Biting your lips, your gaze locked with his, as if waiting for the other to make the next move. Anakin stood by his opinion of how ugly this language was, however he saw how your body betrayed you before and after he translated for you. In turn, it aroused him too. The fact you were letting him talk to you like this had his pants tightening.

“Um,” You gained your footing. A shaky breath. “What else?” you said, barely above a whisper.

The turn of events had Anakin adjusting his position, leaning back onto his hands, folding his legs in front of him. You took note of how his stance was more open to you, gaze trailed down his shoulders and scars on his chest, his abdomen and how it curled with his relax, a bulge at his crotch. As if trained, your mouth watered. To be safe, two of Anakin’s fingers raised from the flat of the floor, forcing the door you had come through earlier to be locked from his seat. When he held your gaze through his brows, adopting that intense look you liked so much, he spoke his next words in Huttese, “Pump you so full, you’ll sweat my cum,” You had no idea what he’d said, and you didn’t care at all to ask. It was the mystery of it now, and how he spat the words at you, you knew they had to be nasty.

The two of you exchanged this heated look again, your breath having quickened. Anakin was the first to break it, getting up to stand with a sigh. He offered you his hand in order to aid you in standing too, however you had other plans. “I should get back to work,” he said, a hint of disappointment in his tone. You moistened your lips, a fire igniting in the pit of your stomach, pooling in between your legs when you fixed yourself on your knees. A questioning expression flashed on Anakin’s features, promptly answered when you pushed his hand out of the way, undoing the waistband of his pants to tug just his length free. In an instant, you’d guided him to your mouth, letting it harden fully in the warmth inside. “(y/n)—! (y/n)…” You knew if he wanted this to stop, he’d say it or he’d push you off. Instead, he was rolling his hips into your mouth, throwing his head back. His metal hand you’d discarded moved to cradle the back of your head. He knew it’d pay off to lock the doors.

A sinful sound reverberated from low in his throat, which only served to further arouse you, wet with anticipation. It allowed you to take him farther in, and he flexed his arm, bringing you to meet his thrusts. A steady pace was set, until you started dragging your tongue along the underside of his shaft. His voice was so addicting, his moan made your eyes roll into the back of your head. You braced yourself with your hands on his thighs.

“Filthy little mouth-pussy, made for me.” he purred in Huttese, “Wonder how many other guys would kill for a whore like you slobbering all over their cock like this.” You keened, even though you couldn’t understand it. When his cock twitched, you could tell he liked that you didn’t know what he was saying.

It gave him permission to say anything he wanted to you.

Your jaw went slack, throat relaxed enough to take him, but he desired more from you. By asking to learn about this side of him you had, unknowingly, unlocked something buried in him. His deep rooted hatred for where he came from, was now being worked out with the splendid efforts of your mouth. Rewriting bad memories into an entirely new one. Huttese was vile in his experience, and you welcomed it instead of shying away. However, this side of him was more volatile. The pain that he repressed manifested itself into aggression, and you were more than happy to receive every last drop.

His hand at the back of your head tangled in your hair with a pleasant sting, and when you emitted a noise in surprise, it was strained by his cock shoving deeper inside you. Wide, doe eyes gazed up at him, granting him passage, letting him take the complete lead using you. You hollowed out your cheeks when you could, swirling around him with your tongue when you couldn’t. He whined, and he saw you stifle a smirk. “Choke, whore. Choke,” he cooed at you in the language, increasing his thrusts until you squeezed your eyes shut, gagging on his length, dizzy with excitement. He sensed you liked this, and it thrilled him to no end. His free hand moved from being limp behind him, coming up to pat the back of your head twice forcing himself in minutely. You gagged because of it, and you pushed off of him in order to turn your head to the side, afraid you were about to hurl, drooling on the floor as you hung your head.

You coughed, and he kicked the mechanic creeper out of his way with a clatter. Once able, he dragged you over by his fistful of your hair. The pain, combined with the strength it required for him to move you over made you whimper, faithfully following him keeping your knees underneath you. He pinned your head to the hull of the ship he’d been working on, his flesh hand over your forehead, as his metal cupped the underside of your jaw, diving his cock back in between your lips. You gasped, strangled by his substantial girth bullying its way into you. You couldn’t bob your head anymore, and he fucked your throat exactly how he deemed fit for a slut like you. “You wanted this so bad. Now here it is, and you’re afraid of it. Go on, make me proud.” That wolfish grin on his face was so fucking hot, his scar along his eye, gaze trained on you as you were forced to swallow his every inch. It didn’t matter you couldn’t speak Huttese, you loved hearing him talk to you in it. Helpless to his desires, you held your breath everytime he bottomed out, so big you knew your throat would be sore in the morning. Nearing his finish, he had half a mind to paint your face with his cum like he’d promised earlier. Instead, he got a better idea. When you instinctively tried to back up, halted in your tracks by the hull against your head, he reassured you, his flesh hand stroking over your hair soothingly, “A little longer, I’m almost there,”

You recognized his tone to be surprisingly tender compared to how he’d been acting up to this point. Like he was begging you to keep playing this game with him. You obliged, having found him captivating as this authoritative figure. To be privy to the darker side of Anakin Skywalker was a privilege, and to be on the receiving end was simply an opportunity you’d never pass up.

Hips stuttering, and a long string of Huttese curses, you knew he was close. You felt hot spurts of cum on your tongue as he slowed to a halt, and when he pulled out, strings of it connected you to his cock. “Oh, mwa con schutta,” he cooed with fake sympathy, puckering his lips in a pout. Oh, my poor slut, he’d said. His finish was pooled in your panting open mouth, and your defiant gaze told him you were about to spit it to spite him for his behavior. You broke eye contact, moving to get rid of his milky load. In an instant, he arrested you. His hands came to cup over your mouth and pinch your nose. Unable to breathe and at his mercy, your futile attempts to free yourself went ignored. He laughed as you clawed at his fingers, knowing if you needed an out you’d tap him twice. You were being difficult on purpose, because you liked it.

You knew what he wanted from you, and his visceral wicked expression only confirmed your thoughts. You were strained, you’d never win fighting against his grip but you tried anyway. At your limit, you gulped, swallowing him. Released, you gasped for air. “You mad at me?” he asked grinning wolfishly down at you, but since you didn’t know Huttese, you simply glared at him, a curl at the corner of your lips betraying how turned on you really were from his actions.

He fisted your shirt in his hand, bringing you to stand so he could direct you— more like drag you over to his tool table, and yanked your clothes off. “I want to see those fat tits,” he demanded in Huttese. You moaned from his sneer, aching for him to reintroduce himself to your dripping sex.

The surface of the table was in disarray, littered with stray items like the ship’s original blueprints and apparatus. In one fell swoop, his metal arm swept the contents to the floor, “What are you—?” Without answering you, he circled you over, holding your waist to pick you up onto the table. Once again his show of strength jellied your legs, and you could anticipate what he was about to do to you.

Now tucked against your pussy, he pinned your back to the table with his metal palm gripping your breast tightly, and you keened when he pinched your nipple. You could see the marks of oil where his touch had been, decorating your waist. He admired you like this, streaked in grease like he was. Metal hand moved to hook your leg over his shoulder, the hand he’d wiped with his rag started circling your entrance soothingly, dulling that ache. “Dire schutta,” There was that word again. Picking your head up in order to meet his heated gaze, darkened by lust, you questioned breathlessly.

“What’s that mean?” Your broken voice indicated how desperate you were for him.

“Dirty slut,” he replied in Basic without skipping a beat, pressing an open mouthed kiss against the side of your knee, bowing his head to do the same to your thigh. “Letting me get you all filthy, filthy like I am.” his soft lips spoke against your flesh, pleased to reaffirm in his twisted mind that you and him were the same. You reached out to touch him— the words being so tame compared to all the shit he’s been talking to you in his native tongue, unbeknownst to you— but you were instantly weakened when his fingers entered you. So sensitive, your back arched off the surface, head falling back, and a crooked grin adorned his features, staring at your every shift through his brows as he curled his thick digits inside of you. He knew that you didn’t want to waste time, and he stroked the plush of your thigh with his metal hand to caress you as you cried out for him. The tips of his fingers petting that sweet spot inside of you that had you writhing.

“Anakin!”

He bit your thigh hard at the sound of his name sinfully spilling from your perfect lips. You yelped and looked at him. Your pleading countenance only served to fan the flame in his chest, cock hardening to stand at attention again, ready and waiting to return to where it belonged. He wished to abuse you, in every way you could desire. When he pulled his fingers from you, he answered your questioning expression, “Oh, I’m not anywhere near done with you, schutta,” The name made you whimper now that you knew what he meant by it. Adjusting you as if you were light as a feather, he shouldered your other leg, and wrapped his arms around in order to rub at your clit with one of his hands. Strangling the soft skin of your thighs between his massive biceps, he dipped his head down to start lapping at your wet sex with his hot tongue, devouring all you’ve produced.

You cursed, the pad of his thumb gently circling your pink bud, swelling it with stimulation as his tongue continued to work on you, alternating between flattening against you and diving into your hole. Finally, putting that disgusting mouth to good use after all he’s spat at you. He seemed to sense that thought, digging himself further into you, making out with your weeping cunt as his nose started to brush your clit. You wished you could think of something to say to him on your own, taunt him with malicious talk as he’s done to you, but if this man had one gift, it was how he got you speechless when he ate you out. To egg him on, your hands played with your chest for him, giving him a show as you squeezed and pinched. As if entertaining a god, he hummed in approval, watching from over your mound. You rolled your nipples in your nimble fingers until they were red with sting. His hand came from curling around your thigh to your chest, and you offered one to him by releasing it from your hold. Experimentally, he slapped the flesh, and it bobbed from the strike.

Nobody’s ever smacked your tit before.

Pleasantly surprised, he told you, “That got you so wet,” knowing you couldn’t understand him as he smiled against you. There was no part of you that could deny you wanted him to talk to you in that vile language forever simply because of this personality shift he took on speaking it. Electricity shot through you. His lips placed open mouthed kisses over your spread folds before sucking your bud into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. You cried out, legs shaking involuntarily, and when he added his fingers to your hole, filling it to the brim and nearly sending you over the edge. Immediately, he sought out the button inside of you that had you writhing underneath him. You and him both knew what this led to, and on instinct your hand came to his wrist to brace yourself. In response, he released your clit with a pop, straightened, and spat on your pussy to lubricate it as he fucked you with his fingers. Everything inside you was crying out as you screamed, unable to keep your eyes open, features twisted in pleasure from how he never faltered hitting that spongy spot. He didn’t need to be force sensitive to tell where you were headed, he’s done this to you before.

“Ani— I’m gonna— Oh… oh,”

He exhaled, falling victim to you on the brink of making a terrible mess. His thumb returned to circle your clit. “Yes, yes, let me see you squirt, baby,” In this moment more than any other he wished you could understand his Huttese. However, you didn’t need to in order to do as exactly as he demanded. You released in bursts, and he kept up his pace, watching you squirt all over his arm and chest. “Oh, fuck yes, schutta, fuck yes,” You practically cried as took all you could provide, “Give it all to me,” Why did Huttese have to bring out such a cruel side of him? Why was it working so well on you?

He was no longer glistening with sweat, but a mix of your fluids as well. Slowing to a stop as you went slack from your intense finish, he didn’t hesitate to suck off whatever you left on his fingers. You had drenched yourself, the table underneath you, and by the looks of it his cock and pants too. “Fucking love it when you do that. Maker, I can’t get over the smell of it.” You whimpered even though his words were indecipherable. To emphasize just how much of a mess you made, he drew his soaked hand across your thighs and up your abdomen, and you shivered. His parted lips were downright sinful, plump and begging to be nibbled on by your teeth. Your gazes met, hazy with desire as he fisted his cock, nudging it lazily against your overstimulated entrance.

“Please,” you whined for him to keep fucking you, and he scoffed. There was no please in the Huttese language.

“Nothing but a hole,”

Anakin Skywalker was a very large man, in every sense of the word. By the way he acted, you’d think he forgot that he takes up the most space in a room. Taller than many, broad shouldered, angular muscles cut from the diamond of battle. The Great General Skywalker reminded you how big he really was every time he lead his troops, engaged in hand to hand combat with literal droids, and fucked you. Not necessarily in that order.

He brutalized you. Your struggling cunt could barely swallow all of him. It was no secret the General had a bruising cock, but you were not one to back down from the challenge. “Fuck, Ani, fuck,”

Sinking into you over and over again as he lifted your legs for you with his palm fixed on the underside of your thighs. He could feel the tremors passing through them. While you begged, he merely watched your pussy consume his every inch. “Quiet. Let me enjoy this,” Anakin revelled in his ability to say whatever he wanted to you without fear, feeling you suck him in with every foul word like the greedy bitch you were. When he’d had enough, he pushed your thighs up against the sides of your chest, pressing your flesh together in the most beautiful way as he fucked into you, increasing his thrusts. You scrambled for purchase on the table but there was none as his purple tip kissed your cervix repeatedly. The mating press was by far one of his favorite positions to put you in, one of the reasons being because of the implication of its name. It was a common fantasy for Anakin to revisit how much he wanted to fill you up with his seed until an heir to the Skywalker name was sired. However, he’d much rather you be able to hear that kind of talk. That’ll be for next time.

Finally, your fingers found the edge of the table to grip, still slick with your squirt as he loomed over you, bouncing you from every roll of his hips. You delighted in the way his abdomen curled into you. “Harder, fuck me harder,” you told him, having adjusted to his substantial size. “Keep talking to me,”

Anakin exhaled the breath he was holding, “I should ravage your insides for speaking to me like that,” You keened at him for listening to you, and he did as you’d requested, desperate to see you weep for mercy. “Schutta,” Your voice grew in volume, unintelligible noises spilling from your open mouth as he fucked you, the tool table creaking underneath your combined weights. “Schutta,” he whispered again, focusing entirely on how you were reacting to everything he was doing. “Not even good enough to be my fuck toy,” Oh, that one he longed for you to understand, knowing how you’d double over from the shock of pleasure that would course through you from the degradation. “Lucky I’m feeling generous today.” He groaned as he reangled his hips, making you scream. Unfortunately, a little slut like you couldn’t understand his native tongue, and to silence you he shoved the L-shape of his flesh hand into your mouth. You bit down on the webbing, grateful to focus on something else.

Your wet heat was squeezing him so good, the momentary feeling caused a lapse in judgement, speaking without thinking it through, without correlating what it meant to him. “I’m slave to you, I’m slave to this hole squeezing me so perfectly, so cozy, so good, eager to please me, eager to serve.” Even if anything he’d been saying was in Basic, you were too far gone to hear it.

A devious idea formed in his head, and his metal hand came over to your belly, pressing down so not only was that new angle rearranging your insides, but that spot was met by his thrusts quicker. “Wait, if you do that again, I can’t help it—“ you had begun to warn speaking over his hand, your small fingers splaying against his hot chest as he merely grinned down at you with sick delight, curls falling in front of his eyes.

“If you don’t squirt all over my cock, so help me Maker—“ It’s as if your body responded naturally to him, once again spraying it’s surroundings with the full force of your release, running down the front of his pants and leaking to the floor from where your bodies conjoined. He laughed at you. Becoming shy, you turned your reddening face away from him. “What are you getting shy for, whore? All you’re good for’s a decent fuck. Way to make it worthwhile.” Your velvety walls fluttered around him because you could tell whatever he’d said was horrible. His hand moved out of your mouth when it pinched your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. There they were, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Had to be from your release, otherwise you’d be telling him to stop. He dipped down, poking out his tongue to collect the salty tear on the tip. The act caused you to connect your lips with his, and he mumbled in surprise, swallowing your moans when he parted your lips with his, exploring you with his tongue. His metal hand slipped out from in between the two of you, swiftly smacking the fat of your ass cheek as he kept moving inside of you. You yelped against his mouth. When he broke the kiss, a string of saliva attached the two of you, panting in unison as he felt you quiver underneath him. Perhaps it was time to put your poor legs to work.

Your back having arched, made the perfect space to slot his arm in, wrapping around your waist while his other repositioned your legs off his shoulders, but kept a knee pinned to his hip. He unsheathed, and your poor pussy instantly felt empty as he picked you up off the table and setting you down, spinning you around and planting your hands flat on the table so your heart shaped ass was presented to him. “I’ll never get tired of this,” he confessed in awe, stooping to drag the flat of his hand over your sex, making you jump from the sensitivity. Once he gathered enough slick to lubricate his cock with, he reentered you, and the shock of it caused you to fall forward, eyes rolling into the back of your head. It pleased him greatly. He sucked on his damp fingers as he pistoned in you. The coil in your belly was wound tight, and he was well aware of it.

His hips snapped against the soft flesh off your ass and his metal hand tangled into your hair, using it like a leash to yank you back onto his cock faster. It made you arch, curses falling from your lips in a cant along with his name. Satisfied his fingers were properly lubricated, they traveled from his mouth to your rim, circling it curiously. You shied away from the feeling at first, but relaxed into it once you realized what was going on. That’s my girl, he thought. Carefully, he dipped his fingers inside, plunging into your asshole as he fucked your pussy with his cock. It added a new height of pleasure to you, and you clenched your silky walls around him instinctually. He explored the inside of you with his digits, before moving them in and out. He heard your breath hitch, “You feel about ready to make a mess all over me again. I don’t care what hole it comes out of, you’ll clean me up.”

“Can I… fuck- Can I please cum? Baby, please,” you strained, a lump in your throat.

“What are you asking me for? You afraid of what I’ll do to you if you don’t obey me?” he teased, a sinister undertone to his voice that made you struggle to nod your head. “Go ahead then, if you’re so close.” he spoke to you like it didn’t matter, knowing it only added to your enjoyment. Your orgasm shooting through you without a second to waste. You called out his name, squeezing your eyes shut when your vision turned white. You rode it out with him, thinking he might release with you like you two usually do with his help of the force. Not this time it seemed.

“Aren’t you gonna cum too? C’mon, Anakin,” you whined, wiggling your hips as best you can for him. He leaned over you, bicep flexing with his hand still in your hair.

“Do you really deserve my cum?” You couldn’t find him anything but attractive like this, bullying you while he ravaged your insides. “I should cum in a rag and gag you with it instead of letting you feel me finish inside this tight cunt.” You moaned involuntarily, his movements more erratic as he neared his edge. After this you were going to learn Huttese if it was the last thing you did.

Moans burst out of him as he spilled himself inside of you, bending you over further when his muscle tensed, shoving your cheek against the cold surface of the table still wet from your squirt. He fucked his seed into you as he worked himself through his own orgasm, using your abused pussy to do it.

Only once he’d stilled, did you move. He took the hint, removing himself from you, and you felt your combined essences drip down your legs. Exhausted, he lazily kissed up your back for a start to his apologies. “Let me grab something for you,” You leaned against the table, waiting for him to return with a clean rag. As he wiped you down, you chuckled breathlessly.

“What?” he asked, amused at your reaction.

“You wanna tell me some of the things you said to me?” You stared him down with a raised brow, intent to learn whatever depraved things this deranged man had said to you to get himself off.

He stifled a smile, hanging his head in shame briefly. “Maybe some other time.”

[notyourhetloki]

good for you (Daemon x Hightower!Reader)

Reader: she/her (Fem!Reader)

/NSFW Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader/

A/N: Hello hello hello! I present to you my newest obsession… another morally grey character yaaayy but for real, I love this show so much and I hope you like the premise of this fic! I must admit that this is not an original idea but I hope it's different enough from the other fics I saw… anyway! Requests will be open soon (and this time I mean it) ok byee xoxo Also, I used this site to translate my Valyrian texts, and all Valyrian dialogue will be written in bold.

Warnings: Use of (Y/N), age gap, reader is described as shorter than him, reader has long hair, praise kink, masturbation, handjobs, the timeline doesn't make any sense sorry, Daemon is not married.

Word Count: 4.8k

—

You were only twelve when you first met the Rogue Prince, the uncle of your best friend Rhaenyra. He asked for your name and when you told him, he immediately scoffed.

You were a Hightower, youngest daughter of the Hand, Otto Hightower. Daemon did not care for that, holding a strong grudge for your father that naturally extended to you and your family.

But Rhaenyra loved you, you were inseparable and no amount of prejudice could change that. Trying to separate you both was of no use, Daemon realized... so he coped.

You and Rhaenyra were studying at the library, she insisted on teaching you Valyrian but you were struggling a bit with the pronunciation. "Ziry iksos iā gevie tubis." (It's a beautiful day.) You repeated, and after your second attempt, you heard a foreign voice coming from behind you.

"Ȳdra daor sesīr sylugon, riña. Ao sagon quba rȳ ziry." (Don't even try, girl. You're bad at it.) It was Daemon, strolling in your direction.

"Uncle! Don't be mean!" Rhaenyra exclaimed, putting one of her arms around you as you both turned to look at the man.

You managed to understand most of his words and did not appreciate them. "Doesn't hurt to practice, my prince. I'm still learning after all..." He scoffed once more.

"It's time for your lessons, niece. And I wouldn't like to have your little friend around." The prince said without much regard for you. He tutored Rhaenyra in Valyrian, but this time she objected to it.

"Please, uncle! Let (y/n) stay for the lessons! She is learning as well..."

With much insistence, he complied... but he did not seem happy.

Because your father was busy with the king and tending to his favorite daughter, Alicent, he never cared enough to know about these tutoring sessions. So a year went by and you still accompanied Rhaenyra in her lessons, for Daemon's dislike.

He would make sure to choose the most complicated texts, dense with words he knew you wouldn't know. But to his dismay, you would only get better and better. Your almost perfect pronunciation caught him off guard one day, taunting him in a sarcastic tone.

"Skoros tembyr kessa sagon hembar, ñuha dārilaros?" (What book shall be next, my prince?) Your soft-spoken words made his blood boil in anger, not liking to admit you were getting good at the language. A Hightower... speaking Valyrian... that was absurd.

But with time Daemon grew accustomed to it, challenging you with new texts and harshly correcting you once you made an error. You were making progress, and deep down that satisfied him.

Another year would pass... and another. Your tutorship with Daemon only served one purpose: to show off to him. He began to enjoy your witty responses and overall demeanor, scolding you if you missed a lesson. He would never admit it, but he grew fond of you.

And he would make your life a living hell because of it.

One night, on your 15th birthday, you couldn't sleep. Escaping from your chambers, you moved swiftly to the library once more in search of more Valyrian texts. You wanted to impress your tutor, prove yourself to him, and you would make big efforts in order for that to happen.

"Skoro syt issi ao kesīr?" (Why are you here?) A familiar growly voice echoed through the empty halls. Daemon was hiding in the shadows, standing still in between shelves.

You responded in Valyrian, proud of your clear pronunciation. "I could not sleep."

The prince took slow steps towards you, the lit fires from torches illuminating his angled face. He looked intimidating, but you weren't scared of him. You were intrigued, fascinated by his nature... even though he clearly disliked you, you couldn't bring yourself to pull away.

"A young girl such as yourself shouldn't be wandering around the castle at this hour. What will daddy do if he finds out?" Slowly getting closer, Daemon taunted you with his words. Your heart hammered in your chest, too nervous at the fact you were alone with him for the first time.

"He won't." You retorted. He was at arms reach now, looking you in the eyes, hands behind his back.

"Be careful, Hightower. You don't want to get into trouble, do you?" His sarcastic tone and the way he called you by your last name made you extremely angry.

"I'm just here to get a book. Any recommendations, my prince?" You retorted harshly. Completely eloquent in the language, you made Daemon stand in shock, defeated.

"You really turned out to be good, didn't you, girl?" His voice a mere whisper, staring at you as you felt your heart skip a beat. He had finally acknowledged you somehow, and that was a victory you would cling to.

"I got something for you." Daemon continued, not caring to speak in Valyrian anymore. He turned around and reached for a book up on a shelf and handed it to you. It was a storybook, perhaps fictional.

"A children's book?" You asked in confusion. "My Valyrian is not so basic, my prince."

"You will see this is no basic book, Hightower. The Valyrian in it is quite complex." You looked through the pages and admittedly, it was quite a difficult read.

"Rhaenyra has spoken the language since she was an infant and still hasn't read this book." You looked at him in alarm, not knowing what to make of his words. "Take it as a challenge... Hightower."

And after those last words, he marched out of the library, leaving you alone.

You managed to read the book in one week with much research, and you were feeling exceptionally proud. But when the time came to have your tutoring session, Daemon was nowhere to be found. Rumors had begun circling the Red Keep, saying that he had been exiled or that he was fighting in a war... you couldn't know for sure.

It was true you felt a certain unease around the prince, he made sure you knew how much he despised your family and belittled you at any opportunity... but you couldn't help but feel a little enthralled by him. He was a handsome, intelligent man with a bad temper, and deep down you craved his attention. So for him to disappear like that was, indeed, quite an unfortunate event for you.

────୨ৎ────

Years had passed and you had just come of age. Turmoil had risen inside the Red Keep, and when you heard the news, you felt your breath hitch.

Prince Daemon had returned from the war victorious, and the king was very content. Rhaenyra couldn't hide her excitement and neither could you, giggling with your friend about her uncle's expected return.

You didn't see him for the first few days, not until you crossed paths in a secluded hall. His white hair was short then, wearing red and black clothing as he seemed lost in thought... but when he saw you, he immediately stopped his walk.

The way he looked at you... he examined every inch of your body, slowly making his way up towards your face. It made you feel things you couldn't quite decipher, made heat spread through your whole body.

"My prince." You bowed and then proceeded to maintain eye contact, but it was proven to be quite difficult.

"Hightower." He wasn't accustomed to saying your first name and you were used to it at that point, but the way he called you always felt like an insult.

"I'd like to congratulate you on your victory." You offered, and he slightly lowered his head in response.

"You've changed." The change in language caught you off guard, suddenly aware of your past tutoring sessions, you would make sure to show him you hadn't forgotten. "You've... grown. You're not a little girl anymore, (y/n)."

Your name finally coming out of his lips like that made you shiver. Trying to ignore the heat growing inside, you looked at his face in awe. His intense eyes pierced through you, his parted mouth breathed deep slow breaths. He looked predatory, and that made you spiral into feelings you had never felt before.

"You barely changed my prince, aside from the hair. It looks hideous." You dared to say, trying to provoke him in some way... and it worked. He lowly chuckled, the sides of his mouth forming a grin you were sure you had never seen before. It made your heart skip a beat.

Before Daemon could respond, your father Otto walked in from behind him. "Daughter?"

The prince didn't even turn around to greet your father, instead, he gave you one final look and kept walking, passing by your side.

You sighed, not knowing you were holding a breath. "Yes, father?"

"Why were you talking to... him?" He tried to maintain composure, but you knew he deeply disliked Daemon just as much as the prince disliked him.

"I was congratulating him." You didn't lie.

"Please, (y/n), try to maintain distance from him. That man is certain danger and I don't want him corrupting your mind with foolish conversation. Understand?" Otto said while holding the sides of your arms gently, voice full of worry.

"Yes, father." You assured him... but it wasn't a promise.

He looked at you and sighed in relief, taking a moment before speaking what he had in mind.

"Soon you'll be wed to a good lord and you'll make me very proud, my child. The time has come, I'll begin preparing your courtship tomorrow."

You stood in horror, eyes watering at his terrifying words. "But, dad-"

"Please do not contest, (y/n). You're already a woman, you must get married soon. Now, off you go... I have many tasks to tend to."

────୨ৎ────

You didn't tell anyone, not even Rhaenyra, but that night you planned on fleeing.

Gathering some clothes, food and water, you sneaked out of your chambers and managed to get into the stable. As you were about to get on your horse, you heard his voice.

"Where do you think you're going, Hightower?" Daemon was right behind you, his voice startling you. Quickly turning around, you angrily confronted him.

"You followed me?" Confusion took over you, not knowing what to make of that situation.

"You are easy to follow. Stealth is not your strongest ally." He was just trying to irritate you at that point, and you couldn't help but shout at him. "Why?!"

"I was interested in knowing why the daughter of the Hand was trying to flee the castle? Perhaps you're a little traitor, that wouldn't surprise me." His words cut deep within you, making you boil with rage.

"I'm not a traitor! I just don't want to marry an ugly old lord and doom my life forever! And be sure, my prince, I'm not going to let that happen." You rose on your horse swiftly but Daemon was quicker, getting a hold of the reins and holding the animal in place.

"Get down. Now." His stern and severe demeanor sent chills down your spine, but you weren't going to give up so easily.

"Pardon me, my prince, but I must remind you that you don't own me."

Daemon didn't enjoy that, even though he appreciated your wits. He took a deep breath and continued. "Get down now, girl. Or you'll regret making this stupid decision."

You knew he was right, you were going to regret it. In reality, you were terrified... you had nowhere to go and the Red Keep had been your home since you could remember. There was no escaping your fate, and that brought tears to your eyes.

You slowly descended your horse, trying to hide the tears falling down your face. Daemon promptly turned you towards him, directing his hands to hold the sides of your arms and holding you in place. He squeezed lightly, the pressure of his touch grounding you.

When you finally made eye contact, the prince had a certain fury in his eyes. "Your cunt of a father wouldn't dare to sell you to an ugly old lord." Daemon whispered, mostly to himself. He was towering over you, incredibly close and intimate... you stuttered on your next words.

"You of all people know well of what my father is capable of."

He looked fierce, enraged as he clenched his jaw. A sudden wave of incredible anger washed over Daemon, but he wouldn't dare to acknowledge his feelings.

"Go to bed, Hightower. It's late already." Was what Daemon said before distancing himself, the ghost of his touch remaining for a few moments. "Search me tomorrow night in the library, I'll be waiting." And with that, he was gone.

You embraced yourself, trying to mimic the pressure of his grasp. The ghost of his hands lingered as you realized, he had never touched you before.

That night you went to bed crying.

────୨ৎ────

You put on a pretty dress just for the night, and you weren't quite sure why. Your excuse was that you had to be a good student and respect the presence of your tutor, but inside you knew... you just wanted to look good for him.

After descending the stairs to the library, you found Daemon already waiting for you.

"At least you’re on time." His voice reverberated in the room, dominating it with his presence.

"My prince… I brought something for you" You offered, closing some distance between you. When you showed him the object you brought, he immediately recognized it. It was the book he had given you as a challenge, many years ago.

"This book... did you manage to read it?" Daemon looked at you with curious eyes.

"Countless times, I already know the meaning of every word in it." Your proudness stamped on your expression.

A grin appeared on his face, he seemed very pleased. "Sȳz riña." (Good girl.) He hissed.

The words had a surprising effect on you, heat spread all over your body... especially in between your legs. Feeling your face turning red, you rapidly turned around and leaned on a shelf, your back facing the prince.

You heard him chuckle lightly and realized he was moving closer, standing right behind you. He moved one strand of your hair that was falling in front of your shoulder and pulled it back gently, the light sudden touch sent shivers down your spine.

Heat was pooling at your core, breathing was quick and erratic... it was useless to deny the effect he had on you.

Deamon whispered in your ear, his deep voice holding you in place. "But there are still many things to learn, Hightower." Moving another strand of hair, he continued. "I could teach you so many things..."

His last words felt like venom spreading through your body, and you were curious to know his intentions.

"Like what, my prince?" You said softly, innocently.

"Whatever you'd like." Another whisper, this time even closer. His lips barely touched your ear, and you shivered.

The possibilities were endless, he could teach you anything, right? So you finally turned to face him, his tall frame towering over you... he was especially close.

"I-I’m… I would… I would like to know more informal language. Words not often used in the texts." You tried to maintain a silent tone of voice, due to the nature of the encounter... and because you suddenly felt extremely shy in his presence.

Daemon smiled, matching your tone while bringing his hands behind his back. "I see… do you have specific words in mind?"

"Hm… insults like… scoundrel or bastard or…" You couldn't bring yourself to say it, but you knew what type of words you truly wanted to learn... you just hoped the prince understood what you meant.

"Or...?" He pressed with an amused expression.

"T-The word you usually use to refer to my father." Offering in defeat, you looked at your feet in shame.

Another chuckle came from the man's mouth, you could hear the satisfaction in his voice. "You mean... cunt?"

You looked up at him, he had a terrible grin splatted on his face. You nodded, confirming his suspicion.

He stood victorious while staring at you with much intensity, head turned to the side like a puppy. "Very well."

────୨ৎ────

You couldn't shake that feeling away, the feeling of being surrounded by Daemon. His brief touches lingered on your skin even after they were gone, desire burning away at your core.

The way he spoke to you, saying such dirty words in Valyrian and expecting you to enunciate them right... you repeated them again and again just to make sure you were correct, and he seemed to be enjoying himself way too much.

You left the lesson with a scarlet red face, embarrassed at the things he made you say... but with heat between your thighs.

The next night you were expected to meet at the library once again to continue your studies, but you had other plans in mind.

That heat was too much to bear, imagination running wild leaving you distracted throughout the whole next day. You needed release.

So when the time came for your encounter, you decided not to go. Instead, you stripped bare and hopped on your bed. You put a pillow between your thighs and started to ride it, seeking sweet relief.

In the meantime, Daemon was growing impatient... so he decided to go after you. He was irritated at your absence and wanted to scold you for it.

But after what he saw when he slowly opened the doors to your chambers, he was left speechless.

You had your back facing him, bouncing on top of a pillow and moaning softly. Your bare back and ass were a delight for his eyes, hair loose and following your movements.

Daemon sat on an armchair directly behind you and continued watching and admiring the view, his growing erection tight in his trousers.

You were almost there, tension building up and tightening your core. You couldn't hold yourself back, all of your mind was taken by visions of him. "D-Daemon... Daemon..."

The prince couldn't help but chuckle, ecstatic at the sound of his name coming from your mouth. An exceptional and welcome surprise that left his mouth agape.

His laugh caught you off guard, making you turn with a shriek. You pulled the covers to hide your chest but he had already seen too much, making you turn red with shame.

"W-What are you doing here?!" You breathlessly said, trying not to scream. No one could see you in that situation, especially with Daemon in your room.

"So that's what you've been up to... a good reason to skip lessons indeed." His predatory eyes stared at your exposed legs, traveling up to meet your eyes. "Touching yourself... thinking about me... how indecent."

"I wasn't- I was not touching myself!" You protested, hiding yourself in shame.

"Oh, alright. You were humping a pillow... serves the same purpose, does it not?" Daemon mocked you, gesturing at the pillow you abandoned next to your legs. "Probably made a mess..."

"Why are you in my chambers?!" You deflected, not wanting to admit your doings.

"I just wanted to confirm the reason why you decided to avert your lesson tonight." He lifted his hands in defeat. "But I see you have more important matters to tend to."

As the prince lifted his hands, you were able to catch a glimpse of his crotch. He was hard, you could see the bulge of his member through his pants.

Daemon caught you staring and gave you a vicious smile. "See something you like, Hightower?"

You swallowed as your mouth started to water, fantasies of him running wild inside your head. You wanted him, and apparently, he wanted you just as much.

"For someone who used to despise me, you seem very content to see me." You decided to taunt him. Even though you were ashamed of being caught in such a manner, you wanted to get what you could from that situation.

"I don't despise you." Daemon admitted. "You irritate me, yes, and your father is a cunt, but..." He seemed to consider carefully his next words. "you were always my favorite."

Electricity ran over your body, a wave of shock immobilizing you. His words... hearing him say you were his favorite filled you with pride. But you didn't feel completely victorious, but curious at best.

“You never treated me as your favorite.” You retorted, remembering the times he would scold you and insult you during lessons.

“Let me make up to you then..." Daemon looked especially predatory, eyes fixated on your body... he was up to no good. "come sit on my lap.”

You softly gasped, surprised at his command. Of course, you wouldn't obey him so easily... but your body betrayed you, wetness pooling between your thighs at the thought of getting on top of him.

“I’m not one of your whores, Daemon.” His name rolled out of your tongue mistakenly, and you soon regretted it when you saw the prince's expression.

“If I wanted to take you as a whore I would have done so ages ago. I had plenty of opportunities.” His stern tone of voice made you shiver once again. He was right, he did have many opportunities... maybe he just needed to know that you desired him.

So you decided to show him how you truly felt.

Slowly, you got up from the bed, letting the blanket that hid your body fall to the floor. Carefully you approached the prince, who observed you in awe.

"Come straddle my thigh, dear. It will feel much better than a pillow..." Daemon muttered, patting his left thigh as an invitation.

You gladly obeyed, mounting on his thigh like a pony with your face facing his. Daemon could already feel your wetness through the fabric of his pants and that made him smile.

"So eager for me, aren't you?" He brushed his rough hand on your cheek, then neck, then one of your breasts. You moaned softly at his touch, never imagining Daemon could be so gentle. His other hand stayed behind your back, grounding you. "Move now, ride me."

And you did as you were told, starting to grind on his upper leg. The friction felt delicious on your pearl, heat building up at your core. You moaned and moaned, not able to maintain eye contact. It felt like too much, a sense of satisfaction and shame ruling at the same time.

"Ñuha gevie riña..." (My beautiful girl...) Said Daemon while exploring your body with his hand. "Ao sagon sīr sȳz syt nyke." (You're so good for me.)

His praise went straight to your sex, you wanted to hear more... wanted to be a good girl for him.

"D-Daemon." You moaned softly, and he couldn't resist any longer. Grabbing a fistful of your hair, he pulled you into a rough, bruising kiss. Your tongues danced in each other's mouths as you tried your best to maintain rhythm.

You took the opportunity to feel his hard member, still trapped in his trousers. He groaned in your mouth, pulling back slightly to speak into your parted lips. "You enjoy my praises, girl? Would you like to hear more?"

"Y-Yes... please..." You finally looked at his eyes, pupils blown wide with desire. His hair was disheveled, lips plush from kissing... he looked so good.

"Take my cock out." He ordered, and like a good girl, you obeyed.

Freeing his member from the layers of fabric, you realized how big he was. Soon your imagination started to go places, fantasizing about how it must feel to have him inside you.

"Now stroke me... like this." His big hand cupped yours and made its way around his cock, guiding you on how to pleasure him.

Soon you found a rhythm, grinding on his thigh while stroking him, and you soon found yourself close to orgasm once more.

"Good girl, just like that." He would say, and with every thrust of your hips you felt it growing, the energy that built up inside you.

"Daemon... Daemon..." You pleaded while looking him in the eyes, knowing how close you were just then.

"Come for me, dear... come for me, (y/n)." Your name coming from his lips was what you needed to finish. Waves of pleasure washed over you as your climax reached its peak. You shouted his name and soon realized how loud you were being, face red in shame and bliss.

Daemon held you in place, anchoring you as you recovered from your high. Your breaths were still frantic, and soon your dizziness started to fade.

"Are you well?" He asked, you nodded. "Go onto your knees, then." His direction was clear, but you didn't know the reason for such a command.

You slowly made your way onto your knees, slotting yourself between his open legs, the mess you made on his thigh in full display now.

His member was close to your face then, and you couldn't hold yourself back. Enveloping your hand around his cock once more, you looked up at Daemon's face before you started to stroke him.

His mouth was slightly agape as he was deeply breathing, almost panting at the sight of you. "What an obedient girl you are for me, (y/n)." Again, the sound of your name made you feel things.

"I-I just..." You felt like confessing, emotions taking over you. "I just want to be good for you, my prince..."

Daemon smiled wickedly, stroking your cheek gently as he leaned down to face you. "Open your mouth, then." You immediately complied, tongue darting out obscenely as you maintained eye contact. "Oh my..."

His thumb traveled to your mouth and pressed on your tongue, you instinctively sucked the digit and he hummed in approval.

"That's my girl... now, keep moving." Your hand worked fiercely on his member, but the friction slowed you down... until you had an idea.

You stopped for a moment and Daemon looked at you in disapproval, but you quickly made your way into your sex. You smeared your wetness into your palm and only then continued to stroke him, coating his member with your slick.

"Ha..." Daemon let out an approving sound, then chuckled darkly in satisfaction. "Vaogenka riña..." (Dirty girl...)

You smiled slyly at him before opening your mouth again, showing him how ready you were.

"So needy, huh?" He teased, making you blush fiercely. "So eager to swallow my seed..."

And with that, he finished with a groan. Strings of his cum made their way into your tongue and chin, and you swallowed his taste like you'd been starving.

"Sȳz riña... sȳz riña." (Good girl... good girl.) Daemon panted, caressing your hair and smiling at you.

"Kirimvose, ñuha dārilaros." (Thank you, my prince.) You whispered, leaning up and joining your lips into a kiss. It was slow, passionate and he could taste himself in your tongue.

"Hmm." You whimpered into his mouth as his hands made their way to your ass, grabbing at the soft skin of your cheeks there.

Daemon pulled back slightly, only enough so he could talk into your lips. "I'll fully take your maidenhood, one day... hear those sweet sounds you make while buried deep inside your cunt."

His obscene words made you gasp, heat spreading inside your core again, To even imagine that... made you feel hot all over.

"You'd have to wed me before that happens." You teased, but Daemon had a serious look on his face.

"I'll see what I can do." Was his response, and a sense of urgency hit you like a brick. Did he actually mean that?

Marrying Daemon... the prince, your tutor, your best friend's uncle! Not even in your wildest dreams you had thought of that possibility, but now...

No, you couldn't have your hopes up. He was only taunting you, right? That was what you thought.

────୨ৎ────

You would never forget the somber expression on your father's face when he told you the news. You were officially bestowed to Prince Daemon, as per the request of the king himself.

"You asked your brother for my hand in marriage?!" You exclaimed in shock, questioning the man you would soon call 'husband'.

"Would your father accept me if I didn't?" Daemon said calmly, contrasting your agitated self.

You were still a bit stunned at the news but deep down felt a happiness you couldn't hold back, smiling at Daemon with true contentment.

He grinned back at you, lifting his hand to hold your chin gently. "Aderī kesā sagon ñuha ābrazȳrys." (Soon you will be my wife.)

Lowering himself to your height, he kissed you slow and tender. When you finally let go of each other, you whispered to him. "Se kesā sagon ñuha valzȳrys." (And you will be my husband.)

—

[cyberrose2001]

Optimus Prime (TFP) and Megatron (TFA) with a human s/o that dirty talks to them in other languages (headcannons pls)

TFP Optimus and TFA Megatron with s/o who talks dirty in other languages (hcs)

Hi! Thanks for requesting! I hope this is what you were after. I left specific languages out so you can insert your own as you please… enjoy! <3

Warnings: GN reader, human reader, nsfw headcanons, general smut, dirty talk.

Word count: 477

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

TFP Optimus

- Optimus often finds beauty in everything; his spark especially has a soft spot for written and spoken languages, being an ex-archivist, after all. When you revealed to him that you could speak several other languages, he was rather impressed.

- He’d sat with you for hours, and his inner love for learning sparked once again as you taught him small phrases and words. Optimus soaked it all in and studied your languages in his spare time, loving your infectious smile when he said ‘I love you’ in one of them.

- When it came to the bedroom, your usual activities started normally, Optimus being on top of you, showering you with kisses and praises.

- While he was slowly grinding his spike into you, you pulled his helm down to whisper something purely erotic into his ear.

- Optimus was initially confused, used to being spoken to in English while in berth, but the words clicked over in his processor, and then he realised you said, ‘Fuck me until you break me’.

- Those words broke something in him, a hidden language kink that he had no idea was hiding within him.

- He finds it outrageously attractive, to the point where he has never wanted to fuck you so hard until all that comes out of your pretty mouth is foreign words.

- From that point on, if you ever wanted to get absolutely railed by Optimus, all you had to do was whisper the most dirtiest things that would make anyone who could speak the language swoon.

TFA Megatron

- When Megatron first heard you speak in a language other than English, he was surprised but not entirely impressed.

- Like, big whoop, you can speak another language, not as impressive as the feats that he has accomplished himself.

- Still, he at least tries to brush aside his ego and applaud you for being somewhat different to most other humans he’s encountered.

- Then again, you’re in a relationship with the bastard, so that’s an impressive feat in itself.

- His opinion changed for the better once while he was fucking you face down on the berth, holding your ass up while he leaned his entire weight over your back.

- While his helm was close enough, you turned your head to the side and moaned, ‘Please fuck me deeper; your spike feels so good inside me’ in your native tongue.

- He sputtered and slowed down, “Wait, what did you just say?”

- He won’t lie; he found it incredibly hot, despite having no idea what you just said, but he got the general sentiment from the tone of voice you spoke in. Desperate and pleading, exactly how he likes you.

- He then proceeded to fuck you into the headboard, curious to see what other profanities he could draw from your drooling lips.

[bettyfrommars]

My Goyle Fiend Part 3: Don't Bother Knocking

gargoyle!Eddie x fem!Reader

WARNING: 18+ONLY

No minors for smut, but also a moment of graphic violence and mention of blood. gargoyle!Eddie, demon!Eddie, Size kink, demon cock, unprotected p in v, mutual masturbation, squirting, monster fucking, creampie, fingering, breeding, possessiveness, demon jealousy. Word count: 1.8k

Part 3.5

Masterlist

-------

You stayed at your aunt’s house for a week, giving yourself over to Goyle; every night he came, and came again. While you were there, a lawyer called to let you know the house had been left to you in the will, which was a bit of a shock, considering you hadn’t visited or stayed in contact with her for almost a decade.

Well, you weren’t her first choice to leave it to, you found out. It was intended for her only son, but he’d recently passed away from unknown causes.

Goyle never stayed with you all night, and you wondered where he flew off to during the day, but you were starting to believe that he could read your thoughts. He couldn’t speak your language, but he could understand your feelings and your needs.

The ex-boyfriend you had recently parted ways with found out where you were and called the house one morning.

“You can’t stay way out in the country in that big house all by yourself. I’m going come out there and make sure you’re okay.” He demanded. Your ex had always been a bully, and when he wanted to pull you back into his life, he masked the emotional abuse as concern for you.

“That’s really not necessary,” you told him, thinking about what Goyle would do if another man showed up. “It’s not a good idea.”

You hoped that was the end of it; but you knew better.

That night, you were naked on the bed, touching yourself to the thought of Goyle while the flames crackled in the fireplace. You knew he was coming for you because your nipples ached, and your cunt prepared that natural slick as his body called to yours.

You planted your feet on the bed, sticking three fingers in your hole as you arched up, missing how his demon cock filled you, fucking yourself, moaning his name, while your other hand swiped at your clit. You were pounding your fingers into the last knuckle when he appeared on the balcony and came through, an evil smile lifting one side of his mouth.

“Baby,” you mewed, turning your head to look at him as you bit your lip, sliding your fingers up through your swollen, wet folds as your legs fell open, begging for him.

Goyle seemed to understand and like what you were doing, and his heavy footfalls shook the room as he came up next to the bed, fisting his shaft. Some of the features in his face had softened to resemble a human man; they were small changes, but you noticed them all the same.

He bucked his pointed chin at you, urging you to continue with a grunt as he rolled his clawed hand around the tip of his cock.

“You like watching me?” You whimpered as you buried your fingers inside your sopping wet hole again, spread your knees wide so he could see what he was doing to you.

Goyle wet his lips with his long, forked tongue, golden brown eyes widening as his hips bucked his veiny cock into his hand, wetting it with his own precum, growling as he watched you. His long dark hair hanging down his curved horns, along his face, over his shoulders.

Your pussy rippled around your fingers, and your arousal foamed at your entrance from all of the friction; your toes curling into the mattress. Goyle barked a few words in a foreign language, coming closer so that his shins hit the bed, aiming the head of his cock at your belly.

You whined, watching him work his cock faster, closing in on his release just as you felt the walls crash around your fingers, and you babbled, letting the coil unravel and bend you back, quivering. “Fuck, baby I’m cumming so hard…”

And then Goyle bellowed a dark growl and worked the tip with purpose, milking hot ropes of cum from your breasts to your belly. You picked his spend up with your fingers, sliding it up to your mouth to taste it, sucking your fingers clean, and then rubbed the rest of it all over your tits and down into your tender folds as your orgasm ebbed.

But Goyle could never go a day without finishing inside of you. That night, for the first time, he held you in his arms, and you clung to his neck as he flew you down to the garden where you’d first made love. It was a warm night, and you were naked, but there was no one on the property for miles. If someone were to show up and see you naked? You didn’t know what Goyle would do.

He sat on the stone bench near the roses and had you straddle his lap, facing him, and he spread your cheeks wide so you could sit down on his cock.

Even though you should’ve been used to it, you shivered at the girth of his tip yet again. “You’re so big, baby,” you whined.

The bright stars and the crescent moon were the only witnesses as your eager juices dripped down his cock to his stone-smooth balls. He braced his huge hands on your hips, claws digging into your flesh, as you held on to his shoulders and kissed his soft, growling mouth. He inched you down his shaft and you whimpered his name over and over, eagerly stretching out to take all of him again.

You were halfway down his engorged cock, flats of your feet on the stone bench, when he coaxed your torso back to rub your bundle of nerves with his thumb, eager to pull another orgasm out of you.

“Baby...fuck!” you cried out as you bottomed out in his lap, bobbing up and down to ride him, tossing your head, frothing at the cunt. You tried to lean forward and kiss him, but he held you there so he could watch your face as he worked your pleasure button. His other hand was at your back, holding you in place. You plucked at your nipple as you rode him, and you could tell Goyle liked it by the way he tilted his pelvis up to buck against you, barking words you were familiar with now, but still did not understand.

He replaced his thumb with the pads of two of his thick fingers and he swiped faster, once again somehow listening to your thoughts or instinctively knowing what you needed. “Yes baby yes!” you coaxed as you slammed down against him over and over, wet and messy, making juicy noises, the tip of his cock dialing into your g-spot like a hammer.

At the moment you could feel your orgasm approaching, there was also another feeling, like a sudden pressure; a violent release about to happen. Your breath hitched as you pushed up from the balls of your feet to fuck fast on his cock a few more times as Goyle worked your clit, “Oh my god! Baby just like that...fuck! I think I’m going to…”

You were screaming as your pussy exploded around him and your cum sprayed out. Goyle grunted, and you sat down, burying him deep, more cum squirting over his cock and his chiseled stomach, and a blinding orgasm wrecked you, making you spasm and wail, losing your mind for how ever long it carried you.

With his cock still inside, Goyle took you to the grass so he could finish there, his wings making a mighty swooping sound behind him. You held the back of your knees up, spreading yourself open for him as he leaned forward to pound his demon cock into you with alien force. He took one of your nipples into his mouth and sucked there while he jack-hammered his hips, his dark hair brushing your shoulders. You could feel yourself scooting along the ground from the impact as he worked you like a rag doll.

He liked to look into your eyes when he filled you up, and that is what he did, choking a bit on guttural noises of his release, rocking so that his seed went as deep in as possible. When he was finished, he sat back to take his length out to see how full he made you, and then he pressed the head of his cock up through your folds, mingling his cum with yours.

You fell asleep with your head on his chest in the garden, and you woke up to the sound of car wheels on the gravel in front of the house.

You snapped awake to find that Goyle was gone, but you were still naked with demon cum dripping out of your hole, and there was, indeed a car that had just pulled up the driveway between the house and the gardens. You figured you’d just hide until they left, but it was too late---you’d already been spotted. You frantically looked around for Goyle, but he wasn’t in the garden or perched on the rafters of the house.

Your ex boyfriend entered the archway of the garden and crossed his arms. “What the hell are you doing out here? Why don’t you have any clothes on?”

You got to your feet, trying to cover your private parts with your hands, but it was no use. “You need to leave,” you told him. It was for his own good, but you had a feeling he wouldn’t listen; he’d never been a fan of boundaries or consent.

He dropped his arms and started toward you at a fast pace. “I’m not going anywhere until…”

His next words were garbled as his whole body rose up off the ground, lifted by a sharp object that had pierced through his back to the front of his chest, turning the front of his shirt dark red. His eyes went wide as his mouth filled with blood and he choked, limbs quivering as he was impaled right before your eyes.

It was Goyle’s spade tail that had ripped through your ex’s stomach like a long, thick sword, and Goyle said a few ancient, demonic words to him as he watched the human die, before he retracted his tail like a whip and let the other man’s body slump to the ground. Before Goyle, you might’ve looked away as your demon lover bent over the body to rip your ex’s throat out with his claws, but you didn’t mind watching this time.

You warned him not to show up. He should’ve listened.

[statusexile]

Got Milk?

Summary: You have some of the wildest sexual fantasies all your life, but only Ghost and Konig could make it all come true.

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader x Konig

Warnings: afab reader, sub!Ghost and Konig, polyamorous relationship, age play, age gap (reader in their 20s, Ghost and Konig in their early 40s), lactophilia, mutual masturbation, fingering, squirting, exhibitionist, golden shower, reader is highkey a nymphomaniac lmao, overall nasty nasty stuffs.

Word count: 2,010 words

NSFW. MDNI!

a/n: Please don’t take any medication without consulting a doctor first! Also this is my first ever fanfic so any suggestion and feedback is welcome 😊

You are a depraved person. Or at least, that’s who you think you are.

You are, however, not always like this. Not in the beginning, anyway. When you hit the ripe age of puberty, you started to feel something changes from the inside of your body. You start bleeding every month, there’s hair starting to grow in some parts of your body, the shape of your breasts start changing. It’s fine, you knew all about it, it’s all written in the science book from your school.

There’s something inside you that’s brewing. Something that you couldn’t explain and it’s not on the science book that you’ve been reading. So, you look for answers on the internet. Your parents have been so busy all your life so you basically have access to the internet, unsupervised, during your entire teenage hood. Until one day you accidentally saw someone on social media sharing a picture of their cock. It awakens something in you. That day, you finally find the answer that you’ve been looking for.

You finally find out that there such things as porn site, the place where people took off their clothes and have sex with each other. You also know what sex is, that’s what people do when they want to have children. But you don’t know it was going to be this hot. You could feel something between your legs, some kind of thing that wants to be released. So, you started touching that damp part between your legs, flicking this bud inside them, rubbing them continuously with your own fingers. God, it feels so good, so you keep rubbing them over and over again until something inside you started building and it exploded as you keep going.

You reached your first orgasm, and it was probably one of the best feelings that you ever felt. And now, you want more.

As you grew older, there’s not a single day where you didn’t spend at least half an hour watching porn every day. You need your daily dose of dopamine hit every day. It made you feel good, you loved the feeling every time you reach your climax, it does something to your body that you could never get enough. But as time passed, the type of porn that you usually watch couldn’t please you as much as they used when you first started watching them. It becomes monotone, just another people thrusting each other, making each other moans and grunts, yada-yada-yada, they hit their climax and done. You want more. God, you always want more, nothing is ever enough for you, you’re thinking that you’re practically insatiable at this point.

Until you find that there’s types of porn videos that… intrigues you. At first, you find it by coincidence, after clicking so many next pages when you tried to find something that could make you come like it used to. It was in a very low quality and have very few viewers, the title is also in some foreign language you couldn’t understand, and the actors are also speaking in foreign language, too. But goodness gracious, it was so fucking hot. Something that so sick to you at the time, where you see the girl is being peed on by so many men, basically showering in them. Made you feel so sick, it was so fucking disgusting, but at the same time it turns you on so fucking much. You want to be that girl so fucking much it hurts. After that you find so many videos of sexual fetishes and kinks you didn’t know about. Many people find it as sexual deviant, but not to you. It was practically the most perfect thing that any human being could do.

You came so much your body started trembling after watching that video, it was so good, just like the first time you have an orgasm. But now, you want more. And you want a real thing this time.

You have boyfriends in the past, you never been a hypersexual girl to other people because you always keep your image like a normal girl, you have sex with your boyfriends but none of them seems to please you like you want to. You can’t even come properly because they finished too soon, let alone fulfilling all your crazy sexual dreams. They only prioritize their own pleasure on top of yours. Reminds you of that one song where the singer sings about boys their own age doesn’t know how to treat and touch them right.

It all changes in one single night. That night, you struck an absolute gold.

You went clubbing with your friends. Club has never been your scene, you prefer to stay at home if you could but you don’t want to disappoint them, so you tag along. You could see your friends absolutely having a blast on the dance floor, moving their body to the beat, while you sat at the bar, drinking your cola instead of alcohol since you always find the taste of them disgusting and wondering why people like them so much. But soon you feel two pairs of eyes piercing into you, the gaze of two tall men, standing before you with hulking forms that strained their clothing. Both of them wearing mask, only leaving their eyes exposed. You could feel their stare boring into you. It was the hottest feeling in the entire world.

Soon, the two men approached you, asking to buy you a drink. You said no, but ask them to stick around. After some times talking, you found out that both men are in the military and they’re currently on a break from touring. You could feel the sexual tension in the air when you’re speaking with them, but one thing led another, and the next thing you know you’re sandwiched between them in the back of the club, both of them absolutely ravaging you like starving animals. They asked you to come home with them, and you said yes. The next thing you know you woke up in Ghost’s house, feeling absolutely worn because both men absolutely drained your energy from hours of sex and you came five times last night you seriously think that you’re gonna pass out from dehydration from non-stop squirting they made you do.

You can’t get enough of them, so you asked them to be with you, to make it an exclusive relationship between three of you. They said yes, but you didn’t know that your life will change forever.

At first the three of you are just having regular sex, it was always hot, they got stamina as fucking beast and you’re trying not to pass out every time you had sex with them. It lasted for hours most of the time, and it was everything you could ever dream off in your entire life. After few months, you decide to tell them that you have some ‘ideas’ to spice your relationship. It all started with having sex in a mall parking lot, fitting rooms now you’re fucking them out in the beach on the weekend where it was absolutely crowded with people, and they might catch three of you fucking in public place soon. But fuck it, right? The thrill of getting caught made three of you getting even more turned on.

One fucked up thing led to another, now you’re basically the girl from the porn video that you watched, the one that absolutely get golden showered by a lot of men. One time, you let Ghost and Konig showering you with their urine. You could feel the warm liquid drenching you from your head to toe, as you sit on the floor, feeling like you’re in heaven. Fuck, maybe you’re already dead and this is heaven. At first, you thought that they will be disgusted by you at this point, but you surprised that they actually into them as well. They also told that girls your age made them excited about life again, and they down to do anything that you want.

Bing-fucking-go.

At this point, there’s nothing you haven’t had with them and nothing they haven’t done to you. Everyday is an adventure with them, it’s exciting, and three of you are like animals when it come to sex. So, you’re always trying to find something new to bring to the table. The sky is the limit at this point. Soon you find out that there’s such thing as induced lactation as this usually done by adoptive parents who want to breastfeed their children. But of course, considering how insatiable you are, you also want this too. The thought of breastfeeding your men turns you on so much, so you look on the internet how can you induce lactation on yourself. Soon you find out that there’s medication for that and there are techniques that you can do such as massaging and pumping your own breasts. You do what the internet told you to do, and of course you do every single things that you read. Now you only need to find the right timing to do the act itself.

It was a quiet Sunday morning, as the three of you just wake up from your slumber. Sitting in dining room with the men, drinking their coffee, until Konig suddenly asked what should they have for breakfast, and you suddenly blurted out, “How about me for breakfast?”

The men, of course, pick up the cue right after you told them, both of them dragging you back to bedroom, stripping you naked then pushed you to the bed. You told them to strip their clothes as well and lay next to you.

You could feel Ghost fingers starting to caress your already damp cunt, as Konig fondling your breast and peppering your neck with kisses and nibbling them. You moan from the intense pleasure they’re giving you, but then you want them to start sucking your tits. “Your wish is our command, princess”, they said as the latch their mouth on your tits, sucking them like a starving baby. Ghost still pumping his fingers inside of your cunt as you stroke both of their strobing cocks at the same time.

In no time you started lactating your milk, thanks to your effort prepping them beforehand. The men are surprised in the beginning but tasting your breastmilk in their mouth and it made them so fucking hard. “Suck my tits, let me breastfeed you like a baby”, you said as you still pumping your hands on their cocks. The men sucked on your tits like their lives depend on it. Lapping all your milk that feels like coming out nonstop.

“I love it when you treat us like babies, mommy”, Konig said while he’s flicking your nipples and sucking on them, make sure he doesn’t let out a single drop from his mouth. On the other hand, you could hear Ghost muttering “You’re a fucking disgusting little cunt” under his breath as he keeps doing the same thing as Konig while pumping his fingers inside you mercilessly.

It doesn’t take a very long before you could feel your orgasm approaching, the overstimulation from the men milking your tits dry and Ghost’s thick fingers inside you make it unbearable. You could feel the men’s cocks started twitching in your hands as well.

Three of you came at the same time, you jerk your head back as you could feel the intense feeling of orgasm they gave you, Ghost keeps pumping his fingers inside of you, make sure to let it all out as you squirted so hard, drenching the bedsheet. The men shoot out their thick white liquid in your hands as you keep pumping them, hitting their orgasm as well as they still latching to your tits.

You finally came down from the high, as you kiss both men on the lips, telling how good they are for you today, whispering sweet nothings in their ears, as they cuddle to you, holding you tight.

This is perfect, and it doesn’t get any better than this, you muttered to yourself.

---

Reblog and likes is always appreciated. Thank you for reading!

[justallihere]

20 Questions for the Writers Tag Game!

I was tagged by @widebrimmedhatsblog

1. Total number of AO3 works

8!

2. Total AO3 word count

291,174

3. Fandoms I've written for

The only thing I've ever really published that's been popular is The Empyrean. I have a couple ACOTAR ideas but they've never seen the light of day

4. Top 5 fics by kudos

storm in the quiet (5,357)

simmer (609)

invisible in a violet sea (515)

violence in my veins (499)

somehow i still love you more (499)

5. Do I respond to comments?

....sometimes. Generally no because I'm really horrible at making time for it. But know that I read them all over and over again!! I'm trying to be better

6. What has the angstiest ending?

Everything that's currently posted has a happy ending. Storm in the quiet has the most angst overall, and some people might find the ending angsty but I don't think it is lol

7. What has the happiest ending?

Probably somehow i still love you more. Just Xaden and Violet and their baby, living their happy lives 😌

8. Have I received hate?

Not really! A couple people here and there who I think either didn't get the point of some of my work or it wasn't their thing and they told me about it anyway, but no outright hate

9. Do I write smut? And what kind?

Yes. Anything with a praise kink basically

10. Do I write crossovers?

Nope.

11. Have I ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of!

12. Have I ever had a fic translated?

Not yet! Maybe someday someone will want to.

13. Have I ever co-written a fic?

I have not. I'm so particular about my writing I don't know how it would go for me lol

14. What is my all time favorite ship?

For the Empyrean, Riorgail are my babies 🥰

15. A WIP I'll never finish?

Uh I started a Violet/Aaric fic set during Iron Flame that I don't think I'll ever pick back up

16. Writing strengths?

Dialogue and probably descriptions? I love taking the time to describe what the characters are seeing and feeling

17. Writing weaknesses?

Any type of action/fight scene. I hate it so much

18. Do I like foreign language dialogue?

A lot of untranslated dialogue when I'm reading takes me out of the story because I have to keep translating it myself. As far as writing, I don't really write it because I don't speak other languages besides English, so I wouldn't want to get it wrong

19. First fandom I wrote for?

I think it was PJO way back in the day? It never got published

20. Favorite fic I've written?

storm in the quiet. It's so long but it's really been a labor of love and the response I've gotten to it isn't something I'll ever forget. It's been an incredible experience sharing it with everyone 💕

I don't have anyone to tag so if you want to participate please do!!!

[gretavanlace]

Decorum and Refinement

Jake Kiszka/Oliver Reed x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, language, alcohol consumption, dirty talk, degradation, praise, foreign objects, fingering, oral sex (f/m r), terrible English accent/diction (bc come on, it’s Oliver), etc.

“Do you think you guys’ll ever do the whole masterclass thing again?” The thought, that has been bouncing around in your mind for most of the drive home, spills from your lips before you have a chance to think better of it.

His head swivels over in your direction, but you keep your eyes on the road. “I dunno.” Lazily, he sips at the whiskey he shouldn’t be enjoying in the passenger seat. “Why? That’s a strange question.”

“You would know.” You smile, stealing a quick glance over at him. He looks sinful, relaxed back in his seat, legs spread wide, cut-crystal glass he stole from Josh’s sweating in his hand.

“Why would I know?” He grins back. “Are you trying to imply that I’m strange?”

“No!” Your inflection is exaggerated to showcase the lie. “Would I ever say something like that about you, Jake? My beloved. My prince. Love of my life. Keeper of my—“

“Oh, shut up.” He laughs, cutting you off. “And stop dodging. Why’d you ask?”

Now it’s your turn to shrug. “Just making conversation.”

“That’s not true at all.” He challenges. “You never speak just to make noise. Like that about you. Now, out with it.”

“Cal.” You sigh dreamily. “That chef’s hat really does it for me. And when he yelled at the fly? The aggression? Irresistible!”

“Yeah?” He’s in on the joke and playing along. “Verbal attacks against insects kink? Wonder if there’s a name for that?”

“Oh sure…there’s a convention every year, too. You should come scream at some ants with me.”

He takes a long swig of his drink, draining it to the dredges and then lowers his tone. “Yes, thank you, darling. That sounds lovely.”

A shiver tickles up your spine as Oliver peeks out, but he pretends not to notice, and you pretend it hasn’t happened.

You’re safe with Jake, and he is always more than willing to dip into uncharted waters with you…but it’s inexplicably embarrassing; this thing you have for his ridiculous alter-ego.

The way he speaks, so grizzled and rough. Seemingly hardened from years of cigars and Jack. Harsh and clipped, unbothered by anyone’s bullshit.

The swagger in his walk, like he knows everyone in the room wants to fuck him and he hasn’t the time to deal with them, but he’ll give ‘em a bit of a show anyway.

The accent. Even though it’s barely passable at times. A cobbled together mix of dialect he’s picked up through movies and travel, and bits that don’t really make much sense at all, at times. But even that seems terribly Oliver. As if he’s said, “Well, alright then, I’m English, but I’m not like the rest of these cunts.”

That stupid cane. That stupid, unbelievably sexy, fucking cane.

~

Now, standing in your kitchen, sifting through a stack of mail, you wonder where he’s gone. Normally he’s a touch clingy after he’s had a round or two, or seven, with his brothers, but he disappeared nearly as soon as the two of you walked in the door.

Likely to his music room to pluck away at an acoustic. Winding down for the night with a vinyl spinning softly in the corner. You’ll go and find him soon, maybe lie down on the crushed velvet couch and let him play you to sleep.

The thought, too cozy to resist, sends you wandering up the stairs, only to find the room dark and quiet. He isn’t there, but the room is so Jake, you’re drawn inside anyway.

It smells of him. The piney scent of gin and sap-dripping trees, beaten up leather, linen, metallic strings…

You wander through, ghosting your fingers over instruments in the moonlight streaming through the windows he fought to leave untreated. “No curtains in this one.” He’d argued. “We’ll let the outside in as it sees fit.”

Your touch lands on a row of guitars, lightly skimming the tops. Electric, acoustic, steel…then moves along to the nomads. The instruments he loves, but leaves to lie in wait. Ukulele, banjo, mandolin, lute, sitar…

A gorgeous, posh, cello waits in the corner regally. He swears one day he’ll teach himself to play it. Just as he promises of the violin resting, beautifully neglected, in its case.

You don’t fault or tease him for these two…if the instrument boasts strings, Jake is drawn to it and hungry to take it home.

“Look at this!” The memory fondly floats into your mind. “It’s called a Balalaika!” He’d reached out for your hand, guiding you to strum over it. “It’s Russian…I ordered it from that place downtown months ago, and it finally came in…listen.” A jaunty little tune had sounded out as his fingers excitedly worked it over.

A soft knock on the open door startles you out of your thoughts and sends you spinning around to find Jake leaning against the door frame.

Only, it isn’t Jake. Not quite…

“So sorry to scare you, love,” He raps the end of his cane against the wooden floor absentmindedly, “But I thought I’d let you know that Jacob is, unfortunately, indisposed for the evening. He thought I might keep you company instead.”

He figured it out. Worked to connect the pieces in that brilliant, pretty head of his. Of course he did.

Gaze drinking him in, you feel parched rather than satiated…he looks like a drunken pirate who has done his best to look presentable for an event at which he fully plans on creating a scene.

Rumpled vest layered over a wrinkled button-up, which is anything but buttoned up. Layers of necklaces swaying gently against his bare chest. Cuffed trousers that highlight the anklet that drives you wild, though you can’t decide why. Scuffed, but clearly expensive loafers made of buttery soft leather…worn out in the most perfect way.

“Look all you like, darling.” He sighs, waving his hand around as though he’s royalty, “I am merely a gallery for the female gaze. Male, too, come to think of it. I suppose I just like to be looked at.”

Your cheeks flush with heat…this is silly, right? So why is your pulse pounding in your ears? Amongst other places… “Jake,”

He saunters forward and tilts your chin up with the glossy handle of his cane “I’m sorry, but I’ve already told you. Jake’s not here. Try and keep up, girl, ‘right?”

Hands now clutched around the lapels of his vest you tuck your chin submissively against his cane and finally allow it to sigh off of your tongue… “Hello, Oliver.”

“Hello, love.” He raises your face a touch higher, until he can brush his lips over yours. “If I wasn’t so fond of our boy, I might fuck his pretty thing right here. His favorite room…his favorite girl,” He reaches down and cups his warm palm over your cunt, “Wouldn’t that be bloody dreadful of me?”

“I won’t tell him.” You breathe, sinking into the narrative.

“Oh, I’ve got a wretched little witch in my arms, don’t I?” he’s walking you backwards now, leading you towards the wall. “Willing to let Oliver slip it inside like a common whore when Jacob just loves you so much? Naughty. Disgusting. Vile.”

The air knocks out of your lungs as your back hits the wall. “Dirty girl thinks she needs a bit of cock, when what she really needs is a priest to absolve her of all this sin. Shall I call Father Sam? You can repent and say your Hail Marys and then ruin all your hard work on your knees for me.”

“Fuck repenting…” your legs wrap around his waist, searching for friction. “I’ll go to hell and burn for you.”

“Wonderful,” he takes pity and grinds against your cunt. “I’ll see you there…we’ll rot together.”

His hand is wandering down now, between the two of you, seeking to disappear into your jeans, which you wish would also disappear. “Jake…please, just fucking touch me.”

“Now, now…” he tsks. “That’s all wrong, innit it, girl? Can you say it right for me? Behave for Oliver and stop thinking with your head, hmm? Think with that pretty cunt… my bet’s she knows who she wants.”

A noise you would absolutely die if you ever had to admit to, sounds out of you. “Touch me, Oliver…please…I need it…”

His fingers inch away from where you need them most, “Where?” He circles your belly button. “Right here? You know, I’m bit drunk, darling…a touch inebriated. So sorry to ask, but, I’ll need you to be specific.”

Another moan of frustration escapes you.

“C’mon then…” now his hands are shoving your shirt up. “Tell Oliver what you need.” He tugs your tits free and a raspy laugh greets them like he’s never laid eyes upon them before “Hello, dolls. Beautiful.”

His mouth is suddenly relentless. Licking and sucking and groaning softly against your nipples as you pant and silently pray for his cock to force him into further action.

“Tell me where.” He mouths around your nipple.

“You know where.” Your hands are in his hair now…tugging and pulling.

He drops to his knees and yanks your jeans down to your ankles, taking your panties along with them. “Well hello, lovely girl.” He growls out, nuzzling his nose against your clit. “Name’s Oliver, and I’m about to show you a fucking fantastic time.”

You’re propped against a wall, in this seemingly sacred room where he creates, writhing and whining with your panties at your feet while he carries on a little conversation with your aching pussy. You wish you could say that you feel badly for it, but you’ve never been the best liar.

“You’ve met my mate Jacob…” he continues. “Nice enough, but…” his tongue swirls over your clit and a sob rips from your chest. “Bit upper crust, isn’t he?”

“Darling…” He looks up, drawing you into the conversation he’s been having with your desperate cunt.

“Our Jakey…does he do this for you? Does he get on his knees to kiss her as sweet as she deserves?” His eyes, clear and unashamed of the depravity of it all, stare up at you.

“Yes…” it trembles out weakly as you try your hardest to force him in closer.

“Ahh…” he sounds very proud of Jake, indeed. “That’s my boy.”

Momentarily, you adopt an accent of your own. “He’s lovely, Oliver. Now, give us a kiss.”

“M’only regret is that I’ve shaved.” He drags his finger over his smooth jawline and kisses at your clit. “Might’ve been nice to smell as pretty as you do all night.”

“Couldn’t find the beard?” You tease breathily.

He winks up at you in confirmation and promptly buries his face between your thighs, sucking softly until your legs are struggling under the weight of your quivering body.

“Take me over to the couch.” You whisper, imagining the gentle kiss of velvet against your flushed skin.

“Sofa.” He corrects as though he’s lord of the manor. Then he’s on his feet, sweeping you off of yours, as if you are the lady of said manor. “You damned Americans. Common. The lot of you.”

He deposits you tenderly, but orders roughly, “Let’s get rid of this nonsense…” gesturing dismissively at your state - half-dressed and disheveled. “I’d like to get on with it.”

His cane has somehow found its way home, nestled in his grip. He catches you staring at it as you hastily strip as instructed.

“That was a mistake, girl…” he taunts. “You should learn to hold those filthy cards closer to your chest. Spread your legs, love. Let Oliver see tonight’s stage.” He bows gently, “I am but a thespian.”

You open wide for him, spreading until your hips flare with a dull ache. “Please, Mr. Reed…make me feel good. Jake never has to know.”

“I think someone who’s about to fuck herself with my cane deserves to address me a little less formally, don’t you, darling?”

The smug smile swept across his lips makes you want to cry tears of frustration…he is just so fucking beautiful. Instead, you moan wantonly at the mere thought.

“Nasty little bit likes that, doesn't she?” He’s really leaning into it now. “Wants Oliver’s cane right in her sweet, pink, cunt? You look so tight, think you can even take it, love?”

He speaks as if he’s never been inside you before…fingers tucked in, fucking against the perfect spot. Cock stuffed inside, making you see stars and wishing for it to never end.

He returns the nod you offer.

“Right then,” he tosses the cane at you and you, thankfully, catch it like a pro. “On with it.”

You’re so lost in him you begin inching the bottom closer to yourself, but he puts a quick stop to it. “No, sweetheart, what’s been on the ground doesn’t deserve the perfection you’ve got there between those thighs. Handle, yeah?”

Eyes on his, you guide the handle to your mouth, licking and sucking it as if you aren’t already so dripping wet it’ll slip right inside.

“Thank you, Oliver.” You fix your fucked out doe eyes on his blushing face.

“What for, little love?” He asks - a bit of cockney coloring that ramshackle accent of his.

“For letting me use your cane.” You clarify with put-on innocence. “I just need to cum so badly.”

“S’that right?” He taps his foot, pupils blown as he moves in closer. “Pretty thing just needs to cum so badly?”

“So badly.” The cool handle of his cane begins nudging at your entrance.

“Go on, then, Miss America…” he rasps. “Let’s treat her right, shall we? Together? Can’t have you running back to tell Jacob I made you do all the work, now can I?”

“Thought we weren’t telling Jacob?” You smile softly.

“Oh, my dear girl.” He smiles right back. “You think he doesn’t know your body well enough to know when you’ve gotten off properly? Even when you’re all alone and you think it’s a secret. He knows, love…he knows.”

“How does he know?” You slip his cane inside and bite back a whimper.

“I’m not exactly in the habit of asking him about his beautiful girl and how he knows when she’s enjoyed an orgasm…but I s’pose I could guess if you’d like.”

“Yeah…” your back arches away from the couch as you slide against a particularly sensitive spot inside with his cane. Fuck, with his cane…the vulgarity of it makes you tremble.

“Alright then, love…” he sinks to his knees before you and kitten licks at your clit. “If I had to make an educated guess - and I’m very educated - I’d venture that you might get a bit…loose limbed, yeah? Languid and gentle. The prettiest baby…”

“Whose fucking baby is this?!” You interject, with the smallest of giggles, because you just can’t help it, and he gives you a look that could kill.

“Settle down.” His fingers swat at your thigh just hard enough to sting.

“Did I ruin the mood?” You tease.

In response, he slides his cane out, replacing it with two long, warm, fingers to find you soaked and squeezing. “Doesn’t feel like you’ve ruined anything at all. What a pretty little wreck she is. How’s Jakey boy ever get anything done?”

Your hands are buried in his hair again, yanking him in until his mouth is kissing, soft and hot, along your neck. “I have to force him to leave me alone. He wants it all the time.”

His fingers are moving inside of you like heaven…circling and massaging against that perfect place, rather than fucking in and out. “S’that right? Just wants to live buried inside this tight little cunt, does he? Can’t say I blame him.”

Grinding shamelessly into his hand, you pitch your voice gentle and quiet, in the way you know he can’t resist “You wanna fuck me and find out why?”

“You couldn’t handle it, darling.” His teeth sink deliciously into your throat until you shudder and pull at fistfuls of his tangled hair. “Oliver’s not got a gentle bone in his body. I’d tear Jacob's pretty girl apart.”

Your shoulders shiver, his voice, like cashmere over sandpaper, huffing so menacingly in your ear. “Oh, someone likes that…” you can hear the half-smirk in his tone, though your eyes have fluttered closed.

“Tell Oliver how much your pretty cunt loves him already. Does she, darling?” You can’t help the way you clench around his fingers any more than you can help the ragged sound that gasps from your parted lips. “Hmm, feels like she does. I said, tell me.”

Tears are burning in your eyes, he’s gotten you so close, but he’s holding back just enough to keep you right there, watching you intently, eyes trained for your body’s tells.

“I need more,” the tears are falling now, and you know he adores every single one of them. “Need to cum.”

Instead, he slows down even more and lessens the pressure. “Does he let you act like a brat, or’s the pleasure all mine? I asked you for something, and I expect you to give it to me.”

“Yes…” you nod frantically, lifting your head to find his eyes. He offers a lazy wink like a smug bastard. “She loves you, Oliver.”

But it isn’t good enough. “Who loves me?”

“My cunt…” you rush on, eager to give him what he wants in order to get what you’re after. “She loves you. Now, please, baby…c’mon.”

“S’right she does. Just look at her soaking my hand so pretty. Sucking my fingers in. Greedy little baby, isn’t she?”

“Please?” You whine pathetically and he hums in approval.

“Love a girl with manners.” He’s teasing now, with both his words and too gentle touch. “Reminds me of a someone I used to know, she’d beg so nicely for my cum whenever she was thirsty.”

Your nails dig into his wrist in warning and it sparks a laugh out of him. “Jacob didn’t tell me you had such a jealous streak, girl. I like that very much.”

Finished with his games, you reach down and find your clit, stroking quick, slick circles over it. Writhing and panting, trying to get there before he stops you.

Rather than scolding, he praises, as his fingers begin moving with a purpose deep inside you. “That’s it, darling. So pretty. Show me what a filthy girl you are. Take what you need.”

“Faster…” you breathe, barely making a sound as your head drops back, expression twisted up in bliss. “Fuck me faster.”

His hand quickens, working into you at a lightning fast pace until your thighs are shaking and the nails of your free hand are raking over the upholstery.

Here, love…” he hands you his cane to grip instead. “Let’s not ruin the velvet, right?”

All thought has sizzled apart in your brain, so you nod aimlessly and grab it up in your frantic grip, squeezing around it so hard it stings your palm, though you don’t much register it.

“Gonna cum,” you manage to whisper.

“Let’s have it then.” He encourages, reaching up to stroke your cheek as he twists his wrist, scissoring those perfect fingers inside your fluttering cunt. “Come on, darling, let’s go.”

That’s what does it. It isn’t his hand, or even your own, that finally pushes you over the edge, it’s those gravley, coaxing words, in that fucking addicting accent. It’s Oliver, he’s what does it.

A near scream moans out of you, and he’s suddenly wrenching the cane out of your hand, only to place it between your teeth; a makeshift bit as he growls into your ear. “Keep quiet, girl. What if he’s back? Wouldn’t want him to hear your cumming all over Oliver’s hand like a whore, would you?”

You thrash and fight through your orgasm beneath him, teeth sinking marks into the wood stifling your incoherent cries.

“S’good, sweetheart. That’s lovely. Plan to shut that pretty mouth up with my cock next. Would you like that? Has he throat trained his gorgeous girl yet? Will you be able to swallow me right down?”

He knows you’re too gone to answer, he’s simply winding you tighter, working you through, but keeping you stirred up enough that you’ll be eager to suck him off rather than float off to sleep, after. Clever, devious, delectable, man.

You’ve pushed him away and fallen to your knees the second you can breathe again.

“Love a pretty girl on her knees.” He muses, brushing the hair away from your blushing face. “My cock hurts from watching you. You’re a dream when you cum, love.”

The metal of his belt clinks into the room like wind chimes as you pull it open. “Can I fix it?”

His response comes lazing out, thick with accent, with a Jack Sparrow wave of his hand “You may.”

You pull his cock into the cool night air and sigh, “Its so pretty.” And it is, it really fucking is.

Licking a warm, wet stripe along the side, you end with a swirl just below the tip, smiling when a shiver rattles through him.

“Is that the spot right there, Oliver?” You purr as if you don’t know. “Does that feel good?”

“Perfect, darling.” A tiny pant of a breath escapes him, making you crave more.

Sucking him in softly with a warm kiss, you wait until his hands find your hair with a tug, and then swallow him down to the base - allowing a gag just to let him feel your throat constrict around him.

With a choked groan, he holds your head still and buries in a little deeper. “So he did train you…or is this natural talent?”

He knows the answer as well as you. And you flush with heat at the countless memories of him nudging further and further down your throat; gently teaching you how to take a bit more each night until you could welcome him in one go without batting an eye.

Still, he pulls you off and tilts your head up by your hair, raising a brow in question.

“He taught me.” You blink up innocently. “I didn’t know how before, but he was so patient with me while I learned. Let me show you.”

“Jesus, fuck.” Jake appears for just a split second before he shakes it off.

Back in character now, he pulls you back down around him. “Go on, then, love. Swallow it down nice and sweet.”

You pull out every stop, every trick in the book. Every little thing that has ever made him moan in surprise, or thrust into your mouth…he gets it.

Your nose is pressed against the soft plush of his stomach when his fingers tighten in your hair. “That’s so good, darling. You’re so good. Gonna hold you still, fuck that pretty face, that alright, love?”

You nod eagerly around him and swallow just to feel his body tense up in pleasure. You get your wish and beam inwardly with pride.

“Did that on purpose, dinnit you, girl?” He hisses, grabbing for the upper hand. “You’re gonna get it now.”

He taps your face, a subtle reminder of how you should tap if you need to stop, and then - without warning, begins fucking your mouth. It’s hard, and deep, and fast, and sloppy…wet sounds that should make you blush echoing through the room. It’s dirty and slightly uncomfortable. It’s all of those things, but it’s perfect.

Staring down at you, with eyes so full of love and lust it makes your heart ache, he nods. “Good girl, darling. Good girl. You look like a bloody angel, cock down your throat, letting me fuck it like this. You just want to make me feel good, don’t you?”

You answer with your eyes.

“S’right, love.” He slides in deep and groans in appreciation when you ripple your tongue. “Again.”

Tongue working him as best you can, you let him hold you there until your lungs are screaming for air. He pulls you off when he feels the slight struggle, lets you catch your breath and then shoves right back in.

When his thrusts begin to falter you grow desperate to taste him, but at the last minute, he yanks free, one hand still tangled in the roots of your hair, the other fisting over his cock.

“Open up.” He demands, sounding weak, and so close you could cry you want it so badly.

Your mouth falls open, and you present your tongue in waiting.

“Gonna feed it to you, girl.” He pants, gritting his teeth. “Would you like that? You want to taste me?”

Resting your hands primly in your lap, you nod. “Yes, please.”

Your little display of innocent decorum while asking for something so depraved sends his end crashing into him wildly. He jerks his cock roughly through it, warm cum spurting into your mouth and splashing across your cheeks and lips.

Accepting it all, happily, you wait until his shoulders slump with a drawn out fuck, before closing your mouth to savor him.

He stares down at you for a long, smoldering, stretch and then tucks himself away before leaning in. “Looks like I’ve made a mess. I’ve been known to do that, y’know. Apologies.”

With a kiss, though your lips are still dripping with him, he straightens and stretches. “You wait here, darling. I’ll go fetch Jacob to clean you up. Not really Oliver’s thing. You understand.”

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @gardenofgreta @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @dvrkblooms @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @greta-flanveet-admin @joshkiszkas @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightjaketastic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @paintmyhouse @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @joshsmama @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @jordierama @calumspretty

[tootoomanycats]

Boiling Over

Suguru Geto x Personal Chef Smut

Pairing:

Pent Up Geto Cult Leader x OC Fem

(can also be read as reader insert)

Word Count: 3,576 words

Summary: Geto realizes that his new cook has started to put disgusting notions into his daughters heads. After tucking the girls to bed, he finds holding the lid on his anger challenging and complex. It is time to have a talk with this vile monkey; only things don’t go according to plan.

Warnings:

Language usage refers to non-sorcery users such as monkeys and animals and uses verbiage degrading non-users' ideology. (It's Geto; I am only trying to stick to how I think he would internally speak about us muggle folk.)

Enemies arguing to unexpected smut.

Mentions of premature ejaculation. (we make sure he knows he’s still wanted)

Minor mention of a potential eating disorder for Geto.

Author Notes:

Hello Everyone! I promise I am still working on rewriting Performances, but I had to stop because my brain would not let me get any sleep until I got this little one-shot out and edited. I never planned on writing any JJK content, but this is my lesson in never saying never. Honestly, I don't know if this will be a stand-alone one-shot or if it will develop into a short story. Either way, I hope you'll like it! As always if you like what you have read please remember that fanfic writers live off of likes, comments and reblogs- we wont admit it but we all have praise kinks.

Have you watered your writer today?

Each long stride only allowed more anger to fill his lungs. That disgusting, foul-breathed cretan. How dare she encourage such thoughts in their minds? To speak of this dementedly wicked world like the Garden of Eden, like it was something worth protecting. When creatures like her ruined its oasis, this was just more evidence that only further proved every reason to go through with the plan to wipe them out of existence.

Silence filled the long, winding corridors in the late hour—only the soft shuffles of his steps to be heard. The time spent wandering, stewing in the whirlpool of thoughts, was unknown. Be it subconsciously or with intention, he came to stand before the kitchen door. Finger paints covered the wood in various colors and shapes and crudely drawn animals. No doubt, the artistic freedom given to the girls by that damn woman. Another distraction put in front of them that should instead be spent studying and growing more substantial for the future, his future. Fingers massaged at his temple, and that damn under-eye twitch was back.

Before turning to continue on the walk of rage, a faint light shined from under the door. The source’s inconsistent flickering made it obvious it was a flame light, not the usual overhead bulbs. A shadow was moving about, its lines from under the door jam shifting around. Was someone trying to find a late-night snack? Curiosity got the better of him as the door cracked open, the well-oiled hinges making no noise to give away his presence. There, at the kitchen island, sat the bane of his existence. A single candle was her only light source as she made notes in a thick-bound journal. Books littered across the counter’s surface that she was scanning between.

After spending two hours tossing and turning in bed, Hope had given up on sleep finding her tonight. What time would have been spent dreaming was now used to research and plan instead. In the short time since coming to the estate, she realized how out of her depth she was. Growing up on a farm had taught her many valuable tidbits that rolled over into the new career of personal cook. Sadly, though, most of the knowledge of common fruits and vegetation was useless now due to being on foreign soil. Not to mention, all the meals commonly made here were a complete novelty to her. All day, the worry of not knowing a simple dish to make for the girls if one got sick filled her head.

She felt lucky that it was still summer, but fall and winter would soon come, so it was best to start studying basic soup stocks and how to preserve them now. Just as exhaustion began to creep its way up her spine, the face of that egotistical man came to mind. She groaned, remembering how he had already refused everything but the boiled, unseasoned chicken breast. A previous warning of how picky her new boss was had first been brushed off, but now she only saw it as something more concerning. When inquired, the girls only looked at each other before explaining how their father seemed to struggle with food. Something about how things always seemed to taste putrid: Hope made a mental note to inquire if there were meals that would not be so vehemently refused going forward.

“I see I am not alone in burning the late-night oil.” Geto had to hold in the smug smirk at watching Hope almost jump out of her skin when making his presence known. Stepping closer to the kitchen island, his eyes scanned its counter’s contents. Multiple subjects filled the open pages, text outlining photos and drawings of local flora and fauna in Japan, while another explained cultural customs entwined with particular meals. “Homework?” he asked, keeping the tone of the question light, almost teasing. Anger still simmered just below the surface, the lid of feigned equanimity keeping it in check.

She quickly closed the notebook, gathered the books, and walked backward while responding. “Just menu planning and figuring out what to plant in the garden first.” Mirroring his strained smile, she still tried to calm the racing of her heart from being caught off guard by his presence. “W-What has you up so late?” Gulping when the evident anger in his eyes seemed to be barely masked by the smile on his lips. With each step he took further into the space, she took one back-feigning needing to put the books back in their place, on the opposite end of the island. Something deep and primal warned not to turn her back to him.

Hands going back into their usual hiding place in the sleeves of his haori, he stopped where she had just been sitting. Magnanimous in allowing the useless cook her space. “I just tucked the girls into bed. They were having difficulty falling asleep, and I couldn’t figure out why for a while until they started asking some peculiar questions.” Geto tilted his head, the candle’s light only illuminating one half of his face while the other became shrouded in the darkness of the night. Even in the dimly lit space, the fear on her face was clear as day. Teeth ground together as realization dawned on him; at first, he had chalked up what she had told his daughters as common monkey ignorance. But now, in the fearful response of shirking away from him, it became apparent that she knew exactly what she had done.

“Oh? What kinds of questions?” Hope’s palms began to sweat, making it hard to hold the books. She had no shame in introducing the importance of protecting living things, nor held abasement in teaching how the circle of life affected everyone, including Nanako and Mimiko. However, this did not make her oblivious to the potential backlash of such actions. Placing the books down on the edge of the counter before straightening her posture; if she were to be fired or threatened, then he would have to do it while seeing her head held high.

What was once a simmering pot now started to boil. It was one thing to play stupid with him, but it was another thing entirely to look proud while doing it. Taking a step forward, he spoke sternly, “Yes. It seems they have these ideas suddenly.” Another step. “Notions I have taught them that will not be allowed in the future I am creating. You wouldn't happen to know where they got those from, would you?” He now stood only a few short strides from her and the corner she had put herself in. Watching as she stood taller with each step, even puffing her chest out. She was brave; he would give her that. Bravely stupid.

Hope’s eyes dropped down from where he now stood to the books before her. With a deep breath, she calmly spoke the answer he was trying to pull from her. “Yes, I had asked them what vegetables would be best to grow in the garden earlier today. As it turns out, they didn't know, and neither did I. So I found a book, and the three of us took turns reading and learning.” Wetting her mouth, she continued before glancing up to see the anger on his face build. “The girls started to have more philosophical questions on which I gave my opinions on.” Fear spread through her bones as he quickly walked into the small space that was left between them. Turning to face the outrage on his face, back facing the island as her hands held onto its edge for the needed stability of what was to come.

“Who are you to fill their minds with such disgusting notions?” The pot's lid danced over the boiling rage held within. The candlelight illuminated both of them clearly, making it possible to watch as shock filled her face at his statement.

At first, her jaw hung open until the feeling of offense had her back to defend herself. “You may think it disgusting, Your Radiance, but like it or not, the reality is that those girls are starting to realize that not everything in this world is horrible. There are things worth enjoying now, not just when you create some theoretical future.” Though her words rang with strength, her body responded in alarm at watching the monster before her shift through so many emotions.

“They are my children! And much too young to be curious about such things.” The lid crashed to the ground as the emotions finally boiled over the pot’s opening. His voice had raised before quieting back down.

“They are growing girls, just three years shy of being teenagers! How can you not see that they are becoming curious about the world around them? Both have questions, yet you refuse to acknowledge it.”

Wrath filled his eyes, his usually fake pacifying expression vanishing to show the true nature of his feelings as he crowded her further with a sneer, twisting his lips. “Oh? What questions would be so important that they would go to a vile monkey for answers instead of me?” His tone was dangerous, threatening, and low.

She could feel the hair on the back of her neck rise; he did not expect such rage to be mirrored back. “I may be a monkey, but at least they feel safe enough to tell me when they like a boy.” Shock started filling his face as she took the chance to be the one now leaning in. “Tell me, how do you plan to explain to them that you will cause the death of their crush?”

Her eyes flicked back and forth between his; he was so close that she could feel the heat of his breath across her nose. Blood thrummed in her veins at how hard her heart pounded. The butcher-block wood creaked under her white knuckle grip, and her back pressed firmly against the counter as he further cornered her in. If this is how she died, then so be it; it will have been worth it to have finally shoved reality into the maniac's face.

Large palms and long arms became caged bars around her, nails scratching groves into the woodgrain. “A crush is a trivial thing.” He leaned further, pressing his chest forward, forcing her spine to bow back uncomfortably. The stiff lip of the wood now bit painfully into her haunches. Delicate fingers gripped the front of his gojogesa, desperate to have any control of how he continued contorting her upper body. His head tilted to whisper into her ear, “They will learn that a monkey’s place is beneath them.”

Geto hated weaklings and abhorred their very existence. It was revulsion, not excitement, that caused the fluttering in his stomach when their cheeks brushed. Loathing how it should have been disgust, not pleasure when her breasts pressed against his chest with each shuddered breath she took. He should have felt repulsed when realizing how perfect the closeness of their height was and how easy it would be to connect further.

It’s because of the years of celibacy that she was so sensitive, Hope told herself. Why else would such a monster cause the sensation of pooling hot honey to form in her belly? How, when Geto shifted his weight to press the muscle of his hips against hers, a whimper caught in her throat that pride refused to let out.

It must have been the lack of touch for so long that had her eyes fluttering shut when he nuzzled his nose into her temple. Monsters did not fathom such intimate affection. Monsters would not wrap such large hands around the back of her neck, gripping the corded muscles of her throat in such a dizzying way. She would not lift onto the counter and widen the distance of her thighs for a beast to slot between them so perfectly. Surely, such a creature would not brace his other hand around the center of her back to press further for contact. The sensation of the growl emanating from its lungs shooting to her core.

It was because his nose had become accustomed to the disinfectant spray that he was so sensitive to her smell. Internally berating himself for nuzzling into the hairline above the cook’s ear, lemon verbena, and citrus mixed pleasantly among the uplifting notes of her scent. Geto couldn’t refrain from pressing firmer into her hairline, gulping in deep breaths of Hope’s scent. The grip on the back of her neck tightened further; confirmation of the creature’s ability to still breathe came in how she tried and failed to hold back a second low moan.

His own response vibrated from how feminine hands gripped the thick fabric on his back and along his rib cage. Cursing at the way, soft, long legs dragged upward along the sides of his hips before wrapping around to press him closer. Silk robe falling open from the movement to show matching panties. It was unbelievable how quickly his cock hardened, straining against the white cloth of his momohiki. He could feel the heat radiating from her core, even with the five layers of Buddhist robes between them. How many years had it been since he had touched himself, let alone such a tempting, vile animal?

Hope bit her bottom lip at the delicious pressure against her core. If she hadn’t been so swept up in the moment’s intensity, she might have been embarrassed about the wet spot that could be felt already in her underwear. Skin growing hot as her body craved more contact and friction. The hands that previously gripped his clothes now reached up to thread into the long tendrils of the brutes hair. Fingernails scraped against his scalp before grasping firmly to pull the face away from hiding against her cheek. The strangled gasp he made caused her walls to flutter; what other noises would this monster of a man make?

The site that greeted her was breathtaking: flushed cheeks, eyes wide with shock and pleasure, and an oh-so-tempting pout to kiss. Gone were the fake smiles, disgusted glares, and angry scowls. Now what stood before her was a desperate mess of a man whose cock was so hard it could be felt through the many layers of clothing. She felt relief from the sight before her; a previous worry that he was toying with her was dissipated. No one would be able to deny his desire from how hard he was breathing, his own hands clinging to her like a lifeline.

Suguru was a man who had faced his fair share of dangerous and terrifying situations in his lifetime. He prided himself on keeping calm and making calculated choices during high-stress moments. So panic began to set in when he found moving from this frozen position impossible. The way her hands had gripped his hair, forcing them to hold eye contact, had his cock throbbing. Panic rose higher from the sensation. She kept glancing at his lips; this wasn’t good. Willing his lungs to work and throat to open, a quiet but hoarse word came out. “No.”

It was Hope’s turn to pout. Her legs locked tighter around him. In reality, he could break free from her so easily; the fact that he wasn’t just proved how much his body languished for contact. Her eyes pleaded as she took in his image, memorizing it and burning it into her mind. “Please.” she quietly asked in return. Hips rocked gently against his to help emphasize her ask. All movement paused at hearing an odd sound. Her brow furrowed in question at the noise he made suddenly, his face contorting to one that could be described as painful. Had she hurt him just now?

Geto eyes shut as the sudden climax continued quivering through him. Its shame was felt running down his stomach, legs, and clothing. He refused to look, to see her expression once she realized what had just occurred.

Hope's concern grew as he stayed still and closed off, contrasting how he clung to her a moment ago. The grip in his hair melted into gentle touches on his cheek, cupping his face to see if she could coax him to look at her. Hormones and endorphins craving the intimacy once more. When his eyes still refused to open, she scanned more of him to find the source of the sudden change. That’s when she spotted it; instantly, it all made sense. The relatively sizable wet spot formed on his clothes was proof of what occurred. Warmth spread to her cheeks as sinful thoughts began to race in her mind, the desire for more growing. Biting her bottom lip, she murmured-

“Again.”

His eyes sprung open wide, disbelief shaping the expression. Their eyes met as he processed her expression of hunger. The gentle touch of her hands on his cheek shifted to clasping the side of his face in place. Hips tilted as she pressed her core to where the wet spot lay on him. His mouth was agape in shock at the feeling of being nuzzled along his jawbone, the sensation trailing a line to his ear where a whisper was pressed against its shell. “I want another one, please.” The ask was sweet and sincere, even begging. Words failed him as a hand gently guided his own from the counter across the warmth of a plush thigh to someplace much hotter. A palpation hit his ribcage when feeling thin satin fabric, saturated and slick, shuttering when Hopes’s fingers encouraged his own to press more firmly against the spot. Her resounding whine brought him back from the out-of-body experience.

The overwhelming rage from before shifted into something much more savage and ravenous. Years of repressed urges bled to the surface; sturdy fingers gripped into the base of her hair like a handle to be pulled back from him, the movement forcing her skull to tilt up. It felt impossible to catch any breath as it heaved erratically between the groaning and growls, responding to how desperate legs clung to him. Any previous control had spilled from the pot that now boiled over. Another hand raised to cup her face with the same tenderness she had shown him just moments ago, watching how her eyes repeated their glances to his lips again. Finally, he leaned in.

“Shhh, I know where she hid the cookies from earlier.” Multiple footsteps could be heard getting closer and closer outside the door. Mimiko and Nanako both telling the other to be quiet, annoying the other with each repeated response given back and forth.

Hope and Geto’s eyes widened as the reality of their situation quickly sunk in. Her mouth opened and closed like the koi fish in the pond outside, and before she could say a word, the maniac was gone. Her brain struggled to process his disappearance, the movement inhuman in its speed. The limbs that once were held up against the other body flopped from no longer having something to grip onto. As the kitchen door slowly opened, she scrambled off the counter and ripped open one of the fridge doors to hide her overtly flushed face. Praying that its cold air would help calm down her heart rate. She was panicking as she quickly fixed the front of her silk robe back in its proper place.

Hidden outside the kitchen’s veranda, Geto stood in horror as the events that had just transpired replayed in his mind. Dismay that the truth about who started the whole situation was him. What was worse was that as hard as he tried to feel the disgust he so proudly touted for her kind, he could only feel how hard he was--again. Realization dawned on him of how dangerous the cook was as he shifted Hopes’s title from monkey to succubus.

[chorizoa]

Entrail of faith — König x f!reader

part 2!!!!!!!! part 2 part 2 part 2!!!

pt.1 is here

I would like to state that I'm literally just throwing myself into this and letting the thoughts blurb; so if it seems messy, loose, or unorganized its bc I am trying my best :) sorry in advance for anything that may seem plot-holey, geographically incorrect, etc. please feel free to comment on my use of language, setting, wtv— I love feedback and want you guys to enjoy it!!!

this one is also a bit longer tee-hee, and also more revoling around you!

cw: more of konig being a stalker, more talk of kidnap and the like, very brief mention of a daddy kink/use of daddy as a title (its more of a sugar baby kinda way, but hes also just gross), he wants to take full advantage of you, he is very nasty but he loves you so :3

no sex.. yet.

You were a smart girl, but maybe if you were a smarter girl, you wouldn't find yourself staring at an empty message log— thumbs dancing over the screen while you gnaw, and gnaw, and gnaw at that pretty lower lip.

It's insane of you, you think. Giving salt to the interest of a stranger, a man who was clearly dangerous— could so obviously kill you given the chance— one you'd caught glances of during your shifts, always seeming to show up only when you work.. But— Christ.

  The years had not been kind, and being a girl settling into her early twenties, a totally foreign land to start a new life in— not a single soul to keep her warm— well, it embeds a certain sense of desperation. Perfect for men like König. Who, of course, could barely handle a woman under any legitimate means.

Inexperience dripped off of you like a waning ooze, glistening with incompetence for what you could be experiencing— a misted perfume that engulfed you, an aura that "spooked" most anyone anywhere near your age. It kept you at lengthy reach from others, and plastic toys had become your only solace in the pariah'ed life you've lived.

Not him, though, it drew him in— and he could taste it on his tongue, swirl it against his gums and swallow like the loveliest shot of Jager. You would be his favorite spirit to indulge in, and all you needed to do was speak.

He already knew your name, of course he did; so when you texted him— confirming that, yes, this was the cute girl from the diner, and frivolously providing your sweet name in your fluster— it didn't surprise him, but it did make him purr with satisfaction. You were so much closer now, so much easier to bend to his will than you could imagine.

Retirement wouldn't be too bad, it seemed.

Perfect, actually, when he really thought about it. Enough savings in the bank to keep him comfortable until he died of old age, or took an unexpected bullet in the neck; and with the added addition of you? Oh, he was going to bask in heaven's light every night. God had sent him his very own angel— maybe he'd pray, just to say thanks.

He wasn't worried about you not liking him— no, not a bit. It wasn't a choice in his mind, either you liked him, or you didn't… and what he had in mind for if you didn't — well.. it was a particularly nasty thing, and he certainly wasn't bringing it up in therapy. Lest he enjoy the comfort of a solitary, padded room with a jacket to match his confinement— maybe even a damp cell, if they felt so generous.

He was going to have you, whether he had to chain you up in his basement, chain you to his bed post, adorn you with a proximity collar— it didn't. matter.

He was going to have you, and you would have him— a smart girl like you would understand, right? He only wants what's best for you.

That's why he followed you home tonight. Silly girl, don't you know you should take the trolley? There's so many bad, scary men out here— you're lucky he watches your every step, and memorizes the direct path to your home from the shadows, someone could hurt you, sweet girl— and he'd have to make a mess, just for you.

He even watched as you poised your fingers to text him, that sharp sight was a blessing— and observing you as you gnaw at your bottom lip until it swelled was stored into a deep, dark part of his mind for later. Ever still, he found it so amusing how oblivious you were— you should really scan your surroundings more.

Though, when he made it to your home— he found a deep frown tugging at him. Oh, this simply would not do. This was not the place to be for his princess, his darling girl— no, not at all.

This rundown complex was much too grimy for one as stunning as you, everything paled in comparison to you— of course it did, nothing mattered like you— but this was just.. sad, nobody as lovely as you deserved to be so impoverished. The dappled foundation, the assumed stench of cigarettes that must cling to the walls within— he had to get you out of there, and fast.

He almost considered marching in right then, ripping you from the safety of your supposed "home"— but he knew better of it. You needed to be won delicately, you were so sweet, but wracked with nerves like a stumbling fawn— one wrong move, a step too quick, and you'd bolt— he could smell fear, and you held it like a cross to bear. That didn't keep him from feeling angry, however.

He was going to pray, offer thanks, but not anymore. No gracious lord would allow such divinity to suffer like this— no self-proclaimed "God of Man" would allow their subject to wallow in such filth. His sweet girl, he was going to give you much more— so much more than this. He would do what God had failed to. He would help you to understand the divinity of man— and what he had to offer. Father was roiling in his grave at the sacrilege.

That was a nice piece to chew on as he walked back to his car— of course he parked elsewhere, home was much too far to walk from— stuck in a wish-washy daydream of you worshipping him, kneeled at his feet and devoted just as you should be. He'd make it better, he'd make it all better, you need only give him time.

— What are you doing tomorrow night, maus?

He texts, already churning with ideas. Most of them are to capture you, of course, but we've established this— we can't do this. However, he is on the more mundane side of things, wondering how he can somehow pay your rent for a few months— or atleast until he can coax you out of that fucking hellscape in the worst part of town. Regardless, totally normal, gentleman-like, things.

— I work a shift from 17:30-21:00 tmrw night :( but I'll be free after work!!

You're even cute with the way you text, so fitting of you— it makes him chuckle, especially with how quickly you'd replied. In his mind, you're hovering over the phone, jumping at every notification in hopes of it being him.

— No worries, little one, I'd like for you to get your rest. Maybe I could walk you home tomorrow, get to know each other?

He's as articulate as ever, feeling as if you'd appreciate his use of grammar and pronunciation— he hopes you read books, he'd buy you a million books, make you read to him while he bounced you on his knee— maybe you'd call him daddy, if he spoiled you enough. He had so many plans for you, it almost made his head hurt, though his cock absorbed most of his rushing blood.

— That would be lovely :)

It would be, wouldn't it? He'd already walked you home now, you just hadn't known it (you'd never know,) and he'd be able to spend tomorrow evening staring at you the whole time— hence why he memorized the path, and for.. other reasons; but those weren't currently relevant, now were they?

— Good. See you then, Engel.

He could see you now, punching these little nicknames into a poorly guided translator— the blush smattering across your soft little cheeks, your eyes creasing as you couldn't help that smile— God, even the small things about you made his palms itch. He was so excited to have you, hold you, touch and use you when he got close enough. It wouldn't be long now.

He was always so good at planning things.

-

The following evening was a rampage. A festival, perhaps, had ripped through the small town— something about music, either way, the streets were eruptive with fervor.

You, just starting out here, are not well accustomed to this area's cultures— and when the café becomes swamped? Well, you're definitely fritzing for some form of substance. Anything to keep a smile on your face while grown adults trash your place of work, and the surrounding area, in a drunken wake. For crying out loud, you barely knew the language here, and people tend to forget any English instruction they've had once a fiery drink hits their system.

Austria. It'd be the death of you.

Forced to close early due to the mess— much to the dismay of drunk, middle-aged men looking for something greasy to fill their maws— the last hour of your day was spent putting a rag to the wall, the floors, the windows; anything your mind could think of, it had to be cleaned. Tired was an understatement, and 'aching' could not be a severe enough adjective for the sensation settling in your joints.

Maybe if you were a more aggressive person, you'd take it out on your manager. Take a bottle of bleach and splash it in his eyes, maybe a bit of strangulation— that was always on the forefront of your concious— and especially now, as he stood outside and lackadaisically sweeped at the "dirty" corner the building sat on. The lazy fuck, can't even make a proper payroll— the bleach sounded a bit more enticing.

You of course shove these thoughts into the supply closet, along with all the other cleaning products that had been collected from their strewn about positions across the diner. It was almost time to go home, maybe ten minutes or so— and you were getting paid for your last hour, come hell or high water. Rent didn't pay itself, and you almost wish you hadn't treated yourself last night to delivery with that tip König slipped to you— could've been handy.

If only you knew how he was itching to have you practically keep his wallet, you'd find out soon anyways.

You stood behind the bar, leaned into it with a placid expression on your face— slumped and tired, and there was no taming your hair. You partially wanted to cancel the little walk you had so eagerly agreed too, but thought better of it— exhaustion ate at you, however, almost in an irritable sense. The urge to cancel just got stronger, and stronger.

Until he was spotted down the street, that almost completely soured your mood— had not the very sight of him set your pulse to palpitate uncomfortably quick. You took a minute to really observe him, at least from a far. He was giant, no doubt about it— regardless of your size or shape, he dwarfed you, and he didn't have to be up close and personal to tell.

His face was mostly obscured, little black mask hanging across his features— this time around though, no sunglasses to hide his eyes— you were fluttering with excitement at the thought of someone's eyes, Jesus, you're kinda weird. Desperate girl, aren't you?

Regardless, he seemed a bit more.. exposing of himself— and, he was here before the agreed time, like an actual fucking man would do.

Huh, maybe the big giant wasn't a bad choice.

Maybe you just didn't know him well enough.

— Schatz! Nice to see you..

He was warm, inviting. If you didn't have sense in your head, you'd climb into his strong-looking arms, beg him to carry you home like a whiny child— of course, you didn't. Only offering him a smile, and taking his arm as he offered it— the sight making your heart stir a little more.

— Nice to see you too, König. I hope it wasn't too much trouble getting here, I know it's a mess out here right now.

You laugh, but you feel almost guilty for making him come all this way. Yes, he offered, yes, he came here anyways— but Innsbruck during a music festival wasn't exactly.. controlled, and he didn't seem to be the type to like crowds. Something you understood, and sensed very quickly.

— Nonsense, even more of a reason for me to accompany you, little one. Keep you safe.

He gives your arm a squeeze with his free hand, it's soft, gentle— so unexpected from hands that looked as if they could rip your throat out. A frisson of heat creeped it's way up your spine. You'd never been the type to depend on someone, or need someone— but hearing him speak that way.. it was definitely flipping some form of switch inside you.

— You're very kind.

You hum in response, taking a step closer to him as you walked— and he kept his eyes on you the whole time, the route burned into his mind. Though, your phrase did not fall on deaf ears— and he had to keep himself from shoving his tongue down your throat right there— you cannot say things like that to him, you are too good and pure.

— To you, at the very least.

— Why's that?

— Why not?

Banter could be good for the soul, and you almost felt desperate when he looked down to you— eyes creasing from what could only be a smirk. You felt flustered under his gaze, small and compact, but.. safe. Watched over, and protected.

Something about his eyes, his demeanor— the way he so graciously walked you along and made sure you didn't step on a single crack or bump in the sidewalk— it tip, tip, tipped you over into a fuzzy headspace you hadn't felt before. Something small, something compact, something malleable.

— Dunno. Men aren't usually kind.

— Boys, then. You are much too beautiful to be handled by a boy.

You cocked a brow at his statement, an amused chuckle leaving your tired lips. He was a strange man, no doubt caring, but even you could tell he harbored things— kept himself from saying and doing things that might be taken incorrectly, or be downright abhorrent. You should be afraid of him, you should run for the hills and scream for help, you should sense the predator who already has his claws dug deep into your skin. 

But you don't, and you don't think you ever would.

Call it string theory, call it hope, call it desperation or an offered entrail— but you placed faith in him, praying that he wouldn't make decorations of your guts— because something more spoke to you, something outside of the two of you held you together steadfast. Mother had always told you to heed universal implications.

— Are you from around here, König?

— Nein, places like this..? eh, not my style. The mountains are much quieter, prettier.

Just how far had this guy traveled? Innsbruck had mountains, yeah, but it wasn't the most secluded of places— quiet didnt exist here. You had to gauge that maybe he blew in from Salzburg, it got less noisy and more rocky the further you went along the North chain. Either way, it was clear to you now that he wasn't just strolling about, he definitely had an agenda.

— Mm. Quite right, starting to regret settling down in such a busy area. I've always enjoyed the quiet.

— Agreed.. What brings you to Austria, Maus?

A good question, a fine one. You didn't know, you got a lump sum from a dead relative— and took off running. America never suited you, and the country was falling to ruins; what would you have stayed for?

— Something refreshing.

— ..And that is..?

— Sights, sounds, self-recognition- I'm unsure, but it's better than home.

He seemed to understand that, a knowing hum vibrating through the berth of his chest. He curled your arm closer to his body, your hip brushing against him as he took an even, slow pace— clearly difficult for him, but you could only move so fast.

The closeness felt nice in that moment, like it was unnecessary to share words— just enough had been said. It was a different sensation flowing through you. Yes, to be frank, you'd been lusting over him since he gave you his number— a little attention can go a long way— but it was different. That feeling of safety was blanketed with another— familiarity.

— Any family, libeling?

— Estranged, haven't spoken to them in years.

Another knowing hum, but it was followed by an amused sound— a chuckle. If the melancholy of the fact hadn't been refreshed, the sound would've made you pounce like a starved animal. He was attractive as all hell— and you didn't even need to see his full face.

— What's funny?

You try not to sound offended, you aren't, not really. Though, his amusement is of interest to you.

— Nothing, I assure you. It just seems that you and I are very similar. You are an interesting little thing.

— Ha! I'm as face value as they come, I promise you that.

— Don't be so humble, it's unnecessary for a lovely girl like you. I'll be the judge of that.

It was almost as if he was scolding you, but you brushed it off with an amused huff of air— leaning into his shoulder as he walked you along. You could stop his heart with such a thing, you saw him so much differently than others, didn't you? What a rare girl you were.

He wound an arm over your shoulder, pulling you into him. He was surprised by his own boldness, but the energy you held was so.. comforting, something in his core shook at the sensation— like a blockage finally being relieved. It could only get sweeter when you returned the gentle grasp, slipping an arm over his slender back.

— I.. this made my night better. Thank you.

You blushy little angel, of course, of course, anything for you. Oh, he needed to give you the world. He'd start a war for you— his very own Helen of Troy.

— Of course, sweet girl. Need to make sure you get home safe and happy, ja?

You laugh and squeeze his side, and he's pushing down another round of nasty thoughts like burning tequila. You have him chomping at the bit for every artifice of your affection.

— Such a gentleman..

— As I was raised to be, Schatz.

It burns him when he has to drop you off at that complex.. again. He wants nothing more than to take you home, invite you to a bed much-too-big, suffocate you in thread counts your wallet couldn't fathom— but it was much too soon, and you were much too angelic for him to ever want to spook you.

It burns you in turn, looking up at him with a shy smile. You want to invite him in, have him over for the night— but it seems you both agree on the terms of "much too soon", and you can't help but feel insecure at the.. state.. of your livingspace. It's nothing lavish, and it's moorish— maybe some other time.

— We should do this again.. I enjoyed this.

— I agree, liebling. Let me know when you work next, hm? Or maybe when you're free, I'll come visit you.

He made you feel as blushy as a school-girl, like you were a gift wrapped in fine bows just for him.

— I'll send you my schedule.

— Guten Mädchen.. I'll see you later then.

And, as if the gods had their hands on your shoulders, he leaned in— pulling his mask down just enough to kiss the top of your head before swiftly moving it back into place, and giving your cheek a quick brush with his thumb. Your skin was on fire, that cheek was never getting washed again.

Good fucking God, coming undone at the smallest touch, are we?

— Goodnight-! Get home safe..

He was already halfway down the block, damn, he's fast.

You're already getting obsessed, damn, he's good.

[kyndredravenstories]

Eyes of Infinity: Delirium Chapter 8

Hello, I have been posting my work on AO3 and recently decided to venture here to Tumblr. Please note: This story is 18+. No minors. Please read tags carefully. Link to AO3 below but I will also be posting the chapters here.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53564641/chapters/149000791#workskin

Pairing: Sylus/Female MC with some elements of Xavier/Female MC

Genre: Romance, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Adventure, Smut, Porn with Big Plot and Big Feelings

Content Warning (For the entire fic): Explicit sexual content, spoilers and alterations to existing lore and cards/memories/tender moments/secret times, size kink, size difference, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, anal sex, fingering, all kinds of fingering, elements of consensual somno, dom!Sylus, jealousy, possessive!Sylus, Mephisto stalking, typical game violence, battle and combat

Summary: To love him meant stepping over the threshold and crossing into darkness. To be with him meant accepting the lure of the shadows. And to protect him from betrayal meant sacrifice. I knew not how, only that I would not let time sever our paths ever again.

Previous Chapters: Ch 1 / Ch 2 / Ch 3 / Ch 4 / Ch 5 / Ch 6 / Ch 7

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"You should know that I adore you," Sylus murmurs, the red in his eyes languid and his voice a tender caress. "There is no love purer than mine."

In the wake of the words, I'm left stupefied.

I could have expected a whole nebula of variations to how he perceived our current -- whatever this was -- but...love?

My heart lurches in my chest. Sylus's answer matches my deepest darkest yearning, but I hesitate. I grab his forearms and pull him closer. My hands settle on his cheeks, and I search his face. He looks back at me without a mask or filter. His gaze remains soft and open, his lips tipped up in a gentle smile.

"Sylus," I breathe slowly, "how can you say something like that so easily?"

"Speaking truth is never difficult," he huffs.

I reach down and pinch myself, suddenly wondering if I've passed out in the mansion somewhere and have indulged too much in dreams. It hurts, which means I'm here and this is as real as real gets. I think.

"Is there a reason I should hide it?"

Only a few! The primary one being that he is the Sylus of N109. Isn't he concerned that admitting something like this is going to make things much more dangerous for him? That caring for someone might make him vulnerable? Again, I search his face. And again, I see no hesitation. I realize, then, that he is truly, absolutely, unequivocally unafraid. I stare at him in wonder. Truly, I have never known anyone like him. A man who is not afraid of anything. A man with enough power to shape his own reality. 

When I don't answer his question, he takes his turn to search my face -- maybe even my thoughts -- with those hyper-perceptive eyes and intellect. Apparently, his rummaging yields more than mine. He raises a brow.

"Why so anxious? Don't worry. I'm not in the mood to reveal our relationship to anyone anytime soon."

Relationship. Adoration. Love. The words repeat in my head over and over, but they might as well be in a foreign language. I stare at him like he's grown another head. Of course, it's not so terribly far fetched that he might care for me after the closeness we've shared, but how? Why? When did this happen? How did all of this go from some crazy sex in a hotel to the start of an entanglement? Still reeling, I give Sylus a critical look. Is this man even capable of having a normal bond with someone? What does normal even mean for him, and do our definitions of the word match up?

This is a man who sits on the throne of N109, owns a jet, a yacht, and an armory bigger than the Association's. I've seen him go to shootouts for breakfast then stop by a café for brunch. He's overthrown other rulers. His organization is at the heart of all of the most controversial, dangerous, and unethical research I have ever heard or read about. He's blown up buildings and torn down mountains of organized crime. He's quite possibly the most powerful and most unpredictable man I'll ever meet in my lifetime.

Yet he's telling me he loves me.

And that we're in a relationship.

I'm silent as I try to gather the scattered marbles of my thoughts back into their jar. All the while, Sylus doesn't say a word. He doesn't rush me or press me for an answer. When his cell phone rings, he picks it up and steps some distance away, giving me the space I need to figure out where exactly I stand in all of this. Somehow, I don't think that will happen quickly or easily. We've just met. I hardly know him. There are times he terrifies me, and there are times when I can't breathe around him. I've learned nothing of his past or who he really is. I know even less about his powers and their true nature. I don't know why he wanted to Resonate with me so much in the beginning. I don't know why he's taken such an interest in me, either.

He's a complete enigma.

But, you love him.

And suddenly, I know that I do.

Absolutely. Unequivocally.

Denying it would be pointless.

My heart as heavy as a sinking anchor, I look at his rugged profile as he speaks over the phone. Straightening my legs, I hop off the bike and start walking towards him, dragging that same heart on my sleeve right behind me. As I do, snow begins to fall from the sky above. It settles in his silver hair and dusts his jacket. His voice drifts to me on the wind. Familiar now, like a favorite cup of hot chocolate on a freezing winter night. The hue of his eyes shimmers in the flickering of the metropolis around us, and I finally admit that his eyes are the most beautiful crimson that I've ever seen. 

I admit that adore him, too.

His arrogance, his confidence, his gentleness, and -- yes -- even his controlled savagery.

I clutch at the jacket over my heart.

When did this happen?

How did this happen?

At last, my journey ends at his side. With a click, Sylus hangs up his call. I reach out my hand to him as he turns to face me. He glances at my outstretched hand then at me.

"What is it?" he asks, reaching out to join our hands together.

The moment I feel his palm against mine, I thread our fingers and yank him forward towards me. His eyes widen, but he lets me pull on him. He even stumbles. This King, who trusts no one and can cause devastation with the snap of his fingers, let's me do as I please.

Mildly overwhelmed, I brush strands of snow-dusted hair from his temple. With my other hand, I reach up and touch his cheek, my thumb stroking from right to left along his parted lips. That devilish mouth quirks up into an impish smirk. But, I'm not done yet. I want to keep touching him. Feathery soft, my hand smoothes against his chin. He closes his eyes, leaning into my touch as if it's the most pleasurable thing in this world. My heart thunders in my ears, faster and faster. Adoration, was it? Yes. That's what this feels like.

Reverently touching something I fear will vanish if I take too long to blink.

It's easy for him to disappear. So far, he's reappeared right at my side every time, but will it always be so? Or will he one day turn to mist and never come to me again? My jaw clenches tight. I let the fear surge through me and don't shy away from it this time. It's par for course, I suppose. A natural part of loving and adoring this man.

And I'm too far gone to go back now.

The moment I stop struggling against the shackles of this feeling, something shifts between us. It's like he senses it. Knows that I've finally given in. The corner of his mouth twitches and he grabs my wrist. With his eyes still alight with mirth and levity, he brings my hand to his mouth and softly bites my palm. I shiver, electricity bursting from my wrist to my shoulder. Without breaking eye contact, he kisses it and says "So? Have you and your pride come to a consensus?"

"We have," I humor him.

"And what's the verdict?" He pulls me forward this time by our joined hands, and I fall into his arms. "If it has anything to do with me letting you escape, you're out of luck. Whatever I hold in my hand is mine, sweetie. That includes you."

Our lips meet in a fevered kiss, and as the snow falls around us, I surrender to his passion. Escape is the last thing on my mind. My fear lingers in the ambience. Something as wonderful as this can't be destined for destruction, can it? I've seen enough darkness and tragedy in my life. Surely, it's time to see some happiness. If I have to fight for it -- if I have to bleed for it -- then I will. It's as simple as that. No other option exists because there is no way in hell that I will let this man disappear to a place that I can't follow.

We break away, and I wrap my arms around his waist. "I love you," I tell him, the words turning into white mist along with my breath. "It's completely insane. We haven't even gone on a date."

"If you want to do something mundane, we can," Sylus says, chuckling when I give him a frustrated glare. He hugs me just a little tighter. "But first, you need to go back to the light and recover. Heal. You can't do that here in the darkness."

"Is that why you're sending me away?" I pout.

He tilts his head. "Servants and fools are sent away. You are neither."

"Then, I want to stay."

"No."

I pull back, my hands sliding to my hips. "Sylus."

"Ellara."

We stare each other down.

"I can help you," I insist. "I know I'm not as strong as you, but I'm far from useless in a fight. My Resonance can help."

Something about that particular phrase triggers his impatience. He frowns and rubs a spot between his brows with a sigh.

"Go home with your knight, Ellara. Lick your wounds. Fight your Wanderers. Stay away from all this."

He starts to turn his back to me, and my anger flares. I grab a handful of his jacket and pull as hard as I can. "Don't you dismiss me like I'm one of your underlings," I growl at him. "If I want to stay, I damn well will."

When I turn him around, my temper loses its steam. The look on his face stops me in my tracks. It's not anger. Or frustration. It's something more, but I can't quite--

"I almost lost you," he murmurs, his fingers falling to my shoulder like the snow, gliding across my jacket and settling on my arm. "I don't...ever..." A muscle clenches in his jaw, and he stops speaking. His phone rings again, the sound breaking me out of my trance. He takes the call, leaving me to stew in a mess of emotions.

"Boss, he's here," a familiar voice says. Kieran?

"Early, as expected," Sylus nods. His tone is all business again, his eyes empty.

"He ripped through the first two waves in a single go. You sure he's got a Limiter?"

"Send in the Altered units."

"How many, Boss-man?" a more muffled voice asks. Luke this time.

"All of them."

"Yes, Boss."

"If that doesn't push him, we'll have to take more drastic measures." Those empty eyes slide to me. Inadvertently, I take a step back, realizing that they must be talking about Xavier. "We'll be there soon. Keep him busy until we arrive."

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The Lost Isles in Sector 354XF-N1 is a place lost to time. Even with the overpopulation in N109, this ten or so acres of wasteland is as barren as a desert. Only blackened rusty ruins remain after a series of particularly nasty Metaflux storms and Wanderer attacks. In the center stands the skeleton of a sprawling research facility, now twisted into a hideous sculpture of shattered glass, mold, dust, and filth.

Once, a massive lab stood here, a radiant beacon of success and progressive thinking. At least, on the outside. Within, Ever Group hoarded some of its deadliest projects. After it was destroyed in the storms, a cloud of toxins and chemical waste spilled forth, killing hundreds and turning the others into monsters and Abominations. The trees died; the rivers dried up, and the soil was poisoned for the foreseeable future. 

No human could live here, and after the tragedy that befell the citizens of this place, no one wanted to try. 

It's the perfect kind of place to stage a battle without collateral damage. 

Nearly a week past, the Boss had given clear direction. Take the samples of LUMINIS currently in the Vault, go to the Lost Isles, and attract all the Wanderers possible to these coordinates. Prepare the Altered Wanderer units as backup. Then, do anything and everything to push the Target to his limits. Pain, mutilation, mind-breaking illusions -- anything was fair game except taking his life. As long as the twins could break his Limiter, the means and methods are up to their discretion.

This night, Kieran and Luke thrill at the prospect. It's been ages, it seems, since the Boss let them loose. Thus far, the instructions are not a challenge to follow.

LUMINIS.

Truly, it's a wondrous concoction.

When Kieran takes the onyx vial out of its long glass case and pours it on the ground in the Lost Isles in various places and altitudes, he roughly knows what to expect.

Don't touch it, first and foremost.

Second, each location it is used in will summon a Dominante level or above Wanderer. Keep spraying and eventually the Metaflux build-up will summon Subservants to go with it. In a few hours, the place will be teaming with Wanderers and Abominations. Eventually, a Protofield will generate and dump the whole area into an even larger shell of chaos. It will take the Target all of his skill to escape.

Kieran was thorough, if nothing else. After using three full philters of LUMINIS and saturating the Lost Isles with the toxin, he jumps to the tallest ruin of a radio tower and watches the proceedings from above. Luke joins him shortly, having completed his own task. They lean against each other as Mephisto comes flying out of the darkness.

"It's done, Boss," Luke tells the crow. Their target will arrive soon, and the entertainment will begin. "Your hands are clean, right?" Luke asks his twin.

Kieran holds them up. "They are. But, I'm kinda curious what it feels like."

"You're demented," Luke chuckles, though Kieran senses he is curious as well. "You saw what it can do," he reminds his twin. Kieran nods. He still remembers that girl and her screaming in the shower with the Boss. The stuff had spilled all over her, slipping past the skin and snaking into her nerves and Evol channels. Miracle she wasn't dead, really, though she'd screamed loud enough to make him think she'd surely kick the bucket.

Poor naïve little bird trapped in a golden cage. Does she know yet that her Evol has been paralyzed? Does she know she might never Resonate again? Has the Boss told her?

"If a weak little thing like her can survive that much of it, then..." Luke plays with a philter, popping open the lid. Kieran catches his wrist to stop him.

"Not now, Luke. After we're done here."

They don't have to loiter long in boredom. The Target shows up several hours earlier than instructed just in time for the LUMINIS to start taking effect. The ground shakes as though multiple earthquakes are happening simultaneously. Roars, growls, and unearthly shrieks fill the air. Wanderers of all shapes and sizes materialize from thin air, their glowing red eyes hungering for blood. Some amble around on two legs, some on four. Some have arms. Others have webbing, fins, or claws. Each glows with its own aura from its Protocore, illuminating the viscous darkness ever present in the N109. But, none can compare to the moment when the Target reaches his destination and unleashes his own golden brilliance.

With flashes, arcs, and spectacular bursts of light more blinding than the sun, the Target eliminates his enemies. The more he cuts down, the more appear. The farther he moves into the bowels of the Lost Isles, the more he is surrounded by monsters. Yet, he is undaunted. He breaks through all the ranks, laying waste to Dominantes as though they are nothing but the weakest obstacle. Over the phone, the Boss instructs to release the Altered, and Luke and Kieran have no choice but to obey. They unleash the experimental units, and it seems that all hell breaks loose. The Altered have no concept of hierarchy. They do not see themselves as Subservants or Dominantes. They only yearn to watch the world burn and to feast on all the lives they encounter along their path.

There's four. No, five, if Luke counts the newest unit the Boss recently acquired. They amble towards the light like moths, sensing the Target's powerful Evol and moaning in hunger. Luke and Kieran watch their progress eagerly, curious to see how this powerful Hunter will fare against these engineered abominations. The Limiter is glowing red around his neck, but he isn't desperate enough. Not yet.

Behind them, the air explodes with heat and Evol as the Boss appears with the girl by his side. Luke notes her pallor and the way she still favors her right leg over her left. The way she moves her left arm is awkward still. He recalls how she worried for him, the experience still mystifying him entirely.

"Report," the Boss demands.

"He can still be pushed," Kieran says. "The Limiter is activated, but not broken."

"Sylus," the girl says, growing even paler as she walks to the edge of the building. "Why are you doing this to him?" She turns an angry glare to the Boss. "Please, let him go."

"He is free to come or go," the Boss grins. "Nothing is holding him here."

"Does he know where I am?" she cuts in. When she's about to say something else, the building rumbles beneath them.

"The Altered have reached the Target," Luke observes. The battle below explodes in light and Metaflux. The Target jumps from one Wanderer to the next, executing a flurry of blinding slashes, cuts, and twists. Stabbing, knifing, burning, eviscerating. He moves with the same speed as the Boss; when he needs to dodge or ambush, he shifts his body to different locations using his Evol. The Altered howl and throw blast after blast of Metaflux towards him. He flickers past every single one. Using a lull to his advantage, he runs up the side of one of their massive bodies and rams his blade into its head. With a haunting cry of fury which echoes through the ruins, the first Altered falls to the Target's skill.  

"Altered?" the girl's eyes grow wide in her small face. She reminds Kieran of an owl like this. "Not the thing you had me try to fight when we first met..." She turns to the Boss. "Sylus, please stop this."

The Boss remains stoic. "No, Ellara. That collar must break."

The second Altered falls. Then the third and fourth. The fifth puts up the biggest fight and causes the most destruction. With its deadly breath of fire, it sets everything around ablaze like a spray of napalm. Ruins burn and boil in the flames. Glass squeals and melts. And still, the Target fights on without stopping. He parries the monster's clumsy swings and jumps over the fireballs flying from its maw. As soon as he can manage it, the Target lunges forward and summons a long spear made of light. With a mighty swing, he stabs it into the monster's heart. 

Luke steadies the girl when the building shakes again. Kieran tilts his head at his twin, struggling to understand why he would do so without explicit orders. His attention is quickly diverted, though, when a series of deafening explosions blast through several blocks below. Ruins of buildings and homes collapse into rubble as colossal fulminations of light blind all of them. Luke, Kieran, the girl, and even the Boss have to shield their eyes as the darkness of the N109 is burned away momentarily.

Silence.

And then a voice followed by a razor sharp blade at Kieran's throat.

"Move," is the low decree, given in a voice that hardly sounds human.

Kieran opens his eyes to see the Target standing before him and Luke, his blade a whisper from slitting open flesh. Golden hair spills over glowing bright blue eyes. The Target is wearing a pitch black Hunter's uniform. Around his neck, the Limiter is cracked and shuddering, flickering with red and blue light. A beat, and then the collar shatters, falling to pieces with a dying gasp.

"Xavier!" the girl calls, her voice filled to the brim with relief.

"I won't ask again," the Target threatens.

"Let him through," the Boss commands. With that, Luke and Kieran's chains are lifted. They move aside, allowing the Target to pass by them.

The girl limps towards her Knight. When she is close enough, he pulls her against him, cradling her head with his hand as he embraces her. Blood blooms on his sleeve and around his waist. There's a large spot of it on his back. His clothes are tattered and singed; even some of his golden hair is covered in red. Yet his balance and posture are unaffected. He stands firm.

"Xavier, are you alright? Are you hurt? I'm so sorry."

When he pulls back to look at her, the Target's face has changed. The madness has receeded, along with his murderous intent. His bright eyes take in her body, checking for injuries or damage. When he's satisfied, he guides her to stand behind him and raises his blade. Immediately, Luke and Kieran prepare for combat. It's the girl's voice that stops them from lunging.

"Wait! Sylus, please...this is enough."

The Boss stands still, his eyes observing the girl and the Target. He isn't pleased. There's a shadow looming over his expression, and the air around him drops in temperature. 

"Take her and get out," he says with razor sharp finality. "Before I change my mind."

"Wait, what?" the girl starts to protest, but the Target cuts her off. He lifts her into his arms even as she struggles. "Wait, Sylus!"

A final azure glare at the Boss with eyes that promise death before -- in a single blinding flash -- both the girl and the Target vanish into the night.

[averagepsychouser]

Songs that actually remind me of fallout companions characters in no particular order. The themes vary pretty wildly.

Arcade: Starting off with Danke Schoen (I listen specifically to the Wayne Newton version on Spotify) which is a thank you to an old love for all the good memories. This song fits the general motif of goodbyes to the past that Arcade’s character is struck through with, and it was translated into an English version from a foreign language (like auld lang syne).

Benny: In very Benny fashion, Luck Be A Lady by Frank Sinatra. It starts off slow but quickly speeds up, and of course the lyrics all sound like things he would say. Naturally the song is about gambling and the fickle nature of luck. Also, it is annoyingly catchy.

Vulpes: Basic, I know, but A Well Respected Man by The Kinks is definitely like him. While the song is originally a satire about the middle class in Britain, it speaks of a monotonous life with darker undertones in the background. Understandably, a spy is going to need to live a monotonous life like this in order to maintain his figure as an upstanding member of whatever society he’s infiltrating. Vulpes, right?

Boone: I Don’t Want To See Tomorrow by Nat King Cole (Holy shit fallout show reference). Yeah yeah yeah, sadman deadwife stuff, I get it, but this song really does seem like him. The lyrics are pretty damn depressing, talking about how life without a love is a life not worth living. It’s very slow and deliberately paced, and hauntingly mournful.

Cass: Here’s a surface level song, and I know her only character trait isn’t drinking, but Poor Little Critter on the Road by The Knitters, X, and Dave Alvin fits. Essentially its about having a good time drinking and living life chaotically.

Ulysses: Going back to somber songs, Buffalo Soldier by Bob Marley & The Wailers. The song is about African American cavalry troops fighting in the American Indian Wars and their struggle for survival, and I think it can reflect onto Ulysses very well. Some lyrics that are so, so, so much like him are “If you know your history/Then you would know where you’re coming from” followed by “Then you wouldn’t have to ask me/Who the heck do I think I am?”

I’ll prolly repost with more songs later idk

[shmowder]

I have no intention of stealing the show from squirrel anon (if you're reading this, I'm always happy for your ideas about Yulia, luv u <3), but since today we have a fair of unprecedented generosity I want to add something from myself. I have a weak spot in the form of using foreign words in speech and accents. Which characters could use this as a seduction tactic? I'm not hinting at anything, but Andrey could very well purr in Italian I assume.

🧡 anon

That invitation to share ideas was meant for everyone, not just squirrel anon, dw you're more than welcome here!

Andrey, the self-proclaimed renaissance man, will purr in any language in takes for you to part your legs and make space for himself in-between.

He'd recite French poetry in your ear before switching to Italian and whispering absolute filth about how he plans to take you like no man before him ever did, like no man before him ever will.

He will ruin you for every else, you will never be satisfied with another lover after laying with him, mark his words.

It's easy to forget how smart he is, quick to learn and adapt to new language. That man will spend one night with you, hear you slip up and say a word in a different language–maybe your mother tongue—and spend the rest of the week studying it in his free time. Picking up just enough words and general understanding to confidentiality talk dirty to you with it in bed.

He can be a romantic as much as he can be crude. Calling you his muse, his eurydice or even his slut.

Andrey is not afraid of deliberately targeting your kinks. Noticing the way your breath slows down when his voice gets lower.

The way he enraptures you whole by purring a different language against your neck, reciting foreign poems while leaving hickeys down your collarbone, sucking against your senses skin. As seductive as the devil in all of his earned confidence and seamless charm.

-

Aglaya is another character that comes to mind. Inquisitors need to be resourceful and knowledgeable, picking up a foreign language or five must have been mandatory in her training. They're problem solvers, they must be ready to sent wherever they are needed.

She was simply sharing one of her favourite poems with you, a fitting one for the current trial she's facing. It was in a foreign tongue, yet she smoothly recited it, a crisp pronunciation on the first try.

The effect it had on you, however subtle, doesn't pass her by. In a split second she puts two and two together, while 99.9% assured in her conclusion, she still tries to test her theory.

Taking one, two, three steps forward, invading your personal space just enough, tiptoeing the line of intimacy. She asks if you'd like to hear another piece from the same poet, your eager nod confirms her suspicions.

Aglaya adds that the content of this poem is rather sexual, it wouldn't be appropriate for her to speak it out loud in a cathedral now, would it?

So why don't you get closer, allow her to whisper it in your ear. Feel her lips brush against your earlobe, her warm breath tickling your neck for a second, her arm securely wrapped around your waist, keeping you in place by her side.

You're breathless after this one simple act. It's fascinating to her how intense your reaction is to mere foreign words.

The price of the next poem is a kiss. Let her cup your face and indulge in the taste of your lips for her heart's content, pour all of her usually stifled emotions into it.

For the one after that, she asks to feel your heartbeat, to lay her hand against your chest, directly atop your ribcage, and listen to the fragle organ pumping blood. You feel her hands roaming up and down your body.

It gets her off, don't worry about it.

Now how about the two of you move this to her private residence?