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livebeforeyoulearn · 3 days ago

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Safe in Her Arms

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Use of safe word, Fluff

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: Alexia goes a little too far and cares for you after.

Request

Alexia's lips latch onto your neck, branding the tender skin again and again, each press hot and possessive. Her mouth moves with unrestrained hunger, grazing, sucking, her tongue gliding over the bruised spots. She feels like a vampire lost to desire, marking you as hers, and each time her teeth scrape or her lips suckle, you gasp beneath her, arching into her body.

“Another?” Her words come close to a tease, yet they’re a question too, just as much as a request. You hum in reply, words failing you, reduced to the basic sound that’s enough to make her smirk.

She shifts, lifting herself up to her knees, her eyes locking onto you in that potent way that leaves you feeling bare, vulnerable, but willing. Your legs are spread wide open for her, aching and receptive, and you’re not sure how many times she’s had you like this tonight – maybe the fifth, or the sixth? Your body is worn and sensitive, surrendering to her insatiable rhythm with a desperation that mirrors her own. But how could you deny her?

“Remember your word, bebé?” she whispers, and you manage a nod. She studies you, intent. “Tell me, I need to know you remember.”

“Red,” you manage, a whisper from hoarse lips.

She hums in approval, her lips curving into yet another smirk, seemingly thrilled by your surrender. "Good," she murmurs, her gaze intense, devouring you whole. Her hands grip your thighs, keeping you open, exposed, as her eyes drink in the sight of you, desire deepening in her gaze. “Still want me so bad, huh? Have I not given you enough already?” she teases, her voice dripping with a possessive pride that leaves you trembling.

Your response is a helpless whimper, and she leans back, her hand finding the strap, sliding along its length to coat it with the traces of earlier pleasure before guiding it towards you. You can feel her gaze on you, taking in every subtle movement, every little sound you make as she drags the tip of it through your folds.

“Alexia, please,” you beg, voice breaking on the edge of a whine, every inch of you hyperaware of each movement. Her grin only widens, slow and dangerous, as she relishes in making you beg, enjoying every second that she has you at her mercy.

When she finally presses forwards, the tip stretching you in a way that’s both familiar and fresh, your mouth falls open, a strangled moan escaping as she fills you once more. You’re tight, your body trembling, and the pressure makes your eyes roll back, lost in the feeling she draws from you. Her eyes are locked between your legs, completely lost in how you take her; entranced. Her breaths are shallow as she watches your body open up to her touch, every inch of her consuming you.

Her movements start slow as she leans down, her fingers threading through yours, pinning your hands beside your head, trapping you under her as her hips find a steady rhythm. You glance up at her, catching sight of her torso, her abs flexing with each thrust. The sight alone is enough to make you melt, your body responding with even more need. Her eyes trail up your body, taking in every inch before she lowers her mouth to your chest, her lips catching one of your sensitive nipples. Each suck and bite, each motion is precise and demanding, pushing you further until your mind is hazy.

“Ale,” you moan, voice cracking as she moves faster, her rhythm intense, her own need apparent in the way she holds herself. “Fuck,” each thrust sends you reeling, caught between pain and pleasure, unsure where one sensation ends and the other begins, and yet you crave it all, maybe even crave for it to stop, though you can't quite tell anymore. Everything blurs together, and all you can do is feel.

You tighten your grip around her hands, nails pressing into her skin, and she responds with a groan, dragging her teeth along your chest, a teasing nip that makes you cry out. She watches, caught in her own pleasure, your hips lifting despite the overwhelming ache. Her body presses you down, her control firm as she whispers praises, “Ho estas fent molt be, mi princesa.”

She slips one hand free from your grasp, sliding it down to steady your hips as her thumb begins tracing slow, agonising circles over your sensitive clit. Your free hand drifts down to her abdomen, fingertips pressing firmly along the defined lines of her abs. Your nails rake against her skin, leaving faint, heated crescents in their wake, a breath escaping her lips as she feels each trace you leave behind.

“Mira’t,” she husks. “Taking me so well.”

Her thumb presses harder against you, and as her lips capture yours in a messy, needy kiss, your mind spins. You can feel that familiar heat building, intensifying as she pushes you to the edge one final time until everything snaps, sending you headlong into bliss. Your vision fades, your senses numbing, body going limp. As the waves of ecstasy wash over you, her lips trail down your jawline to your neck, kissing and sucking with fervent desire. Each soft bite sends goosebumps across your skin, pulling you deeper as she explores the sensitive curve of your throat.

But just as fast as the pleasure washes over you, it shifts – the sharp edge turning from sweet to searing, the sensation that once held you captive now pressing painfully against every nerve.

“Alexia, red, red, red,” you gasp out, voice faint but urgent. She stops instantly, her entire body stilling above you, her breath a sharp intake as she processes the word. She freezes, her lips still pressed to your neck, her hips halted, her breathing heavy as she lets you both catch up, her chest rising and falling in time with yours.

Then, softly, she whispers, “Amor?” Her voice is gentle, a hint of unease beneath the concern. “I’m going to pull out, okay?”

You manage a faint nod, the lingering pleasure melting away as she withdraws carefully, her hand gentle on your stomach, stroking softly as she helps you come down. The bed shifts, the quiet rustling of fabric filling the silence as she slips out of the harness, discarding it with little thought as she watches you with concern.

Exhausted, you roll onto your stomach, burying your face in the pillow. The scent of her skin lingers there, familiar and comforting, and you let yourself breathe, willing your body to relax as the ache fades.

In moments, she’s beside you again, settling on the bed and pulling you close. Her hand finds your face, her thumb wiping away a tear that’s slipped free. She’s quiet, waiting until you’re ready to meet her gaze, and when you do, her expression softens, a tender worry in her eyes.

“Are you okay, mi amor?” Her voice is soft, almost pained. “Did I go too far?”

“No, it’s okay,” you reply, your voice so faint, almost uncertain, feeling the exhaustion seep into every word. “I just need a moment.”

She nods, her face relaxing with a soft sigh, “No rush, mi amor,” she says, her arms encircling you as she guides you on top of her body. Her fingers trail softly across your back, drawing gentle, soothing patterns that steady you, and her lips press delicate kisses to your forehead.

You stay on top of her for a while, savouring the warmth of her body beneath you, her skin like silk under your fingertips. Your cheeks feel flushed, a faint embarrassment creeping in. It’s not the kind that feels shameful, but it’s enough to make you aware of just how exposed you feel. Admitting you needed to stop, even to her, feels vulnerable, like peeling back an extra layer of yourself and laying it bare for her to see. But you know she’d never judge you; she understands more than anyone. Yet, lying here, pressed against her, it’s impossible to ignore the gentle ache in your chest.

Her chest rises in a deep, slow breath beneath you, and the motion stirs you from the peaceful fog you’d nearly drifted into. Your eyes flutter open, taking in the dim light of the room. Her fingers, once tracing soft, soothing circles along your back, now lie still, her hand resting gently against you. Her lips are pressed firmly to your forehead, her breath soft against your skin. You feel her inhale, breathing you in as if memorising the moment, and it fills you with a strange, quiet peace. Your fingers draw a soft circle against her chest before you find your voice.

“Can we go shower?” The words come out rough, your voice betraying how tired and raw you feel.

“Of course,” she murmurs, her lips brushing your forehead in a gentle, lingering kiss before she carefully shifts, guiding both of you upright. You slide off her lap as she sits, her hands steady on you, her gaze tender. When she looks at you, her eyes seem to cradle you, holding you in that soft gaze that always undoes you. She leans forwards, her lips finding yours in a kiss that’s gentle and sweet, as if speaking the words she doesn’t need to say. When she pulls away and rises to her feet, she reaches a hand towards you.

She pauses when you don’t immediately move, a faint smile playing at her lips. With a gentle shake of her head, she steps closer. “Come on, I will carry you,” she says softly, amusement and love mingling in her tone.

A shy smile tugs at your lips as you scoot to the edge of the bed, letting her arms slip around you. She lifts you with such ease that you cling to her, feeling the need to be close. You nestle against her, and she seems to sense your desire to be held, pulling you even closer, her lips brushing soft kisses against your neck and shoulder as she carries you to the bathroom.

She sets you down on the cool countertop, and you watch as she moves to turn on the shower, the steam slowly beginning to fill the room. When she returns to you, her palms rest on your thighs, her fingers drawing soft trails along your skin. Her gaze is thoughtful, her eyes tracing over your face with an intensity that makes you wonder what she’s searching for. But her touch, her closeness, is reassuring, reminding you of the trust that exists between you, even in this moment of unfamiliar vulnerability.

Neither of you has ever had to use the safe word before, and you both feel the weight of it, unspoken but there. You know it isn’t her fault – she hadn’t meant to push you past what you were comfortable with. And she did exactly what she should have, stopping the moment you uttered the word, letting the trust between you remain intact. You take a steady breath, grateful for her presence, for how deeply you trust her, and for her respect towards you and your boundaries.

She blinks a few times, her gaze softening as she seems to pull herself back into the present. Her fingers tighten around your thighs for a moment before she nods towards the shower. You give her a look that says enough, and she laughs softly, stepping forwards to help you down.

She slips into the shower first, letting the water run over her as she tilts her head back, closing her eyes in peaceful surrender to the warmth. “Amor, quick, it is lonely without you,” she calls, her voice carrying through the gentle rush of water.

You blink, snapping out of your thoughts, and slowly step into the shower. Your limbs feel heavy, the emotional exhaustion mingling with the physical, but she immediately pulls you close, her lips pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. She reaches for the shampoo, her hands finding their way into your hair, fingers working with such tenderness it nearly takes your breath away. Each touch feels purposeful, soft and attentive, as she washes away the remnants of the night, the lingering weight of the moment. She treats you with a gentleness that makes you feel fragile but safe, a softness that assures you she’ll handle every part of you with care.

When the soap is rinsed away, and you’re both just standing there under the cooling water, she wraps her arms around you from behind, her head resting on your shoulder. You let your hands fall over her forearms, anchoring her close, the moment both grounding and comforting.

“I’m sorry for making you stop,” you murmur, your voice barely audible over the soft patter of water. “I know you were enjoying it.”

She frowns, her face immediately softening as she turns you around, pulling you closer. Your arms instinctively wrap around her shoulders as hers tighten around your waist.

“No, you did exactly what you should’ve done. Thank you for trusting me,” she says, her voice tender, her eyes filled with sincerity that warms you from the inside.

You look down, feeling a flicker of embarrassment you can’t quite name. “Thank you for stopping,” you whisper, a touch of shyness creeping into your tone.

She lifts your chin gently, her thumb brushing against your skin as she meets your gaze. “You don’t need to feel embarrassed, I promise. I am happy you told me to stop. Otherwise, I would’ve hurt you more, sí?”

You nod, your heart easing under her soft reassurance. She gives you a tender smile before leaning in to press her lips to yours, the kiss unhurried and filled with a quiet love.

You stay like that, bodies tangled in soft kisses and gentle caresses, each touch a wordless promise. They never evolve into anything more, remaining innocent and comforting. In that restraint, you feel a respect and care from her that makes your heart ache in the best way. She’s understanding, patient, and everything you need in this moment. It’s one of the many reasons you love her.

As the water finally begins to cool, she shivers and quickly reaches to turn it off, both of you chuckling softly. She’s quick to wrap you in a towel, drying you off with the same care, and once she’s dressed, she helps you into something comfortable before guiding you back to bed.

Under the soft covers, she pulls you close, her arms wrapping around you with gentle insistence. Her fingers trace light patterns along your back, and she whispers soft, comforting words, each one slowly lulling you to peace. She brings a steady sense of tranquility as she lays against you, and as your eyes grow heavy, you feel nothing but safe, loved, and secure in her embrace. She follows you into sleep not long after, holding you close through the night.

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas smut #alexia putellas x reader #alexia x reader #woso #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso one shot #barca femeni #barca femini x reader #espwnt #espwnt x reader #fcb femení

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charliemwrites · 1 day ago

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Hiiiii! So I’m not super thrilled with this but I’ve been having a time of it at work so I worked on this when I could 🙃

Not sure if there will be a second part yet tbh we’ll see!

Edit: almost forgot to add that the gorgeous divider below is by @gildui they have some absolutely beautiful cod themed dividers.

Carrion

Reader comes back Wrong

Content: implied/referenced torture, injury, suicide reference/implicated “pact” (by background character), lack of wound care

The breakup was bad.

Not in the top 3 of Simon’s worst nightmare-inducing memories - but likely top 5. He certainly wakes up chest aching and eyes burning often enough for it to be a solid contender. He’s haunted by tears that dripped like acid and the cracks in your voice deafening him.

On bad days, he thinks he can still see you shuffling down the halls, eyes sunken and red-rimmed, dark circles and chapped lips. Anger giving way to resignation giving way to pain and sadness. The rest of the team tight-lipped and wincing, no sides taken, shoulders and ears offered equally in commiseration.

Your misery wanted no company, though.

You didn’t tell Simon that you were leaving. Gaz let slip over a subdued but obligatory game of cards, you’d be gone for a long time - loaned out to Laswell.

Simon didn’t go to see you off. Didn’t ask why you were leaving or accuse you of being too immature to be on a team with him. He didn’t wish you good luck, stay safe with the rest of the team on the tarmac at 0-dark when you took off.

He should have.

Price says you’ll be gone for six months. Just six. It’s better this way, he reminds them when Johnny balks. His eyes are on Simon, though, when he adds that you need to get your head on straight, and you weren’t able to do it with them.

So. Six months.

Simon stops expecting you on his left. Stops smelling your shampoo lingering on bits of clothes he pretended not to notice you steal. He still dreams about you begging him not to push you away.

183 days come and go.

On day 184, Laswell sends word - your temporary team likes you quite a bit. They want you to stay on for one more month… one more mission… one more…

Six months turns to ten.

312 days since you left; since you were home.

The team hasn’t stopped leaving a space for you at their tables, right between Gaz and Price. You miss your own birthday. Laswell says she’ll pass along well wishes.

The situation changes. A target resurfaces. All hands on deck, including yours.

374 days. Twelve months and some change.

They don’t spend the holidays with you, but there’s a stack of presents waiting in Price’s office. Your mugs have collected dust in the back of the rec room cabinet.

Laswell says you’re still deployed on one last mission, return TBD. Soon, though.

487 days. Still TBD. Soon. Really. Just some loose ends to tie up.

561 days. There was some trouble during exfil but you’re alright. Just a bit of recovery.

You’re coming home.

590 days. You’ll land at 0700 tomorrow.

It’s been 591 days since Simon last saw you. Since any of them last saw you.

Laswell has come to deliver you personally, a kind of apology for keeping you away so long. She’s the first off the transport and you’re right behind her.

Your hair is shorter. Much, much shorter. There’s a new patch on your jacket - memento from your temporary team, Simon figures.

Apart from that, you look… almost exactly how you did when you left. Dark circles under your eyes, mouth drawn and tight. There’s invisible weight compressing your shoulders, urging them in and down. But you’re there again. Just the way he remembers.

(Why are you the way he remembers?)

“Long time, no see,” Gaz calls, reaching for you.

There’s half a beat, you blink. Hesitate.

Then you grin and reach back.

“Missed my pretty face, did you?” you reply.

Johnny laughs and brings you in for a hug. You twitch hug him back, patting his shoulder as you pull away.

“Good to have you back, Sergeant,” Price says, shaking your hand.

You turn to Simon, nod in greeting, expression pleasant. “Ghost.”

So that’s how it’ll be? Alright.

“Sergeant.”

That night, you go out for drinks with the team and Laswell. Simon goes along to show there are no hard feelings.

(Not that you seem to need reassurance. It’s not even that you’re not looking at him. You are. Whenever he speaks, the rare times he does, or if he shifts in his seat. Your gaze doesn’t linger or jerk away, you treat him like you do Johnny and Gaz and Price.)

When Johnny mixes up your usual for Price’s, you don’t even seem to notice. But Simon does.

“When did you start drinking whiskey?” he wonders.

You used to swear you’d never like it, claiming it tasted like boot polish and the “Boys Club” wasn’t worth the indigestion it gave you.

“Someone from my other team,” you say by way of explanation.

You don’t ask for another whiskey. Laswell gets the rest of your drinks for that night.

Simon turns into the rec room two days later and finds you already there. There’s only the light above the sink on, and you’re staring at the steady drip, drip, drip from the faucet. A cup of black coffee cools in your hand. You’re already wearing gloves.

“Sugar’s in the left now,” he calls.

Your head twitches, something pops in your neck.

“Oh, thanks,” you chirp, turning for the cabinet. “Sleep okay, LT?”

“‘Bout as well as I ever do,” he replies gruffly, sidling up next to you for the kettle.

You hum. There’s a yellow packet in your hand. (Didn’t you used to like the blue one?)

“I get that,” you sympathize.

He snorts. Since when?

“Do you?”

When he glances down, you’re not looking at him. Instead, you’re trying (and failing) to get the sink to stop dripping.

“You know that’s been broken for ages,” he says.

At least as long as the 141 has been around. You tried to fix it once when you first joined up, too, with no luck.

“Right,” you say. A little too quickly, a little too agreeably. “Well, anyway, enjoy your tea, Lieutenant.”

You leave the packet of sugar behind. Unopened.

You’re back and it’s like it used to be - not just before you left, but before the breakup. Before there was ever anything to break up.

Your time away seems to have given you whatever space from Simon you were hoping for, because you act like there was never anything at all.

He’s half expecting, dreading, that you’ll pull him aside at some point. Ask for a word after dinner, or swing by his room before bed. Talk about the break up now that cooler heads prevail and 19 months have sanded down the rough feelings. Seek closure, maybe.

But you don’t. The weeks pass until a month has gone and you never exchange more than easy pleasantries with Simon. You give him space, give him privacy. Things you never used to give him much of before, for better or worse.

You fool around with Gaz and Johnny, trade quips with Price, and follow Simon’s orders. Train recruits. Write reports.

You’re back, better than ever.

So why does it feel like Simon’s still waiting for you to return?

You’re always dressed now, head to toe. Day or night, rain or shine. From the neck down you’re in full sleeves, long pants, boots and gloves.

It doesn’t occur to anyone until you’re sweating through your compression shirt in the gym. Wipe your shiny forehead for the dozenth time before Johnny says, “why not just take it off?”

“It’s not that bad,” you laugh, waving him off.

When you lie down to bench press, Simon notes the bottom of your shirt tucked tight into your waistband. He exchanges a glance with Johnny - he’s seen it too.

You used to dress in shorts and sports bras during exercise, a towel over your shoulder. In the common room, you’d mill in tank-tops and boxers. Even used to trot down the hall swaddled in a towel or robe, mumbling that you forgot a razor or some other toiletry before showering.

“What, did ye get an embarrassing tattoo or somethin’?” Johnny asks finally.

You blink at him, expression bemused. “A tattoo? Why do you think I have a tattoo?”

“Yer covered up like a nun on Sunday. It cannae be comfortable.”

You snort. “Just because you’re allergic to clothes, MacTavish…”

“Allergic?! Wha’s tha’ s’posed t’mean?!”

Gaz barks a laugh. You grin and continue your workout.

Simon tries not to be disturbed by the name “MacTavish” coming off your tongue for the first time since you met.

It’s your first mission since you’ve been back. You have new gear, a new handgun. Something’s been carved into the side of the barrel in Cyrillic, Simon can’t read it. A new callsign.

(“What kind of a name is Carry-on?” Johnny teases, but he doesn’t quite hide the unease in his eyes.

You snort and lace your boots tighter. The edge of you sleeve inches up, revealing the curve of a glossy scar that wasn’t there before.

“You’re one to talk Mister Maybelline.”)

Someone painted an upside down cross on the temple of your helmet with their finger. You thumb it before stuffing it over your head.

“You ready for this?” Gaz asks, knocking his knee into yours. The two of you have been paired together for this mission. (Was it Simon’s imagination, or did you look annoyed that you would have a partner?)

“Always,” you reply.

Simon doesn’t hear what happens, but Gaz looks shellshocked when you haul him into the helicopter during exfil. You shake him a bit once everything is secure and the bird’s in the air.

“Garrick,” you shout, “c’mon, where did he get you?”

It takes him a second but he blinks, offers his arm for your inspection. You move with a speed even Simon is impressed by, tearing into the nearby med kit almost viciously. Gaz is patched up in record time and you sit back with blood on your hands, barely even seem to notice as you wipe them carelessly on your pants.

(You used to be more squeamish, weren’t you? You used to be the last one they asked for medical care because seeing your teammates in pain made you nauseous.)

“What about you?” Gaz asks after a small eternity.

You yawn. “What about me?”

“You got nicked too, didn’t you?”

Simon takes a second look at you and now that Gaz mentions it, you’re soaked in blood. Wet patches on your vest, your pants, dripping down your boots. It takes him a moment to notice the tear in your thigh, shredded flesh visible when you rock with the wind turbulence.

“Did I?” you wonder, glancing down like you only just noticed it.

Johnny curses, reaches for you - but you wave him off.

“It’s just a scratch,” you reply. “Barely even feel it, no worries.”

Then why is it still bleeding?

When the team lands, you hop off the heli without so much as a wince. Droplets of blood lead all the way back to your room.

(When Simon asks Nikolai about the hand-etching on your gun, he says the word means “promise.”)

In the after-action report, your callsign isn’t “Carry-On.” It’s Carrion.

Laswell takes you off the mission two months later, a joint assignment with KorTac. They send three operators to work with TF141 - Stiletto, Konig, and Nikto.

On the transport to infil, Simon notices the Russian inspecting his handgun in a seat separated from the rest of the squad. He recognizes the Cyrillic carved into the barrel this time: Promise.

It’s an eerie, creeping suspicion. An anxious fog rolling in.

It’s not one single thing that trips an alarm in Simon’s head, but a steady collation of oddities over months. A single arhythmic beat, a note off key. Just once or twice, but over and over until he can’t notice anything else.

You act just like yourself except for all the minute ways you don’t.

You smile big and wide, sunshine bright, when they make a good joke. Your laugh is still the same, bubbling up in your throat, head thrown back. You smell the same when you pass Simon in the hall, shampoo and soap that’s haunted him for a year and a half.

It’s insidiously subtle; he can’t pinpoint what it is for the longest time. Your mannerisms are almost too practiced, the cadence of your voice too measured. A missing turn of phrase you often used, replaced by something unfamiliar.

Simon dismisses it as guilt-laden paranoia. The two of you ended on bad terms with a year and half worth of space between. He’s hardly one to gauge what’s normal for you anymore.

And besides, the few times someone else has noticed at those tiny yet all-too-obvious inconsistencies, you shrug it off as something you picked up while away.

But he catches Johnny’s brows furrow one afternoon as you light up a cig (after swearing for years that you’d never pick up the habit) and Simon knows he’s beginning to see it too.

“You ever notice,” Gaz begins slowly. You’re the only one missing from the rec room this evening, retired with a drawn-out yawn. “That Carrion always mentions being away, but never talks about it?”

Simon stills. Johnny’s eyes fly to Price, who’s grimly tapping at his crossword puzzle.

“The file’s redacted,” he says. He’s seen it too then, tried to investigate for himself.

“That’s normal for a mission like that,” Simon reasons carefully.

“I don’t mean the mission,” Price says. “I mean Carrion’s file.”

“This is a good movie,” you mumble from the armchair you’ve stolen from Price. “What’s it called?”

Simon exchanges glances with the rest of the team. No one points out that this is (used to be?) your favorite.

Price looks into the team you were loaned out to. All were KIA or remain MIA. All but one. His file has been scrubbed too, the only documents readable are discharge orders and a PMC contract, both associated with the callsign “Nikto.”

They’re running out of time.

Less than 36 hours on the clock with only one lead, and it’s a zealot with a suicide pact. Price and Laswell both took a crack at him with nothing to show for it. Even Ghost has gotten hardly anything and he’s running out of nails. With time, he might get something useful, but they don’t have much of that left.

In the anteroom looking into interrogation, you’ve been observing through the one-way glass with your hands in your pockets, head tilted, expression serene.

Price and Laswell are discussing strategy, contingencies. Gaz and Johnny are throwing in their two cents, but Simon… Simon is watching you.

Like medical, torture used to be your Achilles. You were trained like the rest of the team, but there was never any need for you to step into the room yourself. Hell, you were a last resort even for observation or emergency resuscitation. No one blamed you for having a weak stomach for information extraction.

But today, you glance over your shoulder and make eye contact with Laswell.

“I’ll handle it,” you say with an air of finality.

The room goes silent. Price opens his mouth, but it’s Laswell that speaks, voice hard with resignation.

“Do it.”

You don’t blink. “Yes, ma’am.”

You walk out the door without a backwards glance, shoulders loose but each step steady and purposeful.

“What the hell is going on, Kate?” Price demands.

Kate sighs, looks away as you enter the interrogation room.

“Let’s do this outside. It won’t take long to get that intel.”

The only thing she’s able to share is that you and your team were captured. For a long time. And then you’re already stepping out of the interrogation room, wiping your bloodied hands off on an old rag.

There’s an unusual glint in your eye, an unnatural stillness in your expression.

“Got what we need,” you announce cheerfully.

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #angst #reader came back Wrong #simon riley

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elias-the-scribe · 1 day ago

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You watch as the dragon takes its final breath. You don’t feel victorious or assured that you did a good thing. You don’t feel anything as you stare at the being you just killed. You’re just... tired and covered in blood and dirt. You turn from the body, beginning the long journey home.

Your son is born… but you recognize those eyes. Golden with slit pupils, like a snake’s, like the creature you killed's. You should do something to make sure he doesn’t become like he was. So, you decide to raise him as your own.

You teach him all you know. As the years go on, you just feel more and more proud of your son, dragon, or no. You comfort him when he came crying that kids called his eyes weird. You always hugged him and let him, encouraged him, to cry.

After that happened one too many times (one time, it happened once, and you decided to never let it happen again) you taught him how to fight, and no one ever tried to hurt him again.

Years passed and again your son came to you, those beautiful golden eyes full of tears. “Dad… I… I need to tell you something.” You wipe away a few tears.

“What is it?” Your heart broke upon seeing those tears. Maybe I can, once more, teach him a skill and keep him from weeping. You hoped you could help.

“I… am not your son.”

“My daughter then?” He blinked, confused before just shaking his head.

“No, I replaced your son… I’m not your son, because I killed his soul. I’m a dragon. When we are killed, we reincarnate, replace the soul that was meant to be.” You nod along.

"I raised you. You're my son, by spirit or no."

He managed a smile, but it faded quickly. "I need revenge on the knight to killed me."

You nodded. This was something you've been ready for quite some time. You were certain that the only reason he didn't realize who you were was because of the helmet that hid your face. "There's my old armor and sword in the attic. Goodbye, my son."

"Bye Dad, I'll make sure to come back."

You woke up that night, after bidding your only son goodbye, to your own sword pressed into your neck.

"It was you." There were so many emotions in that boy's voice. Rage, despair, there wasn't any joy though. He just sounded... tired.

"It was."

"Did you know?!" That it would come to this? That he was born a dragon? You simply nodded. "And... you still raised me, you still showed me how to fight." The sword was too close to your throat, your wife too close to your side, for you to be able to utter more than a quiet response.

"I wouldn't have done anything different."

The darkness hid the tears on both of your faces, as he dragged you out of bed and into the field by your house. He remembered your favorite place, you realized with a small smile. You pulled him into a hug, for all the stars to see.

You didn't even notice your own sword cutting through your heart. With your final breath, you whisper: "I love you, my son."

You, a heroic paladin have successfully slain a fearsome dragon. But the dragon warns you that death is but a door, and dragons don’t die, they reincarnate. You paid it no mind….until your son was born with golden, slitted eyes.

#writing prompt #dragon #cw: death #writblr #dragon and knight

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3amfanfiction · 2 days ago

Note

You wrote this about Simon: “At this lieutenant, already chewed up and spit out by the world. More scars than skin at this point. You wonder how many people only see the scars and not the shivering body underneath it, waiting for a soft touch.”

I’d LOVE to read more of this - i wanna be the one to offer him the soft touch he wants so badly, maaaan! He’s just so big n’ strong but i want to let him curl up against me while i pet him until he stops shivering

This came through at the perfect time. I had the desire to write but I was picking at all my wips half heartedly bc none of the them were what I wanted.

But this? This I wanted.

So thank you again and please enjoy 1.5k words of acclimatizing Simon to soft touches.

<33

Ask referencing this post.

~~~~

He scared you, the first time you saw him.

Not because of how big he was (tall, thick, muscular) or the look in his eyes (cold, dismissive, too watchful), not even because of the scars themselves (numerous, expansive, tragic).

It was because you knew any interaction would come across as a threat. He had that look in his eyes that said he'd seen the worst of what the world had to offer and he persisted through luck and spite equally. Now he was sat in front of you, too disciplined to let his skin shiver but hating being seen. Hating that you were looking.

When you met him it was through a friend of a friend sort of thing. One of your friends was seeing a Scottish boy and invited you out for drinks with them. You had no reason to say no so you found yourself sitting at a high-top doing your best not to bother the man sitting quietly to your right.

His gruff, Simon, during introductions was the only thing he had said in the last hour, content to sit quietly and watch. Almost outside of the group even though he was sitting at the same table. You made sure to include him when you were speaking to the group, your eyes darting to each person as you spoke, not leaving anyone out. But you made sure to never direct a hard question at him that required an answer. It was all, I bet you never have a problem seeing over the crowd. or I'll grab everyone a drink while I'm up or Sorry, I'll be out of your space in a moment, my jacket was getting a little warm.

He would look at you. Every time you spoke to him he wouldn't shy away from eye contact but that was where his involvement ended. Never a head nod or shake, never a verbal answer.

By the end of the night you were positive he didn't like you. He didn't dis-like you but he didn't like you, you were pretty sure. That was okay though. You'd done your best not to infringe on his space, not wanting to step on his toes. You thought you had done a good job all around and put it out of your mind, the interaction over and done with and no longer needing to be reviewed.

What you never realized was Simon's shoulders lowered a whole inch throughout the course of the night.

\\\

You called your friend out on the number of times she invited you to hang out with Johnny and Simon, flat out asking if she and Johnny were trying to set you and Simon up through subtle double-dating.

"No!" She leaned forward grabbing your hand, her eyes looking earnestly into yours, "I promise it's not like that. Johnny told me he's pretty much all Simon has. Well, their team is. So they're always together when they're home. I don't want Simon to feel like a third wheel or left out or anything."

And you believed her. This was one of her strong suits, always looking out for others. That's probably why you two got along so well, a pair of givers, the both of you. And she had a point. The idea of Simon sitting awkwardly with the other two as his only companions made something twist in your stomach. You didn't want that for him.

So you kept seeing Simon and you kept doing your best to give him space but include him at the same time. You were shocked the first day he spoke to you but the fact that it was a bad joke made a sort of perfect sense.

"What's the best way to carve wood?"

You looked over at him in shock that this was what he chose to break the ice with. At the same time you were delighted and you couldn't help but feel giddy at the prospect of Simon telling you a joke. A bad one by the sound of it.

"How?"

"Whittle by whittle."

"That was absolutely terrible."

He smiled to himself if his eye crinkles had anything to say about it. That giddy feeling bubbling up inside you was getting unsettlingly big right about now. You looked at the ground and bit your lip to keep from a cheesy grin of your own breaking out.

Before you knew it he had no problem speaking to you. While never particularly verbose, he would respond to comments directed towards him, offer his opinion if options were offered, and kept telling awful jokes.

You were hopelessly charmed.

You broke your own rules and reached for him first.

You were sat next to him on a bench, the sun setting and the evening air cooling further. He had told you another one of his god-awful jokes when you unthinkingly swatted out with your hand, brushing his arm. His muscles jumped and his arm tensed right before you made contact as if bracing for a hit. An involuntary reaction to someone reaching for him. It was a horrifying realization.

You sobered quickly and your chuckle died off awkwardly. You turned to face forward, looking out at the street, watching for any sign of your friend or Johnny who had stepped into the store for a quick moment leaving you and Simon to find a bench while you waited. You hoped that if you didn't draw attention to it then your faux pas would pass unmentioned.

You let out a relieved sigh when Simon continued with another comment, not taking your overstepping to heart. By the time the other two had rejoined you the whole situation was forgotten, water under the bridge. You didn't think of it again until it was the end of the night with everyone about to go their separate ways.

When you said goodbye to Simon he said it back, reaching out to brush his hand down your arm in return in almost the exact same spot as where you'd touched him earlier.

Your heart skipped a beat before picking up a double pace. You couldn't help but beam at him, a wide grin splitting your face even as he grunted and turned away, likely embarrassed by your show of emotion.

Today had been a good day after all.

You thought you had ruined it for a moment there, thankful when Simon seemed to brush past it. You hadn't expected him to reciprocate in the same manner though.

Maybe he really did like hanging out with you. You never doubted it for a second.

\\\

It took time–a slow steady build to where you ended up, curled up on the couch together with Simon laying on top of you. You both had your tops off to bask in a little skin-to-skin time.

You'd been together for a few months at this point and it was like night and day to compare him to the Simon you met all that time ago. This one couldn't keep his hands off you to save his life. It was a slow warm-up to get past his walls in a way that wasn't upsetting to either of you. Soft touches that slowly built, leading to hand holding, to hugging, to kissing, to this.

You dragged your fingers slowly up his back, fingertips catching on raised scar tissue before continuing on, ever moving. He hummed into the crook of your neck where he had buried his face when you switched from fingertips to nails, gently scratching the skin.

You loved spending time like this, feeling Simon melt into you, eager for every touch he could get. If you were sitting still and Simon was in the vicinity you could bet that he would be pressed against your side before too much time had passed. Eager for the soft caresses you always had for him.

He was starved for touch and you wanted to feed him.

So you offered, again and again in the beginning–most times with no luck, to let him touch you. On the couch watching TV? Your arms would open, inviting a hug when he walked by. At the table? Your head was tilting up for a kiss if he wanted one. Passing each other in the hallway? You'd raise your hand and hold it in front of you, letting him press his big barrel chest into your palm if he wanted.

It was a slow acclimatization that brought you to today and the taste was all the sweeter for the time you had poured into it.

You lifted a hand to drag it through the spiky hairs at the back of his head, enjoying his groan of contentment. It sounded like he was already halfway asleep and you knew you wouldn't be leaving this spot for a while.

Might as well settle in and get comfortable. You familiarized him to gentle touches, now he was insatiable for them. He would be consuming them from you greedily for as long as you offered.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #i enjoyed writing this #asks #thank you nonnie for sending in this ask! i appreciate it more than you know #touch starved!simon riley #slow acclimatization #as it should be

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stylesispunk · 2 days ago

Text

"Is God watching our eyes burn?"

Not outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Two best friends are falling in love. What could have gone wrong?

w.c: 6k

warnings: angst as always. No proofreading.

a/n: I wrote this during the afternoon, so please don't hurt my feelings. I hope you like it, though. It has the potential for a second part. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated.💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Falling in love with your best friend. What a typical beginning or an ending of a story.

From your eyes you could see people describing their partner as their soulmates, their other half, and their best friends.

What are the odds of you falling in love with yours? How? when he had never seen you with those loving eyes you witnessed in others.

Joel loved you. That wasn’t in doubt but he had loved you as a brother loved a sister, as a friend loved his friend.

And that's why you were simply that. Best friends.

You watched him as he spoke, hands moving animatedly as he shared some story or other, and you smiled and laughed at all the right moments. Still, there was a part of you that was miles away, caught in a daydream where he was looking at you, just once, the way people looked at their person.

It wasn’t something you’d wanted to feel. For years, Joel had been your rock. You knew each other in ways no one else did, inside jokes, old scars, even that soft corner of his heart that few others got to see. He’d been the one person you could count on, even when things got messy, and you never wanted to risk that. But somewhere along the way, the little moments started to change. His hand on your shoulder, his smile in the morning, his laugh when he caught you dancing alone in the kitchen, all those things that had once been innocent had started to mean something else.

You used to feel safe around him. Now, every word, every glance, every touch was charged with a question he couldn’t hear, and it scared you. You kept asking yourself, When did it happen? How did it happen? It was like a puzzle you couldn’t solve. One minute, you were friends; the next, you were wondering what his hand would feel like if it held yours just a little longer.

He had found his way inside you. You didn’t mean it sexually, but spiritually. It felt like him and his bared hand ripped the skin off your chest and took your most precious belonging. Your heart.

From that day on, it felt like your breathed for him. That you belonged to him. To his breath, to his thoughts, to his gaze. Every time he wasn’t looking at you, you felt your heart tearing apart.

It was maddening, really, how much you had come to need him, how each of his smiles, each of his laughs, felt like something you couldn’t live without. You’d catch yourself watching him, memorizing the lines around his eyes, the way his shoulders relaxed when he was with you, how his voice softened when he talked about something he loved. You’d watch him in the little moments when he didn’t know you were looking, like when he was lost in thought, eyes drifting away as he tapped his fingers against his knee.

But you were losing your hold on yourself, inch by inch. You knew it every time he walked into the room and your heart betrayed you, skipping a beat as if he was the most important person in the world. And he was. At some point, he’d become everything. And you could do nothing about it.

It felt like you breathed for him.

The more you tried to keep those feelings quiet, the louder they seemed to get. There were nights when you’d lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the ache of his absence like a weight pressing down on you. It was terrifying to know that you belonged to him in a way that he’d never understand. You belonged to his laugh, his gaze, the casual touches he’d give that left their mark on you long after he’d pulled away.

And you had came to understand why your relationships never worked out.

And why all his flings and lover weren’t very fond of you.

It all made sense now, why every other relationship you’d tried felt hollow, why every time someone else held you, it felt like a betrayal. You had always been searching for something that could fill the space Joel left behind, something that could compare to the feeling of being with him. And no one ever measured up. No one could make you feel the way he did with just a look, just a laugh, or a soft touch on your shoulder.

His girlfriends must have sensed it, too—the subtle pull that kept you by his side, the way he’d cancel plans with them if you needed him, the way he always looked for you in a crowded room. They saw what you tried to keep hidden. They could see that in some quiet, unspoken way, you were always there, between them and him.

But you also knew he was far away from healing from his last heartbreak. And you knew that when he kissed you like he mean it, he was looking out for comfort from you, the person who always was there.

And you gave in.

You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t let it happen. You told yourself a hundred times that you could be his friend, his rock, without crossing that line. But when he showed up at your door late one night, shoulders slumped and eyes tired, the air felt different. He looked worn down, like he’d been carrying too much for too long, and all he wanted was relief, a place where he didn’t have to pretend to be okay.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said, his voice low and raw, and you knew what that meant, knew it had to do with the last woman who’d walked out of his life, leaving him with wounds that hadn’t yet healed. You’d listened to him, night after night, as he talked through the pain, the trust he’d put in her, the hopes he’d had that had all fallen apart. And though every word cut deep, you were there, steady as ever, offering him comfort, reassurance.

So when he stepped closer, when his hand reached out, brushing a lock of hair from your face, you felt your own resolve crumbling. You could tell yourself all you wanted that this wasn’t real, that it wasn’t the way you’d dreamed it. But the truth was, his touch set you on fire, made you feel like you’d been waiting for this moment forever.

He leaned in, his face inches from yours, and you could see the flicker of need in his eyes, the desperation. You knew he was reaching for you to fill a void, to ease a hurt that still felt fresh, and maybe it was wrong, maybe you were both vulnerable, but in that moment, you didn’t care. You wanted to be the person he needed, even if it was only for a night, even if he was looking at you through the lens of heartbreak and loss. Because the way his gaze softened, the way he touched you, it was everything you’d been longing for, even if it came from his own need to feel whole again.

So you let him. You let him take that step, let his lips press against yours, let him hold you close as if you were the only one who could fix the pieces left broken. It wasn’t the love you’d dreamed of, but it was real in its own way, a moment where you belonged to each other, even if he would never see it that way.

And as he kissed you, as he held you close, you knew you’d regret it in the morning, that you’d feel the ache of him slipping away once the moment passed.

But that never happened.

Instead, everything between you and Joel shifted that night, as if a door that had always been locked was suddenly wide open. You had thought it would be one moment, a single night where you could pretend that his touch was a promise, that his kisses meant as much to him as they did to you. But he didn’t let you go, didn’t pull back into that safe distance of friendship once the night had passed. Instead, he lingered, stayed close, as if he was finding something in you he hadn’t expected, as if he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

The next morning, you’d braced yourself, heart pounding as you turned to face him, expecting to see the hesitation, the discomfort. But instead, you found him watching you, his expression soft, almost vulnerable, as he reached for you again. “Hey,” he murmured, and his hand found yours, fingers intertwining with a certainty that left you breathless.

And from there, it didn’t stop.

Joel didn’t hesitate, didn’t second-guess the leap you both had taken. In the weeks that followed, it was as if he had been waiting just as long, holding back feelings he hadn’t even realized he had. He wasn’t careful, wasn’t cautious; he didn’t linger in that unsure space between friendship and something more. Instead, he was all in, crossing every line with a steadiness that left you dizzy.

It only took him two months to raise the bar, to show you what it was like to be truly wanted. He’d come over with flowers in hand like it was nothing, his face breaking into a grin when you’d open the door, as if the sight of you made everything right. He’d brush hair from your face, a little slower than he used to, letting his fingers linger on your cheek, his gaze holding a warmth you’d once only dreamed of. There was no hesitation in his touches now, no holding back. He’d pull you close on a crowded street, run his fingers down your arm as you laughed over breakfast, hold you just because you were there. With Joel, you never had to wonder if you were enough.

And you found yourself slipping into those roles, playing the parts of the lovers you’d once watched from a distance. You both did, almost instinctively. At first, it felt strange, like you were walking on a stage, wearing someone else’s life. You’d spend your days together, trying to believe it was real, that the Joel who laughed into your shoulder and kissed you in the middle of a conversation was yours.

The first time he told you he’d fallen for you, it was casual, thrown in like he’d said it a thousand times before, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Even in the warmth of his love, in the softness of his gaze when he looked at you, there was always a flicker of something else, something he couldn’t quite hide. A shadow that lingered behind his smile, a sadness that clung to him no matter how hard he tried to bury it. You could see it in the quiet moments, when the laughter faded, and he’d look at you as if he was searching for something, as if he was afraid of losing you even while you were right there in his arms.

It hurt to see that sadness in him, knowing you couldn’t reach it, couldn’t pull him fully into the light. You’d watch him sometimes, catch him lost in thought, his eyes distant, and wonder if he was thinking of his past—of the scars he’d carried from those who had left him, the pieces of himself he’d lost along the way. There were nights when he’d hold you close, his grip a little tighter, as if you were an anchor keeping him grounded, and you’d feel the weight of that sadness, as if he was trying to drown it in the warmth between you.

One evening, after a quiet dinner, you both sat on the couch, his arm around you, fingers tracing lazy circles on your shoulder. The glow of the lamplight softened everything around you, casting shadows that danced across his face. You could see the sadness there, deeper tonight, almost heavy enough to spill over. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, he looked as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

“Joel,” you whispered, reaching up to brush your fingers along his jaw, hoping to ease the ache you saw in him. “What is it?”

He looked down, his thumb moving over your knuckles in slow, soothing circles, as if he was gathering his thoughts. “Sometimes, I think about… how lucky I am to have you,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “And it scares me. Because I’ve lost things before. People. And… I don’t ever want that to happen with us. I don’t want to wake up and find out this was just… I don’t know, a dream.”

You felt your heart twist, aching for him, for the years he’d spent holding onto pain he couldn’t let go of. And yet, you also understood. You’d been best friends for so long, and even in love, you could sense that he was still trying to protect himself, to guard that broken part of him that he feared would shatter if he let himself believe too much, hope too much.

So you held his face in your hands, meeting his gaze with a steady resolve. “I’m not going anywhere, Joel. I’m here, and I want to be here. Whatever shadows you carry, I’ll be here to help you face them. I love you, all of you. Even the parts that hurt.”

His eyes softened, and he looked at you like you were something he didn’t deserve, something precious he’d stumbled upon and was still afraid to hold too tightly. But then, he leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours, closing his eyes as he let himself breathe, let himself feel the weight of your words.

But you knew, just as he did, that there was a part of him still haunted by her—by the girl he’d lost, the one who followed him like a ghost he could never quite shake. She lingered in the quiet corners of his mind, a memory that wouldn’t fade, an echo that haunted him even when he was wrapped in your arms. You could feel it in the way he held you sometimes, as if he was clinging to the present but couldn’t fully leave the past behind.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love you. You knew he did; you could feel it in every touch, in every whispered word. But there was a part of him still lost in a place you couldn’t reach, tethered to memories you could never truly understand. He didn’t talk about her, didn’t bring her up, and you never pushed him to. Still, you sensed the weight of her shadow in his silences, in the moments when his gaze grew distant, as though he was looking right through you to someone who wasn’t there.

It was a strange thing, learning to share him with a memory, a ghost that still lived somewhere deep inside him. You’d told yourself you could handle it, that you could be patient, that one day he’d let go of her completely. But some nights, when you caught him staring into the distance with that quiet sadness in his eyes, you felt a pang of jealousy—not for her, but for the part of him she still held captive.

In those moments, you couldn’t help but wonder if she would always be there, lingering just beyond the reach of what you and Joel were building together. If he’d ever truly be able to let go, to give himself over to this love without the pull of that past, that echo.

"Sometimes, it feels like I’m not really here," you said, voice tight with a vulnerability you’d tried to keep hidden. "Like you’re looking past me—to her."

Joel’s eyes flicked up, surprised by the intensity in your voice. He shifted, as if he wasn’t quite sure where this was coming from, but the sadness you’d seen in him so many times was still there, familiar and frustrating. "That’s not fair," he murmured, his tone soft but guarded. "You know it’s not like that."

“Then what is it like, Joel?” you demanded, feeling a pang of guilt even as the words escaped. “Because every time you get that look in your eyes, every time you drift off… it’s her, isn’t it?”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, weary. “She was a part of my life. I can’t just erase that.”

"And what about us?” you shot back, the words sharper than you intended. “Do I always have to share you with her? Am I ever going to be enough, or am I just supposed to be okay with half of you?”

Joel’s jaw clenched, and he looked away, his face shadowed. “You don’t understand,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then help me understand, Joel,” you pleaded, your voice cracking. “I’ve tried. I’ve been patient, I’ve given you space, but it’s like… it’s like there’s this wall between us that I can’t get past. And I don’t know if I ever will.”

He looked back at you then, his gaze heavy with something unreadable. “It’s not about you,” he said, frustration seeping into his tone. “This is my burden, my past. It doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

“But it does mean you’re not all here,” you replied, the words trembling with pain. “And I can��t help but wonder if you’ll ever be.”

There was a long, aching silence as your words hung in the air. Joel looked away, his face set in a hard line, and for a moment, you felt a wave of regret, of fear that maybe you’d pushed too far. But you needed him to hear it. Needed him to understand how much it hurt to be constantly measured against a memory, to feel like you were always fighting to pull him into the present.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and raw. “I’m trying. But it’s not that simple. You think I don’t want to let go? You think I don’t want to be… whole?”

The vulnerability in his voice was almost too much, cutting through your anger and leaving you feeling exposed. You could see how much he wanted to give you what you deserved, how he hated the way he was bound to a past he couldn’t change. And yet, part of you still felt that ache, that longing for a love that wasn’t haunted by shadows.

“I don’t want to be your second choice, Joel,” you whispered, feeling the tears rise, though you tried to blink them away. “I don’t want to keep feeling like I’m… not enough.”

Joel reached for you then, his hand finding yours, his grip firm but gentle. “You’re not my second choice,” he said softly, his voice barely holding together. “You’re the one here, the one I want. I just… sometimes, I don’t know how to shake the past. I don’t know how to make it stop hurting.”

You looked down at your joined hands, the warmth of his touch grounding you even as you felt the weight of his words settle heavy on your heart. You wanted to believe him, wanted to let his words reassure you, but the doubt lingered, a painful reminder of the distance that still stretched between you.

“I know you’re trying, Joel,” you said quietly. “But I know better than to wait for you back here.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself as you prepared to say the words you’d kept buried for too long. “I mean… I can’t keep standing on the sidelines, hoping one day you’ll be fully here. I can’t be the one waiting for you to decide if you’re ready to move on.” You paused, watching as his face registered the meaning of your words, a flicker of fear crossing his eyes. “I love you, Joel. But I can’t keep giving all of myself if you’re not ready to do the same.”

He looked at you, the silence stretching between you, and you could see the conflict etched into his expression. “You think I don’t want that?” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You think I don’t wish every day that I could leave all that behind?”

“I know you do,” you replied, feeling your own voice tremble. “But wishing isn’t enough. I need to know that you’re here, that this—us—isn’t just you trying to fill some empty space.”

He took a step closer, his hand tightening around yours. “You’re not just filling a space, not to me,” he insisted, his voice filled with a rawness you rarely saw. “But… I don’t know how to give you more when there’s still a part of me that’s… trapped there.”

You nodded, a painful understanding settling over you. “I know. And maybe that’s something you have to work through—without me.”

His grip loosened, and you felt the weight of your words sink in, the realization in his eyes piercing. He opened his mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he looked at you, the anguish plain on his face, and you knew he understood. This wasn’t what you wanted, wasn’t the ending you’d dreamed of, but you also knew it was the only way forward.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said finally, his voice barely a whisper.

“And I don’t want to lose you either, Joel,” you replied, your own voice choked with emotion. “But I can’t lose myself waiting for you to be ready.” You paused, your own breath shaking. “I’ve breaking my own heart for years already. I can’t do it anymore” you confessed, the truth spilling out in a rush, leaving you feeling exposed. The words hung in the air, heavy with all the unspoken feelings that had built up between you over time. You had spent so long convincing yourself that you could wait, that love would be enough to bridge the gap, but now it felt like the dam had finally burst.

He flinched, his expression twisting with a mix of regret and sorrow. “I didn’t realize…” His voice trailed off, the weight of your admission hitting him like a freight train.

“I never wanted to hurt you. You’ve always been my best friend, and now you’re so much more. I just thought… I thought we had time.”

You shook your head, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Time is what I don’t have, Joel. I’ve given so much of myself to this, to us, and I thought it would be enough. But now, standing here, I see it’s not just about love.”

He swallowed hard, the realization dawning on him. “You’re right. I need to figure this out. I can’t just keep pretending it’s all okay when it’s not.”

The truth of his words cut through you, leaving a raw ache in your chest. You wanted him to be free, to find that peace, but the thought of stepping away felt like tearing off a bandage that had just begun to heal. “I care about you, Joel. I always will. But I need to put myself first for once.”

“Please don’t go,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want to lose you. You’re the best part of my life.”

You could see the pain in his eyes, and it nearly broke you. “I need space,” you whispered, barely able to hold it together. “I was brave enough when I let you in. I need to find out who I am without you being my everything. Maybe one day, we can find our way back to each other. But right now… I just can’t.”

The weight of your words hung in the air between you, heavy with the uncharted territory of separation. You could see the flicker of panic in Joel’s eyes, the realization that he might lose the one person who understood him the most. But you knew that this was necessary—for both of you.

He opened his mouth, searching for the right words, but they wouldn’t come. Instead, he simply stood there, helpless, as you took a step back. “I don’t want to lose you,” he repeated, the raw vulnerability in his voice piercing through you. “You’re the only one who knows me like this, who gets me. What if… what if we can find a way to work through this together?”

Your heart twisted at the thought, but you had to be strong. “I don’t think I can be what you need right now,” you said softly. “And you deserve to heal without me holding you back. I’ve become a crutch, Joel, and I don’t want to be that. You need to find yourself again, without the ghost of her and without me. We both do.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration mixing with despair. “I don’t want to face the world without you by my side. You make everything better, you know? I can’t imagine not having you here.”

You felt a tear escape, rolling down your cheek as you realized how much you would miss him too. “I know. But..It’s really a shame we caught each at a bad time,” you said, the words tasting bittersweet on your tongue. The reality of it all hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. You had both wanted more, but life had a way of complicating things, of intertwining your paths at the wrong moments.

Joel looked at you, his expression shifting as if he were grappling with the same sentiment.

I wish things could be different. I wish I could turn back time and be in a place where I could give you everything you deserve.”

The ache in your chest deepened. “Me too,” you admitted softly. “But wishing won’t change anything. I can’t keep hoping that one day you’ll wake up and be ready to love me the way I need to be loved. You need to find your way first, Joel.”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of your words pressed down on him. “I know. I just… I don’t want to lose you in the process. I don’t want this to be the end for us.”

“It doesn’t have to be the end,” you said, feeling a flicker of hope amid the sorrow. “Maybe when you heal, I’ll be there still waiting, but now I have to free myself from you.”

“It doesn’t have to be the end,” you said, feeling a flicker of hope amid the sorrow. “Maybe when you heal, I’ll still be there waiting, but right now, I have to free myself from you.”

His brow furrowed as he took in your words, and you could see the conflict within him, a part of him wanting to fight against the inevitable. “Free yourself from me? That sounds so final,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “What if I need you?”

“It’s not about what you need right now, Joel,” you replied, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “It’s about what I need too. I’ve spent too long being your comfort, your escape from pain, and I’ve lost sight of who I am in the process. I need to find myself again, separate from you and your memories.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you raised a hand, cutting him off gently. “I care about you deeply. I always will. But I can’t be your crutch. I can’t let my happiness depend on your healing. It’s unfair to both of us.”

The silence that followed was heavy, a shared understanding lingering in the air. You could see the flicker of realization in his eyes, the understanding that your decision was not just about him—it was about you reclaiming your own life, your own identity.

“I just wish…” he began, his voice trailing off.

“I know,” you interrupted softly. “I wish too. But wishing isn’t enough. We both deserve to find our own paths, even if it’s hard. Even if it hurts.”

He nodded slowly, the understanding settling in, and you felt a pang of sorrow for the love that had been, but also a glimmer of hope for what could be.

You took a moment to gather your thoughts, feeling the weight of what you were about to say. “Before I go, I want you to know something important,” you said, your voice steady but filled with emotion. “I don’t think of you as a bad guy for reaching out to me when you needed comfort. You were kind to me, and you opened your heart in ways I never expected. It’s okay to seek solace in the people who care about you. Just like you were there for me, I was always there for you, and I don’t regret that.”

His eyes met yours, vulnerability shining through the sadness. “I didn’t mean to put you in this position,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know,” you said softly, a tear escaping as you fought to keep your emotions in check. “And I don’t blame you. We were both trying to find our way, and sometimes, it’s messy. I’m not angry with you for needing me, or for those moments we shared. I just need to prioritize myself now.”

He nodded, the understanding settling deeper between you. “I just wish things could be different. I wish I could give you everything you deserve.”

“I wish that too,” you admitted, your heart aching at the thought of what could have been. “But I need to find out who I am beyond us. We both deserve that.”

You took a step back, feeling the distance grow between you, both physical and emotional. “I’m going to take some time for myself. I need to breathe, to figure out what I want. I hope you do the same.”

His eyes met yours, vulnerability shining through the sadness. “I didn’t mean to put you in this position,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

He nodded, the understanding settling deeper between you. “I just wish things could be different. I wish I could give you everything you deserve.”

“I wish that too,” you admitted, your heart aching at the thought of what could have been. “But I need to find out who I am beyond us. We both deserve that.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but you raised a hand again, cutting him off gently. “Let’s not prolong this. It’s hard enough as it is. Just know that I care about you, and I always will. You’ve been an important part of my life.”

With one last lingering look, you turned to leave, each step feeling heavier than the last. The door behind you closed with a soft click, sealing away the warmth of what you once shared and leaving behind a bittersweet ache in your chest. You took a deep breath as you stepped into the world outside.

A world without Joel and you crossing paths again.

Five years later, you stood in front of the mirror, your heart racing as you adjusted the veil that framed your face. The reflection staring back at you was beautiful, but it felt like a stranger wearing a mask. The dress hugged your body in all the right places, the delicate lace and flowing fabric crafted with love, but it couldn’t hide the uncertainty churning inside you.

As you applied the final touches of makeup, you could hear the soft hum of voices filtering through the closed door. Friends and family gathered outside, their excited chatter mingling with the gentle music playing in the background. They were all waiting for you, eager to celebrate a love that was supposed to be yours. Yet, as the minutes ticked away, a feeling of pressure weighed heavily on your chest, a sense of urgency that made you question everything.

You thought about the man waiting for you at the altar, a kind and caring soul who had been there for you in ways you had never expected. He loved you deeply, and you admired him for it. But as you glanced at your reflection, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. Was this truly love? Or were you just filling a void left by someone else?

And then there was Joel. The memories of him flooded your mind like a bittersweet wave. The moments you shared, the laughter and the pain, the way he had opened your heart and left you wanting more. You hadn’t seen him in years, and yet he lingered in your thoughts, a ghost of what could have been. The ache for him had faded, but it had never truly disappeared. You had always wondered if you could love someone else as deeply as you had loved him.

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself, ready to face the music outside. As you turned toward the door, your heart pounded louder, each beat echoing your uncertainty. Just then, a firm grip on your wrist stopped you in your tracks.

“Wait,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I need to talk to you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the world around you fading away as you stared into his eyes, those deep, expressive eyes that had once held your heart captive. Everything you had thought you’d left behind rushed back in an instant, and for a moment, you were both suspended in time—two souls that had once been so close, now standing on the precipice of an unknown future.

“Joel,” you breathed, the weight of his presence crashing over you. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to find you,” he replied, his grip on your wrist tightening just enough to show how serious he was. “I know this is crazy, but I couldn’t let you walk down that aisle without telling you how I feel.”

The air between you crackled with unspoken words, memories swirling like ghosts in the space around you. You could feel the weight of the world pressing down on your shoulders, and as you glanced back at the mirror, you caught a glimpse of the reflection you had tried to ignore. It was a moment of reckoning, one that could change everything.

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yanderenightmare · 5 hours ago

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♡ TW: noncon, gangbang, pillory, elf-reader, orc assailants, war-ish, war between orcs and elves, racism between orcs and elves, captive reader, poor confinement, starvation, piss drinking, cumflation, mindbreak, Stockholm syndrome

♡ FEM reader

The orc camp smells of blood and sweat and other obscenities you and your snooty elven nose fear naming.

They’ve stripped you and all the troops of your weapons and armor—ugly bastards even took your shoes! Leaving you in only silken undergarments, standing barefoot in the cold, wet mud.

It’s to make it harder to run away if you were to escape, you suspect. You can’t decide if it’s a clever tactic or simply a cruel one. Either way, it’s the least of your worries... You haven't been fed or given water since yesterday when you were all captured—paired with having been made to march for half the day, all tied up by your wrists, one behind the other, toed along like animals with mean tugs that had more than one of you falling face first in the mud. Who knows how many of you will be able to continue walking when they decide it’s time to start moving again—much less run away if and when the opportunity presents itself—leaving you hopeless if someone doesn’t do something soon.

And it turns out that someone is you.

“Hey!” you yell. Bruised hands gripping the splintered wooden bars of your crudely built prison, glaring at the two brutes standing watch.

They acknowledge your shout, but neither of them gives any reason for you to believe they understood you were talking to them. Looking at you, then at each other.

“Yes, you two, guards!” you make clear.

They continue to look at you, yet don’t make a move.

You sigh exasperatingly—yet with how tired you are, it’s more a full-chested groan unbecoming of a fine elven knight, but under the circumstances, you couldn’t much care.

“I know ungodly monstrosities such as yourselves don’t require much to sustain your foul existence, but elves need food—at the very least water!”

A fellow elf grabs your shoulder gently, saying something under his breath, perhaps in an effort to make you quiet, but you nudge it off and continue your rant in spite of it.

“If you plan to keep us alive—as I would think, given your decision to cage us—I would advise you to meet us with the bare necessities!”

Both guards look away toward another orc—one sitting on a thick log at the mouth of one of the nicer, warmer-looking tents they’d pitched—perhaps the biggest one—sharpening his blade with a rock.

He doesn’t look up from his handiwork but speaks, “The elf is hungry?”

You scowl at the question. “Yes, you oaf—the elf is, in fact, hungry.”

He lifts his blade and looks it over—one side, then the other—before sinking it deep down into the mud. Tossing the rock away, he stands and whistles sharply, prompting the two guards to wander off as if to get something. Meanwhile, what seems to be the commander starts walking towards the prison.

Regret starts to fester as he approaches, and you’re reminded once again why the inferior race best you in battle time and time again despite your obvious intellectual difference. Three cabbage heads taller than you, his weight must be about four or five, maybe even six, times yours—like a grizzly bear—plus his armor, which easily adds another.

He unlocks the prison, and you step back on instinct.

“Come. You will be fed,” he says, opening the gate wide.

You look behind you—all the other elves have scurried back into the far end of the cage, leaving you alone in your endeavor, which only feels foolish now that you’re sure he’s going to use those blood-dirty hands of his to squish your head clean off your shoulders as soon as you step out.

Even still, maybe by the adrenaline of imminent death or the lightheadedness of starvation, you dare ask, though a little cautiously now, “What’s on the menu?”

The orc snorts, “Something to keep warm.”

The guards return carrying something. You spot them behind him, trudging loudly in the slop before halting—mounting something close to the firepit.

By the time you understand what it is, it’s already too late. Your hair’s grabbed—as well as your entire skull—taken in one meaty hand, pulled out of the safety of the cage, and shoved harshly down into the wet dirt.

He locks up the cage again as you lie there. And you take your chance to run, crawling forward—fighting through the clay dragging you down. Scrambling for balance, you’ve barely even made it up on your feet once he grabs you again—this time leading you towards the other two standing in wait along the torture device they’ve set up just for you.

You’re lifted to stand atop a crate, making you the right height, then bent over—with your wrist led into each their position as well as your throat, shoved down as the lunette comes down and successfully locks you in place—perfectly trapped in the pillory with no means of escape.

You pull and struggle, toiling against the wooden plates—whimpering in short, panicked screams and cries—but it’s no use. The hand comes back and grabs your hair, yanking it tightly, making your neck crane as he forces you to look up despite the fixed position��he smiles at the look on your face—tears making clear streaks through the mud, lips wobbly as you begin to beg, “Please—I’m sorry, I’ll—”

“Don’t worry, little elf,” he cuts you off with a coo, grabbing your jaw in his other hand. “You’ll be fed—stop crying.”

Something behind you rips your silk cloth away, baring you. You stiffen all over, breath hitching as useless fists whiten in their restraints. You want to kick, to thrash—but poor balance only results in you choking yourself—and so you’re left to stand there, helpless—bowed and nude before three orcs you’ve angered with your reckless entitlement.

“Mh, pretty elf holes…” one of the guards behind murmurs, cupping your asscheeks and spreading them to take a look, filtering grubby fingers through the crack and lips.

You shake, trying to thwart their efforts. But a gritty pad roughs over your clit and finds purchase below it.

“Stop, stop! Don’t!” you wail, but it pries you apart anyway—wriggling inside in a brutish shove, it sheathes itself deeply in curiosity to see how much you could fit, eagerly pumping it inside knuckle-deep before pulling back out—then repeating the motion—promptly finger-fucking the tight opening with a digit the size of an average elf’s manhood.

You sob, heaving for breath. Shaking your head in shame as you start to slicken—if just to make it a little more bearable, but the wet noise of it makes you wish they’d killed you instead.

“Shh, elf. I said no more crying.” The commander orc in front of you keeps his hold on your hair, talking down to you as he admires your despair. “We’ll give you what you beg for…” He strokes your cheek harshly with the other hand, smearing your tears before moving on to his armored belt.

You whimper as it drops, revealing what must be your newest and truest worst nightmare.

“A warm meal in all your hungry holes.”

The two guards take turns in your holes. You can’t see them, but they’ve made themselves more than known—having stretched out both your openings to accommodate their overgrown size.

They seem to like it when you cum—keeping their fat fingers on your clit and always fondling your tits, rubbing your nipples as they fuck your womb deeply until you wet them with your fluids. Your knees gave in a little while ago—their groping the only thing keeping you upright, and the steady pounding the only thing keeping you awake.

Meanwhile, the commander has his fun with your face. Making you cuddle his heavy ballsack, dousing your face in the rank. With a dagger threatening your pretty eye, he coaxed your tongue out to play sooner than you’re proud of—now pliantly hanging from your mouth, licking every foul-tasting patch of his toad-like skin—feeling worse than a beggar eating scraps.

But you ought to thank him. Earlier, he’d tried forcing his length down your throat—making your jaw all but unlock to make room. His cockhead is the size of your fist—in the end, you could only suck on it, only able to satisfy him and his harsh scalp-ripping grip on your hair by prodding his dickhole with your tongue. He started petting you when you did that, making you feel all the more defeated.

His mercy tastes worse than the rancid white you’d been made to swallow. You’d wanted to bite, but the dagger he’d earlier stabbed into the wooden plate for safe-keeping keeps you sweet as you lick and suck the prominent veins running up his fat size—face glazed in sweat and spit, both his and yours.

“Poor elf-bitch…” he jeers while twirling a lock of your fine hair around his crooked finger. Keeping his cock resting heavy against your face, covering your eye while rubbing the base against your pouty lips. “Fed twig all her life—of course, you’re hungry.” He chuckles, voice hoarse and muted—almost soft, were it not for its gritty timbre. “A mouthy whore like you needs real cock. Only happy when you’re pounded like meat.” He hums, “In your natural state, pleasing those bigger and stronger than you as an inferior pet should.”

He laughs louder, rumbles with it enough to shake the ground, then breaks away from you.

“Fill her up, boys,” he announces, “Stuff her ‘til she’s big and round.”

One of the guards soon takes his place before you, leaving the other behind you. Putting his leaky tip to your lips, he presses through to fight your throat for space—putting you in an air-tight spitroast.

“Leave her cunt,” he utters, arms folded upon his chest with his heavy cock bobbing between muscle-ripped thighs. “Her cunt’s mine to breed.”

It comes in fast ropes at first, then in thicker waves, then in smaller spurts aided by the shunting of their hips as they rut against you—feeding it to you without rush one dose after another until their balls are good and empty. They wait for their seed to be settled and swallowed in your bowels before slowly sliding their spent cocks out—letting the overdose spill from your holes as you cough and quake.

Then, stomach heavy and warm, hanging with more weight than your breasts—all feeling tender and oddly tingly—you croon, like a cow, when the commander eases inside your cunt only a short moment after—starting to pound you softly but deep enough to make your head hang and tongue drip with drool, moaning like an animal in its heat, all softly, like a mating-call, waiting for your womb to be fed.

He cups your buttcheeks with both his thumbs hooked within your ass and still, he feels you tremble and cum without your clitty being touched—milking him for his spend, begging him with sweet mews.

“That’s right, dumb little elf-pet. Beg, and you will be fed.”

You clench up and throttle when he finally blows, and the warmth swarms your gushy insides in heavily goo—leaving you feeling cozy from the inside out—cross-eyed and panting in utter ecstasy.

He also waits—waits until his cum takes root and his cock unswells for a good minute or two before pulling out with a throaty sigh. Then he rounds the pillory, a heavy step at a time until his lousy and still steaming cock is met face to face with your sweaty flush-cheeked expression.

“Still hungry, elf-girl?” he asks, jostling the sloppy member against your equally drowsy face. “Or was it thirsty?”

He picks your chin up with a hand, holding it steady while watching your half-mast and glazed heart-eyes lazily blink up at him—grinning and humming at the sight.

“Tell me, elf-pet, which of it was it you were whining about?”

Drool spills from your mouth as you answer, speech slurred like a drunken degenerate, “Both~”

He clicks his tongue, “Spoiled.” But he doesn’t seem angry—no, rather pleased. “You’ve been well-fed for now—time to wash it down.”

He lifts his heavy slug and puts the numb tip to your lips, which eagerly parts wide for him to press inside softly, filling the drizzly cavern, head resting neatly on the wet bed of your tongue.

You obediently await it with your eyes locked onto his—both moaning once it comes. Hot and salty-sweet, it pours onto your tongue and sloshes down your throat, spilling from your mouth and somehow splashing all over your face—making you shudder in warm bliss as you gulp it down as if it’s in another class from the aged wine back home.

“Drink, elf-slave. Drink and be grateful,” he instructs, and you obey, allowing the piss-stream to hit the back of your throat where you could glug it all down with minimal spill.

When it stopped, you sucked his tip and tongued the slit like before, cleaning it dry of the last drop, saying, “Thank you—thank you, master.”

Elves never cease to surprise him. Always so prissy—high and mighty creatures—and yet they fall the farthest from grace when pushed.

He had many different ideas on how to make an example of you to the others—cease any ideas they might have of uproar and rebellion. Leave you here for the ogres and trolls to come and have their sloppy seconds. Tie you up by your ankles and drag you behind the horses through all the muck. Let the rest of his troops have at you until you met with your unfortunate end.

But no. He thinks not.

“Let’s move—” he announces to the camp. “Time to take our bounty home.”

After all, for all your whining, you did have a point earlier—you elves are only good to them alive and well. Best get you to the nearest market and sell you.

The guards unfix you from the pillory and start hauling your collapsed form back to the cage.

“No, not her,” he corrects them, thinking of your pretty eyes and soft tongue and that pretty elf cunt that milked him dry like none other. “She rides with me.”

On bearback, he ties your hands around his neck and lets you sleep with your head on his chest, riding backward with your legs draped over his—still naked with your cum-belly leaking out over his saddle—making a mess he’ll have you lick clean later.

“Tell me if you get hungry again, little elf,” he sneers, though a little fondly. “I’ll feed you again.”

And you, despite groggy, with eyes closed, mumble back dumbly, “Thank you, master.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Kirishima, Shigaraki, Enji, AFO ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Toji, Kenjaku ♡ HxH – Uvogin

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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doumadono · 1 day ago

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Warnings: fwb, finger fucking, period s*x, mentions of blood

Synopsis: navigating your period is never a walk in the park, especially with Dabi, your usual source of comfort, off base. Fortunately, your other friend with benefits is available. The question lingers - will your boss be willing to help ease your anxiety?

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

The dull ache had been gnawing at you for hours, twisting deep in your stomach and making it impossible to get comfortable, no matter how many times you pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders or curled up smaller on the couch. You’d tried everything, maybe a little bit of everything at once, hoping that something - anything - might finally distract you from the constant cramping that made you restless, edgy, and worse, needy. That feeling always came with the ache, twisting at you with a constant want to feel something warm, something grounding against your skin.

Dabi, your usual go-to for comfort during times like these, had vanished again - off on one of his mysterious escapades. Bastard. He was off God knows where, doing who knows what, and while you wanted to curse him for vanishing at the worst possible time without even letting you know, your mind was already drifting to the only other person you trusted for this sort of comfort.

Tomura Shigaraki. The leader of the League of Villains, and your second friend with benefits.

His door was slightly ajar, a faint blue glow casting just enough light to outline his silhouette. Shigaraki sat splayed out on the bed, his room dim, save for the flickering screen that illuminated his focused expression. His hands moved expertly over the controller, his gaze locked onto the game with an intensity that made him seem unreachable - detached, in that familiar way.

You lingered in the doorway, feeling the dull ache low in your stomach pulse, the discomfort pulling at you. “Boss…” you murmured, stepping in quietly, letting the door click softly shut behind you. You padded over, slipping under his arm, tucking yourself against him as you nuzzled into his chest. His familiar scent washed over you, grounding you somehow, and for a moment, you just stayed there, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing as you sank into his warmth.

Shigaraki shifted slightly, adjusting his grip on the controller, and gave a low, exasperated sigh. “What is it?” His voice was low, his eyes still fixed on the screen, and though he hadn’t yet acknowledged you fully, the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed a piece of his attention that was aimed at you.

“Hurts,” you mumbled, pressing closer, your voice soft, barely more than a whisper. You buried your face against his shoulder, letting out a small whine. “Feels tight, uncomfortable. And Dabi isn’t around, so…”

A low chuckle escaped his lips, and he finally tore his gaze from the screen to look at you, his eyes gleaming with pity. “So you came to me because he’s not around, huh? What am I, second best?” he teased, though his fingers were already tracing along your waist, the corners of his mouth quirking into a smirk. “You’re interrupting my game.”

You pouted, curling against him tighter, your hand resting on his chest. “Can’t you help me just a little, boss?” Your voice was a soft plea, needy, and you could feel his chest rumble with a low chuckle as he set the controller aside, finally giving you his full attention.

“Help you, huh?” He raised an eyebrow, his fingers reaching up to trace along your hip, teasingly slow, his gaze wandering over your face, studying the faint flush in your cheeks, the way your eyes lingered on his mouth. “And how exactly am I supposed to help with that, Y/N? Indeed though, you look like you’re suffering,” he added quickly, his voice rough and low, a hint of amusement curling at the edge of his mouth. His fingers brushed along your exposed thigh as your skirt rode up, careful, as always, to keep one finger lifted. “Funny though. Dabi is busy, so you come crawling to me. Look how pathetic you are, Y/N.”

You bit your lip, giving him a look that was both pleading and lustful as you leaned in, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “Pretty please?” you murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw, feeling the tension there as you let your lips linger. “It’s just cramping. I’m on my period,” you managed, feeling a wave of embarrassment rush through you, but he only narrowed his gaze, studying you as if you were some puzzle he wanted to solve.

“I guess I can help with that,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips, his hand trailing higher, his fingers ghosting along the waistband of your plain skirt.

Your breath hitched, and you bit your lip, the heat pooling low in your stomach twisting into something that made your whole body tighten with anticipation. “Tomura, but… I’m bleeding,” you reminded, your voice barely a whisper, half-expecting him to recoil, but instead, he only smirked, eyes darkening as he leaned in closer.

“Doesn’t bother me,” he replied, his tone laced with a dark, playful edge. “Blood never has.” A soft hum escaped him, his tone mocking, but there was a spark of interest in his eyes. His fingers pressed into the small of your back, guiding you forward with a firm, steady pressure, until you found yourself sitting on his lap, your back against his chest, his hands settling on your thighs. His grip was steady, demanding, and he leaned forward, his voice barely above a murmur as his breath brushed your ear. “Need attention that badly?”

Your heart pounded, cheeks flushed, but you felt yourself nodding, letting your arm drift up around his neck. “Maybe…” you managed, leaning back against him, feeling the press of his chest against your back, solid and steady.

His fingers kneaded the soft flesh of your thigh, slow and purposeful, sending a wave of heat through you that made your muscles tighten. His gaze flickered down as he watched your clothed pussy after he yanked the hem of your skirt up once more, his tone dropping to a murmur. “Then spread your legs wide f’me, like a good whore you are.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, but you obeyed, shifting so your thighs opened slightly on either side of his, giving him access.

“Good girl.” His voice was a low murmur, edged with satisfaction, and his hand trailed higher, his breath warm against your neck. His fingers trailed along your inner thigh, tracing slow, lazy circles that made your breath catch, each touch sending sparks through your body. “Look at you,” he murmured, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he let his fingers drift higher. “Already desperate, aren’t you?” His calloused hand slipped between your thighs after he yanked the hems of your skirt up with the other hand, his touch rough yet cautious, the warmth of his fingers spreading as he traced gentle circles against the sensitive skin of your pantie-covered mound.

Your breath hitched when his fingers slipped beneath the silky fabric of your panties, warm and rough against the softness of your folds, already covered in a slick arousal mixed with blood, and it was impossible not to tense under his touch.

Shigaraki worked slowly, drawing it out, the pads of his fingers pressing in against your pussy lips just enough to make your body react - an involuntary clench of your tight hole around nothingness that sent a rush of heat to your face. You glanced away, but he seemed to notice every single shift in you, the way your breaths were coming quicker, shallower, under his attention.

His smirk was faint but unmistakable, an almost lazy satisfaction that he let settle between the two of you. “Warm,” he claimed matter-of-factly, and there was something about the way he said it that made the room feel even smaller, his voice scraping low and rough. His fingers brushed your panties aside, exposing your glistening pussy to the chill of the air for just a moment before his hand covered your slit again. He took his time, tracing a line up and down the slick slit with an infuriating slowness, his eyes never leaving your face as his fingers explored with an intensity that made your whole body start to tremble. He used his index and middle finger to spread your labia, smirking wryly as he spotted your hole clenching rhythmically. “Fucking whore. I bet you’re tight too, aren’t you, sweet rose?”

You swallowed hard, feeling your face heat up, a pout already forming as he kept that steady, infuriating pace. “It… it’s uncomfortable,” you mumbled, voice catching as his fingers pressed harder against your lips.

He leaned closer, his nose brushing against the shell of your ear, his breath warm against the skin of your neck as he watched a pink-tinted, lucid mucus effused out of your tight hole. “Cheap whore. You’re dripping wet. Spread your legs wider f’me.”

Before you knew it, you had one foot on his bed, and the other lazily hooked over his left knee, showing off your glistening pussy so openly and lewdly that you felt like you were doing a porn shoot. Your entire attention was focused on the way he stroked and caressed your slick labia.

Tomura’s finger probed your opening which was already wet with anticipation, then traced back to the top, caressing your swollen clitoris again. He repeated this motion, tracing down, probing you, picking up your slick, thick wetness, and trailing back up to caress your clit.

“Now, tell me where it hurts.”

You whimpered, feeling your legs start to tremble as his finger slipped inside your wet, tight pussy that easily opened to welcome the much wanted intrusion. The long digit was stretching you, filling you with a deliberate fullness that made your head spin. “Right… right there, boss,” you whispered, clutching at his knee with the free hand, feeling your body tighten, a warmth blossoming in your core that sent jolts of pleasure through every nerve, so the only thing you could do was to buck your hips more into his rough palm.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he growled softly, placing a faint kiss to the column of your neck as you rolled your head back, his fingers moving faster, rougher now, his control slipping as he watched you come undone beneath him. “So desperate, and all that just for me.”

You were moaning like a whore as Shigaraki’s fingers fought the slippery friction of your cunny grip as he slowly finger fucked your hole.

Carefully, the white haired man curled his fingers downward and rubbed the tender underside of your pubis with soft, circular strokes. “That’s it, bitch,” he praised.

You could feel yourself getting closer, the pleasure building, overwhelming, and he seemed to sense it, too. You whimpered as the muscles in your back, shoulders, arms, and ass tensed. “Oi, Tomura!”

He chuckled, his free hand gripping your titties through your tank top, holding you steady as he worked his fingers inside you, his pace steady but relentless. “There you go, bitch,” the leader of the League of Villains praised, his lips grazing the column of your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin as his fingers curled, pressing against that perfect spot that made your body tense, and your breath hitch.

“Faster, faster,�� you pleaded, grinding your hips so you rubbed your slick pussy lips against the heel of his rough palm.

“You’re lucky I’m feeling generous,” he continued, his voice a low growl as his fingers moved faster, his thumb pressing against your clit, tapping it a few times, sending jolts of pleasure through every nerve in your body. “Maybe next time, you’ll think about coming to me first.”

White haired man slipped another finger inside your bloody cunt, stretching you painfully as your core was super tight due to the period and cramps, filling you with a pure lust that made you gasp, your body arching as he pressed deeper, his thumb rubbing against your swollen clitoris. He grinned at your reaction, his finger curling inside you, hitting that perfect spongy spot that made your muscles clench, made your entire body tremble. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmured, adding yet another finger, pumping them in and out with a steady, deliberate rhythm that left you panting, your hips moving in time with his touch. He watched you, his gaze dark and hungry, a look of pure satisfaction crossing his face as you were falling apart beneath him. He didn’t seem bothered by the fact his protective glove was getting wet with your juices and blood.

His pace grew relentless, a rhythm that made you call out his name, on and on. The only sounds echoing around you were your soft mewls, a breathless symphony of pleasure, mingling with his low, breathy grunts. Each time the heel of his hand met your slick labia, it created a wet, lewd sound that punctuated the air of his bedroom.

You tried to close your legs when a massive orgasm crashed over you, leaving you trembling, but Tomura kept your legs open. He held you close, his fingers still moving slowly in and out of your abused hole, drawing out every last tremor, until you were left mumbling incoherently, breathless, completely undone in your boss’ lap.

You turned your upper body part in his arms, placing kitten kisses to his cheek and jaw, silently thanking him for relieving you.

When Tomura finally pulled his hand away, he looked down at the faint traces of blood mixed with cum smeared on his fingers. His nasty smirk widened.

Your body was still trembling, your mind hazy with pleasure as you watched Shigaraki, your breaths shallow as you tried to regain your composure.

But then, his eyes met yours, dark and steady, as he raised his hand to his mouth.

Heat flooded your cheeks, your heart racing as he brought his long fingers - slick with your arousal and faintly stained with traces of blood - toward his mouth. He paused, inhaling deeply as if savoring the scent of his quarry, embodying the essence of a predator assessing its prey. Then, with a deliberate slowness, he wrapped his cracked lips around his fingers, licking and sucking them clean, every movement intentional and tantalizing, his gaze never leaving your eyes. He hummed at the taste, palming himself through his pants without giving it a second thought.

You expected a grimace, maybe even a disgusted comment, but instead, his expression was one of dark satisfaction, his tongue tracing his fingers with an intensity that made your stomach flutter, that set your already sensitive nerves tingling all over again. The way he looked at you, like he was savoring every last taste, made a soft, shy whimper slip from your lips. You tried to avert your gaze, but it was impossible to look away from him, from that wicked, knowing smirk on his face.

“Something wrong?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock innocence, though you could see the amusement in his eyes. “What, did you think I’d be grossed out?” His smirk widened as he leaned in close, his voice a low murmur that made you shiver as he kissed your nose.

You swallowed hard, your cheeks burning as you met his gaze, feeling a mix of embarrassment and undeniable excitement twist in your stomach.

He didn’t mind. He didn’t care about the blood, didn’t care that you’d practically begged him to touch you. He’d taken it all in stride, and the realization left you feeling both vulnerable and completely captivated by him.

You glanced away, feeling your cheeks flush as you tried to hide the shy smile threatening to show. The room felt smaller somehow, quiet, and his gaze on you felt heavy, like it held you in place. You could feel him watching you, studying every flicker in your expression, every nervous breath. Finally, you managed, “I… I just thought…”

Tomura cut you off, his voice soft but with that firm, unmistakable edge that left no room for protest. “You thought wrong,” he murmured, his hand resting just above your knee, his fingers brushing over your thigh in a way that sent an unmistakable spark through you. The warmth of his skin, the way his touch lingered, sent your heart racing, pulse pounding loud in the silence. He leaned in, lips brushing your ear, the warmth of his breath so close that it made you shiver. “If you’re coming to me for this,” he whispered, each word low, deliberate, “then you’d better be prepared. I don’t do it halfway.”

A thrill settled in your stomach at his words, twisting into something deep, something that left you breathless as his hand drifted higher, thumb tracing lazy circles over your thigh. You bit your lip, trying to calm the heat spreading through you, but it was no use. There was an anticipation in the air, a tension that had you leaning in, your voice soft, playful, but with an edge of your own. “Guess I owe you… for helping me out like this.”

You held his gaze, feeling the weight of his eyes on you, the slight quirk of his brow that told you he was watching, waiting.

Without breaking eye contact, you slid off his lap, sinking to your knees on the floor in front of him, one hand finding the bulge that was already building beneath the fabric of his pants. You ran the tip of your tongue along your upper lip.

His eyes flickered, interest gleaming there, the corner of his mouth curving into a look that was more than a smirk but not quite a smile. It was something darker, something that lingered, his fingers reaching out to brush over your cheek, his thumb tracing along your jaw in a touch that was gentle, but expectant before he pressed the digit against your lips, watching you part them for him, sucking the finger in your mouth like a good, obedient whore you were. “Then I’ll be expecting that repayment soon,” he whispered, his voice like velvet, “Very soon.”

tagging: @baby--vera @unhinged-bratty-boy @shonen-brainrot @shionancientsblog @irkedpomeranian @within-eyesight @misafiryanki @cyberrthegreat @grossograsso @krabkornel @roast-toast @arthurbristow @alexandhisstuff @proherodabisballsack

#shigaraki smut #tomura shigaraki smut #tomura shigaraki #my hero academia smut #tomura x reader #villain smut #bnha shigaraki #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki x y/n #bnha smut #mha smut #anime smut #divider by cafekitsune #mha shigaraki #mha x reader #tomura x you #tomura x y/n

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mattnott · 20 hours ago

Text

𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄

mattheo riddle x fem reader

SUMMARY. in which you and mattheo were constantly at each other's throats, and this time was no different. WORDS. +6.1K, english is not my first language.

WARNINGS. ‘whipped’ mattheo (he’s obsessed), porn w// plot, reader and mattheo are both 18, making out, smoking , alcohol (mentions), hair pulling, oral sex!f receiving, marking, face sitting, nipple sucking, biting, dirty talk, blood kink.

The loud music spread through the dungeon corridors, pulsing like a frantic heartbeat and bouncing off the stone walls of the grand common room of the serpent house. It caught the attention of passersby, drawing curious glances, as if the noise were an invitation to peek in and see what was happening—or to get involved in whatever was going on behind the closed door.

Inside the crowded room, dark green lights pulsed to the beat of the music, almost as if they were dancing along. They lit up the faces of students who looked like they’d already had a bit too much to drink, escaping from their dorms in search of some much-needed fun after a long and draining semester.

In the shadows at the back of the loud room, Mattheo stayed leaned against the cold wall, with a cigarette dangling from his fingers with an enviable ease. His expression appeared relaxed, yet the messy curls still damp from the shower after a brutal Quidditch practice told a different story about his calm demeanor.

Though he would never admit just how tough the practice had been.

Beside him, Enzo and Theodore were bickering as usual, this time over the recent Potions exam that had been harder than they expected, making their voices louder. Yet their discussion faded into the background of Mattheo’s mind, barely registering in his ears, and he was certain they didn’t even notice his indifferent demeanor towards the childish conversation. His gaze drifted across the room, almost desperate to find something—or someone—to shatter the monotony that had settled over his life in the past few days.

From his spot, he could see drunk students nearly collapsing to the floor—acting like animals, he could swear—others laughing loudly, moving their bodies to the beat of the music, too entertained to notice anything else around them, and couples craving each other’s touch as if they didn’t care about their surroundings. Yet his gaze remained devoid of emotion; nothing stood out—nothing that could break the heavy boredom clinging to him like a second skin.

Taking another look around the room, Mattheo couldn’t help but scoff at his ridiculous state. He felt almost pathetic, surrounded by the chaos he usually appreciated, yet weary of being caught in the middle of it. Everything felt so common and dull that he figured the only adrenaline he might get would come from being lucky enough to vomit the alcohol swirling in his system. He chuckled dryly at the thought, taking a slow drag from his cigarette and letting the smoke curl lazily around his lips before releasing it into the air, watching it dissipate in the dim light around him.

Somehow, that was far more interesting than the party itself.

He leaned back against the wall, a small, irritated sigh escaping his lips as the weight of boredom settled heavily on his shoulders like a coat. His eyes landed on Berkshire and Nott, still bickering with each other—this time about Quidditch—their voices growing sharper by the second. Once again, his attention drifted away, their words fading into a dull roar in the background as he tuned out completely.

His eyes scanned the room once more, this time more attentively. Just as he was about to release one of the last tendrils of smoke from his cigarette, his gaze locked onto the door swinging open again, revealing a sight he hadn't expected at all—you. Stepping out from the shadows of the entrance, you looked around with a blend of curiosity and caution. In that instant, he could swear that everything around him seemed to slow—the music faded, the crowd blurred, as if the entire room were paying reverence to your presence.

Mattheo shook his head quickly, cringing at what his mind—and maybe even his heart—wanted to say. Curiosity sparked in his gaze as he looked up, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers, completely caught up in your presence. You definitely weren’t the type for gatherings like this; “party material” was the last thing he’d call you—quite the opposite. Yet there you were, looking as out of place as you were striking, like a prey wandering into 'enemy' territory. A playful smirk appeared on his face as the boredom began to lift from his shoulders.

There it was—the distraction he needed to keep him on his feet.

His smirk deepened as he watched you weave through the crowded party, letting his gaze drop to your thighs for a moment longer than he should. If anyone had been watching, they might have thought Mattheo’s gaze darkened with something far from innocent, and in fact it did. Glancing back at his friends, he checked for any sign they’d noticed his interest in you—but luckily, they were still too absorbed in their heated discussion, now with Blaise joining in. A glimmer of relief crept over him.

As you moved carefully through the crowd, he pushed himself off the wall, almost instinctively flicking the last embers from his cigarette before tossing it aside without a second thought and striding toward the crowd. His gaze never wavered, following you with an unbothered intensity, watching you like a hawk. He stopped in the middle of the room, surrounded by the drunken bodies, waiting for the moment you’d feel his eyes on you—only then would he make a move.

Maybe this was just another game for him, but if he was being honest, he didn’t care. He thrived on getting under your skin, relishing the power to rip apart the perfect image you projected to everyone. You were too polite, too nice, too good—yet with him, you turned cruel, acidic, and downright mean. He loved it. The fact that he could be the one to destroy you and expose the flaws beneath that polished exterior was intoxicating.

Loving your good side was easy, but he was the only one who craved your darker nature, despising your sweetness with a intensity that almost consumed his soul.

It was no surprise to anyone that you and Mattheo were always at each other’s throats. Since your first year at school, every interaction was filled with cold words and insults, your clashing personalities entertaining everyone around you.

But only Mattheo knew the truth: you were almost a reflection of his own twisted nature, and every stolen kiss only deepened his conviction. Maybe that was why his relentless, penetrating gaze tracked your every move, waiting for the faintest flicker of recognition, longing for the moment you'd finally break and turn to him.

As you continued moving through the room, a familiar shiver ran up your spine, and you gripped your wrists tightly, muttering under your breath—you knew exactly whose gaze was piercing enough to unsettle you like this. Riddle. Turning around, your eyes locked onto his, and when he noticed the angry look on your face, his cruel smirk widened, as if your discomfort amused him. He gave you a mocking wave; his gaze remained fixed on you, heavy and almost suffocating, daring you to get closer to him to show just how much he could get under your skin.

For a moment, you felt trapped by his intensity, the chaos around you fading into the background as his gaze bore into you like teeth. But when you noticed the way he lifted his eyebrows in mockery, you quickly regained your composure, ignoring the heat rising to your cheeks.

Looking away, you steeled yourself, refusing to fall for his game like you always did.

But unlucky—or lucky—for you, Mattheo noticed your reaction, and your defiance only seemed to excite him more. He moved toward you slowly, each step amplifying your discomfort, and when he finally loomed close enough, the air thickened between you, heavy with a fervor capable enough to put you down. It was an overwhelming feeling that made your heart race like crazy, and you could see he was enjoying the way you would react to him.

“Lost, are we?” he asked not really waiting for a response, his gaze fixed on you with a knowing predatory glare that sent a shiver down your spine. His low voice dripped with mockery, and despite your desperate attempt to remain composed, every part of you wanted to break before him. Your heart raced wildly, and you wondered if you were on the edge of a heart attack.

You narrowed your eyebrows, your eyes filled with a hint of disgust as you finally faced Mattheo completely. His smirk only grew wider, but you raised your chin with every ounce of defiance you could muster in that moment. “Lost? Hardly,” you replied sharply, your gaze assessing him with disgust.

As you continued to stare at him, a memory of his clumsy fumbling during Quidditch practice flashed in your mind, causing a disdainful chuckle to escape your lips. You could see the way that mockery threw him, noticing that he was likely the cause behind that nearly insufferable mockery.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?” He spat through clenched teeth, his anger barely contained, which only made your grin widen and his scowl deepen. He should have been the one to rile you up, not the other way around.

“Nothing much,” you hum, the false sweetness dripping from your words. He glared at you, clearly itching to hurl an insult, but he held back, aware that you were just getting started. “Just about how you humiliated yourself tripping over your massive ego during today’s practice,” you said, savoring the way his expression soured. “Honestly, it was the highlight of my day.” You teased.

Mattheo’s expression darkened as he let out a dry chuckle, forcing himself to meet your gaze. How he wished you weren’t so beautiful; he hated the way your presence twisted in his gut, making him crave what he knew he shouldn’t. Yet there you were, effortlessly making him feel less of the person he was.

Your beauty almost consuming his whole.

“Maybe if you spent less time criticizing me and more time focusing on yourself...” he began, his voice dripping with bitterness yet with mocking amusement, making you frown. “You wouldn’t be so fucking bitter.” He shot back, taking an unconscious step closer, invading more your space. The fever radiating from his body was almost intoxicating, and you fought the urge to step back.

Swallowing hard, you raised your chin even more, your eyes locking onto his almost hypnotic brown orbs. You couldn’t deny the idiot was handsome, and it was obvious that he was aware of his own beauty, appreciating the effect it had on you as he used it to overpower you, pushing the boundaries of your composure.

“Bitter?” You forced a laugh, attempting to sound unaffected by his words, even though the truth was that Mattheo’s proximity was rattling you to your core. “I just enjoy your suffering. Watching you nearly fall from your broom was... truly entertaining.” You grinned, convinced you’d won the argument, but when his smirk returned, you realized you were the one being toyed with.

“Oh, really?” he began, a smug grin spreading across his face as he caught sight of your flustered expression. “So, not only were you watching my practice, but you were watching me, too.” He drawled, clearly savoring every moment as he enjoyed your discomfort. “Couldn’t resist, could you?” he taunted, blinking slowly in mockery, fully aware of the pull he had over you.

The boredom was definitely gone at this point.

Unlike Mattheo, you blinked rapidly, his words almost suffocating your brain, heat flooding your cheeks as you realized how easily you had exposed yourself. It was infuriating how much he observed the information you unwittingly gave him, and the more he had, the more he used it to make you nervous.

“As if I’d waste my time watching your stupid ass flounder around on a broom like a fucking idiot.” You scoffed, refusing to let your guard down, even if the proof of the embarrassment burned on your cheeks. “You’re not that interesting, Riddle.” You shot back with venom, but his smirk only widened, augmenting your irritation.

You were getting mad, and he loved it. Watching you unravel gave him satisfaction, you were finally losing your composure, almost revealing the side he was eager to see again.

“I’m not that interesting?” Mattheo drawled mockingly, his lips twisting into a fake pout that almost made you cringe. “Yet here you are, practically begging for my attention. Quite the contradiction, isn’t it?” He hummed, amused.

He was infuriating.

You looked at him, almost incredulous, torn between his audacity and his stupidity. “Are you fucking kidding me?” you hissed, but he remained unfazed, clearly enjoying the negative attention you were throwing at him. “You’re the one who came to ‘talk’ to me, so get a grip,” you shot back, and for a brief moment, his smile almost faltered.

Mattheo’s gaze dragged over you slowly, every detail taken in with a lazy, shameless boldness that refused to let you feel any sense of power. The smirk was back, curling at the edge of his mouth as though your insult had already slipped his mind. With another step forward, he closed the space between you, close enough for you to catch the sharp edge of his cologne mixed with the lingering scent of the cigarette he was smoking before.

“You talk big for someone who’s practically shaking in my presence,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerously soft, each word daring you to react. “Maybe you should get a grip, princess.” You nearly cringed at the nickname, but his words hit, and though you’d never admit it, a part of you knew he wasn’t entirely wrong.

Mattheo's presence was suffocating, so suffocating; each step he took left you feeling like a part of your logic had slipped away. You hated it, you hated how each encounter left you feeling a part of yourself was missing. Yet, no matter how many times this twisted game played out, you found yourself drawn back, absorbed by the chaos he ignited in you.

But you weren’t the only one unraveling—Mattheo was drowning too, trapped in the same game, and the only thing that changed was the reason behind it.

If your chin wasn't raised enough, you would have lifted it one more time, but unfortunately, you couldn't; instead, you had to cling to the last shred of self-respect you had. “Shaking?” you scoffed, your voice dripping with sarcasm, though he could easily detect the tremor beneath it. “Trust me, if my body's shaking, it's only because I'm holding myself back from shoving you off this wall and breaking your damn nose.” You hissed, taking another step closer to him, forcing him to suppress a satisfied sigh at your defiance.

Yet Mattheo didn’t hold back his smirk; it only widened further, with a subtle glint of satisfaction appearing in his eyes. If you had the courage to look closer, you might have noticed it. But his proximity left you oblivious to anything else—your attention was fixed only on how close his body was to yours, how his face lingered near yours without closing the distance.

It was torture.

“Is that right?” he asked, taunt dripping from his tone as his eyebrow arched, his gaze bearing down on you. Maybe he wanted you to feel less of yourself, or maybe he was just savoring the way your body reacted to him—either way, his eyes held a single intent: make you feel small. “For someone so eager to break my nose, you seem to love getting close enough to do it,” he taunted.

Your stomach twisted; he wasn’t just hungry for your skin—he was tearing at it, and you couldn’t help but feel infuriated. You hated being played with, especially by him. But Mattheo? He was enjoying this moment, enjoying how you kept his boredom at bay.

The way you were practically forced to look at him, how his body towered over you, and how you constantly challenged him—it thrilled him. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the hotness radiating off his body. It was maddening how he turned every interaction into a twisted game, and worse, how you always fell for it.

He was the only one who could ruin your good image, and you hated it. You hated that you found it exciting, and you despised how he made you crave these sick competitions for power more and more. You wanted to hurt him so badly that it almost burned your insides.

“I just want a clear shot,” you hissed, clutching what little dignity you had left. But Mattheo didn’t seem affected at all; in fact, he was just waiting for the chance to turn the tables once more. “So don’t flatter yourself, idiot.” He lowered his head slightly, challenging you, it seemed.

Mattheo chuckled dryly, and you felt his breath even closer to your face than before. “Funny, I don’t see you making a move,” he remarked, his gaze fixed on your clenched fists, satisfaction evident as he noticed how tightly you were gripping them. “Maybe you’re not as angry as you want me to think,” he whispered provocatively, his tongue sliding over his own lips as he did so.

You wanted to punch him; you wanted to see him lose so badly, and he could see it. He could see your facade falling, and he was eager to expose your darker side—the side that could put him in his place with just a word. He just needed one more push, one more slip, and he knew he could get it out of you.

He was almost there. Almost.

You closed your eyes for a moment, desperately trying to ignore the rapid beat of your heart, feeling as if you were teetering on the edge of a heart attack. Still, you managed to respond. “Or maybe I’m just debating which would be more satisfying—breaking your nose or shattering your ego.” You practically spat the words, logic having abandoned your body two minutes ago. You felt heavy, so heavy.

You just didn’t know that Mattheo’s heart was beating in sync with yours. Apreciating your unlogical comportment and the way his mind was getting a bit of logic because of you, because he knew, he knew that he wanted you, he knew that he needed to break you. He knew he could put him on lines, but him? He took pleasure in keeping you off balance, and he knew that you both craved the same thing; you just lacked the guts to admit it.

Unlucky for you, he was more than ready to push you to do it.

Mattheo lowered his head until his lips were barely a whisper away from yours, his breath warm and steady against your skin. For a fleeting second, you were almost thankful for the boldness that kept your chin raised. “Go on, try,” he murmured, his voice a dare that left your legs feeling dangerously uneven. “You’re welcome to try either.”

A flash of hesitation crossed your mind, but his gaze trapped you, daring you to make a move. The air between you felt stifling, the noise around you melting away under the weight of his words, and the tension sparkling between both of you. Your pulse pounded as his face lingered close to yours, his mouth barely an inch away, eyes flickering to your lips—close enough to make every nerve burn.

You could feel control slipping right through your fingers.

“What’s the matter?” He whispered, his voice low, rough with mockery, that insufferable smirk deepening in a way that practically begged you to knock it off his face. “Losing your nerve?”

And then you lost it—you lost it completely.

You didn’t answer him with words. Instead, your hands shot up to his neck, and you crashed your lips against his, pouring all your anger and frustration into the kiss. It was fierce, almost desperate, and somehow, it felt painfully right. Mattheo responded instantly, not even a little surprised, just the dark satisfaction of someone who’d been waiting for this.

He chuckled against your mouth, triumphant; you were exactly where he’d wanted you all along.

You could feel the way Mattheo's grip tightened, pulling you flush against him, his chest pressing into yours as the kiss deepened into something raw and almost primal. His hand held you firmly in place, no room to pull away, letting your tongue clash with his in a battle for dominance neither of you wanted to lose. It was pure hunger, teeth and tongues colliding, each of you refusing to back down.

Your bodies pressed together, as if you and him were desperate to merge into one, the intensity between you both fueling an insatiable hunger. It wasn't enough—nothing could satisfy the craving consuming both of you. You needed more, and so did he. Without a second thought, you sank your teeth into his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. The metallic taste flooded both of your mouths, sending a primal thrill through you both that made you gasp and moan with the flavor.

It was maddening.

Maybe that's why Mattheo craved kissing you and touching you—because it felt like suffocation, like drowning as your tongue slipped into his mouth, stealing the very air from his lungs. And he needed it more than he cared to admit. Mattheo loved how you made him lose and gain control at the same time, how you made him forget himself completely.

His life could be boring, even wild most of the times, but nothing made him feel more alive than when you were tearing him apart, lips and bodies pressed together, suffocating him with your poison in a way he could never resist—as if he were addicted to the pain of being ruined by you.

Mattheo couldn't take it anymore and kissed you again as the first one broke, his body pressing even harder against yours, your hips grinding against him, making him groan into your mouth.

The blood from the first bite only intensified his need for you, pushing him to the edge where he had to sink his teeth into your lower lip as well, taking another moan from you. He longed for the metallic tang lingering on your lips, desperate to mix with his as your tongues clashed again and again with an intensity that left both of you eager for more.

You wanted more; he needed to give him more.

You and Mattheo seemed oblivious to the fact that you were still at the party, too consumed by each other's lips and bodies to notice the pounding music or the crowded room around you, and compared to anyone else here, the two of you were on another level. After a few moments, Mattheo broke the kiss, lowering his mouth to your neck, biting and sucking at your skin with such hunger that you couldn't be sure who was enjoying it more.

“You smell so good, so damn good,” he whispered like a prayer against your skin, his tongue tracing over the mark he'd just left, almost like he was savoring it. His words jolted you, snapping you back to your senses as you glanced around, suddenly aware that you weren't alone. Reluctantly, you pushed his head back, biting back a groan as you felt the ache of stopping.

“Why did you push me?” Mattheo asked, his lips swollen and tempting like yours, and unlike you, he couldn't suppress the groan that escaped at the loss of contact. His hungry gaze locked onto yours. "Do you want to stop?" he asked, clearly waiting for you to say no.

“Not here.” You managed to say. “Let’s go to somewhere private.” You said quickly, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

Mattheo’s smirk widened with those words, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he seized your hand without warning, dragging you toward the dorms. You let out a soft, surprised whimper, but he didn’t pause, continuing walking and ignoring the stunned—and amused—looks from his friends. He barely glanced back, his grip firm and unyielding, as if nothing in the room mattered except getting you alone.

Neither of you noticed the dim hallways as you hurried along, too consumed by the need to be alone together. Neither of you registered when the music faded into the background or when his door creaked open and shut behind you. And neither of you realized when the clothes that once covered your bodies ended up scattered across the floor, tangled together just like the two of you.

You were both too lost in ecstasy.

Mattheo's hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch with excitement that was visible from miles away. His fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, leaving marks with each squeeze, and if you didn't know him, you might've thought it was unintentional. But the smirk pressed against your skin proved he knew exactly what he was doing—a knowledge that made you moan, and made him grip your ass even harder.

“I could bite you for hours, taste you for hours,” he purred against your skin, his nose brushing against you with a softness that contrasted sharply with his mouth, which was focused on marking your neck fiercely.

His teeth sank into your flesh, drawing blood as he savored the metallic taste, and each lick sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, blurring the lines between pain and ecstasy. “Your skin is so damn soft,” he murmured, the obsession in his voice sending shivers down your spine.

Mattheo squeezed your ass a little harder before pulling his hand away, leaving you moaning at the loss of contact and shooting him an angry glare. “What's wrong, love?” he smirked, his voice dripping with mockery as his lips stained a deep red from the blood you two had shared during the kiss and the blood he was still taking from you, curled into a cruel grin against your skin.

“You know what's wrong, don't stop touching me!” you snapped, frustration lacing your voice. The moment the words left your mouth, you let out a breathy moan as he clamped his teeth onto your skin again, this time a little harder in response to your defiant tone.

He chuckled slightly. “Don't be so fucking impatient, love.” He pressed soft kisses against your skin, purring against it. “I will touch you again...” he teased, and before you could respond, his hand possessively cupped your breast, a low moan escaping him as your hardened nipple pressed into his palm. You let out a satisfied sigh, your lips parting slightly, and Mattheo couldn't resist; almost instinctively, he pulled you in for another heated kiss.

As soon as his mouth met yours, you couldn't help but reciprocate his fervor with equal intensity. Mattheo squeezed your chest a little harder, forcing you to part your lips, and he wasted no time plunging his tongue into your mouth, flooding you with the metallic taste of blood that was almost tattooed on his tongue.

The sloppy and open mouthed kisses were enough to send shivers down both your bodies, and you were sure you had never been more wet than you were in that moment.

“Look at you.” Mattheo murmured as he broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your chin while guiding you to one of the beds in the dorm, his hands never leaving your chest, and his mouth staying on your skin, moving lower and lower. “You're just all talk, aren't you?” he purred, sitting down on the bed and pulling you onto his lap, your legs straddling him, as his lips moved down, almost grazing your hardened left nipple.

You flushed almost violently, but before you could respond, his mouth was on your breast, tongue flicking and teasing your nipple as he sucked, drawing a shiver from you that only widened his grin. His gaze fixated on the marks and faint traces of blood on your neck, an look of satisfaction in his eyes as his tongue continued its relentless, obscene play on your skin, savoring every reaction he wrung from you.

The bastard knew exactly how to use his tongue, and you could already feel yourself losing control.

One of his hands was now tangled softly in your hair, while the other still cupped your chest with a possessiveness that only Mattheo could make feel strangely delicate. It was a balance that would seem odd to anyone else—but not to him. His version of delicacy always came paired with roughness, and as much as you hated to admit it, you loved every bit of it.

"Are you ready to admit that you're just talking?" He murmured, his mouth still toying with your breast as you looked down at him, locked in a mix of pleasure and anger.

“Go to hell, Riddle,” you spat, anger lacing your words, only to moan as his teeth sank into your nipple.

“Oh, love, I'm already in hell.” He suckled your hardened nipple, lingering on the sensitive flesh before pulling away, his hand that had been tangled in your hair sliding down to your neck, giving it a teasing squeeze as he drew you closer, his lips brushing tantalizingly against your ear. “And I'm loving every second of it,” he whispered, sending a surge of heat through your body and making his grin widen even more.

Mattheo pushed you for another kiss, this time a softer one, leaning back against the bed and dragging you with him until the back of his head hit the headboard. In one swift motion, he bit your lip, breaking the kiss and abruptly flipping you onto your back, pressing you against his neck with a strength that made your eyes widen in surprise. You looked up at him, breathless, taking in the mix of dominance and desire radiating from him. You looked at him breathless.

“What—what are you doing?” you asked, your cheeks burning with the sudden action. You could feel his skin against your bare wetness.

Mattheo only grinned, feeling your pussy so close to him, and looked at you almost defiantly, but you were sure that you saw primal hunger in his gaze as he squeezed your thighs.

“You didn't want to break my nose?” Mattheo purred provocatively, a wicked smile curling his lips as he looked at the marks he made on your body. “Do it then.” He gripped your thighs tighter, his voice low and enticing. “Prove that you're not all talk, and sit on my face.” He said it without a shred of shame, and your eyes widened as you looked down at him.

Every inch of you was screaming at you to do it.

“Come on, love, are you scared?” he provoked, his mouth salivating with anticipation as he looked at your pussy nestled against his neck. Something in you snapped, and before you could even think about it, you positioned yourself over his face, sinking down and moaning at the sensation, feeling his grin against your wet cunt as he gripped your thighs even tighter.

“Just like that,” Mattheo murmured into your pussy, his tongue dancing and swirling in his mouth like a prelude to what he was about to do against your folds, and he couldn't help but let out a satisfied chuckle as he watched your impatient eyes.

You were already gasping, staring into Mattheo’s eyes with the same hunger and anger you had before, and he couldn’t help but feel a twisted satisfaction at that. He loved that you cared enough to be furious with him and relished the way you claimed his face as your throne.

For a brief moment, he craved you to break his nose, just so his blood could mingle with your pussy, marking you as his prey. That thought made Mattheo whisper inaudible words against your cheek like a loyal prayer before he pressed your thighs against his cheeks and delivered the first lick.

Slow, painfully slow, almost like torture.

But as much as he craved to torture you, he couldn't, it was simply too much for him. The way your pleading eyes begged for more, the intoxicating scent of your arousal, and the initial taste of your cunt had him crazy. Without a second thought, he buried his face deeper into you, eating you out like a starved man desperate for his last taste of ecstasy.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you cried out, pushing his hair, which made him groan and moan against your folds. His tongue licked every inch of your core with fervor, ignoring any precision that could exist, too hungry to care. And you didn't mind how messy it got, not when he was licking and sucking your essence as if he wanted to drown in your wetness.

That was good—so good that you could already feel the tears streaming down your face. Your moans turned into screams as his muscle pushed deeper inside you. You were on the brink of breaking.

Mattheo didn't cared about that, though.

Since there was no technique or precision in the way he devoured you, there was only animalistic hunger and fervent hatred as his tongue flicked against your sex and his nose rubbed against your clit, leaving you so drunk with pleasure that the next thing to make you squeal was the feeling of his fingers massaging your thighs while his mouth sucked the spot where his nose had just been.

He wanted to be suffocated by you, to die between your legs consumed by your body, and that only fueled his obsession, driving him to push you further against him. He diverted his gaze from your cunt to your face, his stomach twisting with the precious sound of your moans.

“You look so pretty from here,” he moaned against your pussy, his eyes devouring every inch of you. You looked at him as your body started to weaken, and when you noticed the intensity in his dark brown eyes, you had to close yours quickly to escape his obsessive gaze. That only made him grip your legs even tighter, the veins in his arms bulging as he continued to suck on your clit, lost in your flavor.

“So fucking pretty,” Mattheo purred softly, almost hypnotized by the way your body reacted to him. He continued with fierce determination, his movements growing even more frenzied as his tongue and nose worked together to prolong your pleasure.

You were completely at his mercy, each wave of pleasure crashing over you more intensely than the last. He showed no signs of tiring, fully intent on pushing you to your limits, eager to watch you break over and over against his mouth.

He was utterly addicted to your taste, desperate for you to come into his mouth, determined to savor every last drop.

“Mattheo,” you choked out. “I can't—please, I need to cum!” You moaned repeatedly, your voice and legs trembling in sync.

“You can cum, love,” he said softly, his voice a stark contrast to the brutal way he feasted on you. “I will take it, I promise.” At his words, your body shattered as the first orgasm of the night swept over you, leaving you breathless, weak, and completely undone. But he didn't relent; instead, he buried his face deeper into your wetness, greedily lapping up every drop of your essence, driving you to scream even louder as you pressed into his face like a fucking masochist.

“I need another drop,” he murmured against your pussycat. “Just one, just one.” A lie. He didn't stop after the second drop. He didn't stop after the third, and each time he seemed to grow hungrier, as if he wanted to explode with your taste. But when your fourth orgasm hit, you couldn't take it anymore; you fell apart, collapsing beside him and dragging him down with you.

He had cum.

He came with your taste, and you had never felt more fulfilled, completely proud by the fact that you were the one who drove him to the edge without even touching him.

You looked at him, his chin still glistening with your essence, his chest rising and falling erratically, mirroring your own breath. But when your eyes met his, there was no hint of regret or shame—only a potent mix of hunger and satisfaction, as if he were on the verge of saying something else or maybe pushing your limits again.

“Next time, break my nose.” He said, putting your body against his almost like an embrace.

Next time. You nodded, that sounded like a plan.

likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated. 🫶🏻

this is my first one-shot about slytherin boys, so please be kind and respectful!

thanks for being my fav beta readers: @diiwata & @earth4angels ! love you both <3. also, thank you @nottsangel ! you were the first person i read regarding slytherin boys. thanks for putting me on to it! (my gallery is grateful as well) <3

#— ; 𝐳𝐨𝐲𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 🧳#mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo x you #mattheo smut #slytherin #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo imagine #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x smut #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle x you #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys x you #mattheo x reader #dividers by cafekitsune

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eeridyllic · 2 days ago

Text

MANEATER

kinich x saurian! reader

cw: no pronouns. reader is an ancient sealed saurian much like ajaw but you’re in your human form all the time. flirting and makeout. 3.5k words. not proof-read.

There were a lot of adjectives Kinich could use to describe you. Irritating would be the first, though it barely scratched the surface.

You were cunning, nosy, and far too pleased with yourself. He could have gone his entire life without meeting you and slept soundly at night. You enjoyed testing his patience, dancing around with that sharp smile as if you knew something he didn’t.

In your eyes, everything seemed like a game—a tiresome one, at that, with endless rules Kinich had no interest in learning. His life had been simpler—at least—before you’d come along; before your mocking laughter, your constant, uninvited insights, and that way you had of observing him, as though he were an oddity you couldn't quite figure out, or a mere prey to hunt.

But despite everything, there was no ignoring that you had added a strange new rhythm to his days.

The memory pulled him back to that pivotal moment—the point where, he realized now, everything had shifted.

______________________________________________

He and Ajaw had been partners for some time already, surviving one mission after another. So when another one arrived, promising a huge payment in exchange for exploring ancient ruins, Kinich barely batted an eye. The contractor was vague and evasive about the reasons, claiming he needed a specific artifact hidden within. Suspicious, maybe. But money was money.

Navigating the ruins was a gauntlet. Kinich lost count of the traps, the decaying pillars that threatened to collapse with each step, the puzzles and mechanisms clearly designed to keep intruders out. The place was a maze of broken stone and silent challenges, yet he felt a familiar surge of satisfaction with each step deeper into the heart of the ruin.

At last, he reached a final chamber, where the object of his commission stood on a dais—a fragment of the past unlike any he’d seen before, emanating a strange energy that felt older than time itself. It was no wonder his contractor had wanted it, though Kinich couldn’t begin to guess what it was for.

The moment his hand brushed the relic, a surge of ancient power pulsed through the room. Ajaw, strangely quiet but ever alert, shifted beside him, his eyes narrowing with a cautious awareness. And then, from the shadows, a voice drifted through the room, light and smooth with an undercurrent of menace.

“Well, well. Another little human wandered in.”

Kinich whirled, looking around through the darkness of the place for the source of the voice, when he finally met you.

The figure before him was both mesmerizing and unnervingly unnatural. Even as he felt his guard rise, there was no denying you were the most otherworldly, hauntingly beautiful being he had ever seen. But your draconic eyes betrayed your true nature. You were one of Ajaw’s kind, another ancient sealed entity—alive and as dangerous as the power coursing through the chamber.

Ajaw stirred, his presence crackling with a familiar hostility. “Hunf. Long time no see, (Y/N),” he greeted you, his tone a blend of wary sarcasm and grudging acknowledgment.

You met his words with a raised brow and an amused smile.

“My, you’re still alive, Ajaw? And leaning on humans above all. How unfortunate,” you replied dryly, crossing your arms. Ajaw grumbled irritated earning a gaze from Kinich who was watching your interaction with almost amused interest.

“So, human”, you said, your voice edged with a touch of boredom as you sat on a rock, “What do you want with me? What’s the plan? Drag me off to that contractor of yours perhaps?”

Kinich maintained his composure, though he was a bit surprised by how you already knew the reason why he stepped into your domain.

Without further ado, the hunter started to explain the details of his commission—he was the first, but surely he wouldn’t be the last either.

The moment he finished, your expression twisted, a flicker of disdain evident.

“As if I’d go along with that. Typical mortals, always seeking what they don’t understand, eager to trap things they have no right to touch,” you hissed, earning a followed amused chuckling from Ajaw.

You paused, the resentment burning in your chest, however, Kinich noted there was something else too as your eyes lingered on him.

Leaving your throne behind and stepping forward, your presence filling the space between all three of you.

“I have a proposition for you only, though. A contract, let’s call it,” your smile was both inviting and taunting. “We’ll work together, for our mutual benefit. To be frank it is more for my selfish desire than to help you. I’m tired of talking to walls, you see,” your eyes traveled through his body before meeting his gaze again, “Surely, you wouldn’t want to go back with nothing, right?”

Kinich weighed your words carefully, his mind racing through the possibilities and costs.

He already bore the weight of a pact with Ajaw, and he understood the price of balancing multiple contracts with creatures of such power. Yet the allure of your knowledge, your abilities, was too great to ignore.

Ajaw seemed to be on his edge, cursed both of you facing the absurdity of the offering and what it could bring.

Nevertheless, Kinich’s mind was set already. With a final, steady breath, he nodded, sealing his decision. Your eyes flashed with a glint of satisfaction, your smirk widening into something altogether dangerous, seductive. You leaned on his ear, your voice dropping to a near-whisper.

“I look forward to working with you, Kinich.”

______________________________________________

That day, Kinich hadn’t earned a paycheck. However, he hadn’t left the ruins empty-handed, either.

From then on, his life became a delicate balance of managing two unpredictable forces. Ajaw, with his bristling sarcasm and an unending appetite for murder, had been challenging enough on his own. But adding you, with your teasing demands and cryptic ways, turned Kinich’s daily life into a finely tuned exercise in patience.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks to months with Kinich adapting himself to the peculiar rhythms of his two ancient companions.

Ajaw kept volatile, ever-ready to lend his power with a razor-thin line between aid and sabotage. Kinich could call on his abilities freely; but each time, the pixelated dragon took the chance to push him to his limit, toying with him like prey and testing the boundaries of their contract.

You, however, were different. Your contract was filled with stipulations, each one more elusive than the last. Kinich could request your power, your wisdom on ancient lore and mystical ruins, your understanding of secrets hidden for centuries—but each favor required a price.

He remember the first time he’d needed your help, you smiled wide and said, “Fetch me a Cecilia.”

At first, Kinich hadn’t thought much of it—a flower, seemingly simple enough. Then he realized that Cecilias only bloomed on the cliffs of Mondstadt, a land far from Natlan. And anyone leaving Natlan without permission of the Wayob risked losing themselves, a curse bound by ancient magic.

That he’d managed to find one spoke to his sheer stubbornness, his ability to navigate through obstacles that should have been impossible.

When he’d finally placed the flower in your hand, your satisfaction had been infuriatingly clear.

It was never straightforward with you. Another time, he’d requested a map of an old ruin rumored to be full of hidden dangers. In return, you’d demanded a simple luxury—a crystal pendant, clear as water, something you could admire as you traveled through dark caves and shadowed forests. A trivial thing, but your smile as you held the pendant was somehow worth the trouble.

Through it all, Kinich found himself unwillingly entangled in your games, constantly navigating the space between the three of you, keeping a balance that was tenuous at best. And even as you continued to provoke him with your playful, cutting comments, he found himself grudgingly relying on you.

There were commissions where you proved to be an invaluable ally. Your intelligence was formidable; your strategies were sound, your insights swift, and you saw through traps that Kinich sometimes missed. Your pride might have been infuriating, but your strange loyalty, he realized, was something rare.

You kept him on his toes with your challenging personality, pushing him to improve even as you drove him to distraction. And on rare nights, after a long day’s journey or a grueling fight, you’d sit in silence, the air between you calm and oddly comfortable. There were times, with the firelight flickering and casting shadows on your face, that he found himself almost… dazzled.

If he had to do it all over again, he wouldn’t have done it differently. Not that he’d ever admit it to you.

Now, back to present on yet another commission, Kinich found himself partnered with you once more.

Ajaw had declared the mission too dull to follow, muttering something about it being more suited to “(Y/N)’s ridiculous logic puzzles” than to his taste for battle. Kinich was grateful for the reprieve, though he knew the real challenge would be handling your endless demands and your habit of testing his patience.

You were intelligent and efficient, he could admit that much, but your sharp wit and flirtatious ways were exhausting. You never missed an opportunity to prod at him, to see if you could break through his carefully constructed guard.

As you two moved deeper into the cave, Kinich couldn’t help but feel your eyes on him, watching for every reaction, every flicker of emotion.

You’ve made a sport of it, brushing close, a sly smile playing on your lips whenever you sensed his irritation, always aiming to get under his skin. And yet, you had an uncanny sense of his well-being. You’d sidestep a trap just in time, then look back to ensure he’d done the same. It was an odd, unspoken protection, one that both irritated and relieved him.

The ruin was as treacherous as any he’d encountered, with more than a few puzzles that made Kinich silently grateful for your presence. You disarmed traps, deciphered carvings he’d never have managed, and stepped through mazes with a precision that bordered on the supernatural. And though you complained all the way through, your pride and determination drove you to succeed.

You both just completed the commission, retrieving the artifact you’d come for, when you turned to him, wiping the dust from your hands. You gave him an amused look, a glint of mischief in your eyes.

“Well,” you started, your tone laced with that familiar teasing edge. “We’re done here.”

He nodded, grateful for the relative quiet that would follow—until you tilted your head, regarding him thoughtfully. “You’ve been awfully quiet today, Kinich. More than usual. A mora for your thoughts?”

Your tone was light, almost offhand, but your gaze was anything but casual. Something was probing in the way you looked at him, as though searching for an answer he hadn’t voiced. The saurian hunter held your gaze, his own expression carefully neutral, as he considered his response.

He stood still, his gaze lingering. Kinich told himself it was merely to study your expression, to gauge your intentions. But his mind betrayed him, tracing the fine details of your face—from the sharp line of your jaw to the glint in your dragon-like eyes and the slight curve of your lips that seemed forever on the edge of a knowing smile. Your beauty was the kind that defied logic, pulling him in even as he resisted.

“It’s nothing,” he replied finally, his tone measured, distant. He turned, motioning for the two of you to leave. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

But you didn’t follow. Instead, you remained where you were, arms folded, head tilted to one side as if you’d only just begun to consider something. The look you gave him was a little too knowing, the glint in your eyes far too familiar. He knew that look of yours. Most of times it meant only thing one: problem.

“Kinich,” you said, a slow smile spreading across your lips. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

The hunter stopped, exhaling slowly as he turned to face you. His eyes narrowed. You were up to something—that much was clear. You had that dangerous, cat-like look about you, your gaze dark and sharp, as though sizing him up, anticipating his every move. He lifted an eyebrow, his voice a shade more cautious than he’d intended.

“And what would that be, (Y/N)?” he asked.

For a moment, you didn’t reply. Instead, you took a single step closer, your eyes never leaving his. He felt his pulse quicken, though he kept his expression blank.

You moved toward him slowly, a faint, predatory gleam in your eyes. You were close now, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from your skin, and could catch the hint of some exotic scent lingering in the air. A blend of something earthy and sweet, entirely unique to you.

Kinich steeled himself, forcing his mind to stay sharp, though he found himself captivated despite his best efforts. You paused just a breath away, your gaze flickering over him with the lazy, confident ease of someone who knew exactly the effect you had.

A hint of amusement crept into your smile. “It’s payback time, Malipo”, you began, your voice low and smooth, laced with an almost sinister edge, “I’ve worked hard today, you see, so I’m feeling a bit… greedy.”

His eyes narrowed further.

“What do you want, (Y/N)?”

You giggled. “Oh, I could ask for any number of things,” you took a deep sigh and started to circle him. “Power… influence… control of your soul, even.”

He remained quiet. Your smile widened at his lack of reaction, your teeth flashing in the dim light of the ruins. You were enjoying this, taking your time, savoring every second as if you were unwrapping a carefully chosen gift.

“But…,” you murmured, drawing the word out, “I think I’m more fond of something else.” You paused, letting the silence build, each second stretching as you watched him, relishing his quiet wariness.

Finally, your eyes locked with his, and you spoke with deliberate slowness. “Kiss me.”

Silence.

For a moment, Kinich felt his mind go blank, his eyes widening briefly in stunned silence before he quickly regained control, his expression hardening.

It had to be a game. Another one of your tricks, another way to unsettle him, to get under his skin. But your gaze didn’t waver, your expression calm, almost serene, though he saw the gleam of anticipation behind your eyes.

A dozen thoughts raced through his mind, each one colliding with the next. His heart hammered in his chest, the sound loud and unsteady, and yet he kept his face neutral, his stance calm. This was you, after all. You thrived on unsettling him, on watching him squirm—though he’d learned, over the months, never to give you the satisfaction of seeing his reactions.

But your eyes… you weren’t blinking, weren’t moving. You waited, utterly still, your lips curved into the faintest smirk as you watched him wrestle with himself. He almost thought he saw something genuine in your gaze, something more than the surface-level teasing, but he dismissed the thought quickly. You were you. Cocky, calculating—you had to be playing with him.

“Don’t tell me there’s something you can’t manage, Kinich,” you sighed, your tone equal parts challenge and mockery. “Well. That’s rather disappointing,” you turned, as if prepared to leave, already dismissing the moment with that same enigmatic smile.

Without fully thinking, Kinich’s hand shot out, catching you by the wrist. You stilled, surprise flickering across your face before you concealed it, though your eyes flashed with something he couldn’t name yet.

For a heartbeat, you stood in silence, your pulse quick and light beneath his fingers. Slowly, he drew you toward him, his arm encircling your waist, anchoring you against him as his other hand found your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

He exhaled a soft, reluctant sigh. “You’re nothing but trouble,” he murmured, his voice laced with resignation.

You only laughed softly, a sound that was both daring and pleased, and he could feel your smirk against his skin as he leaned down, finally pressing his lips to yours.

The first contact was a mere tentative brush, barely more than a fleeting touch between your mouths. It was a moment suspended in uncertainty, as though both were testing the boundaries of this unexpected closeness.

For a breath, you held still, neither moving nor daring to deepen it. But something simmered beneath the surface, a quiet intensity that broke through the silence with an undeniable pull.

Before either could pull away, though, the kiss grew deeper, hungrier, an unspoken desire erupting between you two.

Kinich’s hand tightened at your waist, pulling you closer, feeling the warmth of your body pressed to his. He could taste the faint, exotic sweetness of your lips as you yielded to him instantly, only to counter with your own ferocity. But it was when your lips parted that a dam seemed to break.

Eagerly, Kinich took this opportunity and deepened the kiss, your tongues meeting in a dance of defiance and passion. There was a taste of something otherworld in you, a hint of mystery and danger that drew him in even as it warned him. But he ignored the caution, letting himself be consumed by the moment, by the heat, by the softness of your mouth against his, the way you met his every movement with your own, never yielding, never backing down.

It was a silent battle, a clash of wills and sublime frustration as each sought to take the lead, the kiss growing fierce and excited, your breaths mingling with a fervor you could no longer contain.

Your hands slid up from his chest, your touch lingering, savoring the feel of him as your fingers trailed up his neck and into his hair. You tugged slightly, demanding, as if daring him to give you more. Your fingertips were cool yet electric against his skin, igniting something primal, something he rarely let surface.

Kinich responded instinctively, his own restraint slipping as he pressed you back, guiding you toward the rough wall of the ruin. The space between you dissolved entirely as your back met the stone as he lifted you, the pressure of his body firm, claiming.

Your breaths grew heavier. Your hands gripped both his hair and shoulder, your nails lightly pressing into his skin. His hand slid from your waist, tracing the curve of your thighs and ass, pressing your body into his as though anchoring you there. Every inch of him was focused on you, on the feel of you against him, on the pulse of energy that crackled between you, too powerful to ignore.

When you finally broke apart, the world around seemed to settle, the heavy silence filling the air once more.

Kinich’s breathing was ragged, his pupils wide, and dilated, his pulse still pounding with an intensity he rarely allowed himself to feel. He could feel the warmth of your breath still lingering close, your lips barely an inch apart, almost as if you were challenging him to give in again.

Your expression was slightly unfocused, your usual composure replaced by something vulnerable, exposed. Kinich caught himself enjoying this version of you. There was a faint flush across your cheeks, a look of astonishment that you quickly masked, though it didn’t disappear entirely.

For a moment, neither of you spoke the weight of what had just happened hanging heavy, charged with unspoken thoughts, things that might have been, things neither of you would admit.

And then you chuckled softly, your voice laced with amusement, your lips curving into a smirk. “My,” you murmured, your tone both teasing and provocative, “I didn’t expect that. Although I can’t say I didn’t like it either.” You tilted your head, your eyes gleaming with a playful glint. “As always, it’s a pleasure to do business with you, Kinich.”

Kinich didn’t reply immediately, his gaze steady, his expression indecipherable, but there was a depth in his eyes that betrayed him, a lingering trace of something he couldn’t quite banish.

With a sigh, he finally stepped back, putting a carefully measured distance between you. “Anytime,” he said, his voice low, raspy. “So? Let’s get out of here?”

He turned, giving you space to follow, his demeanor returning to its usual calm, composed state.

Yet as he moved, he couldn’t ignore the lingering taste of you on his lips, the faint, intoxicating trace that refused to fade. The rational part of him knew this shouldn’t change things—that it couldn’t. You were tied by a pact, bounded by terms he should have expected. This was simply one of your “favors,” a twist you’d added, nothing more.

But as you left the ruins, a sense of awareness settled within him, the quiet realization that for all his caution, he’d succumbed, letting himself be drawn into your orbit, your game. It was dangerous, foolish even, to think this meant anything, to risk feeling for someone who thrived on unpredictability and cunning.

Even so, he couldn’t shake the way you had looked at him, the warmth of your touch, the sensation that still lingered, refusing to be dismissed.

And though he would bury it, push it away, he knew, somewhere in the depths of his guarded heart, that this would stay with him, a taste of something forbidden, lingering, marking him in a way he’d never intended.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kinich #kinich x reader #genshin impact #genshin #— saurian au 🐉

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tan1shere · 21 hours ago

Note

Heyyyyyyy could YOU please PLEASE do one where Billie tells the reader how to touch herself, while Billie is on tour?!!?

Call Me

Billie Eilish x female reader !

A/n: coming righttttt up, hope you like it 😊

Warnings: smut, phone sex ?? Masterbating - think thats it !

Masterlist

It was lonely here all alone. Finding little jobs and activities to do to fill in time. Whenever you weren't working, yourself. Your girlfriend, Billie was currently on her HMHAS tour. And you haven't seen her in days. Truth be told you missed her like crazy. Her presence. Her voice. Her touch..

Which led to the next feeling you missed. Ovulation was no joke. And you were currently facing the feral-ness of it. Even more so that she isn't here. You had been frustrated all day. And you only now realize why. You needed to touch yourself, you had to relieve this pent up tension. So as the night comes along you get into your warm, comfortable bed. Checking the time. Billie usually calls around this time.

You figure shes sleeping, she had been extra tired lately. You go to slide your hand down into your shorts, about to touch yourself. When you do, but stopping. Things aren't the same. You wanted her touch. You try to continue but nothing was feeling good right now. That caused more frustration to bubble inside you. Deciding to just sleep it away. And hope tomorrow was normal.

Next day rolls around and you still have the same feeling. Frustration and horniness. Not a great combination, the day felt longer because of it. It was a bit earlier when you got home, but thankfully Billie didn't have a show today. So she was hopefully going to answer when you call. You couldn't take it anymore you needed her help. And you needed it desperately.

You go to lay on the bed, grabbing your phone and dialing her number. She answers in seconds, causing you to grow nervous. In all the years of being with her, phone sex was the one thing you've yet to do. So ofcourse you were nervous. Would she even help you, would this be odd? "Hi baby." You hear her say, cheerfully. You smile to yourself. "Hello!" You try your hardest to not jump into things, going to try give her some hints.

"How was your day?" She then asks. You sigh, ever so lightly. "A little frustrating, good to be home though. How about yours?" - "Mine was pretty boring I've just been preparing for tomorrow's show and chilling. Why was yours frustrating my love?" You think for a moment. "Just some work and other little things, some of which I just can't fix by myself.." - "I'm sorry, anything I can do to help at all?" Yes. Phone fuck me. Was all you wanted to say but you had to play things cool. Even if your body was heating up at the thought of this happening.

"Not that I can think of, just wanted to hear your voice I missed you." She smiles to herself. "I miss you too babe." There was a small pause, you were contemplating on how you'd do this. When a small idea pops into your head. You missed her voice so much, and it sounds like you had just woke her up from a nap. Her voice was slightly raspy, a bit of her tiredness peeking through.

"Did anything else happen today?" You then ask, getting comfortable on the bed. Moving your hands just above the waistband of your underwear. You had decided to get straight into your sleepwear, just a loose night gown. Wanting to feel good as all you've been wearing lately are big t-shirts to bed. You wanted to feel hot, make this moment more sensual. "Not too much if im honest, just got my outfit for tomorrow, did some other things. Just boring stuff really." You hum in reply, moving your hand in your underwear as she speaks.

Was this wrong? It felt a little like that. Your face heats up what're you even doing. But you get pulled from your thoughts when you hear your name. "Hello? Y/n, baby. You still there?" The name made you bite your lip. "Y-yeah sorry." She chuckles. "You didn't answer my question love." "Oh, oops. What was it?" She smiles to herself again, finding you cute. Except what you were doing was far from cute and downright filthy. "I asked you how shark had been, he's behaving right?" Your hand moves lower, trying to stay focused on the conversation and her voice. "Y-yeah he's been good." You let out a quiet sigh but she hears it. "Everything ok?"

You get nervous again, how were you even going to manage this. "I'm fine.." You needed her to keep talking, and thankfully she does. "Ok, Im sure if it's anything youre just tired. I was going to talk to you about when I get back, we have a dinner with Finn on the Friday. Just thought I'd remind you incase you forgot." Your finger had been in you, slowly moving the whole time she was talking. And when you don't reply she gets more confused. "Baby, what're you doing you seem distracted." You holt your movements, trying to think of an excuse but why? You wanted to call her and ask.

Ask her to talk to you, help you. So why were you so damn nervous. "Talk to me baby." God sake her voice was so hot even when she wasn't intentionally trying. You bite your lip again trying to stop any noise that was about to escape. Mustering up some sort of strength to reply. "I'm f-fine." Was all you managed to respond with. Billie sits there in thought, when she hears another sigh. Was she catching on? She needed to be sure. "I miss you, so. So much." She was playing with fire. You don't respond again, having your eyes shut as you try to give yourself pleasure.

When it's not working you let out another sigh followed by a tiny whine. She hears that loud and clear, smirking to herself. She knew good and well what you were doing. "Can't wait to see you in a few days, get to kiss you. Hold you. Touch.. you." She chose her words evily. But she didn't stop there. A breath was to be heard. Followed by a frustrated sigh. "Let me help, baby. You sound annoyed." Another small whine left you, at the fact she was right and just overall the way she was speaking to you.

Your brows knit together, giving in and letting her. She knows now, there's no point in staying silent. "It's no good, I miss you. Your hands." She coos. "I know baby, I know. I'm just so good at touching my girl huh?" Your head rests back. "So good." You breath into the speaker. "Your fingers still inside?" You reply with a hum. "Move em." So you do just that, slowly at first. "Move your thumb, touch your clit for me." You do that, touching it then moving your thumb in a circle motion.

Everything was so still and quiet she could hear your wetness and God it was driving her nuts, she wanted to be there. To see it, to feel it. "That's it." She says encouragingly, hearing your noises as you speed up on both tactics. She could just imagine it, you touching yourself just to her speaking. "Was baby doing this the whole time I was talking?" She then says. Your cheeks grow red with heat. "I- uhm." She lets out an evil chuckle, sending tingles straight to your pussy. It was such a hot chuckle. But then again, anything she did right now was 10x hotter. "You're such a filthy girl huh?" You bite your lip yet again.

Feeling more pleasure than you had been. "Please keep talking please." You begged. Voice so needy. "Plunge deeper for me, know you can. Imagine my fingers. How deep they go. Imagine your thumb is my tongue as I swirl it around your throbbing clit." Your back arches at the thought, you needed it more than anything. "Need you so bad." A louder moan was to be heard. The fact this woman is just talking to you and you almost coat the sheets in your nectar. She felt all the power in this moment. "Go faster for me - that's a good girl." She finishes as she hears the squelching increase. Your breaths and moans mingle into one as you get closer.

"Mmm, fuck I'm so so close. Please." She laughs yet again. "So cute, still asking to cum even when I'm miles away. So incredibly good, aren't you?" Your head lulls back into the pillows again, feeling the knot almost snap. "Fuck, Billie." - "Faster baby, rub your clit. Wanna hear you squirt." Just those words alone send both of those sensations out of you, having you leak and squirt all at once. Your breath being uneven as your eyes roll back. "Good, girl. That's what I like to hear."

#billie eilish #billie elish icons #billie ellish lyrics #billie #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish smut #billie eilish fanfiction #billie elish moodboard #billie eilish x you #billie eilish x reader smut #billie eilish x y/n

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weepingwillowwonder · 2 days ago

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Imagines Alastor x AFAB!Reader [MDNI 18+ ONLY]

CW: Period sex, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Needy!Alastor,

Imagine on a rare occasion that Alastor fully takes you and both of you are completely lost in pleasure. Under normal circumstances, convincing Alastor to bed you was…difficult to say the least. It was not often that the mood struck him enough to act on his wandering thoughts, and if he did, it was more so your reactions that he looked forward to, not exactly his own pleasure.

As his partner, you knew this fact very well and respected his boundaries towards the matter, following his lead despite your own yearnings. And of course he knew you wanted him, with how your eyes would roam his body when you didn’t think he was looking, how you’d shift with your thighs pressed together when he spoke sweetly to you, or even how you’d fuck yourself silly when he wasn’t around, his name like a mantra falling from your lips. Ah yes, he knew, you wanted him. Besides, he could smell you, though you didn’t need to know that.

Despite his lack of a libido, he understood you had needs and like any decent partner, he tried his best to make sure those needs were met. Sometimes this involved his own pleasure as well, more often it did not, with his focus purely on satisfying your cravings. So when you approach Alastor one day, shamelessly begging him to bed you, something about the situation compels him to indulge you in ways he normally wouldn't.

He guides you to your shared bed and makes quick work of your clothes, lips crashing into each other in a heated embrace all the while. His fingers quickly find themselves between your legs, impatiently working you open for him to take you. It’s almost as if he can’t get enough of you right now, drinking in your needy sounds as he fingers you deeply. Your body arches up to press against his and he adds another finger, marveling at how impossibly wet you are for him right now.

You can't put a finger on it, but something has Alastor particularly worked up and you can feel it in the rough way his fingers piston inside of you, curling just right to pull out your sweetest sounds. His lips don’t leave yours the entire time, even as he pulls his dripping fingers from you and immediately guides himself to your entrance. He fumbles to sheath himself inside of you when the tip of his cock catches the rim of your hole and a low moan leaves him when he finally sinks inside.

The feeling is almost akin to primal as he takes you, hips knocking into yours fast and hard, exactly the way you asked for and how you both knew you needed him. Tears continually fall down your face as you beg for more in incoherent babbles.

Something about the situation lights his body up in an unexpectedly rare way, one that only certain circumstances tend to bring about. His sense of self control grows muddy as he continues to lose himself in your unbearably wet heat. He knew you needed him, could feel you leaking along his cock as your cunt milked him for all he was worth. And in a strangely familiar way, he felt as if he needed you, needed this. Your cries, your touch, your scent, everything about this moment of you intimacy had him feeling high, almost feral, and he only continued his brutal pace.

When he finally detaches from you, you both catch the trail of saliva that connects you and the heated gaze from the other. Your eyes glaze over as you’re pushed past overstimulation, and reach up to set a hand on his arm gripping your hips for dear life. His eyes follow your hand and hone in on the dark colored fluids smeared along his lower body. Alastor’s hips slow to a still as he processes what’s happening.

“O-oh..oh my gosh…I think I…I think I just started my period.” You mumble out, halfway sitting up to look between your legs with wide eyes. “I’m so-, oh my gosh…” Alastor eyes trail down between your legs to find a darker liquid coming from you, instead of the normal color of your arousal. For a moment, he can only hear the rapid sound of his heart beating. He’d been so distracted by his sudden excitement that he didn’t bother to consider why he was riled up more than usual. It wasn't a newly sudden interest in sex that caused this. He could smell you.

He hadn’t been paying close enough attention to see that you had been spotting when he stripped you down, nor when he felt like he couldn’t get enough of you. He could smell you bleeding the whole time and in that moment he felt like he was harder than he’d ever been.

“Fuck.” The growl that comes from his lips makes you gasp in misplaced fear of him being angry. As you begin to apologize yet again, he yanks himself from you and immediately drags your bottom half to his mouth. A yelp comes from you initially as you’re practically folded in half, then a high pitch moan as Alastor messily begins eating you out. His head is filled with nothing but the need to have you as his eyes fall closed and his tongue searches further inside of you. Your hand comes to bury itself in his hair as he frantically laps along your core, giving you no time to catch your breath.

“Alastor! Alastor please! I can’t, I can’t…! No, no, no, no!” You cry out as an orgasm crashes through you, roughly tugging on his locks in an attempt to pull him away. A threatening growl vibrates against your cunt and you hear the distant sound of static as Alastor’s fingers seem to sink deeper into the skin of your hips. You’re unable to do anything but lay there as he brings you close to the edge again, cries completely ignored as he focuses only on tasting more of you.

When he finally gets his fill and pulls away with a groan, he lowers your body back on the bed and comes up to nuzzle your neck. You weakly call out his name, and cling to him as the weight of his body comes to rest upon yours. As your body starts to relax, you let out a sudden gasp as you feel Alastor’s hardened member dragging along your thigh.

“Oh darling, you’ll indulge me won’t you?” His breath comes out in pants as his fingers dig into the already bruised areas of your hips. His lips hover just above your ear as his antlers begin to grow from on top of his head. “Just one more little taste…”

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin #alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x reader

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greengoblinswifey · 2 days ago

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Silent Desires—Brother’s!Bsf Nicholas Chavez x Fem!Reader

summary— you’re the cool older sister who never paid much attention to your brother's shy best friend, Nicholas—until one night, you overhear a surprising conversation. learning he's never been with anyone, you find yourself more than ready to make him have a good first time.

warnings— tiny age gap(reader is 2 years older), sub!nicholas then slight dom!nicholas, dom!reader, fingering, choking, oral(m receiving), loss of virginity, unprotected sex, creampie, praise kink, fluff, aftercare, L bomb.

a/n— yes this is long i fear i got carried away..

Nicholas had been coming over to your house since he and your younger brother became best friends in high school. He was the quiet, shy kid who seemed uncomfortable in his own skin whenever you were around. Being two years older, you didn’t pay much attention to your brother's friends, considering them too young and immature for your taste. You’d laugh sometimes at how Nicholas would get flustered, barely managing a stammered “hi” before rushing off whenever you entered the room.

Whenever you did make an appearance, Nicholas would steal glances, awkwardly trying to start a conversation. His brown eyes would light up whenever you laughed, especially when you teased him just to see his cheeks turn red. Though you didn't think of him seriously, you’d caught him staring more times than you could count. There was something innocent, almost sweet, about his crush.

One Saturday afternoon, you were heading downstairs to the basement, your mom needed your younger brother's help with some boxes in the garage. As you reached the basement door, you overheard Nicholas and your brother talking.

“Dude, you’re seriously still a virgin?” your brother asked, laughing.

Nicholas sighed. “Yeah, I mean, I got head once, but I didn’t even, you know, finish.”

Your brother cracked up, slapping Nicholas on the shoulder. “Bro, you need to get laid. I don’t get why you haven’t yet. Is it, like, nerves or something?”

Nicholas hesitated. “I just, it’s hard to find someone I actually want to, you know, do it with.”

“Fine, then who would you want?” your brother challenged, still laughing.

“Uh, what if it’s your sister,” Nicholas mumbled.

Your brother’s laugh stopped short as he punched Nicholas playfully on the arm. “Are you serious? She’d never go for you. You’re not her type. She’d never go for a guy like you,” he teased.

Nicholas shrugged, cheeks turning red. “Maybe, but I think she likes to 'dabble in snow,' if you know what I mean.”

Right then, you stepped in, smiling as you leaned against the doorframe. “Yo, mom wants your help with some boxes, get up there now.”

Your brother was already on his way up, not noticing the tension lingering in the room as Nicholas struggled to form a coherent sentence.

“You know, I heard what you just said.”

Nicholas turned bright red, stammering, “I, uh, I didn’t mean—”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh, you didn’t mean it? Could’ve fooled me.”

“Listen,” you said, lowering your voice, “when my brother goes to bed tonight, come to my room if you mean it.”

Nicholas blinked, wide-eyed, nodding slightly, his usual flustered self almost in disbelief. "Y-yeah, okay."

After overhearing Nicholas’s admission in the basement, you couldn’t help but laugh to yourself. You’d always thought of him as your brother’s quiet, shy friend, but the idea that he’d harbored these thoughts about you all along made you see him in a new light. For the first time, you couldn’t deny the thought that there was something a little bit attractive about him. The way he hid his muscular build under baggy sweaters and how flustered he’d get whenever you were around. A small thrill ran through you as you headed back to your room, feeling a surge of boldness. You lay in bed, the sheets pulled loosely around you, scrolling on your phone, fully confident that Nicholas wouldn’t turn down the “opportunity of a lifetime,” as you jokingly thought of it.

Around 2 a.m., you heard a soft knock at the door, followed by his low voice, “It’s me, uh, can I come in?” You recognized the nerves in his tone and couldn’t help but smile as you called out, “Yes, it’s open.”

Nicholas opened the door and stepped inside, looking both eager and hesitant as he glanced at you, lying there with nothing but your sheet covering your naked body. “I see you meant what you said,” you teased, watching him nod slowly, standing stiffly near the door.

“Don’t be shy, baby. Come over here,” you said, patting the bed beside you. He moved closer, each step cautious, and as he sat down, you leaned in, pressing a light kiss to his neck, feeling him shiver beneath your touch.

With a soft laugh, you asked, “So, how long have you been thinking about this? About me?”

He swallowed, cheeks flushed, before he answered, “Years. I always, I’ve always had this huge crush on you. You’d walk around in those tiny shorts, or just your silk robe, and— and I’d know you weren’t wearing anything under it.” His voice trailed off, almost embarrassed.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he confessed, nervously running a hand through his hair. “I barely ever got to see you, but whenever I did, it felt like everything was just, thrown at me all at once.” He paused, glancing down as he added, “You’d leave me, um, painfully hard, just being around you. Just smelling your perfume lingering in the air.” He let out a sheepish laugh. “I even, fuck—jacked off to the smell of your body wash in the bathroom once. I was so ashamed, but I— I couldn’t help it. You were just so hot and intimidating.”

You laughed, nudging him. “Intimidating, huh? And here I thought you just didn’t have much to say.”

He chuckled nervously, his hand brushing over yours. “It’s more like, I didn’t know how to talk to you. You’re my best friend’s older sister, and besides you usually go for white guys, right?”

“True,” you teased, amused by his observation.

As Nicholas sat there, looking nervous yet hopeful, he stammered, “Well, I think maybe now I have a chance with you—”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Who told you that?”

He flushed immediately, stuttering, “I- I’m sorry. I didn’t know, I thought—”

Before he could finish, you silenced him by tossing the sheets off, revealing yourself fully naked. His eyes widened, clearly mesmerized, as you slid onto his lap, leaning in to trail kisses down his neck. As you left a mark, he whispered, “Your brother’s gonna see that and ask questions.”

“Let him see,” you said between bites.

When you moved up to his lips, his hands awkwardly rested by his sides. You pulled back just enough to murmur, “You know, you can touch me, right?”

He swallowed, nodding shyly. Gently, you took his hands, guiding them up to your neck. His fingers brushed lightly over your skin, and as he started to grip a bit more firmly, your eyes rolled back with a soft moan, catching him by surprise. “Didn’t know people were into that.” he murmured, half in awe.

You smirked, whispering, “I’m into a lot of things. You’ll just have to find out.”

“Please,” he whispered, voice thick with anticipation.

You placed his hands on your chest, guiding his touch as he squeezed, muttering, “I’ve always thought you had the most gorgeous—um, you know,” his voice faltered, “especially in those low-cut tops.”

You laughed softly, running his hand lower until his fingers brushed against your pussy, guiding him to explore. “Go ahead baby, play with my clit,” you encouraged.

He grew bolder, his touch becoming more certain as he asked, stuttering slightly, “Does- does this feel good?”

“Mm-hmm,” you sighed, “keep going, baby.”

He slid a finger inside, whispering, “You’re so- so small, and wet. I love how you feel.” His confidence grew as you moaned encouragement, and as the tension built, you gripped his shoulders, locking eyes with him as you came all over his thick fingers.

The look in your eyes, intense and dazed, left him breathless, and he knew it was a look he’d never forget.

“That was my first time doing that,” he said.

“Yeah? Well you did good baby, making me cum like that,” you murmured, half surprised and biting your lip. You took his fingers and put them up to his lips and he sucked the remnants of your juices off clean.

“Mm- you taste so good,” he hummed.

“That’s a good boy, next time you’ll get to taste my pussy, yeah?”

You could feel his cock jump in his sweats, whether it be from you calling him a good boy or confirming there would be a next time.

As you tugged at Nicholas' sweater, he hesitated, a little nervous, but let you pull it off. Your eyes widened as you took in what was hidden underneath. Defined abs, chiseled pecs, and strong, sculpted arms, he looked like he’d been carved from fucking marble. You smirked, knowing he’d been hiding something impressive.

“God, you’re hot,” you murmured, running your hands over his chest. “You shouldn’t be hiding this from me.”

He flushed but smiled shyly, glancing at you with a hint of admiration. “Have you seen yourself?” he replied softly. “It’s like Aphrodite herself sculpted you, you’re beautiful.”

You grinned, leaning in to kiss him, before sliding down, your movements deliberate as he watched, breathless. Pulling down his sweats and boxers, he sprang free, hard and already leaking. You couldn’t help the genuine look of surprise that crossed your face as you took him in, rock hard, thick and long, all for you.

“Glad I’m the first,” you said with a smirk, your fingers wrapping around him. “And I’m gonna make sure I’m the last. No one else is gonna compare.”

Nicholas swallowed, his voice shaky as he said, “I- I know you overheard me tell your brother, I, uh, I’ve only had, you know, that once, and it didn’t, it didn’t make me—cum.” He stumbled over the words, looking both embarrassed and apologetic. “But not that I think you won’t!” he added quickly, almost panicked. “Just, a heads up.”

You laughed softly before leaning in, taking him into your mouth in one smooth motion, leaving him stunned. He was big, and you could feel the fullness as you took him deep, the sound of your gagging only spurring him on more. His moans grew louder, until you paused, pulling back briefly to whisper, “Keep it down a bit baby, or you’ll wake my brother.”

He nodded, barely able to keep his voice under control as you returned, intensifying your rhythm, you played with his balls and bobbed your head faster. His hands gripped your head lightly, and you guided them, whispering, “Hold me down.” His fingers pressed gently, sending him over the edge as he shivered, releasing into your mouth with a low groan.

After a moment, he pulled you up, his expression one of awe as he kissed you, tasting himself. “Thank you,” he murmured, voice thick with gratitude and amazement. “That was incredible. You’re so good at this.”

You smirked. “I know.”

As you gazed down at Nicholas, you asked softly, “Are you ready?”

He met your eyes, his gaze both nervous and full of longing. “Yes,” he whispered, “I wouldn’t want anyone else to be my first.”

You leaned forward, brushing a reassuring kiss along his neck, feeling him tremble. His hands settled on your waist as you eased yourself close, and he let out a shaky breath, his cheeks flushed.

“Are you sure?” you asked, searching his face.

He nodded, smiling with a bit more confidence. “With you, I’m sure, b-but I don’t have a condom.”

“It’s okay, I’m on the pill, and I want you to feel all of me.

You moved slowly, kissing his neck and quietly praising him as you felt him fill you inch by inch. He whimpered loudly, the cute sounds he made going straight to your core as you moved your hips on his cock.

“You’re so big baby, making me feel so good.” He moaned in response, his jaw agape as he struggled to contain himself. “You’re such a good boy moaning for me like this baby.”

You continued grinding on him, completely lost in the feeling of him being so deep inside you, he was stretching you more than anyone else had.

“Baby, lay back,” you panted, wanting to show him something different. He immediately complied and you began bouncing on his hard length, your tits doing the same as you did.

“Oh my fucking god,” he whimpered, staring up at the sight before him. He felt like he was going to explode watching you on top of him.

“C-choke me sweetheart,” you begged, your pace faltering but still bouncing on him as hard as you could.

“Huh- are you s-sure?” he asked, clearly surprised by your request. You nodded frantically and he obeyed. As he did, you began bouncing faster, his name on your lips like a prayer. The sound of Nicholas’ loud moans and skin slapping began filling your room and it was too late to worry about if your brother was hearing the commotion.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m not gonna last,” he moaned out, his hand still around your throat.

“It’s okay baby, me too, I want you to.”

As soon as the words left your lips, Nicholas’ grip on your neck tightened lightly and he released deep inside your pussy just as you creamed all over his cock. You both shivered and you fell on top of him, his cock still deep inside you.

“You did so good baby, I’m so proud of you,” you praised, kissing him all over, “but I’m not done with you yet.”

You switched positions, arching your back beautifully, you spread yourself for him and he watched in awe as his cum leaked from your pussy onto the sheets.

“Show me what you got sweetheart.”

His cheeks flushed but he complied, slipping inside your slippery walls and stretching you once more. The pace he went made him hit your sweet spot continuously and it was now your turn to be a whimpering mess. Feeling bold and proud of himself, Nicholas pulled you back by the neck making you arch off him.

“Do I make you feel good? You love how my cock feels as I’m pounding into you?”

You struggled to form coherent words, only moaning in response as his thrusts got harder and sloppier.

“Words baby, use your words.”

“Y-yes, you make me feel so good, so so good.”

“That’s a good girl, now rub your clit.” You obeyed, rubbing your clit and sending even more jolts of pleasure through your body. “Cum for me, now.” You complied once more, shuddering under him as you came hard in his grip.

He laid you back down on the bed and you arched again. “Hold my hands behind my back,” you begged. He hesitated at first, shocked at how kinky the request was and you allowing him to restrict you but he did as he was told, holding your hands behind your back as he pounded into your tight pussy. Looking down at your ass slapping against him, his cock disappearing inside your pussy that was just sucking him in and how he had your hands firmly behind you, he couldn’t take it anymore. With a loud moan of your name, his warm load filled you up and he fell beside you, panting heavily.

He put his head on your chest as one of his hands went to caress your tits before he went to your bathroom and brought a rag to clean the both of you. Afterwards he came back laying his head on your chest once more.

You traced light circles on his back, and he looked up at you, gratitude and awe clear in his expression. “Thank you for everything,” he murmured. “I couldn’t have imagined it any better.”

You kissed his forehead gently. “You did great,” you whispered back, meeting his shy smile, “I’m proud of you.”

In the soft silence as you drifted to sleep, you heard him murmur, almost to himself, “I’ve always loved you—fuck I love you so much.”

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millersfinest · 2 days ago

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the thing in your chest that beats | e.w

santa barbara!ellie williams & ex-firefly!reader

wc: 5k

mini-series: california (you’re here) | oregon | idaho | wyoming

blurb: you put up a good fight with those rattlers, but it wasn’t good enough—all it got you was strung up near a beach where the sun scorched you dry. abruptly, their set-up gets fucked by their own prisoners, saving your life by only a thread. but the wrath that lingered under your skin was immense, and you’re not the only one to experience that phenomenon. when another damaged soul encounters your brittle state; the dreams that put you in a tough position manifest into reality. along with a few extra miscellaneous things…

cw: angry!r, mentions of fate, santa barbara arc, infected, shooting, lots of exposition, torture, violence, vulgar language, slow-burn romance, eventual smut, proximity trope, both reader and ellie on a path of redemption.

note: this first part is lowkey boring imo, but i hope the angst makes up for it. as always, please enjoy my hyperfixation!!

California

Ropes chafed at your skin; securing your legs and wrists on top of each other to the wooden post. Fog had shielded the setting sun from your skin—after many hours of being scorched. Your muscles ached and your bones were sore. The exposed skin on your shoulders and chest was dry and flaking, exposing an under layer of tenderness. Everything fucking hurt. But you were barely there; head nodding off from the scratching at your stomach and the dryness in your mouth ripping your lips apart.

How did you, a firefly, militarily trained, end up tied to a pillar at the cusp of a beach in Santa Barbara?

You were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. This group searched for people like you—lonely and pillaged by the weight of the world. You were too distracted to foresee their deception; they got lucky with you.

Until the chemical reactions in your brain short-circuited, causing you to act out in the name of self-preservation.

Wrath, by definition, is a trait you’re easily overcome with. It’s not just something that passes through you like other traits and emotions. It holds on. It makes a home in your body and directs you like a rabid dog—a burdening feeling that nestled between your sore muscles. It filled you with adrenaline to kill and destroy—to get rid of the people who tried to get rid of you.

And, every time, you managed to find yourself feeling bad about it. There was no explanation for that. Just your heart being too sensitive for world you existed in—it was constantly broken. By yourself and your circumstances.

It was your own fault that you were captured by the rattlers. You should’ve never left Catalina Island for a pipe dream. There wasn’t anything better than the firefly base—you should’ve known that and never left. Perhaps, if you had remained under the duty of your earned dog tags, you wouldn’t have been thrusted into the situation that you were in.

Wyoming was a lie that you told yourself because you wanted to live a life that didn’t exist.

Locked in a debate with death, your body abruptly hit the dense surface of the sand. The ropes that bound you to that skewer had been severed by a fallen angel. A prisoner you had attached yourself to in the hopes of survival. Her hair was coily and reflected copper under the Californian sun.

You came to from the impact, finally beginning to hear the ongoing gunfire coming from the resort buildings. As you twitched in pain, she cut the bindings at your wrists and ankles. Tucking a pistol into your hand, she muttered words of hope. “Good luck out there, hotshot.”

Your lips moved to respond, but there wasn’t any sound. It didn’t matter, though, because she wasn’t around to hear it. The young woman at once took off in the opposite direction of the chaos with a bag over her shoulder.

Stuck in a dilemma, you didn’t move for a few moments. Eyes stuck on the weight in your weak hands. It was nothing but a black semi-automatic—it weighed nothing compared to bigger firearms. However, it sunk your hand into the sand as if it weighed a ton. You couldn’t even hold a gun with the same conviction that you used to. Yet, the fallen angel had faith that you could.

Taking in a deep wheezing breath, you tried to stand to your feet. You got up enough for your knees to bend, but once you extended them, you crashed back into the sand with a thud. In temporary defeat, you looked to the people still suspended on the pillars. They were unmoving, rotting away from the inside out. That could’ve been you if it weren’t for her cutting you down.

In mourning them, you gave standing another attempt. Keeping your hands low to catch your fall. But you didn’t fall. The muscles in your legs were weak, trembling as you stretched them. With a hunch in your back, you grabbed the gun, adjusting it in your hands. Your professional form remained the same as remnants of your training. Placing your hands over one another on the handle, supporting its weight. Aiming the barrel toward nothing specific, just to get the feeling again. It’s been months since you had opportunity to defend yourself.

With as much quickness that you could muster, you went through the resort to grab supplies. A backpack, medkit, and some food.

Setting your mind on leaving, you tried to sneak through the gunfire between the prisoners and the rattlers. But that simply wasn’t in the cards for you.

Before you could escape the resort, one of them had a bone to pick with you. It was the same rattler that was your deceptive captor. She used her femininity to convince you that she needed help—that she was weak and she needed your help. If anything, you have a bone to pick with her.

She had come at you with her bear hands, pushing your face up against a wall. She tore the backpack from your back, throwing it to the side. Where did her wrath come from? Somehow, you managed to get the upper hand. Straddling her body delivering punches that you haven’t in awhile. It felt natural to you to release such violence against another person.

Through beating her bloody, you found your power again. Tearing off the shimmering dog tags around her neck that had previously belonged to you. Heaving, you looked down at her. She had split your lip and broken your nose, but you could argue that you did worse to her. Her nose was cracked in multiple places, as she coughed up her own blood and teeth. It slipped down the crevices of her face, dribbling into her brown eyes.

“Fuck you.” You firmly speak, picking up your bag from its straps, swinging it around your shoulders.

From the fight, you had stumbled into a room of firearms. Still weak, you limped around. Causing you to walk away from the damage with a Beretta A300 shotgun and ammunition.

Like it was a prize after a big challenge.

You found yourself stumbling along the sand of the beach you were stuck on. This time, closer to the foggy waters of the coast. Ignoring the throbbing sensation in your thigh. You were barely sentient, running on nothing but fumes. But you knew you had to get as far from Santa Barbara as you could.

All of sudden, darkness began encapsulating your eyes from the outside in. Your limbs grew heavier, slowing down the pace of your movements—you collapsed into the sand like the damsel you had become.

When your eyes fluttered open, you were laying on an itchy couch. Waking up felt like awaking from a coma. Sitting up was a chore because of the tightness of your muscles. You felt it like a sickness in your chest. Trying to move your legs, you sucked in a pained breath. A hole that was cut into your ripped jeans was covered by white wrapping. Gauze.

A single lantern in the middle of the living room illuminated the space. It was placed on a dusty coffee table—off-center. Your backpack and weapons leaned against an entertainment center; a large cabinet that combined the use of compartments as well as a space for the tv to fit.

Blinking slowly, you tried to remember how you got there. Fingers gripping at the cushions, experiencing a crazy amount of brain fog. A wrapper crackled under the weight of your hand as you shifted. It was a granola bar tucked under the pillow that you laid your head on.

You stomach scratched at your abdomen, so you wasted no time in retrieving it—ripping open the wrapper and biting into the nutty granola. The side of your foot kicked over a metal canister, accidentally. Clashing toward the scratched wooden floors, it startled you. Reaching down, you shook it in your hands. There was a liquid inside. Screwing the lid off, you realized it was only water. Something else your body demanded of you.

Who put all this stuff here? It couldn’t have been you.

A creak from the side of the room, caused you to snap your head in that direction. Chewing slowly on the oats in your mouth, your eyebrows scrunched. Your free hand felt your hip from the cool metal of that gifted pistol, but there was nothing but the fabric of your jeans.

By the time she came into your view, your body froze. Your gun was across the room, she had the advantage. She loomed in the darker parts of the room as if she were hiding from you—in a way that was prey-ish, rather than predatory.

“I didn’t think you’d wake up…”

Her voice was raspy, and she spoke with a slow cadence. When she came into the light, she kept her distance. By the corner of the entertainment center cabinet—on the opposite end of where your bag was laying. Her auburn strands were choppy and tucked behind her ears. She wore a white t-shirt that was filthy with, what looked like, blood and dirt. Hands fidgeting with each other in front of her body as she eyed you with concern. She was missing her pinky and ring finger from her left hand. “You’d been out for hours… I, uhm, stitched up a wound on your leg— thought you might’ve caught an infection.”

She lacked conviction when she spoke to you. Voice leaving with a sort of emptiness, or perhaps, guilt. “Where’d you find me?” You asked, gritting your jaw. Holding onto the metal canister tight enough to use as a weapon if need be. That last thing you wanted was to be fooled by a stranger again.

She cleared her throat. “The beach.”

That’s when it hit you. The memories of your weakness hit. You remember dragging your legs through the sand, catching the glimpse of a body sitting in the water beside a vacant boat, then falling into a deep sleep. Of course, you, somehow, offered yourself up to a stranger.

It was just your luck, huh?

“There were others you could’ve helped… Why me?”

A scoff fell from her lips. Scarred eyebrows jutting together; an attitude washing over her freckled features. As if your words were charged with something else besides cautious curiosity. “I was expecting more of a thank you...”

You blinked, sucked your teeth. “I don’t know you from a can of fucking paint— so, you should lower your expectations.” You retorted, boring your eyes into her slender figure. What alarmed her was how your voice scolded gently. It cut deeper that way. “I mean, what is that on your shirt? Blood? Would you wanna thank some stranger in a bloody shirt?”

She crossed her arms, shaking her head. “Have you seen yourself?” Her thick eyebrow raised, voice dropping an octave. “You look like shit—“

You glanced at the shirt that clung to you perspiring body. It also had remnants of blood and dirt and sand. Leaning your elbows on your thighs, you leaned forward. “Fuck you! You have no idea what I’ve been through—!”

“And you know what I’ve been through?” She countered, scoffing after her words.

You talked over each other—barking like unfamiliar dogs. Wrath came easy to you; and, apparently, it came easy to her, too. Her words silenced you, but you grit your teeth. “I should’ve left you where I found you— fuckin’ joke’s on me.” She ran a hand through her short hair, taking long strides out of the living room. Preparing to sink back into the corner she came from.

Clearing your throat, you swallowed your pride. There was a sincerity behind her eyes that you couldn’t ignore. Her anger radiated off her epidermis is such a way that it was familiar. “All right,” You sighed, positioning your body slowly to face her departing figure. She’d stopped in her path, peering over her boney shoulder. “I don’t recognize you from the cells… Or the pillars. Who the fuck are you?” Your eyebrows furrowed, voice weakening by the mention of your greatest failure: becoming a slave to the weirdest assholes known to man.

Wheels shifted in her mind, her olive eyes flickering around in the dark, in thought. Lips opening and closing, trying to formulate her words—but there was no use. She decided to resume her steps, sequestering herself in a bedroom. You heard the sound of the door shutting and locking the door behind her.

Groaning, you shut your eyes, leaning your head against the soft, itchy pillows, frustrated.

Unbeknownst to you, she’d locked herself in that room because she found herself overcome with emotion—hot, streaming tears. She didn’t know you as much as you didn’t know her, and she wasn’t going to share her own greatest failures with you. If what you were saying was true, you were victimized. How could someone like her talk to someone like you? After the things she’s done… After the things she was prepared to do.

The sun ascended, with the two of you lingering in separate rooms. You had eventually fallen asleep after some hours in your thoughts. Wondering about the story of the woman sheltering herself from you. Multiple times, you had to stop yourself from dwelling. This is what got you caught up with the first time. Instead, you began to think about what your plans were.

Were you going to resume your journey to Wyoming, in the hopes of finding that settlement? Or were you going to hitch it back to Catalina Island? And hope to God that they take you back with minimal consequences. Dwelling on those thoughts, instead of her, is what brought you to sleep.

When you woke up, you finished the metal canister of water. Giving the room a proper once-over. Sun rays cascaded through the dusty windows like beams, illuminating the room, angelically. Taking a deep breath, you decided to walk around. The soreness in your body hadn’t changed—you still felt burdened by your own body.

The home was a single-leveled Tuscan inspired home. Its interior was riddled with browns and beiges. Dragging your feet against the wooden floor, you entered the kitchen. All the cabinets were blown open and searched through. You assumed it was that woman who you’d met—still, you didn’t know her name.

Looking down at the counters, there was a yellow-paged note on the furthest one from you. The island closest to her bedroom. It was lying under a pill bottle. You shifted as quickly as you could to the note, sliding the pill bottle to the side, but not without a glance. They were antibiotics.

Found the antibiotics in the cabinets this morning, there’s only two left. Take them both.

I left to go hunt for some food. Stay in the house if you know what’s best for yourself. There’s infected around.

I’ll be back soon.

— E

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “If I know what’s best for myself…” Pressing into the top of the bottle, you unscrewed it. With nothing but your saliva, you knocked back two of the pills just like she told you. However, not because she told you to. There were many reasons for you to catch an infection from the wound on your leg—the wound you didn’t even remember how you got.

“I can handle infected.” You muttered to yourself. It’s been awhile since you really dealt with them face-to-face, but it was an innate ability. Why wouldn’t you be able to defend yourself from infected? Your only limits were your body stuck in its state of pain.

But, where you come from, sometimes it took movement to heal pain. Pushing through soreness and tightness was the only way to move forward.

So, instead of waiting around for E to come back around. You decided to explore some of the nearby houses. Ones that were only a few paces away from the house that you were currently in—you weren’t that stupid.

You secured your backpack around your shoulders, hooking the strap of your shotgun around your arm, and sticking the pistol in the back of your jeans. The first stop was next door. Slowly, you had climbed through a broken window. Landing in a bedroom decorated with childish posters. Focusing, you found yourself busy with looting the home. Taking things of importance and putting them inside of your bag.

You didn’t run into anything shocking until the third place you visited—three houses down. Thankfully, there was no clicking, but there were the familiar wailings of a runner. Catching a glimpse of coily copper hair, huddled over sobbing in her hands, you crouched behind a wall. Eyes shifting from side to side, trying to digest the visual.

Good luck, hotshot.

Perhaps, it was her who really needed the luck. Slowly, you removed the gun from your shoulder, leaning it against the wall. The breaths from your lips fled in chunks, pulling the gifted pistol from your waistband. You had known her for the entirety of your stay at that treacherous resort—she was your anchor. She helped you with your anger, keeping you under an emotional routine. Later, it worked for the worst instead of the better, but she tried to help you in there. She was patient with you.

You stepped from the wall, aiming the chamber of the pistol at the back of her head. You didn’t know her for that long, but you knew she wouldn’t want something like this for herself. She had plans just like you did—she wanted out of California. Leaving her to stumble around this broken home would be fucked up.

She freed you. Now, it was time for you to free her.

“You deserved better than this, Honey.” She was sweet and tangy like honey; that’s why you called her that. It wasn’t even her name—you didn’t know her name.

Your index finger squeezed the trigger, sending the bullet straight through her unsuspecting mind. Her whines were more coherent, meaning that all of that just happened. The infection had just taken over. A tear had slipped down the fat of your cheek when her body hit the ground. The shot echoing against the walls and through the neighborhood.

She lasted no longer than a day on her own, and those rattlers were nothing but the blame. They drained you enough to make you suffer but keep you working. But, out on the road, you stood no chance.

There was a piece of notebook paper on the floor by the baseboards of the wall Honey’s body laid beside. With a lump in your throat, you plucked it from the ground, holding it delicately in your hands.

After months of captivity, I’ve found myself in a situation that I could have never imagined. I didn’t notice when the clicker bit me, everything happened so fast!

It hurts now, though, a lot. And the anticipation of the infection is worser than I expected it to be. This is the part where I put a gun in mouth to end it all.

I’m too tired to do that. For once, I don’t wanna fight.

I apologize to those who end up witnessing what I have become.

The palm of your hand covered your mouth in shock as you read the letter. Honey must’ve been horrified. And it hurt to know that she went through it all alone.

Catching you in a grieving state, E had vaulted through a broken window with her gun in hand. Her olive eyes landed on you, subsiding the subtle look of shock on her face. “I thought I told you to stay in the house.” She tucked the pistol into the waistband of her jeans, sighing. “You’re in no condition to travel alone…” Her eyes casted onto your frame leaning over a marble counter, reading over the letter silently.

Hearing her footsteps, you folded up the letter and slid it into your back pocket. Taking a final look at the dead woman on the floor, a reflection of your friend that didn’t exist anymore, you brush past the the auburn-haired woman. Shoulders grazing as you achingly climb out of the same window she came in from.

Without saying, what happened to Honey worried you. Loneliness was a cruelty that many could afford—you experienced it. But loneliness along with bodily ailments wasn’t a problem you wanted. If it weren’t for E, you could’ve been in the same position as Honey. What made you worth saving and not her? A ball of fury, like yourself, should’ve been the first to go.

Yet, a level of gratefulness washed over you. Were you ready to thank the freckled stranger for her saviorship?

E followed you back to the house, binding the front door with furniture. Entering, you noticed two rabbits attached to a string laying on the tiled counter. Impressed, you hummed, while dragging your feet toward the couch you had slept on. You shrugged off your backpack and leaned your shotgun against the wall.

The auburn-haired woman peered at you, messing with rabbits, pulling them off the string to prepare to cook them. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” She breathed. Her voice coming out like a muttered sigh, but it was loudly quiet in the house. Therefore, your ears picked up on her words.

You ignored her, pulling out the note, and kicking your feet up onto the couch to read it again. Analyzing the messy handwriting on the page, tainted with dried tears and dirty hand prints. E had brought in a metal trashcan to cook the animals she hunted for the both of you. Every so often, peaking at you with interest and wonder.

When the rabbits were cooked, she brought it over to you in a chipped ceramic bowl. “Thanks…” You mutter, barely meeting her eyes.

“Yeah,” She answered, slightly taken off guard.

The two of you eat separately, on different sides of the room. E didn’t retreat back into the room had the night before. Instead, she propped herself on the stool by the island table. Where she could keep her intense olive eyes on you—attempting to read you without asking questions.

You were impressed by the rabbit presented to you. Back at the base, you were familiar with chicken more so than rabbit, though. There was a hesitation when taking the first bite. But the rumble in your belly was satisfied by the animal, and that was all that mattered.

Feeling a strong gaze on you, peering to the side was a natural reaction. She’d snap her eyes back to her plate before you could fully catch her. Sighing, you set the plate on the coffee table in front of the couch.

In your looting, a bottle of wine called out to you from the basement of one of the Tuscan homes. You limped toward the kitchen with your calloused hand wrapped around the sloped neck of the bottle. Placing the bottle at the middle of the island, you take a seat at the furthest end from her. “I thought I would properly thank you for saving my ass…” You cleared your throat, awkwardly. Choosing to keep your eyes trained on your fidgeting fingers. “It’s Cabernet, I think. The label’s kind of rubbed off.”

“I’m not much of a drinker.”

You pursed your lips, flickering your eyes to peer at her. “Hm.” You hum. “Okay, well, more for me, I guess.” You shrug, reaching for the wine. The plan was to drink it either way—if she wanted it, or if she didn’t. Peeling off the wrapper, you were happy to see that it was a screw top instead of an imbedded cork.

Taking the first sip, its sweetness spread over your tongue. The alcohol percentage was fairly high, so you were expecting a pleasurable feeling within the next few minutes. If you kept gulping at the bottle. You deserved a bit of man-made solace after what you’ve been through. After the things you’ve seen. Taking another sip, you prepare to go back to the couch you were sat on, with the bottle in your hand.

However, E places a hand on the cool tiles. “Wait…” She rolled her eyes. “One sip wouldn’t hurt.” In her silence, she realized that she also deserved a few moments of calmness—self-care.

The corners of your lips curled, sitting back down on your stool. You slid the bottle close enough for her to reach it, leaning your head against your fist.

Orange rays of the sun shifted through the room; setting so the moon could take her place. You and E had found comfort in the wine and in the space between yourselves. Scooting close to each other until there was only a single stool in the center of you. Talking about the more joyous parts of your lives—which, surprisingly, wasn’t much. The pair of you managed to keep the important information off the record. Upholding a level of vagueness between your truth.

When E had brought up her son and girlfriend, that’s when the energy shifted in the room.

“You have a family? Then… Why are you out here?”

A beat slivered between you, circling your bodies like a ribbon.

“I recognize those dog tags… You’re a firefly? I thought they shut down years ago.” She spoke with rigid shoulders, taking a swig of the Cabernet.

Your hand reached for the thin metal around your neck, decorating your exposed collarbones. There was a disconnect between you and the facility you had grown up in. While you loved the support of the community, as you got older, you wanted something different. “Yeah, after everything shut down, another popped up here—in California. It’s the only one left, I believe.”

She chuckled, cheeks flushed from the alcohol accumulating in her system. “Hm. Are you gonna try and recruit me into your little cult? Is that why you’re still out here?”

Deepening your eyebrows, you peered down at the grout between the tiles under your hands. “Probably… If I still was a firefly…” Slowly, you enunciated. “I haven’t been one for months now.”

“Ah, you went rogue.”

“I wouldn’t say that… But, yeah, I guess.” You rolled your eyes, reaching for the wine bottle. She put it in your hand, leaning her elbow against the counter. E left room for you speak, just boring her hazed eyes into your frame. “I was done with being an asshole for a living— I don’t want to just survive anymore… I want to live.” You take a large swig of the wine, lamenting subtly.

Look where desiring life got you. Locked up as a slave for another bunch of assholes. “I heard from some people that there was a place in Wyoming that wasn’t anything like the fireflies.” You inhaled, sharply. “I could live a normal life there— maybe it’s a stupid idea… I don’t know.”

E deepened her thick eyebrows, leaning forward. “Are you talking about Jackson?”

“Yeah, I think so. There was a map in my bag that had the name. I lost it when the rattlers got ahold of me.”

With scrunched face, she stood to her feet. Running her hands over her face, releasing a tired sigh. “It’s not that stupid of an idea…” Looking back at you, she placed her hands on her hips. “That’s where I’m headed— Jackson, Wyoming.”

“Oh…”

Was this the fated reasoning behind why the both of you met? Both harboring an inner pain and guilt for something or someone. Two damaged souls meeting in the middle—this could be a productive exchange. But what would E receive?

She swore under her breath, running her fingers through her hair, stressfully. “You could come with me, it’s not like you’d get far in your condition alone.” She blinked, casually. You scoff at her words, sucking your teeth. She could never just be kind. Sure, it was obvious that you were injured—in horrible shape—but you weren’t inherently weak. You were a trained individual, something that most people couldn’t say.

“I’d feel like an asshole if I didn’t at least offer. It’s a long journey—“

“Oh, you still come off like an asshole, but I appreciate the offer.” You nod, jumping from the stool. “Those fucks threw me off track— I wouldn’t even know where to start up again… So, yeah, I’ll go with you.”

She nodded, pursing her lips. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“You don’t make me regret this. I have a bad history when it comes to trusting strangers.” You pressed your lips into a line, leaning against the island for support. There was a slight sway to stance, as the world around you didn’t feel stable.

“Okay, well, you have my word.” She affirmed, sliding her hands into her back pockets. “Do I have yours?”

You inhaled, sharply, glancing at the ceiling. “Yes, you have my word… On the condition that you tell me your name.” She narrowed her eyes at you, the corners of her lips curling. “We can’t possibly travel together if we don’t know each other’s names.”

The auburn-haired woman picked up the backpack she threw against the lower cabinets, slinging it over her shoulder. She was preparing to huddle into that bedroom again. Before leaving you in the dim hue of the few lanterns in the room, she spoke. “Ellie. My name’s Ellie.”

She waited by her door for your answer, with a raised eyebrow. You gave her your name, plainly. Straightening the hunch in your back—feigning a level of stoicism.

The only response she gave was a hum, before locking herself away. Releasing a sigh of relief, you smiled. Wyoming wasn’t the pipe dream you thought it to be. Yeah, the experiences you had leading up to that conversation weren’t the best. In fact, those experiences scarred everything about you. But could this have been the reason behind your hellish encounters?

#🪅#millersfinest #ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams x reader #lesbian #mini series #ellie the last of us

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coffee-and-geto · 2 days ago

Text

“WHO YOU GONNA CALL? CURSEHUNTER!”

“That’ll cost you 33,000 yens, ma’am.” “What?!” “Unless you offer other methods of payment. I’m flexible by nature, though.”

pairing: curse hunter! toji fushiguro x f!reader | kinkoctober m.list

summary: for halloween, you and your group of friends — where your boyfriend has taken a break from your relationship — decide to spend the evening in an old mansion turned into a hotel. with a rather strange staff and weird things going on in the mansion, everything leads you to end up calling a specialist to the situation — toji, the curse hunter for your evening can do his job, sure, but that doesn’t mean he’ll let you off the hook so easily when you can’t afford him…

warnings: +18 ONLY, smut, nsfw, AU with curses, haunted house, (slight) angst, cheating because the reader has an (ex) boyfriend but he’s a cheater, utahime makes an appearance, sex (p in v), squirting, oral (f! receiving), rough sex, dirty talk, fingering (f! receiving), overstimulation, lot of teasing, doggy + missionary positions, size kink.

wc: 5,963

“Wow!”

“It’s a really scary décor!” comments one of your friends, covering her mouth as her jaw drops in surprise.

“Same for the staff,” you add with a frown, glancing around at the spooky theme that’s everywhere—the walls, the bedrooms, even the kitchen and living room. But you can’t ignore how strange the staff in the lobby were when you all checked in for your rooms.

“Don’t be silly, it’s all part of the ambiance.” Your boyfriend nudges you playfully with his elbow, flashing his usual smirk, but this time it doesn’t work. You’re so tired of him.

“And she’s right,” snaps Utahime, who links her arm with yours to pull you further away from the annoying duo made up of one of your friends and your boyfriend. “But of course, coming from you…” She scrunches her nose, looking annoyed.

You sigh. “It’s fine, Hime, I can handle it—”

“This jerk needs a scare big enough to make him crap his pants, believe me,” she interrupts, gently tugging you along as she takes the lead to find your bedroom. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

You glance back toward the rooms of the others, including your boyfriend, then look forward with a disappointed pout. His attention should be on you, not anyone else—it should be shining like a star for you, not for some friend.

“Do you think the story about this manor is true?” you whisper when Utahime finally finds room 311-1.

She shakes her head but hurries to unlock the door, casting nervous glances at the dim hallway lights, which are anything but reassuring. “The point is to get us in the mood, obviously, but the staff went a bit too hard with the costumes…”

Finally, you both step into the room, where the soft, victorian decor makes your friend sigh with relief.

“At least the room itself isn’t weird,” she laughs, relaxing a little.

You smile faintly, taking in the shared bedroom. “Yeah, not too bad.”

In the next hour, the two of you have fun picking apart the manor’s ambiance, spinning wild theories about the place. Your mood lifts again, and since you already had dinner on the way here, at least you don’t have to worry about the creepy staff involving you in some haunted-house-style horror event.

Or worse, poisoning you.

But what a ridiculous idea, right?

There’s no reason for that. No one would do that. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have come.

~~~~

Why always you?

Of course. Your brain had to convince you, “No danger; they haven’t announced a Halloween night event yet!”

“You will be paired up in twos by random draw,” a staff member dressed as the Joker announces cheerfully, handing out small slips of paper with numbers and a map that looks much like a pirate’s treasure map, but is actually the hotel floor plan. “When you enter the first room — different for each pair — you’ll find an object and a riddle that will indicate which room is next.”

He bounces slightly in front of the reception desk, nearly giddy with excitement, which is unsettling given the blood-red lines around the corners of his mouth.

“This means that whoever finds the most hidden spots will win a prize at the end of the night,” he concludes, looking over your group one by one. “But be careful — this mansion has a spooky history, and some ghosts may come to visit!” He laughs, joined by a few others.

As you examine your number, you look around for your boyfriend, hoping to have drawn the same number so you can spend some time with him despite the break he recently put on your relationship. But no.

One of your friends — Nami, the one who’d commented on the decor — is already giggling beside him, paying no attention to you or the boundaries she’s crossing with her little “friendly” touches.

You inhale deeply, trying to ignore the sharp sting of jealousy. Just then, Utahime leans over your shoulder, checking your number. “Hey, looks like we’re together!”

You let a smile spread over your face and head with her to the first floor, where the first prize is hidden.

“I hope they didn’t hire any actors to scare us, or I might just hurt someone,” you mutter darkly, the dim lighting and ornate wallpaper in the hallways sending a chill down your spine.

“Same,” Utahime chuckles softly, pulling out a small flashlight. She switches it on and shines it ahead. “This should help, right? Check the map.”

You do, studying the hallway details on the paper to get your bearings. “Yeah, we’re close to room 456,” you say, looking up.

In a long walk that feels like it stretches out forever, Utahime and you move at the same steady pace, maintaining a comfortable distance, wrapped in silence as though no one else is on any floor.

“We’re here,” you announce as Utahime shines her light on the brass plaque for room 456.

You open the door carefully, flicking on the light, and catch a vague movement out of the corner of your eye near the edge of the sitting area. You snap your head in that direction, but there’s nothing.

“Did they set up special effects?” you wonder aloud.

“Probably,” Utahime reassures you, heading towards a bookshelf where a velvet-covered box with emerald and gold accents catches her eye. She grabs it, opening it to find a slip of parchment and a key.

You take a more careful look around the room, inspecting every corner, and almost miss what Utahime has found until she calls out to you.

“Next room, here we come!” she says happily.

~~~~

“Is it just me, or have we been walking for a while?” you remark after several minutes of silence, back in the hallway but on the second floor this time.

“Yeah, feels like it.” Utahime swings her flashlight around, lighting up the walls, curtains, and carpet in the dimly lit halls. It’s as if the already faint lights were growing even weaker.

BANG!

Both of you jump, turning in unison towards the unknown source of the noise.

“Fuck,” Utahime curses, “them and their damn effects.”

You exhale a shaky breath meant to calm your still-racing heart, but the cold breath on the back of your neck isn’t helping. “Utahime, is that you—” You turn to look at your friend, who’s cautiously moving closer to you, when a piercing female scream echoes throughout the hotel.

“Can we cancel this night?” Utahime doesn’t wait for your answer, grabbing your arm and dragging you into a frantic sprint down the corridors, where more and more doors seem to open and close on their own.

Then, suddenly, something grabs you by the arm, pulling you into the darkness.

When you finally open your eyes, you’re half-sprawled on the floor in partial darkness, with only the faint candlelight the hotel keeps in the eerie corridors as a precaution. You stand up immediately, pulling out your phone in an attempt to send a message to your friends’ group chat, but no one is active.

You then try to call reception, your eyes scanning an environment that no longer feels amusing in the slightest. This has to be part of the game.

Doesn’t it?

But after several rings, no one picks up.

“Goddamnit,” you mutter.

You resign yourself to finding a door, a room, or anything that could help you call the police or figure out a way to avoid getting caught by a real ghost in this creepy manor.

Your gaze scans the walls, your phone’s light barely illuminating the darkest corners due to its low battery. And the only thing that stands out is a notice pinned to the wall that has you scrambling to get your phone out again.

IN CASE OF EMERGENCY DURING THE HALLOWEEN HUNT, IF THE RECEPTION DOESN’T RESPOND, CALL THIS NUMBER:

You dial it, barely caring who it might reach given the seriousness of your situation.

After the second ring, someone picks up, their tone filled with mocking amusement and a hint of nonchalance:

“Hello?”

You’re saved.

~~~~

Back to square one — you’re anything but saved.

“This is the emergency response?” you spit out, feeling lost and baffled as you stand before a man approaching you about twenty minutes after a more-than-frustrating phone call.

He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with toned muscles and an arrogance that seeps from every pore of his skin.

“Toji Fushiguro, at your service, ma’am,” he replies sarcastically, giving a slight bow, a smug smile stretching the scar across his mouth.

“And you are…?”

“A curse hunter — don’t ask too many questions, I’m used to it,” he cuts you off, striding past without a glance. “Just follow me.”

You stand there, speechless, frozen to see if he’ll react, but he just keeps whistling and walking.

You were in deep trouble.

Reluctantly, you catch up, glaring at him coldly as he gives you a quick glance. “Do you have the money?”

“That’s really all you care about?” you retort bitterly. “Isn’t the hotel supposed to cover emergencies like this? We’re all lost, and—”

“Careful!!” Toji pushes you against the wall, pulling out a unique sword with a red and gold hilt and slashing it sharply through the air.

Nothing seems to have been hit at the moment, but the distinct sound of the slice is unmistakable.

“So, it wasn’t a joke when they said there were ghosts?”

“Curses,” he corrects, sheathing his weapon. He surveys the rest of the hallway and looks up at the ceiling. “They’re on the floor above.”

Several minutes later, you’re there, with high-pitched screams filling the air; among them, you recognize Utahime’s and some of your other friends. You start to rush to her, but Toji grabs you by the waist.

“Hold up!” he tuts, looking a bit more serious. “The lady stays here.”

“But my friend is in there!” you protest, struggling to break free.

“What a little firebrand!” Toji grumbles, pinning you against the wall. His warm breath brushes your face, and you hold back the urge to kick him. When he breathes in to speak, your intoxicating scent fills his nose. “I’m the pro here, got it? I’ll save your friend, and then we’ll talk about the price.” He releases you when you hold his gaze firmly enough to make him trust you.

“If anything happens to her, I’ll make you eat every one of your damn curses, okay?”

He snorts before disappearing down the corridor.

In the next hour, all the curses are quickly neutralized — even if no one actually sees them, their heavy, lingering “presence” was enough to give away what was happening.

“Most people went back to their rooms,” Toji informs you, guiding you toward your floor.

“That was fast.”

“As usual,” he sighs, hands in his pockets.

“Why isn’t the staff responding?” you ask, feeling more reassured and open to conversation now.

“It’s a real haunted manor, so they know that when you play, you just risk being bugged by the curses, nothing more.” He shrugs, pulling out his phone to check the time, and you mentally slap yourself for noticing how his forearm muscles flex slightly. “Plus those fuckers are never there on time to pay me, even though they require my services.”

“Oh, right, your payment…” You avert your eyes, walking past your room without entering. Maybe it’s best to go look for the staff…right?

“I only take cash,” Toji says, putting his phone away. “And I charge by the half-hour.”

You blink, swallowing nervously because you know you lied earlier on the phone when he told you the amount he typically earns per job.

“…Yeah?”

He chuckles softly, stopping to face you, while you do the same. Up close, he’s breathtaking — his emerald-green eyes, sharply defined jaw, his whole form could have been sculpted from ice.

“That’ll cost you 33,000 yens, ma’am.”

“What?!”

“Unless you’re offering alternative methods of payment. I’m flexible, by nature,” he adds ironically.

Your face falls, and you try to stay calm, knowing you’re in real trouble if he realizes you barely have enough for a can of soda.

“Great, so, I’m going to get paid by a pretty lady, huh?” he whispers, leaning in dangerously close until your back gently hits the wall.

“Can’t you lower the price?” you ask, slightly flustered, forcing a smile to hide the panic clutching at your insides. “Maybe my friends and I can work something out to pay you.”

“But it’s the one who calls who pays,” Toji coos softly, lifting a hand to play with a strand of your hair. “They didn’t ask for anything.”

“But they were saved,” you insist, feeling like a pleading child trying to avoid punishment.

Toji gently shakes his head, a barely-there smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t you have a boyfriend? Maybe he’ll take care of it, then.”

“Yes, but…” You feel a chill at the mention of your boyfriend, whom you haven’t seen since the start of the evening, “we need to find him. He’s probably asleep.”

“Describe him to me, I’ll tell you if he’s around,” Toji murmurs, and his words feel like a subtle threat as you describe him. His brow furrows. “You sure?”

“Yes, why?” Suddenly, your heart starts pounding faster.

What’s with that reaction?

He doesn’t respond, darting off down the hallway without waiting for you to catch up — though you do, anyway. It’s as if each step drives a knife deeper into your chest.

Please, don’t tell me they—

You freeze, stopping in front of a room with a slightly open door, where your boyfriend is indeed present.

But he’s not alone.

Perched above him on a sofa is Nami, straddling him, passionately kissing him. The worst part is seeing them smile at each other without noticing you, your boyfriend’s hands gently stroking his “friend’s” hips.

“They have been here since I came.”

You flutter your eyes closed.

Toji stands silently beside you. “So, he’s cheating on you, or am I wrong?” he murmurs, perhaps also feeling uncomfortable at the sight.

You step back, your chest tight, biting your lip. You hold back tears of both anger and hurt. It stings a thousand times more seeing your partner betray you like this rather than just admitting he no longer loves you, doesn’t it?

You look up at Toji, your eyes likely already red and gleaming.

No, this is definitely anger. You just want to let some curse devour him whole.

“I don’t have the money, sorry,” you admit through clenched teeth, turning on your heel to leave. “Do whatever you want; I don’t care anymore.”

“Hey.” He loosely grabs your wrist, stopping you.

You barely turn back. You’re hurt, yes, but also furious that you didn’t end things with your boyfriend yourself. What a shame, right? It should’ve been you hurting him, not him hurting—

“You know what I see?” Toji takes a few steps toward you, a mocking smile on his lips. He leans in to speak near your ear, his well-built chest brushing against yours. “I see someone filled with rage. You want revenge, don’t you?”

But you’re in no mood to laugh.

He sighs, realizing his attempt at humor fell flat. “Alright, alright. Listen.” He stands in front of you, hands still in his pockets as he leans against the wall. “I’m not the best at comforting people, but… how about a deal?”

You blink.

“We’re both in an… awkward situation, you see. I need to get paid, and you’re on the brink of committing murder.” A smile spreads across his lips.

You still don’t smile.

“So,” he looks down, a bit distracted and uncomfortable despite his smug expression, “I wasn’t totally joking when I said I’d accept other forms of payment. Plus, I think your lil’ guy here needs someone to teach him a less—”

But you cut him off instantly, grabbing the collar of his black T-shirt with both hands and pulling him toward you to crush your lips against his.

Toji, surprised for a second, quickly recovers, gripping your hips to pull you impossibly closer, his lips following yours, attempting to soothe the fury they carry in anger.

He moves backward with you, eyes closed as he pushes open another slightly ajar door to a room, kicking it shut behind him. He pulls back, watching you intently.

Your gaze softens oddly as it meets his. He raises an eyebrow, almost repeating his question from a minute ago, and you nod. “I accept,” you murmur, and his face lights up.

Leaning toward you again, his lips capture yours in another heated kiss that ignites with raw desire. “Fuck. What kind of boyfriend he is, huh?” Toji growls between breathless kisses. “With a girlfriend with lips this sweet, hmm?”

Your feet tangle with his, each step unsure, trying to avoid falling anywhere other than the softness of the couch. You gasp, trying to catch your breath, but everything about Toji makes breathing impossible. “Toji, you—”

“Bet he’s got a small one, doesn’t he?” The blush flooding your face makes him smirk, his scar brushing your jaw as his mouth descends to your pulse. “Knew it.” He nips at your shoulder, his tongue darting out to leave a mark that’ll remind you of him for a good while.

“Toji, please—” you sigh, wincing in pleasure as he presses open-mouthed kisses down your neck, leaving two hickeys in his wake. You slap a hand over your mouth to stifle the sweet sounds spilling out — especially when he brings his knee up between your legs, rubbing it sloppily against your heated core.

“Let ’em out, doll,” he mutters, his hands roaming across your chest slowly before he yanks, popping the buttons off and exposing your bare skin to him. “I want him to hear just how good I make you feel, how loud I can make you scream my name.”

He doesn’t even give you time to protest; he’s already unclasping your bra and kneading your soft breasts, leaving you arching with pleasure from his teasing alone. And if his hands can do this... what about his cock?

He takes his time, pinching and rolling your hardened nipples between his fingers. You moan for real this time, back arching, chest heaving with quickened breaths. “Ahh— Wan’ more,” you whine, the sound going straight to his strained, clothed arousal.

“Am I the one who’s supposed to be saying that?” Toji laughs, enjoying the sight of you squirming and pouting under his teasing, his tongue swirling and rolling over one breast while his fingers toy with the other.

“Toji.”

He lifts his head, pulling his mouth from your breast with a wet pop and tilting his head to the side, that devilish grin still on his lips. “What is it, doll?” He doesn’t even bother wiping away the thin string of saliva connecting his lips to your sensitive nipple.

You writhe beneath him, trying to shimmy off your pants, but the tight space between you two makes the task more challenging than expected.

He chuckles — a rough sound — and grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head, trapping you beneath him. “Getting needy, are we? Looks like you need a hand,” he coos, sliding his thick fingers down your bare chest before slipping the tip of his finger under your waistband.

The touch is electrifying. Both infuriating and warm, as Toji tests your patience.

With his finger still just inside your clothing, he trails it down to your hips before stopping. “Lift your hips for me.” You obey, his low “good girl” making your poor core clench around nothing. His finger is soon joined by the rest of his hand, and he easily slides it down to remove your pants in one smooth motion. “There you go…”

“When I said I wanted more, I meant here,” you mumble, glancing down at the small damp patch in the center of your panties, so exposed for him.

“Naughty, huh?” Toji releases your wrists, kneeling down between your thighs. He grips your hips tightly, his thumbs pressing firmly, leaving slight indents in your skin. “So pretty, so soft,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your inner thighs, kissing and nibbling until you’re gasping.

“You— You’re teasing,” you pant, burying your fingers in his dark hair, tugging lightly when he brushes his nose against your puffy clit through the damp fabric.

“I am,” he admits, laying the flat of his tongue over the wet patch before inhaling. “Smells and tastes so good, doll.” And your cheeks go flush again as he quickly strips your panties off and tosses them onto the couch’s headrest.

“Sh-shut up!”

“You’re adorable when I get dirty with you, but you’re just as dirty, so don’t,” he says, wrapping his sculpted arms around your hips and pulling you against his face. “try to turn the tables,” he finishes, his voice muffled between your drenched folds. “Wonder why that jerk cheated on you,” he adds, lapping at your clit as you let out needy whimpers.

“Shit. Easy, I’m sensitive,” you babble, digging your nails into his shoulder as he starts devouring you with real intent.

“Love those sounds, by the way,” he murmurs, sucking on your sweet bundle of nerves, ignoring the persistent ache in his pants as his cock begs to be freed, desperate to plunge deep inside you.

Your eyelids flutter closed, your teeth sinking into your lower lip, trying to keep Toji’s name from spilling from your mouth as he tightens his grip on you, practically smashing your soaked core against his face but the way his lips close everytime around your clit with slowness is just unbearable.

Sounds of heavy breaths, licks, and wetness fill the room, turning the atmosphere almost sauna-like. Your pulse pounds in your temples, your heartbeat frantic.

“You’re still not loud enough.” And he remedies that quickly, pressing his nose against your clit as he slowly thrusts his tongue inside you, your walls clenching around it with lewd, wet sounds because of how slick you are for him. And now, he’s thrusting his tongue even deeper, humming in approval when you throw your head back, tugging harder on his dark locks.

“Shit! Fuckfuckfuckfuck,” you cry out, toes curling as your nails dig into his skin before scratching it up.

“That’s it,” he purrs, helping you buck your hips against him as you mewl and moan thanks to his tongue. “Let him hear how good ya feel, yeah?” He brings a hand to your clit to rub it gently, then pinches it roughly. He bullies your snug cunt with each deep and precise thrust of his tongue, brushing your sweet spot every time, and you’re sure you’ll die if you don’t come right after.

And he probably knows it, because as if reading your mind, he withdraws his tongue from your twitching insides and licks his lips shamelessly — your glossy juices shining on them.

“Wanna hear how good you feel louder, doll, ’kay?” He brings a finger to your trembling entrance, pressing gently against the delicious barrier just waiting to be crossed. “You’re so close, baby,” he chuckles, eyes dilated with desire. “Hear me out, I’m gonna make you cum, and you’re gonna be a good girl. Understood?” He gently pats your thigh.

You nod, lips trembling from anticipation, eyes half-closed as he inserts his forefinger into you — and now you’re even tighter with his digit replacing his tongue. How would it feel with something bigger? The pad of his finger hits your sensitive g-spot right away.

“Ah!” you whine. The knot in your stomach coils tighter, ready to explode. “Toji, I’m almost cumming, please, just—”

He cuts you off, a low grunt escaping his lips as he crashes his mouth on your clit, treating it like a toy and bullying it over and over until you can’t stop your legs from shaking uncontrollably — as he finger-fucks you and sucks on your oversensitive clit.

“Fuck! Feels s’good, Toji, please,” you moan, your insides throbbing around his finger, while his second finger joins the first, finger-fucking you as you squirm on the couch, feeling the wet patch under your ass marking the mess you’re making.

“Cum, doll, now,” Toji orders, his voice strained, unable to ignore the throbbing in his own pants. His mouth is relentless on your clit, his fingers curling inside you just right, as if coaxing your body to surrender completely.

Right at the edge, you wrap your legs around his neck, sobbing out his name as you cum — hard. Your walls clamp down around his fingers, your body trembling as you release.

Your boyfriend never made you cum this hard, not even close.

You realize you actually squirted when you hear Toji swallowing, his eyes fluttering closed as he drinks every drop, even as your body keeps spasming after he finally pulls his fingers out of you.

When your breathing slows, Toji pulls back from your thighs, looking up to meet your gaze after the powerful orgasm he just brought you to.

“Tell me…” He licks the last traces of you off his chin, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Is that the first time you’ve squirted?” he asks, leaning down to place a tender kiss on your oversensitive clit.

You bite back a whimper, trying to steady your trembling legs. “Y-Yeah,” you confess, swallowing hard, noticing his black shirt dampened with your cum. “I didn’t mean to make that mess, I’m sorry—”

“Why’re you apologizing?” He kisses your inner thigh, soothing your shakiness with soft caresses. “The only one who should be begging for forgiveness is the jerk in the other room,” he mutters in a low, rough voice. The contrast between his tender kisses and harsh words about your boyfriend makes your heart skip a beat. “I bet he’s crying like a lil’ boy,” he chuckles.

You force a smile, though there’s still a slight sting from the betrayal. “He should be, yeah.”

His expression softens. “C’mon, doll, don’t give me that look,” he sighs, rising from his crouched position to remove his pants. “Just forget him, even if it’s hard, hmm?” He ignores the growing bulge in his boxers, leaning down to kiss you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

You hum, kissing him back slowly, eyes closed. With each kiss, you feel a warmth, a tenderness there that surprises you. Why do his lips feel so gentle, so... caring? A feeling you can’t quite place?

Between kisses, you take soft breaths, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close. He doesn’t resist, his tongue teasing along your soft, warm lips.

“Want to stop?” he murmurs, his voice unexpectedly soft and low.

You flutter your eyes open and shake your head. “I’d like to continue, if you don’t wanna stop,” you mutter back.

His gaze softens more, seeing you beneath him, flushed and vulnerable. “Of course. I don’t think I could stop even if I tried… especially not with…” His gaze drops, his cheeks flushing slightly, “...this.”

You glance down at his painfully hard length pressing against his boxers, the small wet patch testifying to how badly he wants you.

“Mm, sorry,” he grumbles.

But you gently cup his face, pulling him into another kiss as you reach down to slip his boxers off. He helps you free him from his strained confines, and you both share a heated kiss. Toji leans over you, leaving soft kisses along your lips, cheeks, jaw, and down your neck.

The tender moment gradually heats up as impatience grows, your legs tangling with his. When something warm brushes your stomach, you shiver, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist.

His size… he’s big. His cock is thick and already straining, eager to be buried deep inside you.

“Can you fuck me?” you whisper, blinking up at him with soft, pleading eyes.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Toji chuckles, a low rumble shaking his chest.

He grabs you by the hips, laying you down on the couch to position you as he aligns himself at your entrance. Toji takes his cock in his hand and guides it to you, so big compared to your cute, petite pussy that’s about to take all of him in so well…

When the flushed tip of his cock brushes against your soaked folds, you hold your breath to keep from moaning even before he’s begun. But Toji can be a bastard in his own way — drawing slow, torturous circles around your puffy clit, then sliding down to gather your juices from between your folds, which he spreads apart to make room for him.

“As honest as you,” he scoffs, gently tapping your tight ring of resistance with the tip. He looks down at you, your form much smaller than his — Toji is big all over, from his muscles to his cock, and all he wants is to ruin your smallness.

And this bastard keeps eye contact, teasing the entrance with his slick tip, just to watch you break — your lips parted, eyes slightly squinted, hands weakly gripping him.

“Toji,” you moan weakly, squirming gently. “Please, just more, please.” And your voice is so soft, so velvety, he might have come right then.

Oh God, you’ll be the death of him.

And as if it wasn’t enough, you keep repeating his name in that same tone, making his urge to slip inside you unbearable.

“Fuck, doll, don’t moan my name like that or—” But you wrap your legs tighter around him, pulling his tip to your dripping entrance so that it’s already inside, your gummy, warm walls tightening around him, drawing him in deeper.

“I wanna take it,” you whine softly, bucking your hips forward, your snug cunt swallowing half of him. “Oh—”

“Ah— Shit,” Toji hisses, leaning down to press your small body against his, burying his face in your neck. But the worst part is, he seems to lose control of his body, which thrusts deeper into you on its own, your clingy walls gripping him tightly from the start.

He stretches you too quickly, but it feels so good you wonder if you might be ovulating. “Ah— Oh— Fuck, s’deep, s’big,” you babble, low and cute mumbles, as you curl your toes and roll your eyes back from his size. “Too big, Toji, too big.”

“Shit, shit, shit, shit.” He pushes in even deeper until you’ve taken all of him and his tip brushes your womb.

Without even moving, he nearly came. But he has to hold back. To make you come on his cock, fuck you senseless, and let you scream his name so that the entire manor knows you’re his.

“Mine,” Toji groans, thrusting gently into you once you’ve adjusted, his hips meeting yours perfectly. “So wet f’me.” His breathing becomes ragged, his thoughts consumed by how impossibly tight you are. “And so fuckin’ tight.” He speeds up the pace a little, reveling in the sound of your mewls growing louder. “Gonna make you mine tonight, ’kay?”

In the room, only the squelching sounds and the slap of skin against skin fill the air. Your mind spins, the pleasure so intense and overwhelming that you can barely respond to what Toji says.

You’re reduced to a pile of whimpers, thinking only of TojiTojiTojiToji.

And he knows it, especially as you tighten around him and he lets out a guttural groan. His hips pound into you with more speed and roughness, but it’s still not enough. He wants you to fall apart for him when you cum, fucking your little pussy with his big, big cock.

Such a filthy size kink.

Then he pulls out, grabbing your hips to flip you over onto your stomach, making sure the plush cushions support you properly, and he slams back in, pounding rougher, deeper, and so much better than a second ago.

Now, you feel him at a depth you’ve never reached before, your sweet cunt clinging to him each time he pulls out only to push in just as deep. “Ah! So deep, so deep, Toji,” you sniffle, unable to keep your moans quiet any longer. “Wanna cum, gonna cum with you.” You bury your face between two cushions.

The heat between your two bodies is almost unbearable, small beads of sweat rolling down Toji’s toned chest as he chuckles, half-breathless, leaning over you to sink even deeper.

And you wonder how it’s even possible.

“You take it so well, doll,” he purrs, tightening his grip around your waist as your twitching insides pulse around his cock, right on the edge of making him spill his hot load inside you. But the rhythmic slap of his heavy balls against your clit is enough to keep him from the edge, for now. “You want to be filled up? Say it, baby. I don’t— No, he can’t hear you,” he chuckles, kissing your neck as the depth makes you see stars through tears of pleasure.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you whine louder, “wanna be full of your cum, please, Toji.” His thick, heavy balls are now the biggest turn-on, so big you just want to drain them to fill yourself up. “I’m close, so close,” you sob, pleading with him.

“Me too, doll, so let’s cum together, yeah?” he chortles, because, God, how small and cute you are. He admires, for a moment, the hickeys covering your skin and the scratches you left on his arms. He’s fucking you like a mad, possessed man.

You sniffle, nodding and writhing to take him fully, but you already have. Your wet, tight, warm cunt swallowing him up, desperate for every inch. He’ll fulfill his mission. Even if he wasn’t paid, he stopped caring about that long ago. Now he just wants youyouyou.

And as your synchronized hip movements, bringing the both of you to the edge, you cum hard again. Your sweet pussy clenches around his length, swallowing and milking him as your shaky legs can’t support you anymore. A cry of pleasure escapes you. Toji shuts his eyes, moaning your name as he empties himself inside you, filling your womb with his thick, sinful load.

Only stolen breaths, the overwhelming scent of sex, and small whimpers remain in the aftermath. Silence falls, all troubles vanish, and the night finally grows peaceful.

You wipe away the dried tear tracks on your cheeks and turn your head slightly to meet Toji’s calm gaze. “What about my shirt?”

“I’ve got a spare; want it?” he offers, not pulling out right away. You simply nod, and he adds with a smirk, “An’ if you’re free tonight, you’re up for a little getaway with me?”

“But Utahime and—”

“They’ll wake up like nothing happened, I promise,” Toji reassures you, and you grin.

“Deal.”

~~~~

Meanwhile, back in the room with Nami and your ex, a 4 grade curse — harmless but just annoying enough — flits around happily. Nami is fast asleep on the floor, but your ex has dark bags under his twitching eyes, having not slept a wink.

Between your cries of pleasure and everything else that went on, he understood that the mysterious man who had come to “rescue” them was thoroughly enjoying everything he’d been hoping to do with you for weeks, despite your refusals — the reason behind your “break” or rather, breakup. The curse, left by Toji on purpose, has a parrot effect: it repeats everything it hears in a loop, driving anyone nearby mad.

“Ah! Shit, Toji! Feels so good!” it shrieks in a piercing voice, buzzing around your ex’s head like a fly.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

a/n: hey everyone :) so okay okay, this fic contains much more smut than i usually write (hope at least it’ll be worth it haha). i still feel bad about having missed kinkoctober but anyway, at least we’re here <3 i’ve struggled a bit with the start of the fic but the smut was (for once lol) quite easy to write. happy reading <33

tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422 @whathappenedtobeenhappy-blog @drippymcdrippison @koshhin @v31v3t @wawuwe @cybersomniq

@sanemistar @monokaix

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