#metal bed frame adjustable

[tonycries]

Unmistakably Yours - G.S.

Synopsis. In which the strongest bends space and time - literally - after coming back from deatḣ, to do what he’s always wanted to do - you.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, best friends to lovers, Satoru goes a little (very) INSANE, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, manga spoilers, use of jujutsu powers, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, féral Satoru, heinous things, happy ending, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.5k

A/N. Yeahhh that poll was cooking up something devious heheh. Gege give me back my man.

Gojo Satoru was going to kill someone.

He was going to kill someone and it didn’t matter who. It didn’t matter how. It didn’t even matter if he had to haul his broken body - scarred and barely-healed - out of this stiff infirmary bed, because the great Gojo Satoru awoke and the world shook.

Because you weren’t here.

“Ah. The oh-so deadest one, I see you’re awake.” Satoru flinches at the sharp, exhausted drawl from his left. 

Slowly, he blinks away the haze in his aching eyes, desperately trying to adjust to the cold room. Shoko’s voice was too loud. The lights too bright. His waiting arms too empty - where were you? 

With a low hiss, Satoru’s body is moving before his mind, sitting up like a man possessed. Goosebumps prickle his skin as the thin blanket falls off his shoulders. Temples throbbing because the world was spinning and spinning and you-

“Calm down, Satoru.” Shoko sounds almost panicked now - as much as she could, anyway. Uselessly trying to push him back onto the mattress. “I don’t care if you’re the ‘strongest’. Sukuna did a number on you and you have to rest-”

“Where is she?”

---

It was the final nail on your coffin - that slight, steady rumble beneath your feet. So fleeting that you’d written it off as your weary brain, too goddamn tired from today. Heaving out a sigh, you rub your eyes in frustration, so fucking alone in this too-large penthouse. 

Fingers jittery, you rifle through your best friend’s closet for his box of blindfolds, because you knew he’d be complaining about the sensory overload at the infirmary if- when he woke up. Though, you think that was more an excuse for Shoko to send your wrecked self away than anything. 

Grabbing a few more than necessary, your heart lurches as you eye that dusty framed photo by his bedside. A much younger Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you - probably the last time any of you smiled so carelessly. 

One dead and the other just on the cusp of it.

He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’s the strongest, right?

Swallowing heavily, you try to put your mind to something - anything - other than the memory of that battlefield and the blood. So much blood. Everywhere. 

God, you should’ve stayed. What if Satoru-

That was when you felt it. 

The tight, uncomfortable feeling of atoms standing at attention all around you. The air was so stagnant and heavy that it was almost hard to breathe. 

You don’t know how you realize what it is - but you don’t get the chance to wonder about it either. Because the thought has barely even crossed your mind before everything else is thrown at the window at those two words. 

Hoarse, and whispered, voice ever-so-slightly cracking at the end. One you recognized, one you knew you always would.

“My love?”

Satoru.

It was a miracle that you didn’t get whiplash from how fast you whirled around to face the doorway - and it was an even bigger miracle that you didn’t trip at how your legs were carrying you to that tall, familiar flash of white hair without a second thought. 

Hell, you don’t think you’ve ever run this fast in your life, and it still wasn’t quick enough when Satoru engulfed you in his arms. Letting out a soft sigh as he hugs you tight enough that it hurt, like he never wanted to let go. 

All familiar warmth and a rapid heartbeat that matched your own. 

A shiver runs down your spine at that scent of the infirmary, tinged with something so dangerously metallic, miles away from the usual hints of pine and candy. But you only pull Satoru closer - not even realizing the tears staining his snug t-shirt, nails digging into his sculpted back. 

“S-Satoru?” you murmur wetly, as if you still couldn’t believe it - even when you were in his strong arms. 

It killed you to pull away, and Satoru wasn’t any better, pulling you firmly to his heated body with a guttural grunt as soon as you showed any signs of shifting away. Grip almost bruising, fingers tight on your hips. But you didn’t mind, why would you? 

Because the strongest was nothing under your will - he always was. And it’s only once you break the embrace just a fraction of an inch that you confirm that this actually was Satoru - your Satoru. 

“You’re here.” you breathe out unsteadily, not knowing where to look first - his heaving chest, as if he’d run all the way here, or those faint scars along his exposed skin. Jagged, running down his pale skin like he was too impatient - too distracted - to let them heal properly. Satoru’s face was scarily blank, pretty lips set in a tight grimace like every second you weren’t locked in his arms killed him. 

He doesn’t answer - like he didn’t know himself. Nervously, you raise your eyes to meet his and-

Oh, Satoru, he was here. Alive.

Looking like he was ready to make sure that no one else was.

You just wondered where they’d pile all the casualties. Too many to bury at Jujutsu High if those tiny blue flickers of lightning at the corners of Satoru’s eyes were anything to go by. 

Gaze hooded, pupils blown, he didn’t look at you with that usual warmth. No, he looked at you like a man that had crawled back from death just to rip you apart. And you had half the mind to wonder whether this was some special grade curse that had just come disguised as your best friend. 

“Are you okay?” you try again, raising a hand to cup his cheek. “Toru?”

Oh, you might as well have just signed your own will, because no sooner are the words out of your mouth before Satoru’s jolting. Like the mere sound of that stupid little nickname from high school was enough to shock him to his very core. 

Electrify him just enough to finally look at you like it was the first time. Like he was seeing you after a thousand years. “My love.”

There it was again, that quiet, strained little mantra. 

Followed very closely by the deafening slam! of the door behind him, so hard that you spy one of the hinges rattling off. Startled, you look over Satoru’s broad shoulders just to catch a glimpse of the single, large handprint charred into the wood, slight steam wafting from his hand.

Shit. He’s lost it.

Almost like the strongest has forgotten his restraint - or didn’t care about it either way. Heated, you wondered what this boded for you. 

Will you be lucky number one on his kill list? You wonder, as Satoru presses his mouth right above your pulse. Racing. Dangerous. Feeling the rapid thump! thump! thump! under his lips.

Breathing you in, dragging his nose up, up, up- He mutters into your skin, “Y’can kill me if you don’t want this.” Will you go down - if there’s anyone left to remember, that is - as the casualty that surely and officially signaled the honored one’s descent into madness? Only the second best friend he had to kill?

Or, Satoru pulls away slowly from his little haven, breath ghosting your lips as he gasps out a shaky, “No God can take me away without doing this.” Will it be something else entirely?

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. 

Because fuck, how could you not? This is Satoru, and this is all you’ve ever wanted since those late night convenience store runs in high school, hand-in-hand and teleporting away from a furious Yaga.

The same Satoru that had cockily winked at you goodbye before facing Sukuna - leaving you crying with nothing to hold onto but those cold, cold hands and wishes that you’d have just fucking kissed him before. Maybe even put aside your pride to just tell him.

But none of that mattered now, because Satoru was so desperate - drinking you in like you were the last breath of air on Earth. Like it hurt more to part with your lips than it was to be cleaved in half.

Such a mess of teeth and saliva, and you were addicted. Drunk off his sweet taste - like candy, almost, and those cheap mochi he always got from downtown - and the electricity pricking at you each time your skin grazed against his.

It almost hurt - but it hurt so good.

Gasping, you pull away for air - impossible with the way Satoru was like a madman, kissing your swollen lips again and again and-

“Toru!” you squeal, muffled through his lips. “Aren’t you-” His mouth drops into a soft oh! at the delicate strings of saliva snapping in the non-existent space between you two. Surging forward like he couldn’t help himself. “Battlefield- mmpf- now?”

With a pained grunt, Satoru finally halts, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. And if you were in any better state of mind, maybe you’d have noticed the brief flicker of blue lightning all over his body. The way the lights flicker. 

“Special curtain.” he pants against your open mouth, a muscled thigh shoving between your weakening legs. “Time barely passes in here.”

You don’t know what your head is reeling more from his words or his hands - hands that kill - caressing you like a lover everywhere. Unable to decide between your hips, to your ass, to your pretty pretty face. Kiss-bitten lips uttering, “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“So?” Satoru lets out a humorless laugh. About an octave higher than usual, like he was at the end of his rope now. Eyes hazy and glowing, looking as if it took everything in him to not just tear off that uniform and take you right now. 

“But-”

“Shut up and let me ruin you, my love.”

Your back is hitting the mattress before you can even start to wonder what the fuck is happening. One second standing at the doorway and the other all sprawled out on Satoru’s bed.

Besides yourself, you blurt out, trying to make sense of the situation to both of you two. “Did- did you just teleport us?”

“Don’t know.” he answers. And Satoru sounded like he genuinely didn’t know, as bewildered as you were. Powers acting before him - way, way before he can think - as he fists your shirt in his hands. “Don’t care.”

And you half wondered whether Satoru was even aware of what he was doing as he pulls, down, down down. 

Rip!

It tears through the air - both the sound, and the way he’s just pulling your shirt to shreds. All depravity and no repentance as Satoru throws it behind God-knows-where. Buttons hitting the floor at a maddening little rhythm to which he was slowly losing his sanity. 

He was kissing you like he was angry - taking it out on your poor clothes. Because before you know it, he’s pulling your bra off. Fingers searing on your skin, skirt just tatters on the floor. 

“Waited too long.” he groans, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “Always wanted to do this.” And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into the valley of your breasts, “Ever since I first saw you and oh-”

That was it - only one look at your panties, all flimsy and drenched - and you’re back to wondering what Satoru’s kill count would be. You shudder as his eyes widen, letting out a strangled gasp from some deep, primal part of himself. Voice so broken and starved as he muses, “-can’t believe I waited this long.”

Shit. You weren’t making it out alive.

Immediately, Satoru’s dropping further down the mattress, easily pushing your knees up all the way till they were at your breasts. 

And it was so unfair. 

Unhair how he was still fully clothed, while you were spread so shamefully. Unfair how he was sliding his underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Up and down, up and down up and- Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips before pulling, marveling at how sinfully soaked they were. 

And it was like something snapped - maybe his whatever restraint he had left, probably you by the end of this. Because just a split-second later, Satoru’s tearing right through your panties. Not even taking a second to breathe before burying his pretty face into your dripping cunt. 

Unfair how you were liking it so dangerously. Being so used. 

And Satoru knows - he thinks, with whatever rationality he has left intact - that he wants to admire your pretty lil’ cunt. To finally drink in what he’s been dreaming about for years all these lonely nights. But, no, that’s for later - for a different Satoru, one that didn’t feel like he was going to fucking die if he didn’t taste you right now. 

“Ah! Hngh- T-Toru-” you arch into his hot tongue, as he licks erratically up your folds, long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Lapping at your juices like he couldn’t stop.

“Tha’s right.” words muffled into your cunt. Throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders. “Gimme more, use me. Use me- fuck fuck fuck- yeah.”

He sounded as delirious as you were already, flinching with each word spat into your sensitive cunt. Drunk off your pussy and so messy, like he was well and fully intent on ruining you. 

And it’s all you can do to sob so needily as he swirls his tongue around your sensitive clit. Seemingly unable to decide between sucking on it harshly and dipping into your sloppy hole. In and out. Wanting everything. Anything. 

“Fuck. S’too deep. Sh-shit.”

“Oh yeah?” he’s grinning, a cruel, cold little grin. You can feel it as he rolls his tongue against your clit over and over. “S’not deep enough.”

You pathetically try to close your legs around his head in shock, as the tips of his long fingers spread open your pussy further, teasing your entrance. 

But who were you against the strongest? The one that got everything handed to him on a silver platter since birth? Except you - until now, that is.

Because Satoru’s swatting thighs back open like it was a mere inconvenience, and feel your cunt clench in- fear? Anticipation? as you realize how gently he was throwing you around like a ragdoll, in comparison to that door from earlier. 

“No.” he sounds absolutely wrecked, babbling around your throbbing clit. “Need this- need you.”

And then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, so greedily that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Drinking in your pretty gasps of his name as he roams for that one spot he knows will have you seeing stars - only the best for his girl, right? The only thing on his mind right now, like a predator starved.

You can only tug on his hair and buck wildly underneath him, inching Satoru closer to where he was desperately searching for. Close - so close. 

“Toru-” you moan, like a prayer. 

But it wasn’t fast enough. 

Not for Satoru, at least.

Even through the haze in your eyes, you could make out that brief flash of electric blue in-between your legs, eyes widening as ah-

That cheat. 

You wondered if he even knew he was using his powers right now. Or whether Satoru was too far gone at this point. Way too smug with the way he hits that one spot. Hard. 

Ah, you quiver as something so dark sparks in his eyes. Looking like a man starved, that had finally come across his favorite meal. Moving with frightening accuracy as he pumps his fingers in and out, hitting it each and every time. 

“Shit, ngh-” you let out a shrill moan, “It’s too good. You’re so fucking-” 

One hand was so messy toying with your dripping entrance - the other digging into your hips. Dragging your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. 

Hard enough that you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. If you even made it that long, that is, if the tiny shocks of electricity at his fingertips told you anything. 

Desperate. Violent, even.

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. “Fuck- m’cumming m’cumming, fuck fuck fuck-” You’re shaking as you cum, crying out Satoru’s name and delirious little moans that you’d otherwise be embarrassed of. 

And he doesn’t stop. Not when you’re blinking your vision back. Not when you’re shying away from his tongue, the stars behind your eyes too much with each flick of his tongue. 

“S’too much- too- fuck, sensitive, Toru.” you whine, big fat tears clinging to your lashes. 

Ah, there it was again. Just when Satoru was beginning to think that he might just be veering into a state of mind that could be considered sane - you have to call him that goddamn nickname again. And it’s only driving him wild. 

Well, he muses, fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt, it’s really on you then. 

You let out a fucked-out little whine as Satoru finally takes his shirt off, revealing such milky, toned skin. All sharp curves and dips like he was sculpted so meticulously, going down, down, down and- Your breath hitches at the large, pink scar standing out of his torso, so uneven and fresh that you feel a fresh wave of tears - different ones, this time. 

You take a steadying breath, eyes unmoving from the injury. “Satoru-”

“No.” Satoru’s tone is firm, so different from the metallic tinkling of his belt. He was moving now, shifting in between your legs to kiss those tears away. “Need this. Need you. Need you need you need you so bad-”

“But your…” you trail off. The words catch in your throat as he finally unbuckles his belt, pulling down his pants just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, soaked in precum. 

He was so…massive. Now, you expected your best friend to have a big dick, but this was ridiculous. He was so intimidatingly long, thick enough that you could feel the slick beading out of your sloppy hole already.

Yeah, you definitely weren’t making it out alive. 

Satoru sees it too, of course, because his cock twitches furiously. A low hiss leaving those pretty pink lips before he’s spitting on your quivering cunt. Once. Twice. 

And you know that if this shameless bastard could use six eyes to find your g-spot, then he could’ve done the same for this. But, no, he lets some of it miss, splattering against your inner thigh, smearing all over as Satoru thumbs in his saliva with your slick. 

God, he was treating you like some object. Wordlessly throwing your legs over his shoulders, dragging his weeping tip down your swollen folds. So fucking filthy. 

And then you feel like you’re been split apart - because Gojo Satoru was unforgiving. As was his aching cock. He’s barely even pressing through the first ring of muscle, and you already feel like he’s pushing all the way into your lungs. 

“T-Toru.” you yelp, glancing down at the way your pussy was stretched so lewdly around his thick cock. Quivering as he keeps pushing and pushing and- no mercy. Absolutely none at all. “Can feel you so deep inside ngh- I don’t think I can…” 

“No no no no no-” he’s panting into your open mouth. Fucking into your heavenly cunt in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to squeeze deeper inside. “Need this. Want this. Always did. God, fuck fuck fuck, you can do it-”

“But-”

God, Satoru can’t help but kiss you - to shut those cute lil’ whines up more than anything, he’s sure he’ll cum right there and right now if he didn’t. 

Because Satoru wasn’t any better. Body bowing into yours, eyes rolling to the back of his head, mouth falling into a delirious oh! as he finally bottoms out. Balls smacking your ass too hard, your pussy too tight, you too beautiful underneath him. 

Blindly, he reaches for the headboard - white-knuckling it so hard that it’s a wonder it doesn’t break. 

It does - and later you’ll find a pile of splinters behind the bed. It’s just that neither of you notice. Too high off the feeling of Satoru’s cock pushing inside you. You’re clawing at his back now, gasping for air. Letting him fold you in half to filthily lick away the tears pooling at your cheeks. 

“Shit- y’got this, my love. You gotta- ah- Breathe-” he can’t even speak properly, sharp tongue so heavy. Eyes glowing with such insanity as he rocks his hips harder into yours.

He was right - you needed to breathe. To finally wrap your head around the fact that this was Satoru - your best friend - the same one that binge-watches sappy rom-coms with you after every breakup. Every. Single. One. Somehow, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Both of you were barely-lucid at this point. And he was out of control now.

Funny, how in all his dreams when you were screaming his name - Satoru was always suave, methodical, playing with your pretty pussy like a fine instrument. Right now, he was anything but. Sloppy - like he didn’t have enough time, never would, even in this room where time slowed.

“Don’t you run away.” he grunts at the way you’re so adorably torn between running away from his cock and bucking for more more more- “Waited twelve fucking years for this. N’ m’gonna take it.”

You almost sob at the pressure as he laces his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper. Down, down, down. “S’too good, Toru. Wan’ more-”

“More.” Satoru breathes, more to himself than anything. Eyes widening almost comically, a fucked-out smile spreading all over his face. “Y’want more even when you’re filled to-” He traces an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “Here?”

“Yes.” you gasp as he reaches down to toy with your throbbing clit, drawing tight, frenzied little circles. Balls smacking your ass so painfully, thumb pressing down right where his tip was hitting your cervix - as if he used six eyes to see. “Always wanted more. Always have, Toru.”

And you swear you could see something physically snap inside Satoru. Because his eyes glaze over, grin dropping instantly from his face. 

If you weren’t so cockdrunk maybe you’d have caught the way the bedroom lights flicker, the one down the hallway bursting. 

“Always, huh?” he’s muttering, grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Wanted more like me?” Rocking into you so sloppily, cock twitching so painfully as he speeds up. Fingers just as desperate - as depraved as his hips.

And this time, he doesn’t even have to use six eyes to find that one spot. Knowing your body well enough to hit it over and over until you were sobbing. “More more more more- fuckin’ take it then.”

At this point you didn’t know whether Satoru was always this ruthless in bed or you’d just broken him. It felt so good that it was almost scary. And your delirious mind wandered into the thought that maybe the bed would break - and your bones to follow. 

Well, they would have if Satoru hadn’t been using reversed cursed technique. But you didn’t need to know that just yet. 

“Satoru-” you squeal as he only gets more erratic.  “I’m…”

“Close?” Satoru’s grunting, smacking his lips against your own.

It’s laughable, really, that muffled question - because Satoru knew you were close. Losing his fucking mind, actually, at how you were squeezing so hard around him. Balls squeezing so painfully right now, but he wanted you to cum first - needed you to cum first.

“Yeah, so close. Wan’ cum- Ah! Please-”

“Then cum. Fucking cum, wan’ed this so bad.” he’s babbling deliriously. Little sparks of lightning visible even to your glassy eyes, fingers humming with a dangerous little energy that stimulated you so good. “Yeah, yeah yeah yeah fucking cum, wanna hngh-”

And then you are. So sudden and hard that you don’t even realize it at first. Just that you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Rocking your hips into Satoru’s like such a slut. 

Oh, if heaven was really then the part of Satoru that can still form coherent thoughts thinks this just might be it. 

Because only the sight of you creaming all around his swollen cock and he’s cumming and cumming so hard that it hurts. Thick, hot ropes of cum that he can’t seem to stop. Doesn’t want to stop, and God he thinks he could cum until you beg and beg and beg it’s too much. Until you’re yelling for-

“Mercy!” you moan, head spinning with how fucking overfilled your pussy was. “Please, Toru-”

Satoru lets out a slight gasp, “Mercy?” Chuckling so cruelly at your dazed nod, “No mercy, my love. None at all.”

And God, it was so fucking hard to look at him too - eyes half-lidded and miles away, flushed and looking like he was anywhere but laid out on a hospital bed just a few minutes ago. In fact, Satoru looked like he was in heaven on Earth as he only milked his painfully hard cock on your snug pussy.

Pretty. Always so fucking pretty. 

And he kept whispering that, over and over in your ear as you both ride out your highs. Oh how he loved you.

Your eyes fly open, and Satoru knew he’d said that out loud. Shit. But, well, with the way you were immediately pulling him to collapse into your arms, he thinks he really doesn’t mind.

“Love you, love you. Love you so much. Always did, always wanted to love you- to fuck you.” You barely even notice him marking down your neck, sharp canines digging into the flesh like he wanted to break something. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood. “To ruin you.”

It was oozing out of you, both Satoru’s cum - dribbling down your legs in thick globs, pooling on the overpriced sheets below - and his power. Jolts of electricity running down all the way from your poor, abused cunt to your hazy mind. 

“So do it.” The air was crackling - crackling with intensity and the smell of jujutsu. It was in your veins, in your words as you whisper, “Ruin me. You’re the- ngh- only- one f’me, Toru. Always was.”

The lights go out. All of them - all across Tokyo, in fact. Shining so bright that it was blinding, until they burst. The last thing you see are his eyes - electrified with blue lightning, burning into your brain. 

And then it’s black. 

---

“I’ll be back before ya know it, my love.” he whispers against your forehead, cooing at the way you stir sleepily. “Gotta pest to take care of.”

Taking down that curtain wasn’t the hard part, the hard part was actually fucking regaining his senses enough to do so. 

And now, all cleaned up and fucked to sleep on his bed, you were looking so unbearably delectable that it made some part of Satoru just want to stay behind this curtain. To forget the waiting sorcerers on the battlefield. Saving the world be damned.

Well, no matter, Satoru had time. He was the strongest, right? After all, how could he give you the world if there was no world to give?

“N’ when I’m back, m’gonna kiss ya to death till you go out with me. Till everyone knows you’re unmistakably mine.”

A/N. GET IT - that unmistakable bit from the panel? 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[khetangroup]

Building a Custom Bed Frame: A Guide to Choosing the Right Bed Fittings

Have you ever imagined a bed that offers the ideal night’s sleep and harmoniously blends into the decor of your room? You may make that fantasy come true by creating a unique bed frame! But there’s one important thing to think about before you go all timber and sawdust: picking the correct Bed fittings.

These seemingly insignificant parts are what give your bed frame its stability, longevity, and functionality. Therefore, this guide will provide you with the expertise to navigate the world of Bed fittings and choose the ideal ones for your custom bed frame project, regardless of whether you’re an experienced do-it-yourselfer or a curious beginner.

What are Bed Fittings?

The speciality hardware pieces known as Bed fittings join the different sections of your bed frame and guarantee the stability and operation of the whole structure. These fittings are made of different materials, come in different sizes, and have different purposes.

To Know More Read The Full Blog : https://www.khetangroup.net/blog-post/bed-fittings-manufacturer/

[moongirlcleo]

Fault Lines

❤︎  tags and content: One Bed Trope, Friends to WTF?, Accidental Arousal, Xavier Has Been Holding Back and It Shows, Reader Said “Tease” and Xavier Heard “Destroy”, Xavier Fucks Like He’s Got Something to Prove ❤︎  author note: check out all my fics by searching #moongirlcleo or on AO3

🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @cafekitsune  Fic: @moongirlcleo  

Stuck in a hotel during a snowstorm, you and Xavier are forced to share a bed. No big deal—until an innocent brush of your leg reveals that Xavier is very much not unaffected by your presence. One accidental touch turns into something else entirely, and soon enough, the bed isn’t the only thing breaking.

(Or: You tease Xavier. Xavier loses control. The hotel bed does not survive.)

The train rumbled beneath you, a steady hum that barely cut through the howling wind outside. Snow streaked past the windows in thick, blinding waves, the storm swallowing the landscape beyond. The interior of the train was warm, but a subtle chill still lingered in the air, seeping through the metal frame.

Across from you, Xavier sat with his arms crossed, gaze flickering between the datapad in his hands and the storm outside. He was composed, as always—sharp lines, cool demeanor, a presence that never quite relaxed, even in transit.

You pulled your coat tighter around you, exhaling softly. “I don’t know why they thought sending us out now was a good idea,” you muttered, watching the whiteout conditions blur past the window.

Xavier didn’t look up. “Weather patterns are unpredictable. It was clear when we left.”

“Still. I bet half the city is shutting down by now.”

At that, he finally lifted his gaze to you. “Then we’ll adjust.”

That was such a Xavier answer that you huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Of course. Adapt and overcome.”

His lips twitched—just barely—but he didn’t argue.

For a while, the two of you sat in relative silence, the train’s steady motion and the occasional muffled announcement the only things filling the space between words. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. Xavier wasn’t the type to fill silences unnecessarily, and you’d long since learned to read the conversations in his quiet glances, his subtle shifts in expression.

Eventually, you stretched out your legs slightly, nudging his boot with yours beneath the table. “So. What’s on your schedule after this?”

Xavier glanced at you, considering. “Routine surveillance. Lower district.”

“Exciting.”

He arched a brow. “Necessary.”

You hummed, tilting your head. “Yeah, but necessary doesn’t always mean interesting.”

“I don’t need it to be interesting.”

“Of course you don’t.” Your lips quirked. “You probably prefer it when things are uneventful.”

“Efficiency is preferable to unnecessary complications,” he replied smoothly.

You smirked, leaning back. “Boring.”

He didn’t argue, but there was something almost amused in the glance he gave you before he returned his focus to the datapad.

Outside, the storm thickened. The train slowed slightly, adjusting for the weather.

You sighed, shifting in your seat. “Hopefully this place has good heating. I don’t think I’ve been this cold in a while.”

Xavier made a quiet sound of agreement, his gaze lingering on the frost-lined window. “It’ll pass.”

You nodded, watching the snow continue to fall. Something about it felt heavy, like the kind of storm that could shift plans, change trajectories. But for now, the train carried you forward, the destination still ahead.

The train groaned as it pulled into the station, its momentum slowing until it finally lurched to a stop. Outside, the city was buried beneath layers of freshly fallen snow, the streets dusted white beneath flickering streetlights. The blizzard hadn’t let up—the wind still howled through the towering buildings, sending spirals of ice and powder sweeping across the platforms.

You pulled your coat tighter around you as you stepped onto the platform, boots crunching against the frozen ground. The cold was instant, seeping through the layers of fabric like it had been waiting for you to step outside.

Xavier descended beside you, his expression unreadable as always, though you caught the subtle way he adjusted his gloves, flexing his fingers against the cold. Even he wasn’t immune to it, then.

A sharp gust of wind cut through the station, and you swore under your breath. “Damn. I think it got worse.”

Xavier exhaled, watching his breath fog in the icy air. “It’ll pass.”

“You said that an hour ago,” you muttered.

He didn’t respond, but you could’ve sworn the look he gave you held a flicker of amusement.

A moment later, he shifted slightly, turning to face you fully. “Your route takes you through the research district?”

“Yeah. Shouldn’t take long,” you said, adjusting the strap of your bag. “And you’re headed toward the lower sector?”

He nodded. “Expected to check in before sundown.”

You huffed, blowing warm air into your gloved hands. “Alright. I’ll meet you at the hotel once I’m done.”

Xavier didn’t respond right away, glancing toward the snow-covered city stretching out before you both. The station was bustling despite the weather—figures in heavy coats moving through the haze of frost and lamplight, their footsteps muffled by the snow.

Then, finally, he spoke. “Be careful.”

It was quiet, just two simple words, but something about the way he said it made warmth flicker in your chest despite the freezing air.

You smirked. “You too.”

Xavier gave a small nod, then turned, adjusting the high collar of his coat as he stepped off toward his destination. You lingered for a second, watching him disappear into the crowd, before exhaling and setting off in the opposite direction.

The storm roared overhead.

<hr>

The research district was eerily quiet, muffled by the heavy snowfall. The usual hum of city life was subdued beneath layers of ice and cold, leaving only the distant hum of power grids and the occasional flickering streetlight to break the silence.

You tightened your grip on your coat, stepping briskly through the narrow streets. The cold bit at your face, but you ignored it, focused on the task at hand. This was supposed to be routine—just a check-in with the local researchers, exchanging updated intel, and making sure all sensitive data remained secure.

Inside the main lab building, the warmth was an immediate contrast. The overhead lights buzzed, casting a sterile glow over the pristine floors. A handful of researchers milled about, all looking more exhausted than usual, their coats hastily thrown over chairs. The storm must’ve been keeping them here longer than intended.

Dr. Lian, the head researcher, barely looked up from her screen when you entered. “You’re late.”

You pulled off your gloves, rubbing warmth back into your fingers. “Blame the train. You have the reports?”

She slid a tablet across the counter. “Encrypted, as requested. But there’s been… unusual movement near the old storage facilities. Someone’s been poking around.”

You frowned. “Any breaches?”

“None yet.” She hesitated. “But I have a feeling it’s only a matter of time.”

You nodded, tucking the tablet into your coat. “I’ll flag it for review. Keep everything locked down until then.”

Lian sighed, rubbing her temples. “I’ll add it to the list of things keeping me up at night.”

You smirked. “Welcome to the club.”

With that, you left the lab, stepping back into the freezing cold. The snow was falling heavier now, thick flakes sticking to your hair as you pulled your coat tighter. You had what you came for—now, it was time to meet up with Xavier.

<hr>

Xavier moved through the lower sector with practiced ease, slipping between narrow alleyways and quiet streets, his breath fogging in the cold air.

The lower district was always unpredictable. Even in this weather, figures loitered in the shadows, half-hidden beneath hoods and coats. It wasn’t just the cold that made people keep their heads down here.

He stepped into a dimly lit outpost, the faint hum of security monitors filling the air. The contact he was meeting—a wiry man with sharp eyes and a nervous twitch—didn’t bother with greetings.

“There’s been movement,” the man muttered, pulling up a grainy feed on one of the monitors. “Near the restricted zones.”

Xavier studied the footage. Silhouettes moving where they shouldn’t be. Patterns that suggested more than just random strays.

“They’re testing the perimeter,” Xavier observed.

The contact nodded grimly. “I don’t know what they’re planning, but it’s not small.”

Xavier exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “I’ll report it.”

The man hesitated. “You think command will take it seriously?”

Xavier’s gaze was sharp. “They will.”

That seemed to settle things. The contact leaned back, rubbing his hands together for warmth. “Storm’s getting worse. You should get moving before the trains start shutting down.”

Xavier was already turning toward the door. “I have somewhere to be.”

<hr>

By the time you reached the hotel, the city was practically buried in snow. The storm had thickened into an unrelenting whiteout, the streets coated in ice, the distant hum of emergency broadcasts echoing through the streets.

The lobby was a welcome relief—warm, modern, with soft golden lighting and a quiet hum of activity as stranded travelers checked in. You sighed, shaking the snow from your coat as you stepped inside.

You didn’t have to look long to find Xavier. He was already there, standing near the front desk, his coat dusted with snow, his sharp gaze scanning the room. He looked up as you approached, his expression as unreadable as ever, though you caught the flicker of assessment in his gaze—checking for injuries, exhaustion, anything out of place.

“I take it your mission went smoothly?” he asked.

You exhaled, pulling off your gloves. “Define smoothly.”

A ghost of amusement passed through his eyes, but he didn’t press. “We should check in before the storm worsens.”

You nodded, glancing around. The hotel was filling up fast—travelers seeking shelter, some looking frustrated as they spoke to staff. You didn’t think much of it. Not yet.

As Xavier turned toward the front desk, you followed, unaware that in just a few minutes, everything was about to go very, very wrong.

The warmth of the hotel lobby did little to thaw the exhaustion settling in your bones. The storm outside had only worsened, snow piling against the glass doors as wind howled through the streets. More travelers had filtered in, their coats damp, their faces pinched with frustration as they spoke with staff.

Still, you weren’t concerned. Not yet.

Xavier stepped up to the front desk, cool and composed as always, while you busied yourself rubbing warmth back into your fingers. The receptionist—a tired-looking woman with dark circles under her eyes—offered a polite, if strained, smile.

“Welcome,” she said, fingers already moving across her console. “Name on the reservation?”

“Xavier.” His voice was clipped, efficient. “There should be two rooms.”

The receptionist’s expression faltered. That was the first sign something was wrong.

She frowned at the screen, then hesitated. “Ah. About that.”

Xavier’s brows barely lifted, but you caught the subtle way his posture shifted.

You sighed. “What about that?”

The receptionist winced. “It seems there was a… logistical issue. Due to the storm, we had several unexpected bookings. We did our best to accommodate, but unfortunately—”

A pause. A weary glance between the two of you.

“There’s only one room available.”

Silence.

You stared at her. “One room?”

She nodded apologetically. “We’re completely booked. Every available space has already been filled.”

You exhaled, slow and measured. “Okay. Fine. Not ideal, but fine. It’s at least a double room, right?”

Another hesitation.

Your stomach dropped.

“It’s a single,” she admitted. “With one bed.”

Another beat of silence. This time, heavier.

You weren’t looking at Xavier, but you felt the shift in the air beside you. Like he’d gone perfectly, painfully still.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, finally, you turned toward him. “Well,” you said, voice drier than the tundra outside. “That’s unfortunate.”

Xavier’s jaw tightened just slightly. “...Yes.”

The receptionist, clearly desperate to smooth things over, jumped in. “I truly apologize for the inconvenience. We’d offer a cot, but we’re out of those as well.”

Of course.

You dragged a hand down your face. “Right. So. One room. One bed.”

Xavier exhaled through his nose, the sharp edge of frustration barely visible beneath the usual composure. “It’s late,” he said, voice even. “We’ll take it.”

You blinked. “We will?”

“It’s a bed,” he said, tone just a little too pragmatic. “Given the alternatives, it’s acceptable.”

You squinted at him, but he was already reaching for the room key.

Fine. Fine. You could handle this.

Probably.

Without another word, you grabbed your bag and followed him toward the elevator, the tension trailing behind you both like a second storm.

The moment the door clicked open, you immediately assessed the situation.

It was a nice room—modern, warm, with soft lighting and a window overlooking the snow-covered streets. The heater hummed quietly in the corner, doing its best to chase away the outside chill.

But none of that mattered. Because the centerpiece of the room—the only piece of furniture that really mattered—was the large, singular bed pressed against the far wall.

You and Xavier stood in the doorway, silent.

Neither of you moved.

Finally, you sighed, stepping inside and tossing your bag onto the chair in the corner. “Alright. We’re both adults. This is just sleeping. No big deal.”

Xavier made a noise that sounded suspiciously like agreement, though he was still standing stiffly by the door, like he wasn’t quite ready to commit to entering.

You shot him a look. “Don’t tell me you’re the one making this weird.”

He exhaled sharply, stepping further inside, his movements precise and controlled. “I’m not making it anything.”

“Good,” you said, kicking off your boots. “Because I really don’t have the energy to sleep in the bathtub.”

He gave you a glance—flat, unimpressed. “That’s unnecessary.”

“Well, yeah, but so is sharing a bed with you.”

He didn’t argue.

Another beat of silence stretched between you before he finally moved toward his side of the room, undoing the buttons on his coat with careful precision. His gloves landed neatly on the table, his every movement deliberate, measured.

You, meanwhile, were already face-down on the bed, groaning into the pillow. “This is going to be so awkward.”

Xavier paused, then muttered, “Agreed.”

The heater hummed. The storm raged on outside. And the two of you stood at opposite sides of the room, acutely aware that sooner or later, you’d have to turn off the lights—and deal with the fact that there was, in fact, only one bed.

You exhaled slowly, rubbing your hands over your face as you sat up. The warmth of the room was helping, but the cold from outside still clung to you, a deep chill settled in your bones.

“I’m taking the shower first,” you announced, standing before Xavier could argue. “I need to thaw out before I turn into an icicle.”

He barely glanced up from where he was unzipping his bag. “Go ahead.”

You hesitated. You weren’t sure what you expected—maybe some kind of snark, or another pointedly flat agreed, but no. He was just… casually rolling up his sleeves, focused on methodically unpacking.

Right. Fine. Normal behavior.

You grabbed some clothes from your bag and stepped into the bathroom, locking the door behind you.

The moment you were alone, you let out a long breath.

Okay. This wasn’t that bad. It was temporary. Just a minor inconvenience. You could handle one bed. It wasn’t like you and Xavier were going to be cuddling or anything. You’d both just stay on your own sides and get through the night like professionals.

Totally fine.

You turned on the water, stripping off your cold-dampened clothes while the steam began to curl against the mirror. The shower was heaven—hot water rolling over your skin, the kind of warmth that made your muscles finally start to relax. You stayed there longer than necessary, letting the heat chase away the tension in your shoulders, the chill in your fingers.

By the time you stepped out, wrapped in a towel, the mirror was fully fogged over.

And yet, despite the warmth, a prickle of anticipation settled in your stomach. Because you were about to step back into that room. And Xavier would still be there.

You shook off the thought, quickly pulling on fresh clothes before running a towel through your hair. This was fine. Completely fine.

While you were in the shower, Xavier busied himself with the simple, methodical process of unpacking. Clothes folded. Gear stowed away. Weapons secured. It was a routine he could do on autopilot, a way to ground himself in the familiarity of order.

But then his communicator buzzed.

His gaze flicked to the screen, reading the message quickly.

UPDATE: Due to severe weather conditions, all travel has been suspended. No departures until further notice.

Xavier’s jaw tensed.

More than one night, then.

He glanced toward the bathroom, where the faint sound of running water still filled the room. You didn’t know yet.

He should tell you. It would be the practical thing to do. But instead, he sat down at the edge of the bed, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead, willing away the very real fact that he was about to spend multiple nights sharing a space with you.

With you.

Xavier had trained himself well—his focus was sharp, his control ironclad. But that control had never been tested quite like this.

He was used to watching you. Observing from a distance, cataloging your habits, the way you moved, the way you felt—a presence that had long since embedded itself in his mind. It was something he could usually ignore, tuck away in the part of his brain that kept things need-to-know, classified, untouchable.

But now there would be no distance.

His gaze flicked toward the bed—the single, far too small bed.

His fingers twitched at his side.

This wasn’t ideal. But it was just sleeping. A basic, biological necessity. If he could manage high-risk operations, enemy encounters, and missions that required complete emotional detachment, then he could certainly manage this.

Except…

His mind betrayed him for a second, slipping past the carefully constructed walls. A flicker of something unbidden—the thought of you in this room, shifting under the covers, breathing soft in the dark.

He exhaled sharply. It’s fine.

The bathroom door opened, and a wave of steam curled into the room as you stepped out, dressed in warm, comfortable clothes, hair still damp.

His gaze barely flickered over you before he forced himself to turn back to his bag, fastening the last strap with precise efficiency.

You arched a brow. “You unpacked?”

“We’ll be here longer than expected.” His voice was as even as ever, though he left out the part about how much longer.

You groaned. “I was afraid of that.”

He nodded. “You should get comfortable.”

You snorted, running a hand through your damp hair. “Right. Super easy when I have to share a bed with you.”

A pause. His grip tightened slightly on the strap of his bag.

That feeling surged up again—quick, sharp, gone before he could examine it.

“...I’ll shower,” he said simply, stepping past you toward the bathroom.

And just like that, he put space between you again, slipping back into the safety of cold water and careful control.

<hr>

Xavier emerged from the bathroom, steam rolling out behind him, his damp hair slightly tousled from where he’d run a towel through it. He had changed into a black shirt and sleep pants, the kind of simple, no-nonsense outfit you should not have thoughts about—but here you were, thinking them anyway.

You quickly shoved those thoughts aside and buried yourself deeper under the covers, pulling the blanket higher like it could somehow shield you from reality. This is fine.

He crossed the room with his usual quiet efficiency, placing his folded clothes exactly where he wanted them, movements sharp, precise, completely unfazed—meanwhile, you were lying there, internally screaming.

Then came the moment you’d been bracing for.

Xavier lifted the blanket and slid into the bed.

You stared at the ceiling. He stared at the ceiling.

The bed felt smaller than it had five minutes ago.

A whole galaxy of space existed elsewhere in the room, but here, under this blanket, it felt like you were occupying the same inch of breathable air. His warmth seeped into the space between you, his presence too much despite the fact that he hadn’t even touched you.

You shifted slightly, trying to find a comfortable position.

Unfortunately, that meant accidentally brushing your foot against his leg.

It was meant to be nothing. A brief, fleeting touch. But the second your freezing toes made contact with his skin—

Oh.

You barely had time to register the fact that he’d tensed before you realized something much, much worse.

That was not his leg.

Your entire body locked up, a slow, creeping horror spreading through your system as realization slammed into you like a freight train.

Xavier was hard.

Like—no-question-about-it, very visibly affected, no way to ignore it—hard.

You stopped breathing.

He stopped breathing.

A thick, suffocating silence filled the room as the two of you lay there, perfectly still, your foot still traitorously pressed against the very real, very undeniable evidence of whatever the hell this was.

Your brain short-circuited.

Oh no. Oh no.

Your entire being screamed at you to move, to fix this, to rewind time and pretend this never happened—but it was like your body had forgotten how to function.

And Xavier?

Xavier was still not moving.

Which was somehow worse, because that meant he was actively trying not to react. And Xavier never hesitated, never faltered, never got thrown off his game.

Until now.

Very, very slowly, you retracted your foot, heat rushing to your face so fast it was a miracle you didn’t spontaneously combust.

“…So,” you whispered, voice strangled. “That’s a thing that’s happening.”

Xavier inhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw clenched so tightly you were afraid he might break a tooth.

You were about to make a joke—something, anything to cut the tension—when his voice finally came, low and dangerously controlled:

“Go to sleep.”

A pause.

Then, unable to help yourself—because you were you and your survival instincts were terrible—you murmured, “Not sure I can now.”

His fingers twitched against the blanket.

You bit your lip, glancing sideways at him. “I mean, should we—”

“Don’t.”

His voice was strained, his breathing controlled, but when you turned your head slightly, you caught it—that look in his eyes. The kind of restraint that meant he was holding back something dangerous.

Something he wanted.

And now, neither of you were pretending anymore.

You could feel the tension thick in the air, pressing down on both of you. You weren’t even sure who was going to break first.

But someone was going to.

The silence stretched between you like a drawn wire, tense and vibrating with something neither of you could ignore anymore. The heat from his body was palpable now, pressing into your side despite the fact that you weren’t even touching.

Not yet.

Your breath came shallow. You could feel the weight of his restraint, the tight coil of it in his muscles, the way his fingers flexed once, twice against the blanket like he was debating something.

You had no idea what would happen if one of you pushed just a little harder.

So, naturally, you did.

Slowly—carefully—you turned onto your side, facing him in the dim light. The sheets shifted, a whisper of fabric, and Xavier’s breath hitched.

And that’s when you knew.

Knew that he was right there, standing on the very edge of whatever this was, waiting for a single excuse to fall.

“…Xavier.” Your voice was softer than you intended, edged with something you couldn’t name.

He didn’t answer.

But then—he moved.

One second, he was rigid beside you, a locked system of restraint. The next, he was rolling onto his side, facing you fully, the heat of his body washing over you like a second blanket.

Then—his hand.

Slow, deliberate, sliding beneath the covers. His fingers brushed over your hip first, barely a touch, before skimming lower, wrapping around your thigh.

You squeaked.

That was all it took.

Xavier exhaled sharply, and then he dragged you closer, his grip firm, pressing your leg over his. The blanket shifted, tangled between you, but you barely noticed because—

Oh. Oh, he was right there.

The sharp scent of clean skin and faint soap. The warmth of his breath, slow but heavy, controlled but barely. His hand on your thigh, fingers pressing in like he wanted to memorize the shape of you.

His voice, when it finally came, was deep, wrecked.

“You keep moving closer,” he murmured, low and deliberate. “What is it you want?”

Your stomach flipped.

“You,” you blurted before you could stop yourself.

A mistake. A massive mistake.

Because Xavier laughed.

Not his usual dry, nearly silent exhale. No—this was low, amused, but dark at the edges, like he’d just been given permission to be exactly what he was.

His hand flexed against your thigh.

And then, so easily, so naturally, he rolled on top of you.

The weight of him pressed you into the mattress, slow and intentional, his knee sliding between your legs like it belonged there.

A breath. His lips ghosted over your cheek, not quite kissing you, but close enough to make your heart stutter.

Then, finally—

“I know,” he murmured against your skin.

And then he kissed you.

Xavier kissed you like he had been waiting—starving for this, for you. There was no hesitation, no testing the waters—just the sheer weight of his mouth pressing against yours, his body crowding into your space until there was nowhere left to run.

You gasped against him, and he took full advantage, slipping his tongue between your lips, deepening the kiss with a precision that made your head spin.

His knee pressed higher between your legs, parting them further, and the friction—God, the friction—made a pathetic little sound slip from your throat.

That sound?

It broke him.

Xavier growled, low and rough, and then his hands were on you—gripping your waist, your thighs, fingertips digging into your skin like he was holding himself back from something even worse.

He wasn’t just kissing you—he was devouring you.

“This what you wanted?” he murmured against your lips, voice thick, wrecked. His teeth scraped your bottom lip, teasing, before he soothed the sting with his tongue. “This why you kept shifting closer?”

Your brain barely functioned enough to register the question, let alone form a response.

You nodded—probably too eagerly—and he chuckled, dark and knowing.

“Thought so,” he muttered, dragging his mouth down your jaw, your throat, tongue flicking over the rapid pulse there.

Then, without warning—his hand slid under your shirt.

You gasped, body arching instinctively as his fingers dragged up your stomach, slow and teasing. He didn’t rush—he took his time, like he was mapping you out, learning every inch of you by touch alone.

You squirmed, half-desperate, half-mortified by how easily he had you falling apart beneath him. “Xavier—”

“Mm.” His lips brushed the shell of your ear. “Still cold?”

The bastard.

You barely had time to scowl before his fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You should’ve said something sooner,” he murmured, his voice silk and sin. “I’d have warmed you up already.”

Then his fingers dipped lower.

Your body jerked—a strangled sound leaving your throat—and Xavier just smirked against your skin, all sharp teeth and wicked satisfaction.

Xavier’s fingers traced the edge of your waistband, deliberate, teasing, a slow drag of knuckles against your hip that made your breath stutter. His body was still pressed against you, the heat of him seeping into your skin, his knee still nestled between your thighs, keeping them parted just enough to be maddening.

His lips brushed against your jaw, trailing lower, slow, like he was savoring every second of this.

“You’re already shaking,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement, with something darker. His teeth scraped lightly over your pulse point. “Barely even touched you yet.”

You wanted to snap back, say something, but the second his fingers slid beneath your shorts, all coherent thought vanished.

You gasped—your hips jerking instinctively—and Xavier made a quiet, satisfied noise, his breath hot against your throat.

“There it is,” he murmured, almost like he’d been waiting for that reaction. His fingers skimmed lower, brushing just barely where you needed them, teasing, testing, not nearly enough.

You squirmed, fingers fisting the fabric of his shirt, trying to get more, trying to—

“Ah.” His voice was soft but firm, a warning wrapped in silk. His free hand caught your wrist, pinning it against the mattress. “Stay still.”

You whimpered, half-frustrated, half-desperate, and that did something to him—you felt it in the way his body tensed, in the sharp exhale through his nose, in the way his grip on your thigh tightened.

Then, very slowly, he dragged his lips back up to your ear, his fingers finally slipping between your thighs, barely parting you.

“Good girl,” he whispered.

You whined.

Xavier chuckled—low, dark, pleased—before he sank his fingers into you.

Your back arched hard, a strangled moan ripping from your throat, and he groaned at the feeling of you around him, hot and wet and clenching around his fingers.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his control cracking at the edges. “You’re soaking.”

You couldn’t even respond, couldn’t think, not when he curled his fingers just right—pressing against that spot that made your entire body tremble.

“Sensitive, too,” he mused, voice rough, wrecked. His mouth was back on your throat, biting, soothing, ruining you. “Poor thing.”

His pace was slow at first, deliberate, making sure you felt every movement, every deep press of his fingers, every subtle shift of his wrist.

Then he picked up the pace.

And you—you came apart.

Your breath hitched, your nails digging into his arm, your body tightening around him as the pleasure spiked—a helpless, broken moan escaping your lips.

Xavier cursed softly, his hand tightening on your hip, keeping you right there, right on the edge.

“Come on,” he murmured, a dangerous promise in his voice. “Let me feel it.”

That was all it took.

The pleasure hit—white-hot, all-consuming, tearing through you like a live wire. Your body arched, thighs trembling, breath shattered as you tumbled over the edge.

Xavier groaned, feeling you clench around his fingers, riding it out, his lips pressed against your jaw, his breath ragged.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was your heavy breathing, the faint hum of the heater, the storm still raging outside.

Then, finally, Xavier slowly withdrew his fingers.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he lifted them to his lips—watching you, watching your reaction—as he slipped them into his mouth.

Your stomach flipped.

He groaned softly, eyes dark, heat pooling behind them. “Sweet,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Your brain short-circuited.

He smirked, then leaned down, his mouth brushing against your ear as he whispered—

“You’re still cold, aren’t you?”

A pause.

Then—

“I should fix that.”

Your body was still trembling, heat coiling low in your stomach, your breath uneven from the aftermath of what Xavier had just done to you. But as he hovered over you, smirking like he’d won, you decided—

No.

If he thought he was the only one who could play this game, he was wrong.

Your fingers, still unsteady but determined, trailed down his chest, skimming over the hard lines of muscle beneath his shirt. Xavier’s smirk faltered just slightly, his sharp eyes flicking to yours, curiosity flashing behind them.

“Oh?” he murmured, voice all velvety amusement. “Feeling bold?”

You didn’t answer. You just pushed.

A sharp shove against his chest, enough to catch him off guard, enough to tip the balance—he let you roll him onto his back, his broad frame sinking into the mattress beneath you.

Xavier blinked up at you, surprise flickering across his face for half a second before it was replaced by something hungrier.

He let you do this.

He wanted you to do this.

And now that you were here? Oh, you were going to make him pay.

You straddled his hips, palms splaying over his chest, feeling the steady, controlled rise and fall of his breathing. His pupils were blown wide, his lips slightly parted—but his hands? His hands stayed right where they were, resting at his sides, like he was waiting to see what you’d do.

You smirked.

“Oh,” you murmured, dragging your nails lightly down his stomach, “I’m just returning the favor.”

His breath hitched. Barely. But you felt it.

Your fingers slipped lower, tracing the waistband of his sleep pants, feeling the sharp inhale he took as you brushed against the very obvious problem he was dealing with.

Xavier’s jaw tightened, but he still didn’t move.

So you did.

Slow, deliberate—you reached inside, wrapping your fingers around him, feeling just how thick and hot he was, how he twitched under your touch.

That was the first time you heard it—

A ragged breath.

Not controlled. Not calculated.

Just raw need.

“Fuck.” His voice was low, strained, his head tipping back against the pillow as his fingers finally clenched in the sheets.

You grinned, feeling intoxicatingly powerful.

“You are warm,” you mused, stroking him, watching the way his muscles tensed beneath you.

Xavier groaned, hips jerking slightly, his grip on the sheets tightening like he was actively fighting the urge to take control back.

“I can’t tell if you’re teasing me,” he muttered, voice wrecked, “or if you actually don’t know what you’re doing.”

Your fingers squeezed just a little harder.

His breath stuttered.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” you whispered.

Then, before he could form a response, you leaned down, dragging your lips over his throat, biting, your hand still working him in slow, torturous strokes.

And that?

That broke him.

Xavier snapped.

His hands moved—gripping your hips, grinding you down against him, making you feel how hard he was, how much he needed this.

His lips ghosted over your ear, his voice low, wrecked, but dangerous.

“You want to play this game?” he rasped. “Fine.”

Then he flipped you again, pinning you hard against the mattress.

“Let’s see if you can handle what happens next.”

Xavier’s grip on your hips was tight, bordering on bruising as he pinned you beneath him, his body pressing into yours, heavy and hot. His breath was ragged, his pupils dark and hungry, and you could feel the exact moment his restraint snapped.

“You wanted to tease?” he muttered, his voice thick, dangerous, pressing his knee between your thighs. “You wanted to test me?”

You swallowed hard, but before you could even think of an answer, Xavier shoved your shorts down, ripping them off like they were nothing, like he had zero patience left.

“Xavier��” You gasped, your breath hitching as the cold air kissed your now-exposed skin—

But then—

Then he slammed into you.

Your back arched off the mattress, a strangled, broken moan escaping your lips as he buried himself deep, stretching you open, filling you.

“Oh, fuck—”

Xavier groaned, his head tipping back for half a second, like he was reveling in the way you clenched around him, your body squeezing him so tight he could barely move.

Then his gaze snapped back to yours, sharp and wrecked.

“You can take it,” he muttered, voice low, wrecked, a promise more than a reassurance. His hands slid under your thighs, lifting you slightly, angling you just right before—

He thrust.

Hard.

The bed slammed against the wall with a crack.

You screamed, nails digging into his back as the force of it sent you rocking into the mattress, your brain going completely blank from the sheer intensity.

Xavier didn’t let up.

He set a brutal pace—deep, relentless, every snap of his hips sending the headboard smashing into the wall, rattling the entire bed frame like it was barely holding together.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he growled against your ear, his breath hot, his voice raw. “Look at you—” Another hard thrust. Another wrecked, helpless moan from you. “—taking me so well.”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

He had you pinned, your legs wrapped around his waist, your fingers tangled in his hair, your body shaking beneath him as he fucked you like he owned you.

The headboard cracked again, the frame creaking under the force, but Xavier didn’t care—he just kept pounding into you, chasing something deeper, something desperate.

“You feel fucking perfect,” he groaned, pressing his forehead against yours, his teeth gritted as he slammed into you again, harder, faster.

The bed frame snapped.

One of the legs gave out with a violent crack, the entire mattress tilting, sending you both crashing deeper into the ruined frame—

But Xavier didn’t stop.

If anything, it made him worse.

A feral sound tore from his throat, his grip on your hips tightening, his pace turning almost brutal as he wrecked you, fucked you into the now-broken bed like nothing else in the world existed except the feeling of you wrapped around him.

“You wanted this,” he rasped, biting at your jaw, your throat, dragging his teeth over your skin. “Didn’t you?”

You sobbed out something that was probably supposed to be a yes, but it came out as nothing but a guttural moan.

Xavier chuckled darkly, dragging his fingers between your bodies, finding your clit—

And that broke you.

Your entire body locked up, your breath catching, the pleasure slamming into you like a fucking tidal wave—

You came hard, a choked cry escaping your lips as you clenched around him, body trembling, legs tightening around his waist.

Xavier groaned, his rhythm faltering, his fingers digging into your skin as he buried himself deep one final time, his body shuddering as he came with a low, wrecked growl against your throat.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was your ragged breathing, the faint hum of the heater, the creak of the ruined bed beneath you both.

Then—

“Fuck.” Xavier exhaled sharply, forehead pressing against your shoulder as his body relaxed, chest rising and falling with the aftershocks.

You stared at the ceiling, completely spent, still buzzing from the intensity of it all.

After a long pause—

“You broke the bed,” you muttered breathlessly.

Xavier let out a short, breathless laugh against your skin, his body still heavy on top of you. “Technically,” he murmured, voice still low, satisfied, “we broke it together.”

You snorted, too exhausted to argue.

“Yeah, yeah,” you murmured, still trying to catch your breath. “So, uh… what do we tell the front desk?”

Xavier smirked against your shoulder.

“That we need another bed.”

A pause.

Then, a wicked, dangerous glint in his eye—

“But I’ll just break that one too.”

<hr>

The room was wrecked.

The bed? Ruined. One of the legs had completely given out, the frame split, the mattress slumped at a questionable angle.

You were boneless, sprawled beneath Xavier, your body still thrumming from the absolute destruction he had just delivered. Your legs refused to function. Your lungs still hadn’t caught up.

But your brain?

Your brain had questions.

Like, for example, what the fuck just happened.

Xavier was still on you, his body warm, heavy in a way that wasn’t suffocating—just grounding. His breath was steady now, though his fingers were still absently tracing patterns into your skin, like he needed the tactile reminder that you were there.

And honestly? You liked it.

You let the silence linger for a moment, basking in the quiet hum of the heater, the faint flicker of snowfall outside the window. Then, finally, you swallowed, your voice hoarse, exhausted.

“So,” you murmured, shifting slightly beneath him, “where the hell did that come from?”

Xavier huffed a quiet laugh against your skin, but he didn’t move, his face still half-buried in the crook of your neck.

“You really don’t know?” His voice was lower now, quieter. Softer.

You blinked, tilting your head slightly to try and get a look at him. “I mean—no?”

Another beat of silence. Then, with an almost reluctant exhale, he lifted his head just enough to look at you, his sharp gaze now hazy, warm, fond.

“Because it’s you,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Your breath caught.

Xavier didn’t look away.

“I’ve wanted this,” he admitted, voice quieter now, more vulnerable. His fingers traced slow, lazy circles over your ribs, his body still partially pressed against yours. “For longer than I should.”

Your heart stumbled over itself.

“Xavier—”

“You think I don’t notice?” He exhaled sharply, his thumb brushing over the curve of your hip. “The way you look at me? The way I look at you?” His voice dipped lower, his lips ghosting just barely over yours. “You think I don’t feel it every time we get too close?”

You swallowed hard. You knew what he meant. The tension had always been there, unspoken, buried beneath layers of professionalism, logic, denial.

You just hadn’t expected him to be the one to admit it first.

Xavier gave you a look, like he could see the gears turning in your head, and sighed, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

You let out a breathless laugh, overwhelmed, dizzy. “I’m ridiculous? You’re the one who broke a bed over this.”

His lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close.

“I did warn you.”

“You did not warn me.”

“Mm.” His fingers trailed up your side, light and soothing now, as if trying to calm the lingering tremors in your muscles. “Maybe not verbally.”

You groaned, letting your head fall back against the ruined mattress. “Unbelievable.”

Xavier smirked, then, without a word, rolled off of you, pulling you effortlessly with him so that you were half-sprawled over his chest instead of lying in the wreckage of the broken bed frame.

The shift was jarring—one minute, your body was still thrumming from being absolutely wrecked, and the next, you were being held.

And gently, at that.

It sent a different kind of warmth through your chest, slower, softer.

“…You okay?” he murmured, the rough edge of his voice smoothing into something almost tender.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question—by the quiet concern in it.

“Yeah,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “Just… processing.”

His arm tightened around you slightly, fingers dragging over the bare skin of your back in slow, absent motions. “Mm.”

Silence settled between you again, but this time, it was comfortable. Warm.

You shifted slightly, turning your head toward the window, where the snow was still falling outside, thick and slow under the golden glow of the streetlights.

Xavier followed your gaze, exhaling softly.

“…Storm’s still going,” he murmured.

You sighed. “Guess that means we’re still stuck here.”

A pause.

Then, very dryly—

“We should probably request another bed.”

You snorted, pressing your face into his chest to smother your laughter. “Yeah,” you muttered, muffled. “Probably.”

Xavier was quiet for a moment, his fingers still absently tracing over your spine. Then, his voice dipped lower—

“But I’m not sleeping in it.”

You froze.

Slowly, you lifted your head to look at him, your stomach flipping. “Oh?”

Xavier’s gaze was dark again, but not with hunger this time—something else, something warmer, something dangerous in an entirely different way.

“Mm.” His fingers tightened on your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer. “Now that I have you here?” His lips brushed against your forehead, light, teasing. “You’re not sleeping anywhere else.”

Your breath caught.

“…Bossy,” you muttered, feeling your face heat up.

He hummed, his smirk pressing against your temple. “You like it.”

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t argue.

Instead, you settled against him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, the quiet hum of warmth between you.

Outside, the snow continued to fall.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt completely, perfectly warm.

[sevsbunny]

stoned

stoner!sevika x stoner!reader

warnings: WHEW!!!! um. gp!sevika ya. choking. thumb sucking. daddy kink. breeding kink. fingering (r receiving). p in v. dom!sevika. praising. use of weed. um. yeah. mentions of somno. this is straight porn with semi plot.

note: hey! um. this turned out way longer than i expected. i simply listened to mac millers “stoned” and it sparked this inspo so…hope you enjoy! feed back always welcome and asks are always open! semi edited & definitely no word count…there’s a lot here.

EIGHTEEN PLUS. MINORS DNI.

sevika rolling up a joint for you and her while you’re laid out on her bed, only in her t-shirt

she’s man spreading in her desk chair as she brings the paper up to her lips and licks it, your eyes never leaving the movements

your fingers flip through some records, finding the more sensual and relaxing one that she has, the one both of you usually fuck to lol

“baby put on a record,” she says huskily, eyes low from the joint she had just shared with you before rolling this one. the shimmer she took pumping slowly through her veins as she finishes flicking the joint to roll the tip closed

you slink out of bed, finding sev’s record collection, sitting pretty in a bin you got for her after see how she used to store her records (on the floor under her bed you about had a heart attack)

“good choice, doll.” you blush at the praise as you walk over to her record player and flicking it up, before putting the record on and putting the little arm onto the grooves

you turn on the record player, adjusting the sound before it starts slow, the sound filling the room as you hear a flick of a lighter

you look over and see sevika’s broad and wide frame spread out more on her chair if that was even possible

the joint hung loosely on her thick lips you could kiss and suck all day. the lower lip piercing she has glinting in the low light and she only had on her black boxers and a wife pleaser — both black.

the low light from her floor lamp illuminating the room in a warm red, the shadows dancing on sev’s features as she takes a long practiced drag from the joint

she looked like sin.

“c’mere.” the command is simple, her voice even and low. she outstretched her bionic hand, motioning you over with her pointer finger

your feet hover over to her without your brian registering youre moving until you’re standing in between sevika’s thighs and her metal hand grips your hip possessively.

you feel your throat harbor a small whine as her bionic fingers dig into your skin. “there you are. so pretty,” she murmurs, her eyes grazing over your frame as you stand there for her in her shirt

her eyes hooded, a dark shade of grey from the effects of the joint and the shimmer. she tugs you closer to her by your hip, moving you into her lap

your straddling her one thigh, as she brings the joint up to your lips and lets you take a hit. your eyes never leave hers as your lips wrap around the joint seductively. she hitches a breath, the grip on your hip to tightening softly.

you sit on her thigh, and you both let out a soft gasp as you can feel how wet you really are already. “that wet already?” she teases, her voice gruff and low as she looks up at you, her eyes flickering over your gaze to your lips and down your chest. your nipples were hard , poking through her thin t shirt

“hm..” she hums softly as she holds the joint in between her lips before taking both of her hands and gripping your hips tightly, moving them slowly up the sides of your skin to grasp your breast in her hands

your eyes can leave the sight before you — the joint loosely in between her lips, her eyes only looking at her hands moving against your breasts as they grab and squeeze

her nostrils flare as you make a sharp whining sound when she pinches one of your nipples with her bionic hand. she takes her flesh hand to hit the joint before passing it to you.

you take it, as soon as her hand goes back to your breasts, tipping her head back slightly, looking through her lashes up at you

“take a hit, baby.” she commands softly, eyes darting from the joint to your lips persuasively. you lick your lips before bringing it up to your lips and taking a hit, her thumbs and forefingers pinching your nipples slightly as you exhale

you let out a small cough, a soft smile spreading on sevika’s lips as she runs her hands from over your shirt to up and under your it, across the expanse of your tummy and to your chest, rubbing soothing circle. “good girl. another.”

you obey, taking a longer one while feeling weed start to affect your system. she knew you loved smoking indica hybrids, that’s what most of her garden was when she got her hands on seeds. she didn’t sell, just grew enough for the both of you.

her hands stayed at your chest before going to to play with your breasts, skin to skin making you gasp slightly under her touch. “so soft, all mine,” she murmurs, before sitting up and pulling you closer to her. she takes the joint lightly from you, placing it again in that sacred spot between her lips, before tugging the ends of your shirt up and over your head

“need to see all of you, sweetheart.” exhaling some smoke from her nose, she takes her bionic arm and grips your chin lightly, before taking a hit of her joint and pulling you towards her.

pressing her lips against yours, you felt the cool metal from her lip ring press against your lips , as she exhaled the smoke into your mouth. you gladly inhaled, letting the second hand shot gun smoke fuel your brain and nerves. your sensitivity to her touching you made your skin melt, your limbs heavy.

she kisses you softly, nips the bottom of your lip playfully before pulling away and letting go of your chin. “good girl.” her restraint is wearing thin, watching your eyelids heavy with each second and puff of the joint. she can feel you drenching her bare thigh, your hips staying perfectly still despite the whimpers that fall from your mouth

“vika…” your brain is becoming mush, the weed flowing through your veins and making your core throb as she holds the joint up to your lips and you take a few hits.

“what is it, pretty girl?” she muses, taking a hug from the joint as she cocks her head to the side. you pout, she knows what you want, does she have to make you beg?

“use your words, doll. daddy can’t read your mind.” so she does know. you bite your lip, your hands coming to balance themselves on her shoulders, her flesh hand coming to grip your hip steady as she continues smoking the joint with her bionic hand.

“wanna…fuck…need you…” you can’t properly form the words, the weed making you feel too far gone. you’re a stoner, you love smoking and you’d say you could almost out smoke sevika. (she’d never let you)

but there was something about the way the slow, sensual music from the record, the way her hands slowly gripped her hips tighter, pushing them back slowly, before pulling them forward.

you let out a small whine as your brain caught up to her movements. she wanted you to grind on her thigh, the desire and need pulsing through her gaze as she stubs out the joint, and bringing her bionic hand to your other hip.

“come on, baby, you’re soaking me already. tell daddy what you want.” she commands, lowly, moving your hips at a slow pace across her thigh. your slick making it easy for your cunt to move against her skin.

watching her leaned back, guiding your hips against her thigh and the way she was looking at you like you were her next meal had your cunt throb against her skin.

and she felt it.

she smirked, gripping your hips before hauling you up and into her arms, your arms securing around her neck andher flesh arm hooking your leg around your thigh so your cunt was pressed snug up against her cock.

you let out a gasp, feeling how hard she was through her boxers. your hold tightening around her neck as did your grip with your legs around her waist. she had hips, hips that knew how to fuck against you and with the wicked glint in her eyes, you knew exactly that’s what she planned on doing.

her bionic arm held most of your weight combined with your effort, as she brought her flesh hand to squeeze your ass firmly, making you gasp out. she reaches further in between your legs, and she already knew how soaked you were giving the cold air hitting her thigh where your cunt sat a few seconds prior

but nothing could compare to feeling it on her flesh fingers — how soaked you were and continue to get.

you let a soft moan slip out as soon as you felt her thick fingers glide along your folds, dropping even more with the added pressure of your clit against her cock.

“daddy,” you whimpered into her, hiding your face into her neck embarrassingly as she stroked your cunt, spreading your wetness around easily.

“this all for me, sweetheart?” a tease in her voice followed by a soft grunt as she teased your hole with her middle finger. “shit..” she groans under her breath before sinking her finger in and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips as you feel her press into you.

she quickly adds another one as soon as she realizes that it’s so easy to slip in because you’re so fucking wet, you probably wouldn’t even realize if she slipped her cock inside your cunt — you were that wet

but she needed to feel you cum around her fingers atleast one time before her cock (many times after)

she picked up her pace, her fingers thrusting into you at a rate that made your head swim. your body felt like jelly as you clung to sevika, feeling her hips rut up into you and adding the pressure against your clit as she finger fucked you.

“you feel so fucking good baby,” her grip on you with her bionic arm tightens as she feels your stomach clench against her, a silent warning you’re about to cum. “already about to cum? you’re so damn easy…” mutters and groans under breath as you whine and whimper against her, nipping and sucking the sensitive skin on her neck — claiming her.

“daddy, fuck -“ you moan as she hits your sweet spot, and she grins

“daddy getting the sweet spot for you, doll?” you moan as you nod, digging your nails into her skin as she fucks you senseless. along with the added pressure of her dick throbbing against your clit with each thrust of her hips, you’re loosing your mind.

“go on baby, i know you wanna cum. let me have it, please baby?” her tone is soft, even if her grunts and groans are deep. hearing her beg for you to cum on your hand has you moaning her name, before you clench around her fingers and feel your orgasm wash over you in her arms.

“that’s it baby, good fucking girl.” she growls deeply, and you can feel how heavy she’s breathing against you. she slips her fingers out, and pulls her cock out, rubbing the tip against your weeping hole.

“sev, please..” your begging, but you knew she’d give it to you anyways. your just too fucking high to really think with your brain.

“awe,” she coos, pushing the tip of her cock into your hole slowly. “baby’s already gone dumb on daddy’s dick?” you moan softly as she sinks you down further, nails digging deeper into her skin you know you’ll leave marks there later.

“oh, fuck yes..” you moan softly as she positions her flesh hand back on your ass, balancing the weight back out before she really sinks deeper into you.

you both moan together as soon as she bottoms out, your clit rubbing up against her bush and her cock so deep inside of you, you feel like she’ll split you open

“oh fuck, sweetheart…” you look up at sev, her eyes on you. her hair disheveled with pieces sticking in places and some in her face. she grunts as she grinds her hips up into you, your mouth falling open as she does. “your pussy feels like heaven around my cock, you know that?” she doesn’t expect you to answer — shit she doesn’t except you to do anything.

you turn into a babbling mess as soon as she picks up the pace of her hips, her thighs slapping up into your ass as your cunt drools on your cock and balls.

“that’s it doll, just hold on and take all of daddy’s dick.” her finger tips dig into the supple flesh of your ass as your moaning, the sound of her pre cum and your arousal making a obscene sound reverberated through the room. the pace of the music soon matches the pace of her hips, long, deep and fast strokes making you see stars

“daddy, fuck i’m gonna cum again …” she grins at that, deeply chuckling as she picks up the pace again, before walking over to the bed and gently laying you on your back — her cock still deep inside of you.

she moves your legs so they are now unwrapped from her hips and spread wide around them — as wide as you can get them. the tip of her cock hits harder as she pushes a pillow under your hips.

you grab her arms as she slots them besides your head, her flesh hand coming to wrap itself around your throat and squeezing. you smirk in response, your cunt clenching as soon as she adds pressure.

“you like that baby?” a wicked grin spreads across her face as she grunts, taking her bionic hand and pressing two finger against your clit.

“come on baby. cum for me. cream all over this fat dick.” your mouth falls open with a breathless gasp as she keeps her flesh hand firmly around your neck, moving her thumb to bring against your bottom lip. you poke your tongue out and wrap it around the tip of her thumb.

her eyes blaze with lust, pupils blown and you feel her cock throb inside of you as soon as she registers how fucking nasty you are.

“shit, you’re such a dirty slut.” she groans deeply, her fingers speed up on your clit, making your cunt clench with each fast stroke of her hips, her cock sliding in and out of you with ease. you were a dripping mess — all over her cock, her balls and most definitely her fucking sheets. she didn’t give a shit though. not with the way you looked wrapped around her cock like this.

“you’re a fucked out beautiful, stupid mess, baby.” she comments, her eyes gone from the weed and sex, her cock throbbing with each thrust as she feels your cunt clench once more before you’re squirting against her lower chest.

she groans at the beautiful messy sight, her thumb still in your mouth as you moan breathlessly. she eases a bit of pressure on your throat as you ride your high, making sure to get every last drop before she takes her hand off and removes her thumb to squeeze your breast.

“so fucking beautiful baby.” she leans down, taking her bionic hand from your clit as you whine from the over sensitivity, as she rests her forehead against your shoulder.

you wrap your arms around her neck as you pull her closer, and she takes her flesh hand to press against your lower stomach. “feel that, doll? feel my cock deep inside of you? gonna cum my load so deep in you, make sure it sticks..” she’s babbling now, her thrusts becoming more erratic as she sloppily kisses and sucks your skin. she’s a mess on top of you, and you can’t help but clench your cunt around her cock one more time as you feel her cum

“fuck vika, shit…” you’re moaning with her as her hands come to grip both your hips hard, pushing a few final thrusts of her cock into you, before she collapses on the side of you.

“doll,” you whine softly as she curls you into her so you’re both facing each other on your sides, her cock still hard buried inside of you. one of the side affects for shimmer — sevika had a longer endurance and bigger libido. you loved it, knowing you’d be able to serve sevika any time she needed to get off.

and it seemed like even though she was just balls deep inside your pussy. she needed more.

“know you’re tired,” she mumbles as she thrusts her hips slowly up into you, her arms tightly wrapped around your torso as you have a leg hiked up over her hip. “pussy still needs daddy’s dick though, mm..feel her sucking me in..” you hide your face into her chest as she slowly rocks into you, tugging the blanket over your frames.

it’s true, you’re cunt has been throbbing at the idea of you falling asleep while she uses you to her own desire. her own little toy.

“vika…” your moan softly, the music from the record playing its last song — something slow and quiet, sensual. the perfect mood for sevika. she groans softly as she feels your sleepy pussy clench around her, dripping all over her.

“rest your eyes sweetheart, daddy will take care of this pretty cunt.” she grunts softly as she moves her hips slowly in and out of you, the squelching sound of your cock and her cum making your head spin as you close your eyes, pressing against her.

[spxllcxstxr]

Mornings • S

(Gif not mine)

Request: Hello✨ I would like to ask a morning routine with Silco (head cannons or fanfic or a little bit of both, whatever you’re comfortable with, I don’t mind). Just describe how his routine changed after s/o appeared in his life or someone like this. With the best wishes and patiently waiting for the answer 🌚🫰-- anon

Summary: Silco adjusts to no longer living alone

Warnings: gn!reader raised in the undercity, established relationship though first time living with each other, food/drink mention, reformed bachelor silco doesn't know what breakfast is nor self-care lmao

Word Count: 962

A.N: Wrote this with young silco in mind because, let's be honest here, he's a bit more put together than his older self lmao. I'm also a sucker for longterm love so like, this is the first of many mornings you would experience with him ykwim lmao, first time writing silco! Enjoy!!!

•

The palm of Silco's hand is warm against your skin when your eyes open. It's still dark outside but the murky green hue of his bedroom windows offer you dim light.

Deep snores and faint whimpers emit from the man next to you, dark brows furrowed in his sleep. You dip your head down to kiss his forehead, hand running through his long hair at the same time. The tension eases from his pale face almost instantaneously. You smile at his sleeping form, now finally peaceful.

Moments later you quietly shift the covers from over top your body, placing Silco's hand beside him as well. He shifts at your movement, the mattress springs creaking underneath his bodyweight.

Growing up in the Undercity stressed the importance of rationing and saving food, meaning the three square meals a day the citizens of Piltover were used to were normally cut out altogether. Since then, however, Zaun’s food supply and imports had drastically improved and that along with your decent job wages, meals like breakfast had become important to you.

Cooking for two would be a change, certainly, but a welcomed one.

The chill in the air engulfs you as you move from the bedroom to the kitchen, which causes a slight shiver to move down your spine.

Yawning, you flick the light switch on. The sharpness of the yellow-white overhead light in the kitchen causes you to wince. The contrast of the brightness, or lack thereof, forces you to wake up a bit faster than you wished.

The light reveals a cluttered kitchen—not cluttered with pots and pans, but with various pieces of scrap metal and rusted screws. The counterspace is littered with schematics and maps of both Piltover and the Undercity.

Silco was usually a tidy man, his space at the Last Drop was well organized along with all of the other tiny rooms in the apartment. Clearly, the kitchen was not a space he frequented enough for his attention to be drawn to it.

Cracking your knuckles, you start shifting things over and away from the stovetop. You take everything flamible and place it precariously on an equally messy table.

After rummaging through the icebox, you discover a carton of mostly cracked or broken eggs, which were better than nothing. Getting straight to the point, you bring them over to the counterspace near the stovetop, which you light with one of Silco's lighters. The fire crackles to life, heating the pan above it.

"What in the world are you doing?"

You look behind you, pan still in hand. Silco stands behind you, leaning against the threshold to the little kitchen. His long dark hair hands loosely over his shoulders, fringe dangling messily over his face. Silco yawns, exhaustion still hanging over him.

The simplicity of his figure is a lot more attractive than it realistically should be. A red shirt is tight over his slim frame, causing your face to heat up. You're tempted to forego breakfast altogether in favor for grabbing your boyfriend by the hand and dragging him back to bed. He just looks that good.

But your stomach grumbles and your routine demands to be followed so you push that thought to the back of your mind, determined to act on it later.

His blue eyes take in the sight before him, you, still clad in your sleepwear with a small flame haphazardly lit underneath a small pan he doesn't recognize. Silco's brows are quirked up in confusion.

"Good morning to you too, darling..." You tease, rolling your eyes. Silco smirks, making your heart skip another beat. "And I'm making breakfast. Like a normal person."

"Breakfast? This kitchen hasn't seen the light of day since I've holed up here." His voice is raspy and deeper than usual. Blue eyes quickly scan over the room before landing back on your own. "As you could probably tell."

You nod in agreement, turning back to the task in front of you and the questionable carton of eggs off to the side.

"And I've been eating breakfast for years, so that's going to change now that I'm here."

"Is that so?" His voice is laced with a teasing curiosity that draws him towards you.

Silco stands behind you, breath just barely tickling the back of your neck. You feel his eyes carefully following your hands as they crack eggs on the edge of the pan. Steam rises as they sizzle against the hot surface.

You hum as you watch the whites of the egg turn opaque. It isn't any song in particular, just something you vaguely remember hearing at sone point in your life.

"I'm not used to this, dearest; this...domesticity," Silco mutters in your ear, this tip of his nose brushing against the sensitive skin of the crook of you neck.

"Maybe that's why you're so skinny." You tease, leaning into his touch. Briefly your eyelids flutter shut before returning to the unpredictable stovetop.

"Hm, maybe so." You feel his small smile against your skin. "If we were running on my routine, we'd already be out the door with a lukewarm coffee in hand."

With the eggs finished, you scrape them onto a freshly rinsed plate with a vaguely spatula-shaped item. Shopping for at least some sort of kitchen utensils was something you needed to do in order to make this place livable for someone other than your beloved Silco.

"Well this is your new routine, dear," You reply, placing a kiss to his cheek. "And you will love it."

With one hand placed on his waist and the other holding onto the plate of breakfast, you smile, almost like you're asking for him to challenge you on this. Instead, his eyes settle on your yours, signature smirk growing.

"I'm sure I will."

•

[gutsby]

Homemade

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: While your dad’s watching a movie downstairs, you and his best friend decide to make one of your own.

Warnings: 18+. Sneaky sex tape fun with dbf!Joel ;-) Unprotected p-in-v. Age gap. Daddy kink. Facefucking. Joel being the world’s worst cameraman. Shower sex. Overstimulation via adjustable shower head. Dirty talk. Screaming ‘daddy’ too loud, and your father shows up.

Translations: In Chile, pico is slang for penis. Joel’s is big.

Part of the Waiting Game series

“If this ever ends up on PornHub, I’ll kill you, Miller.”

Joel knew you meant it, too.

The only reason you’d agreed to make this dumb little ‘home video’ at all was because you were headed back to college tomorrow and wouldn’t see him again until May. Doing long distance was tough, but doing long distance while simultaneously trying to keep a risqué, torrid, and totally-not-age-appropriate love affair with your father’s best friend under wraps was infinitely more difficult. This was the safest way to keep desire alive in the meantime.

Immortalized on a Sony CCD-TR70—because neither one of you trusted iCloud to keep a sex tape secret.

It had also been the only video camera you could find in the closet before your dad had plopped down on the couch just outside your room and announced he would be watching Oppenheimer for the third time. You’d had to scurry off fast before he could invite you to join him.

“I’ll be damned—this thing’s gotta be as old as I am,” Joel mused as he stood at the foot of the bed, camcorder pointed at your semi-nude form.

“I didn’t know they had cameras back in the Stone Age.”

Your smirk didn't flinch, even when Joel flipped you off.

You were lying on your side, head propped up on one hand while the other picked at a few loose strings from the comforter. The lacy, pastel pink bustier holding your tits in place was currently making breathing feel like a chore, and your skin was on fire from the warmth of the room, but you tried not to show it. Joel twisted a dial.

“Alright, now...flash ‘em for daddy,” he grinned as soon as the lens focused in where he wanted: your cleavage.

You rolled your eyes.

“A little closer, please,” you said, patting the space in front of you.

Joel didn’t need to be told twice. With one hand still cradling the camera, he clambered over the bed so fast he nearly tripped and took a nosedive in the headboard. You had to cover your mouth to contain a shriek of laughter—and terror—as his frame barreled into yours.

“JOEL!”

Fortunately, your cameraman was quick to recollect himself, planting a knee on either side of your chest once he’d knocked you onto your back. Then, from above, he angled the grey-black hunk of metal just a foot away:

“Anything you’d like to say to the folks watching at home, ma’am?” Joel inquired, suddenly assuming all the poise and matter-of-fact elocution of a news reporter.

You stuck your tongue out at the camera and blew the wettest, fattest raspberry you could muster in response.

Joel hummed, zoomed in on your lips, and nodded.

“Fascinating,” he said, pretending to make sense of the fart noise you’d just made with your mouth, “Have you ever given thought to maybe...sucking cock on camera?”

The swiftness with which he was able to dodge your kick was remarkable. He swayed the camera just out of reach before you could shove it away and say, ‘Joel, quit being GROSS’ and he promptly replied, ‘Ain’t that the whole point of a sex tape, sweet pea? Bein’ a little bit gross?’ And you playfully tried to kick him again, only this time, he caught your foot and yanked you closer to him. He turned the camcorder back to your face and grinned.

“That’s my little pornstar,” he murmured with affection. Then, zooming in again, this time to find your panty line, “Riiiiight there.”

You knew giving Joel Miller recording privileges for an occasion as momentous as this was a bad idea. At the rate you were going now, you’d be seeing the sunrise through the window before you ever got a glimpse of his dick. You needed to take matters into your own hands.

Literally.

You crawled on all fours to get to Joel across the bed.

The man, kneeling with the camera pointed in your direction, looked up to cock a brow at you.

“Sweetheart, hey, can ya do that one more—”

“Hush,” you muttered, closing in on his crotch. 

Your head was lowered so you could undo the front of his jeans. Because of this, your back was arched, and your ass was pointed up just the slightest bit. For a second, Joel seemed torn between tilting the lens to your lower half or your face, which was inching ever closer to the bulge in his trousers. In time, he landed on the latter.

He swallowed. That sight never got old—and seeing it displayed on the camcorder’s semi-grainy screen only made it that much hotter. Joel shifted on his knees while you worked him out of his boxers, watching the nimble movements of your fingers as you wrestled the fabric.

“Wanna—” Glancing to the side of the bed, “—maybe—”

“Yup.”

Both of you liked it better on the floor: you on your knees in front of Joel, chin tilted up to see his reactions as you sucked him off. You loved to sink between his legs and then see and feel nothing but him, brain going blank the moment his cock filled your mouth. Joel slid a pillow under your knees before widening his stance some.

“Is it on?” Your hand was wrapped firmly around the base of his cock and your lips were hovering an inch from the tip. You resisted the urge to lick the precum off just yet.

“Darlin’, it’s been on ever since you stepped outta the bathroom in that— that—” Joel seemed to be searching for a word when the head of his cock was enveloped in a kiss. You dragged your tongue across the slit of him and collected the hot, salty beads with a muffled moan.

Then you pulled off.

“Teddy,” you said, reminding him of the name for that pretty little tulle and lace getup you currently had on.

“Teddy,” Joel echoed, his mind a million miles away from any lingerie jargon at the moment. He held the camera tighter as you took him back into your mouth and sank deeper on his cock. He struggled to keep it steady.

It was strange, watching Joel and the rounded glass of the lens as you did this dirty thing that was only meant to be shared between you and him. Knowing it would be recorded, saved for future viewing, displayed on some dimly lit screen in Joel’s bedroom maybe one, twice, or more likely than not, several dozen times over the next three months. You wondered how you might look from this new point of view; though, you weren’t so sure you needed to know what sight Joel was made privy to while you sucked and hollowed your cheeks around his cock.

As it turned out, that uncertainty wasn’t meant to last you very long, because Joel flipped the camera’s screen around two seconds later. Some sepia-tinted, pixelated rendition of your face, framed by the date and time and a bright red flashing dot beside the word ‘REC’ were the first to greet you. You flinched back just a little.

“Joel,” you said, almost bashful, “Flip it back.”

Joel just grinned. Then he laced his fingers through your hair and tugged you closer to him, thumb stroking over your scalp, “C’mon, darlin’, don’t ya wanna see how goddamn pretty ya look on your knees for me?”

You didn’t think you looked pretty at all. In fact, you reckoned your features looked something more like an alien utility funnel than a real, human face as you tilted your chin inward and seemed to be nothing but eyes and a hollowed-out expression, but you let Joel guide you back onto him all the same. You heard a low rumble of pleasure take shape in his chest as your lips slid over his shaft. Your gaze remained glued to the screen as you did.

Wet with saliva and a few faint traces of precum, you continued to bob your head up and down. Joel’s groans grew louder, and your drive to take him further and further surged as well. By the time his hand was tightening into a white-knuckled fist in your hair, you’d nearly taken him all the way to the back of your throat, and your nose was no more than an inch from the soft tufts of hair on his belly. Joel let out a shuttering breath.

“Fuck me,” he heaved. You might’ve smiled if your lips weren’t otherwise occupied. Then he clenched his hand even harder and murmured, “Can you— can I, please—”

Again, you didn’t need him to finish the rest of the question to know what he wanted. You moved your head back just slightly to nod, a low, ‘Mhmm’ reverberating down the length of his dick as you gave him permission. Joel swallowed and set the camera aside immediately.

He placed it on the nightstand, perfectly level with your head, to the side. Then he rotated the device just a bit, took one glance at the screen, and shortly returned to where you were watching him with wide, glossy eyes.

“Ready?” he asked. His right hand now joined the left at the back of your head, but not before thumbing a quick touch over your cheek to get a feel for your approval.

You hummed once more. You watched Joel’s hips move forward, hands secure around your scalp all the while, and you felt a gentle nudge at the back of your throat. Then another. You couldn’t help the impulse to gag, but thankfully, it was short-lived. Joel peered down at you, eyes searching yours for any plea to stop or slow down, but he found nothing. He sheathed himself deeper until your lips were brushing the base of his dick. He groaned.

“That’s a good…fuckin’ girl,” he managed, voice strained, “Takin’ my cock so deep.”

He shifted his hips to move an inch or two out, then slid his cock forward again, bumping that spot at the top of your throat. This time, you were better adjusted to take him and felt your muscles expand and contract around him without activating your gag reflex. Your eyes stayed trained on his face while he dragged his cock back again.

“My pretty girl and her—” Joel stabbed back into you, somehow tender in the way he did it, “—pretty fuckin’ mouth…Sweet thing likes gettin’ facefucked, does she?”

With the increased pace of his thrusts and the grip he had on the sides of your head, you couldn’t quite answer, but Joel could tell from the glint in your eye that you loved when he manhandled and fucked your throat like this. Watched the light sear gently behind those irises as you swallowed every inch of his cock, back and forth, and let your brain break down to little more than a happy, mindless mush. Joel was always keen to oblige you on that front—aroused to no end at the sight of all your thoughts being fucked straight out of your head—and within the next few thrusts, his gut was giving a familiar clench. He pulled halfway out of your mouth, paused, felt the pinch again, then withdrew from your lips fully.

“Get on the bed.”

You straightened back up and made it over to the mattress, quickly. Before you could assume the position you’d been hoping to take on all fours, you felt yourself flipped on your back. Joel yanked your hips to the edge of the bed and kneeled down between your legs. Hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties and had them shuffled down your thighs and past your ankles in no time at all. Then, when he lowered his lips to your wet, aching core, you pressed a touch to the crown of his head.

“Joel, wait,” you said. All of a sudden your chest felt tight.

In spite of the fact that your airways were open and completely free from any obstruction—namely, Joel’s big ol’ pico—you still found it difficult to inhale. Some murky, amorphous sense of anxiety weighed over your chest.

When your hand didn’t move from his head and instead pushed him further, Joel furrowed his brows, perplexed.

“What’s’a matter, darlin’?”

You shook your head, more to yourself than to him.

“I haven’t…just— haven’t washed down there today…o-or shaved,” you stammered, “Don’t want you to taste it.”

That was largely a lie. You’d bathed, shaved, and prepared for this just fine, but really were more concerned about the novel optics that loomed overhead. Being filmed in such a singularly vulnerable state without knowing how to act. You were fine when the attention was focused on Joel and his pleasure, but something about having your every whimper and moan laid bare before you on film felt daunting. Unnerving, in a way.

Joel frowned while rubbing your thigh. His brow pinched inward again, as if he were considering something.

Then he moved across your body, and your muscles eased with relief at the thought that he’d just let it go and get to fucking you exactly how you wanted. You reached for him, ready to wrap your legs around his waist, when a yelp clawed out of your throat. You found that you didn’t get to touch his chest, or his cheeks, or his big, broad, beefy shoulders, as you were promptly thrown over the latter of the three body parts and lifted when Joel stood up from the bed. He started carrying you across the room, heedless of the startled, ���What the FUCK, Miller?’ you’d cried the second he took one step.

Hardwood floors transformed to tile before your eyes, and shortly, you realized you were being brought into your bathroom.

You heard the squeak of some metal knob being turned, then a brief sputter, then a spray of water raining down on your shower floor. You were still being held hostage over Joel’s shoulder, try as you might to bite at his lower back or smack his ass in an attempt to break loose.

He set you down a second later, seemingly unfazed.

“Get in.” He nodded toward the shower.

Before you had a chance to respond, he left. You stood back in disbelief—refusing to go into the shower and let Joel have his win—but just as you opened your mouth to call out and tell him as much, his form slipped back in through the door. Naked, now, and wielding that stupid, goddamned camcorder with a devious glint in his eye.

“Will you—” You held out a defensive hand in front of you, cheeks already heating, “—stop with that?!”

Secretly, the corners of your lips were fighting a smile as Joel drew closer with the camera held up to your face.

“There she is, folks,” he announced, as though speaking to a crowd, or else reading off of a script from the world’s most cheesy porno, “My dirty, dirty girl says she needs a shower—don’t ya, sweet pea?”

It sounded so ridiculous and dumb that neither one of you could keep from laughing. Even as you lifted your middle finger in response, Joel grinned and smacked your ass. Steadied the camera out in front, nudged you closer to the shower, and watched you somewhat begrudgingly obey his orders. Once you’d stripped what little remained on your body, you stepped into the tub.

Add to ‘ridiculous and dumb’ just wildly unsexy as well—who the hell needed a soapy interlude to a sex tape?

Joel Miller, apparently. He constricted his grip on the camera and followed you in, tongue already skimming the backs of his teeth in anticipation. You turned away to step under the shower’s stream, and he wasted no time getting a shot of your derrière. You leaned forward and sighed.

The water worked wonders to get your muscles to loosen some, but still, you were nervous. You could clean up now, stall a little longer, maybe even offer to give Joel head again—but what if he really wanted to eat you out on camera? You couldn’t put off the conversation forever.

Or another minute, it seemed.

You let out a shriek when you felt Joel’s fingers sneak up between your thighs. You hardly knew what he was doing, just folding limply when he spun you around to press your back against the shower wall. Your eyes widened to see him descending your body once more.

“I lied,” Joel said, smirk painted clear across his features, “You’re not dirty—I just wanted to eat your pussy in the shower ‘s’all.”

Chivalry was evidently alive and well in Austin, Texas.

No truer words could have been spoken, and yet, you felt wildly uncomfortable the second Joel’s head dipped between your legs and that big, dumb, handsome face started licking stripes up your sensitive core. You cast a glance to the side and saw the camcorder perched on the sink—just through the open slit in the shower curtain, you could see it pointed directly at you.

You shivered and started to push Joel away.

“Can we maybe just—”

“Sweetie?!”

Joel’s lips tore out of your cunt quicker than a sneeze through a screen door. His eyes were wide.

“Y-Yeah, dad?” you squeaked, tone almost fearful.

“Everything okay in here? I heard ya scream,” your dad returned shortly.

You could only imagine the expression of confusion and distress painting his every lineament in that moment. Probably just barely sticking his head through the crack in the door and blinking anxiously through the steam.

Your dad was caring like that.

He just never knew the right times to show up.

No, there were very few times where you would’ve liked to see him less—apart from that one time you’d sucked Joel’s dick under the table at your dad’s birthday dinner. Your heart was thudding a wild, erratic beat in your chest, and you could only imagine how Joel was feeling. Probably seeing visions of a Size 11 boot being shoved up his ass if his friend happened to slide the shower curtain to the side and see him nose-deep in his daughter’s box.

That would be bad. So very, very bad and probably ten times worse than when Tommy had caught you blowing his brother at the aforementioned birthday party. You just couldn’t seem to catch a break these days.

You sucked in a breath and answered anyway.

“I thought I saw a spider.”

“Really?” You could already sense the embittered tinge to your dad’s voice, harking back to the war he’d once declared on all wolf spiders in the home, “Want me to kill it?”

The next thing you heard was two boots thud on the bathroom floor outside the shower, and you could’ve sworn you saw Joel’s whole soul leap from his body. He shot a frantic look around him, spotted a window above, and seemed to wonder for half a second if he might be able to shimmy his 188-pound frame through a space that probably wasn’t big enough to fit a fat raccoon. He slumped his weight against the shower wall and winced.

“No! I— It wasn’t even a spider. Just a…roach.”

Shortly, Joel’s eyes widened even more and met yours, as if to ask, ‘Why the FUCK would you say that?’

“A roach?!” your dad cried simultaneously.

Apparently, you’d forgotten that any derivative of the word ‘cockroach’ was like a sleeper agent activation phrase for middle-aged fathers who wanted to keep their homes free of all household pests. The look on Joel’s haggard, world-weary face communicated as much to you, and for a second, you remembered that he, too, was built the same way as any other semi-old dude you knew.

Just bigger and beefier and…harder below the belt than you would’ve expected most men around his age to be.

You quickly chided yourself for ogling Joel’s dick at a time like this and replied to your father, shrill, “No!”

Then, slightly more composed, “No, no— I already took it out with some hairspray and told it to fuck off to hell.”

An attempt at humor was the last leg you had to stand on. Fortunately, it worked.

Outside the shower, your dad chuckled, and his footsteps started to shuffle off toward the door.

“Ah. Atta girl,” he beamed, ever the advocate for brutal cockroach killings, “If you see another, just holler, okay?”

“Okay.”

You heard the sound of the bathroom door closing, and you almost fell to the floor. Joel probably would’ve been facedown just as well—fear seeping out of his body along with every last ounce of willpower to stand—had he not made a dive for you as soon as your dad had left.

The force of his push sent you straight into the wall, legs forced to wrap around his waist as he buried his face in your neck.

“Thank fuck,” he breathed.

“You’re welcome,” you murmured, swiping the water out of your eyes with a grimace.

Then, just as you were about to request that Joel lower you back down to the floor and out of the shower’s spray, you felt a nudge between your legs. Luckily not a tongue this time—just Joel, or the tip of his leaking cock. The man below you grinned, and for the first time in a long time, you felt a wash of relief. Could it be?

“I’ll still eat you out if y’want,” he started, though speaking with a little less conviction this time around, “But after all that I, uh—kinda jus’ wanna fuck ya stupid.”

Well thank fuck for fake spiders and cockroaches, too; you’d just averted a dreaded tonguefuck, thanks to that detour.

You’d worry about your pornstar moans and on-camera charisma another time—now you could just sit back and let Joel do all the work while he took you against the wall.

Really, there was no need to concern yourself with anything at all from that point forward. Once you’d given Joel the green light, he was sinking you onto his cock with a grunt and making sure you felt nothing but him. His hands found your hips and held you firmly in place as he rutted into you from below, your own fingers latching onto his shoulders for some much-needed support. Both of you knew that you needed to be extra quiet now—seeing how sound seemed to carry in that tight, tiled space—so Joel snagged your lips in his for a kiss.

He was practically panting in your mouth by the time you started meeting his thrusts. His fingertips slid some and must’ve seared ten perfect crescents into the flesh of your ass as he fucked you into the wall.

“Look so pretty like this,” he whispered in between kisses and short, shallow breaths. His cock parted your insides with an excruciating welt of pleasure, and he hardly even seemed to realize it, “Look so damn pretty takin’ cock.”

Then, lips kicking up in a smile when it seemed he’d remembered something, he added, “Can’t wait to play this tape back home and watch us fuck all over again.”

Again. Again. And again. Shit, you could just see it now.

Your eyes traversed the compact shower space once more to find the video camera—still perched, still live, still perfectly implacable and silent atop the sink as it recorded your every grunt, groan, and shuddering moan. You were nearly as curious to know what Joel’s bare ass looked like rutting into you like this as you were to hear yourself getting railed against the shower wall. Maybe you’d beat this fear of secondhand embarrassment after all.

Maybe.

Joel’s teeth snagged your bottom lip and bit it, lightly.

“Every chance I get, you can bet I’ll be thinkin’ ‘bout this…sweet pussy while you’re away,” he said, voice low and occasionally punctured by a groan, “Say one more thing f’me and I’ll…cum every time I watch this part.”

The kinks at the corners of his lips were endearing. You would’ve liked to supply them with just about anything they could’ve wanted, so when they leaned into your ear and murmured just what it was they needed to hear, you only hesitated a second.

Or maybe two or three, because, well…it was risky.

Moaning ‘daddy’ out loud at a time like this? It might get Joel off quick, but it might send your real dad running even faster. You weren’t crazy about the thought of anything that might draw the man’s attention again.

Joel seemed a little less risk-averse than you, notwithstanding the window-leaping fear he’d felt when your dad had rushed in before. Leave it to a criminally horny man to have the memory of a goldfish, though.

At present, Joel was blinking and gawking a bit like one, too, waiting for you to enunciate that one magic word.

You couldn’t deny he made a damn cute desperate sex fiend when he wanted to be. And you needed to cum.

You figured you could cut a deal with him just this once.

“Alright,” you mumbled against the top of his stubbled lip, “Make me cum and I’ll say anything you want, Miller.”

You weren’t sure if it was a chuckle or a strangled moan that jumped up in his throat when Joel squeezed your sides tighter. All you knew was that he was lowering you to the floor in the next instant, spinning you around, and walking you forward, swiftly and with purpose, toward the opposite end of the shower. Right where the crack in the curtain made you most visible to the camcorder.

Joel’s hand snaked around your front and gently eased between your legs. Then, pressing his chest to your back and nudging you to bend just slightly at the waist, he tipped your bodies closer to the camera’s line of vision and stilled. From the LED screen, you could see the ghost of a smile crossing his lips as he shifted his head beside your own. Next, they were kissing across your shoulder, your neck, that sensitive spot behind your ear, and finally the shell of it, brown eyes trained on the camera lens as he murmured to you, “Stay real still.”

You didn’t know if you could. But you tried. And you damn near cried when his fingers started working circles over your clit. Your body was raised on tip-toes, and your hand was bracing the wall as Joel fucked you from behind and made a mess of your wet, writhing body. In no more than three or four strokes, your fears of looking or sounding stupid on camera trickled away with all the rest of the silent, sizzling liquids circling the drain below. Your cheek pressed against Joel’s rougher one, and with the push of each new thrust, you came more unraveled.

When Joel’s hand closed over the front of your throat, you didn’t flinch. Didn’t move—couldn’t move, as the man was holding you still in such a taut, rigid grip.

“What do we say when we get fucked this nice, baby?” Joel whispered in your ear, words almost entirely masked by the sounds from the shower. You still heard it, though.

“T-Thank you,” you stuttered, cockdrunk and faint.

“Thank you, what?”

Your eyes were fluttering closed, but you could feel the smug expression just over your shoulder. You clenched around him and felt him snap his hips ahead even harder.

“Thank you, daddy,” you whimpered.

“Say it again.”

“Thank you, daddy!” you whined, still scared to be too loud.

Joel wasn’t scared. His hand ascended the column of your neck to pinch your chin between his fingers, jerking your head to the right.

To the crack in the curtain. To the camera.

You could’ve cried with how fast he was fucking you now. You opened your eyes and cast a pathetic look to the recorder. Joel made sure you maintained that gaze, too.

“Who’s makin’ ya feel this good?” he seethed, shaking your whole frame with the breakneck pace of his hips.

“You, daddy.”

“Who’s fuckin’ this sweet cunt like no one ever has?”

“You, daddy.”

Joel seemed sated and somehow not fully satisfied at all. Like he was pleased to see you falling apart for him like this, but needed to hear more. Feel more.

He withdrew from you, and you nearly collapsed with the absence of his arms holding you straight.

You pressed a shaky palm to the wall and almost moaned for him to get his ass back over here, you weren’t done, when Joel returned in a second. To your relief, his muscly arms found their way around your front once more, and his clock plunged back inside you, too—only this time, you sensed you were missing something else.

Water.

It wasn’t on your back anymore.

It was fanning between your legs.

Blasting the full force of its stream toward your most sensitive parts as Joel held the shower head up between your thighs. You would’ve jumped back and screamed were it not for his hand clamping tight over your mouth before you could, his lips grazing over your ear again.

“Try it one more time.”

You released a hoarse, muffled squeal into his palm when he lifted the stainless steel to your clit and started rolling his hips. The strokes themselves were relatively gentle, but paired with the ruthless spate of the water, your eyes were nearly rolling to the back of your head at the pulse.

You couldn’t breathe, much less speak. Joel hummed almost apologetically into your hair but didn’t seem sorry at all as he lowered his hand back down to your throat and squeezed. He continued rocking his hips into yours.

“You’ve said it dozens of times before—what’s’a matter?”

Joel Miller knew what the fuck was the matter. He just liked to see you desperate, fucked-out, and teetering on the brink of going feral before he let you reach your peak.

“D-D-D—”

Damn, you sounded stupid.

“D-D-Do you wanna cum? Is that it?” Joel said, mocking your struggle to articulate words as he fucked you.

In spite of your normal no-bullshit attitude toward him, you weren’t in quite the right frame of mind to be talking back to him. You just nodded and moaned, movements constricted by the grip of his fingers on your neck.

“Use those big girl words for me, honey. I know ya can.”

Again, you parted your lips and started to speak, but the oscillation of the water, the brush of his cock, the patently deprecating lilt in Joel’s string of praises, made it nearly impossible. You ended up sputtering again,

“D-D-ah-fuuuckfuckfuck.”

“That ain’t the word I’m looking for.”

But, just as you ventured to say it once more, he cut in,

“Here. Lemme help ya find it.”

Before you could blink, Joel was pistoning his hips against your ass like he had before, only this time, he held the shower head stationary between your legs as you seized and nearly fell to the floor with the force of all the pleasure coursing through you. Your body seemed to act of its own accord, head dropping to Joel’s shoulder and stomach giving an alarmingly fitful pinch as an orgasm tore through you. You couldn’t control how it came or where it went—or how your tongue jumped up and cried,

“Daddy!”

Joel nodded, fucking you through each violent spasm with all the composure and aplomb of a seasoned pro. While your eyes cycled back in the throes of delirium, he held firm and didn’t slow his hips—or the shower head.

You probably could’ve torn a hole through a cinder block if you’d happened to have one between your teeth just then. That was how fervid and merciless the aftershocks of your climax were pulsing through you, exacerbated to the nth degree by the continuity of Joel’s movements. You managed to grab the forearm that was holding the metal nozzle and plead a wild, slightly stifled, “JOEL!”

In truth, you didn’t really want him to stop. It felt too good. You could tell that Joel sensed this, too, because in the instant after that, his lips were sponging kisses to your shoulder, cock working steadily between your walls.

“One more, sweet pea.”

“Joel—”

“And say it louder this time.”

Were you in your right mind, you probably would’ve chided him for being so reckless and stupid about it all. How the fuck could he expect you to scream out loud when your dad was lounging right outside of your room? Did he really think the drone of Cillian Murphy’s smooth, American-ized tone would mask your unbridled moans? Honestly, you couldn’t be sure—and more importantly, you couldn’t be stopped to consider for much longer. With one last trembling vibration from the shower head and a thrust from Joel, you were cumming all over again.

Squeezing his arm, sinking into his sturdy frame, clenching over his cock in what felt like a hundred convulsions, and casting caution aside, you screamed:

“DADDY!”

You might’ve blacked out for a second or two.

Even a minute, as it was, because the next intelligible thing that reached your ears was the thunder of footfalls. And the thrum of Joel’s own hammering heart as he yanked you into his chest and stilled frozen inside you.

The door swung open on its hinges so hard it hit the wall.

“What is it, sweetie?!” your dad yelped.

“I—”

“Are you hurt?”

Just fucked raw by your best friend and shaking, Pops.

You sucked in a breath when Joel nudged your head with his nose and slowly pulled the shower curtain closed to move you out of view of the camera. But it was still there.

Your dad was still there.

The shower walls seemed to be closing in on you, but somehow, you managed, “No, dad, I’m fine! Just…coulda sworn I saw another spider in here, but it was nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

Your dad sounded unconvinced, pacing closer. You could’ve screamed, but Joel was likely holding you too tight to make any such sounds possible in that moment. The two of you recoiled, still stuck chest-to-back, away from the edge of the plastic shower liner when a boot thudded just outside the crack between curtain and wall.

You swallowed. Joel squeezed. Neither of you breathed.

“If it’s another roach, I gotta call the extermin—”

“No! No, it wasn’t a roach. I’m just seein’ things, I think.”

That didn’t seem to make your father feel any better, because he didn’t retreat like he had before. A tense moment fell over the compact, fog-infested room, like the man was chewing away at some thought in his head.

Then he sighed.

“Alright.”

Blissful footsteps away from the shower. You smiled.

Unfortunately, the grin was destined to be short-lived, because in the next instant, you heard boots screech to a halt on the tile. Pivoted, then paused where they stood.

Another gut-wrenching dozen seconds passed, and for one short, chilling moment, you could’ve sworn you felt your father’s gaze sear through the curtain and see you.

But he didn’t see you. Or Joel. Or anyone.

Instead, his gaze was fixed someplace else.

Suddenly, his voice rose above all the awful noises of clamor and panic in your brain, and broke out, loudly,

“What’s my camera doin’ in here?”

[evilgwrl]

Neighbour!Simon Riley x Reader

Girl Next Door (One)

CW: Mutual masturbation ;)

Inspired by Neighbour!Simon

Chapter Two

Your legs perched up across the woven strings of the porch chair, knees littered with blue and black kisses, knotted joints tucked into your chest as you watched the peak of gold settle into a deep blue. Bony fingers laced the pages between parched hands, eyes darting maliciously between words as you hummed to yourself softly.

You were used to being out here alone, an orchestra of bats occasionally sounding out to you as they scurried away into pine trees, nipping between each other.  Your flat, a smaller duplex, was tucked away into a quiet cul-de-sac, away from the hustle and bustle of London life. It was an organised routine, your body succumbing to the night air as you bathed in the comforting atmosphere of the twilight. There was an occasional hum from up the road, the chug of a car passing through, but your interest peaked when the gravel road lit up, headlights streaming towards you as you shielded your eyes.

The sound of the engine frightened you a bit before you adjusted your vision. A large shadow stepped into view, the staggering height of a man peaking your attention before you took in the balaclava flushed against his face, russet eyes covered by a delicate frame of blonde lashes, stained with black face paint staring at you before dropping his head in a curt nod.

You recognised him as your neighbour. Quiet bloke, away often on deployment you presumed, but nether-the-less was a comfort for you. Even at home, it was like he was never there, the occasional echo of hollow boots sounding against the floorboards before they disappeared. He was ghostly, slightly peculiar but you noted him down mainly as mysterious.

You had spoken a few times, sounding good morning as he was outside having a smoke when you were leaving for work. His response was gruff and shallow, a deep voice barking out a short reply before smashing the dart under the rubble of his shoe, calloused hands gripping the door handle.

He walked past you, duffle bag dropped against the porch as he huffed with his keys, bruised knuckles peaking your attention as you glanced at him, framed eyes peering in curiosity.

“Y’ alright?” His tone was curt, a hint of annoyance ringing through as his eyes stained trained on the metal knob, working the key through the hole.

You squeaked out a noise, taken back by him as you adjusted in the chair, feet flat against the floor now. “Yeah, sorry, I’m just not used to you being here, it’s uh, nice for you to be back, less lonely,” you rambled, shuffling your hands awkwardly before you shut yourself up.

He let out a grunt, the noise almost animalistic sounding as he shut the door, his vague appearance shuffling into the quiet of his own home as you sat outside, whispering an expletive under your breath as you prodded at the ecchymosis on your nobbled knees.

Rough hands rubbed at the face paint, gentle soap working into the scorn skin, thickened skin almost melting under the velocity of the scolding water. Simon’s throat was scratchy, the irritating feeling of sandpaper lining his oesophagus as he choked out a cough. Broken blood vessels littered across the scarring of his back and ribs, a splurge of hematoma drawn across the broken skin.

Ivory skin was now painted with falling droplets of water, a scratchy moose-coloured towel adorned his hips as he shook his hair, moist residue landing on the mirror as he rubbed his hands across his face, a soft moan leaving his lips as he prodded the tender knot in his back.  

His home felt foreign, no matter how long he had lived there for.

His bedroom had dusk lighting, a double bed pushed against the flaky walls, the metal rods holding the frame scraping at the paint. A singular pillow to each side perked up against his touch as he layered them, unused linen welcoming him with a slight dusty smell, aching body collapsing into the plushness of the duvet.

He was aware that your bedroom was adjacent to his, your beds pushed directly together on opposite ends. He could hear the subtle creaks of your feet against the floor as you shuffled around, a chair squeaking across the floor as it collided with something before the noise of you walking sounded again. Simon could hear the springs in your bed, an acknowledgement that you were now lying down.

There was a low hum of a fan whirring, the white noise drifting into his room as he stared up at his own, the stagnant noise felt unorthodox, the familiarity of the barracks being the usual for the Lieutenant. Simon’s hands felt weighed down as he moved them from his chest to rest at his side, his breathing shallow as his ears perked at every movement you made.

You were restless, sweaty body tangled between cotton as you adjusted yourself, flinging your blankets off you as you let out gentle pants. You cursed at the lack of air conditioning available in British homes, peeling off your silken pyjama shorts as you flung them somewhere across your bedroom. Your body was hot and achy, the heat settling in even during the night as you turned to the side, beady eyes watching as the wind flickered the branches occasionally. You were tempted to sleep outside at this point, your room feeling like a sauna as you let out a frustrated quip.

There was a subtle ache between your thighs, a dull throbbing ringing through your brain as you attempted to position yourself better, clicking your calves as you rustled around. Tired arms stretched your top over your head as it too met the wraith of your floor, bare breasts perked against your sheets as you closed your eyes, cuddling up against a pillow.

Slumber never succumbed to your heated frame, the drill of your fan almost teasing you as it provided minimum cooling. You spread your legs, sweat prickling over your stretch marks as you moaned in annoyance. Your fingers trailed your slit through the thin fabric, turquoise-coloured panties fading into an aqua as you let out a shaky breath. You felt dirty, the dull throb of your cunt mocking you as needy fingers hooked into the lace, dragging them down the plushness of your thighs before settling at the end of your bed.

You fumbled around in your draw, clumsy fingers feeling around for your bullet vibrator before they rubbed against the silicone. You were sure to be quiet, your hands covering the majority of the vibrations as you nestled it between your folds, collecting the sweetness of your slick before resting it on your achy clit, an instant moan rising at your throat as you tweaked at your nipples.

The hum against your sex wasn’t enough as you sat up, resting the vibrator on your swollen nub as you straddled a pillow, sloppy pussy grinding against it rapidly as you rutted like a dog in heat, chasing your high.

You were a sight for sore eyes, breasts bouncing at your movements as you humped against the cushion, the cheap sex toy sounding against the bundle of nerves as you let out soft whimpers, mouth opened in an ‘o’ shape as you tugged at your hardened nubs that were practically aching against your chest.

It was like you were going through puberty again, squishy sounds squelching from your cunt at the licentious actions, hips getting sloppy as you felt your coil forming, antagonising moans dripping from your lips as you stilled, the silicone pressed sweetly into your clit as you whined into your hand, orgasm ripping through you as you jutted away from the stimulation, collapsing into a heap.

Simon frowned at how quickly your noises were over as a spit-covered cock throbbed in agony, veiny hands jutting around the angry member as he milked himself to the memory of your orgasm, hot splashes of cum spurting against his belly, a thick trail of hair leading down to his softening cock as he cleaned himself up before nestling into the comfort of his sheets and the barely audible hum of your breathing.

[deepspacenova]

a soul cast in shadow

small moments with you that make Sylus realize that maybe the distance between his life with you in Philos and his life with you now aren't as far apart as they seem.

read on ao3

➻➻ ABOUT | 2000 words. sylus x gn!reader.

➻➻ TAGS | light angst. banter. hurt/comfort. modern day. references to Sylus' myth.

NOTE: A small and self-indulgent little thing inspired by this ask. It's also Sylus Month™ and I'm finding that dragon!sylus is plaguing my mind a little more than usual.

Sylus had long since accepted his new reality. The absence of horns and tail, the vulnerability of his missing scales and wings, the dullness of human nails in the places his claws should’ve grown. Gone were the days of flight and fire and fight, towering over civilization and reveling in raw power in his truest form. 

In their place stood the burden of fitting the jagged contours of a dragon’s heart and torn soul into a fragile layer of human flesh.

He’d gotten used to it over time, of course. The phantom traces of those limbs were like smoke after a fire, diluted by air and time until he could inhale with almost no trace of his past self tainting his breath. 

And while he was now indistinguishable from mortals on the surface, could now walk among the sheep in their own clothing, there were a few moments when he couldn’t help but let the past waft through his senses — the clattering sound of bullet shells that reminded him of counting gold, the bitter scent of fear that tempted the predator inside to chase, the feeling of phantom heat curling in his lungs when emotions flared. 

And then there was the sight of you. 

The one who’d once been his treasure and his heart all at once. 

With you the past was a wildfire, a smoke so all-consuming and dense in his lungs that it was almost impossible to concentrate on anything but the past. 

On the way your eyes used to melt around him like sunshine, the way your hands used to gently lay flowers on his horns, the way your lips stamped kisses into his scales. It was bigger than him, this feeling. So tangible, that the thought of you not feeling it across lifetimes never even crossed his mind. 

Maybe he’d been a fool to believe that what you had could transcend time. That what you shared could ever be forgotten. 

But as he ducked his head into your bedroom and took it in for the first time, that foolishness seemed to dissipate before him. 

There was a bookshelf by your bed, acting as more of a display stand for well-worn fantasy novels than book storage. Each cover was beautifully bound, embossed with horned beasts, wings spread in majestic flight. 

Artwork adorned the wall around your desk, displaying dragons of all kinds — fire-breathing beasts, silhouettes flying serenely in the moonlight, oversized reptilian bodies curled protectively around sleeping maidens.

Small figurines of dragons crafted in ceramic, glass, and metal were scattered across surfaces like small sentinels guarding your domain. 

You were surrounded by dragons.

“What are you staring at?” you asked, your voice cutting through his thoughts.

His eyes darted over to you, watching as you tucked your boots into your closet and hung your bag over your desk chair. Loose strands of hair framed your face, damp with the rain drops you got caught in a few minutes ago.

“Your obsession, kitten.” He gestured to a figurine of an onyx-scaled dragon by your door. “Don't you think it's a bit... pervasive?”

You grinned, making your over to him and adjusting it. “I'm not obsessed, I'm fascinated. Dragons are powerful and majestic and protective of what’s theirs. What’s not to like?”

Sylus’ exhale sounded more unsteady to his ears than he was comfortable with. He shook his head in response. “It’s just that most people would stop at a book or two. A statue. You, however…” He glanced around, eyebrows raised, “This is something else entirely.”

Tilting your head, you look up at him with a teasing glint in your eye. “Well that’s rich coming from a man who collects jewels and weapons and displays them in literally any free space he has.” 

Sylus chooses to ignore that, cocking a brow in a wordless question instead.

You ran a hand along the spine of the onyx-scaled dragon between you. Sylus ignored the phantom shiver down his own spine as you continued, “It’s just… always been like this for me. I drew them all the time when I lived with Gran. I even had dreams about dragons. I couldn’t remember anything when I woke up, but it felt so… real when I was asleep.” 

His mind raced with the impossibility of this. Of how, even without knowing, you’d still found a way to remember something about the connection you had with him. Still managed to find the piece of him he gave to you.

You’d surrounded yourself with a synthetic imitation of those memories and yet, you were entirely unaware that you were standing before the only dragon that you’d ever truly owned. 

It was after a long mission that Sylus found himself tending to your wounds. 

He knew it had been a good call to invite himself along when you’d mentioned it was on the outskirts of the N109 zone, no matter how many times you’d protested otherwise. Your missions were becoming more frequent, he’d noticed. The Wanderers more aggressive. Tonight had been no exception. 

And while his wounds and scrapes had mostly healed themselves, yours were still bleeding by the time you both made it back to the safety of your flat.

Uninterested in craning his neck while he tended to you — or in verbally sparring with your protests — he closed his fingers over each side of your waist, lifted you onto the corner of the bathroom counter, and turned you to face the wall, opening the gash on the back of your shoulder to his view.

“Sit still,” he muttered, dabbing a wet cloth over the torn skin.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, hissing at the scrape of contact.

“You’re still bleeding, sweetie,” he shot back, unimpressed but unsurprised. “That’s the opposite of fine.”

You grumbled something under your breath but let him work. He couldn’t help but study the way your muscles flexed under your skin, a tapestry of tendons and sinew that weaved together to move you through the world delicately, gracefully.

A complete contrast to the way Sylus moved through the world. He plowed through it, direct and forceful, conquering anything that didn’t move out of his way in time.

You were flesh and bone, more fragile than most, yet full of fire. Sylus was a creature of violence, fierce and unyielding. And yet here, with you, he was something pliant, something… softer.

With you he felt a need to shield, to hold close, to be the one to move you out of the way. And with every pass of his fingers, he realized he would conquer the world itself if it meant preserving you from harm. 

It wasn’t until he reached into your cabinet for the bandages that he saw it. An inked dragon flying across the middle of your back, tucked under the sheet of your hair and normally hidden beneath your clothes. 

His hand, which had paused mid-air, tightened around the bandages he held as he took it in. 

Its wings were extended, its tail coiling down the knobs of your spine. The details were intricate, painstakingly precise, as if the artist had been given detailed instructions on the way you wanted to memorialize this particular beast. 

But it was the shape, the tilt of the horns and the familiar pattern of the scales that zapped a bolt of something through him. Something sharp and aching. Something like… homesickness.

Noticing his lack of movement, you craned your neck and teased, “Everything okay back there?”

Sylus forced his limbs to move again. Though he swore he could feel blood surging through his veins slightly quicker than it had a moment ago, within one blink, his expression returned to its usual casual stoicism. 

“Just admiring the view, kitten,” he drawled. He leaned in, so close that his nose nearly brushed against yours, your breath warm against his lips. The slight lowering of your lids told him he’d succeeded — you’d forgotten his brief hesitation.

“Now, sit still,” he murmured, nudging your chin with his finger until you faced the wall again. “And don’t make me say it a third time.”

The sight of the tattoo had struck him harder than he expected, a visceral reminder of the past you had shared. You had no memory of it, of him, but some part of your soul had clung to the essence of that lifetime. This tattoo was proof.

As he resumed tending to your wound, you remained still, breathing even despite the sting of antiseptic in the air. All the while the dragon on your skin seemed to watch him, its eyes eerily alive in the dim light.

“Nice ink,” he said casually, finally breaking the silence.

You smiled faintly. “He’s beautiful isn’t he? I got it done a few years ago. Remember those dreams? This dragon was always there like I’d… seen him before? Figured if he wasn’t going to stop haunting me, I might as well keep him close.”

Sylus swallowed down the words forming in his mouth and made his focus narrow to the simple ministrations of tending to you. Wiping away the last of the antiseptic. Gently pinching the torn flesh together, securing it with a butterfly bandage. Placing a bigger bandage over your shoulder blade. Savoring your breath hitching when his fingers grazed the sensitive skin of your side.

He could say nothing—what would be the point? It wasn’t his place to force memories upon you that you no longer held. Telling you the truth would only confuse you, or worse, push you away. And after all this time, after everything, losing you again was not something he was willing to risk.

So he simply said, “It suits you.”

You huffed a surprised laugh. “It does?”

He’d already come close once when he’d first found you again. Before he realized that not only did you not remember him, you didn’t remember yourself.

“Hm.” A small twitch of his lips. “You’ve got a lot in common. Stubborn. Dangerous. A tendency to leave a trail of destruction in your wake…”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed. “If anything, I clean up your destruction.”

He’d searched for you across lifetimes, certain that when he found you, you would look at him and know. That something in your mind would stir, that your heart would recognize his, that the piece of his soul within yours would call out to you. 

But when your eyes first met his in this lifetime, there had been no flicker of recognition, no echo of the bond that had once tethered you together. You didn’t look at him like his sorceress, not even like his archnemesis. You’d glowered at him, angry and disgusted, like every other human that had ever set eyes upon him. 

You turned to face him when you no longer felt his touch on your shoulder, giving him an unguarded, eye-level view of the happiness that conjured your smile. “So if I’m the dragon.” You nudged his knee with yours. “What does that make you?”

It had been a cruelty he hadn’t been prepared for. To find you again, only to realize you had been wiped clean of everything you once were. The memories, the love, the weight of all that you had been to each other — gone. 

But after all this time, after finding you only to realize the past was his burden to remember, he knew some things were better left unspoken. 

Some part of you had brought the dragon back, only in your mind, on the surface of your skin. And if that was all he could have, he won’t risk losing it.

“Maybe we’re both dragons,” he mused, hiking your shirtsleeve back over your shoulder. Tucking away your source of pain. Tucking away his. “Maybe we’re meant to be stubborn and dangerous together.” He wrapped an arm around you, laying his palm over the resting place of the ink-born dragon. “And the things we thought we destroyed just cleared the way for a kingdom of our own.”

[targaryen-dynasty]

STRESS RELIEF.

Daemon Targaryen x female!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; implied canon typical incest/ targcest (no named relationship other than husband & wife but reader speaks high valyrian), oral (m receiving), balls sucking, balls worship, cock slapping, breeding kink, fem reader (no mentions of appearance)

WORDS: 2.9 K

NOTES: I KNOW I said you won't get anything from me for the next two weeks, but this is an old story I love and edited, and I'm always in the mood to suck his balls. Ty Lana @zaldritzosrose 🤍

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞����𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

The door to your chambers bursting open with a thud, the thick wood slamming against the old masonry of Maegor’s Holdfast, is what forcefully pulls you out of your slumber.

As your eyes shoot open, you need a few seconds to adjust to the dim light of your chambers, the flame of the fireplace long extinguished and indicating it’s been a while since you found sleep.

Every sense of tiredness that has lingered in your bones vanishes suddenly at the noisy intrusion, more so as you spot the armor-clad silhouette of your husband standing at the threshold of your marital quarters.

He appears to be even more bulky and bull-like with the natural broadness of his shoulders accentuated by the heavy armor and the golden cloak, and just that sight alone has an aching desire filling your veins.

It’s the closer look you take that makes you aware of his labored breathing, chest rising and falling with heaving breaths, almost seeming as though he’s in great stress.

Whenever Daemon barges into your chambers at this hour, still wearing his armor, you know he needs to be consoled and pampered.

“Husband?” Your soft voice finally pierces through the silence, still thick with sleep from being awoken so abruptly.

A few, determined strides is all it takes him to enter the room, closing the door behind him as loudly as he’s opened it before. Although you know something is plaquing his mind, and that he’s not usually as harsh towards you as this, you still flinch at the thud.

Sitting up straight with the bedcovers bunched in front of your breasts, you have a puzzled look on your face. One of the few things Daemon has established fairly early into your marriage was the strict prohibition of you wearing any kind of smallclothes or nightgowns to bed, as he wants you to lie just as bare next to him as he always does.

He always states that there are quite a few practical reasons for it, with easier and quicker access to your cunt being the main one of them. Albeit you know for certain that he just loves to feel your skin on his when he falls asleep, solely embraced by the warmth and softness of your body snuggled up against his.

Clashing of metal accompanies his heavy footsteps as he approaches you, stern gaze fixed on your small frame.

The closer he gets, the more you are able to make out his chiseled features with long strands of his silver-blonde hair framing them perfectly. Even in the almost non-existent light of your chambers you notice the dark blown eyes, the adored lilac almost fully eclipsed by pitch black.

“Va aōha ybon,” he rasps, voice deep and commanding, and leaving no space for any kind of objection. On your knees.

You comply swiftly, the bedcovers thrown aside to reveal your naked form. A somewhat feral growl ripples through your husband’s chest at the sight, the curves and dips of your body enhanced by the light the moon casts through the windows.

The stone floor feels cold and hard as you sink to your knees, causing you to shift your weight from one knee to the other and back, trying to mend the discomfort at least slightly.

It usually requires your help to strip him off his heavy armor, but much to your surprise, Daemon manages to shred himself out of the majority of it all by himself, driven by sheer lust and hunger for you.

Where his silver hair is usually well combed and neat, the loose tresses now cascade down his shoulders and back visibly tousled and dirty.

Your hands lie folded in your lap, thumbs brushing over each other in a way to keep yourself calm. You have been married to Daemon for two summers, but know his silence never means anything good. It is threatening, and more often than not getting you into trouble, because he always has something to say.

As he stands in front of you in his full glory, only clad in a pair of dark breeches and a loose tunic, you hesitantly reach to place a hand on his sturdy thigh while his hand cups your cheek in return. Finding yourself leaning into the touch, you’re quickly repulsed as you catch a whiff of what smells like sweat, dirt and… iron.

“What have you done today?“ you ask innocently, though you aren’t sure if you want to hear his reply – that means if you even get one.

While the pad of his thumb brushes over the curve of your lips, his other hand slowly unlaces the front of his breeches, easing the confines of his half-hard member, and causing a wave of arousal to seep out of your cunt, anticipation making it clench around nothing.

“Oh, we have restored law and order,“ he purrs, the cocky smirk on his lips indicating that he’s more than satisfied with the outcome of it all. “The Kingsguard cleaned the streets from the city‘s scum.“

Listening intently, you just nod in acknowledgement, not at all surprised by your husband‘s actions. “And does the king know you did that?“

“I do not care if the king knows or not,“ he spits, impatiently tugging the front of his breeches down just enough to free his cock and stones. “He is blind, guided by the incompetent leech that claims to be his hand.“

A musky scent hits your nose when you catch sight of his thick cock. His musky scent, mixed with the salty smell of sweat. It has you licking your lips like a greedy whore, and if anything, you love it. It’s a sharp reminder that you have married a hardworking and ambitious man, and not a boy.

Your hand instinctively curls around his member, your index finger and thumb barely touching. His girth has always been something that impresses you. He’s considerable, leaving you wondering at times how it even fits into your mouth and cunt.

You slowly tug him to full hardness, stroking him the way you know he likes, even though your pace is a bit slower than usual. You listen to him rant about his brother, and the insolence of his hand, Otto Hightower, merely humming whenever your husband expects you to.

Once his cock stands to full attention, throbbing in your hand, you release it and instead fondle his stones, heavy and hot in your hand. The fleshy pouch they sit in is a bit darker than the rest of his pale skin and visibly sagged, but doesn’t hang too low.

Your actions earn a disapproving tsk from Daemon, despite the visible twitching of his cock at the new stimulation, and he wastes no time in fisting a good bit of your hair to shove your face towards his crotch. The scent is more prominent the closer you get, but not at all repulsing. Instead, it arouses you even more.

You’re not sure if it’s Daemon‘s usual lack of patience or his abnormal obsession with the king and his entourage that makes him greedy and needy for your touch, but you decide to not give in to him so easily.

Gently squeezing and fondling the sack of his stones, your tongue licks a flat stripe from the base of his member up to the bulbous tip of it. A salty taste lingers on your tongue, the few beads of his arousal quickly gathered and swallowed by you. You hum appreciatively at the taste, seemingly pleased to witness the affect your touch and presence has on your husband‘s body.

A sharp tug on your hair catches your attention and makes you yelp, your wide eyes finding your husband‘s demanding ones. “Quit playing games,“ he growls. A warning. But he should know by now that you are not one of his hounds, and what works with them doesn’t necessarily intimidate you.

Your tongue swirls around the tip of his cock, kitten-licking it until his heavy pants are replaced by annoyed huffs and grunts. Daemon doesn’t like you teasing him – not when he craves relief.

You keep your eyes neatly trained on him, studying his changing expressions to know whenever you’re playing with fire, and when it is best to follow his commands. Switching the positions of your mouth and hand, warmth brushes your face before the familiar musk seeps into your head.

Closing your eyes as all your senses are clouded by him, you latch on Daemon’s sac of stones, nuzzling your nose into the dark, coarse hair to take one of them in your mouth. Low purrs ripple from your throat, sending vibrations through his body.

You haven’t noticed, but your thighs clench and unclench repeatedly with each suck of your mouth, trying to soothe the aching settling at the apex of your legs. However, it doesn’t grant you the friction you crave.

“My, my, now look at that,“ Daemon coos. “Sucking my stones like a common whore. So desperate to have your mouth filled by me, hm?“

The condescending tone of his voice sends shivers up your spine, and you keen at the degrading nature of his words, moaning around his slightly slacked flesh.

Daemon is unable to tear his dark blown eyes from your full mouth struggling to take both of his stones. You’re trying so hard, but your mouth isn’t slack enough, causing you to nearly choke yourself trying to please him.

Droplets of your saliva dribble from the corners of your mouth down your chin, gathering in your jugular notch, and really making you look like you belong to the Street of Silk; a common whore desperate for her mouth to be stuffed by something, and not caring if it was filled by his stones or cock.

While you are messily suckling the sack of his stones, you tease a few licks up his length, tracing the prominent vein on the underside of it with the tip of your tongue.

You relish in the way he twitches and squirms under your touch, the deep grunts only spurring you on even more. But you also are soaked for him, core clenching and aching, begging to be used.

Daemon has started to tug himself off at the sight of your lips around his flesh, big hand the perfect size for his considerable length, while his other tightly fists into your hair to keep you where he wants you.

You hollow your cheeks around him, sucking with the tip of your tongue dragging over the sensitive skin. The familiar taste of manhood lingers on your tongue, and your jaw goes slack, finally managing to engulf his whole sac with your mouth. But when you try to pull away for a breath, Daemon only snorts and pulls you right back to his stones.

He harshly tugs on your hair, tilting your head back so you are forced to look at him when he slaps his hard cock against your face. Your saliva adds a sheen to his flushed skin, making him glisten in the dim light, and catches your attention, your eyes trailing over the length of his cock – you want nothing more than to feel those veins on your tongue.

As his cock repeatedly makes contact with your swollen lips and cheeks, the indecency of it all sends heat straight through your body, for it’s the first time he has ever done something like that.

Daemon bows forward, looming over your frame but coming close enough for you to feel his breath fanning over your face. Goosebumps prickle on your skin, and his intense lilac eyes send desire straight to your jumbled mind.

“What a wanton harlot you are,” his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Whores of the Silk Street do such things.”

While his degrading words go straight to your head, making you eager for more, you still cower beneath his dominating presence. “Yn ao hae ziry,” you reply, cocking your head sideways in an innocent way. But you like it.

It seems that your feigned innocence doesn’t convince him, because you suddenly feel something warm and wet dripping down your cheeks; his saliva. He has spat on your cheek, spreading it over your heated skin with a satisfied smirk ghosting over his features. Daemon rarely enjoys having you talk back at him, to tease him, and right now clearly isn’t one of those moments.

At the realization of what he’s just done, you feel your voice tighten in your throat, your lips pressing into a thin line as embarrassment floods your veins.

“Gaoman, yn…,” he muses, bending back and tracing the tip of his length along the slit of your pouty lips. “...nyke hae ziry tolī skori gaomā daor ȳdragon rȳ mirre.” With these words leaving his lips, his cock hits your cheek once again, almost as if he’s making fun of you. I do, but I like it more when you do not speak at all.

The grip on your hair loosens only for him to cup your cheek, fingertips digging sharply into the flushed skin of your cheeks. His other hand repeatedly taps the tip of his cock against your swollen lips in a demanding manner, begging for entrance.

“Open your mouth, or else I am opening it for you.”

You wet your lips, just the mere thought of having him down your throat causes a sense of soreness to linger in the back of it, and Daemon seems to notice your apprehension.

“I see your mouth begging for my cock, you filthy slut. Don’t act like an insufficient brat for you have done this plenty of times before.” He is right, but that doesn’t mean you’ll ever get used to his sheer size. Your thoughts, however, are cut short because Daemon isn’t Daemon, if he doesn’t take matters into his own hands.

The tip of his cock prods against your lips, and with the grip on your face tightening, you are all but forced to part them for him. There’s only little to no time to adjust to his size granted to you, because he sheaths himself inside of you in one, swift thrust.

A few seconds pass in which neither of you moves. Your nose is nuzzled against his pubic bone, the tip of it brushing the wispy trail of his hair, and you try to stifle the urge to gag and choke around him, your hands getting ahead with clutching his muscular thighs to keep yourself grounded.

Every muscle of his body twitches with pleasure as he grows accustomed to the warmth and tightness of you, his head tipping back to release a bawdy groan.

And then his hips start to buck into your mouth, allowing a wave of fresh air to fill your lungs when he almost completely pulls out; only the tip remaining embraced between your lips. A firm hand locks behind your head to stop you from pulling back.

Daemon’s hips thrust into your mouth with reckless abandon like he belonged into it, the bulbous tip hitting the back of your throat but never giving you anything you can’t handle. He knows you can take it, and that you like it.

The lewd noises of his soaked cock easing in and out of your warm mouth fill the room, spurring him on even more. At this point, you are soaking wet for him, droplets of your arousal leaking onto the stone floor beneath your legs.

Your cheeks hollow around him as you choke and sputter around his length, spit dribbling down your chin and bosom. His stones tighten with his cock throbbing on your tongue, ready to spend himself down your throat at any given moment, your previous teasing clearly coming in handy.

There are tears brimming in your eyes, unhelpful when all you want is to look up at him, watch how he scrunches his brow and puckers his lips as he gazes at you in rapture.

“That’s it,” Daemon groans, the pace of his hips faltering as he chases his release. “Take it all.” And that is when you felt it.

His hot seed spills down your throat, coating your tongue. You gag slightly when his hips start to stutter, cock twitching and pulsing with the force of his peak. Droplets of his seed spill from the corners of your mouth, mixing with your saliva and dribbling down your chin while you struggle to swallow the rest.

Nonsense spews out of his mouth as his groans grow more wanton, no doubt losing awareness of his volume. You are destined to be the main topic of the court's whispers in the morrow, just like your mother and father have been before you.

His fingers comb through your hair slowly, stroking your head as if he’s thanking you for a job well done, while he rides out his peak with languid thrusts of his hips.

When he finally stops to regain his composure, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath he takes, he allows you to pull back from him, a string of your saliva connecting your swollen lips with the bulbous head of his cock, only breaking as you lick your lips to gather the remnants of his spent.

“Ñuha sȳz riña,” he rasps, pulling you up on your feet to capture your lips in a heated kiss. The taste of him on your tongue spreads over his tongue and causes him to groan. My good girl.

Like a man possessed, he flips you around and easily throws you onto your marital bed. When you land on your stomach with him following closely behind, mounting you and straddling your arse, you squeal and chuckle, ecstatic that it’s finally your turn.

“Tonight is the night I shall put a child into you. I want to see your body swell with my seed.”

Daemon Taglist: @barbiedragon @hypocritic-trash-baby @schniiipsel @avalyaaa @baizzhu @yn-jackson

[moonlitsmile]

burning desire 2

hwang in-ho x f!reader

꣑୧ — 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐/𝟑 . the next day means a new game, that game being mingle. In-ho is determined to keep you safe, Even if that means killing somebody for yoy..

The familiar sound of classical-like music echoed through the speakers as morning arrived, signaling the start of another day. Some of the players were already awake, their movements faint and sluggish, but most remained sound asleep, lost in the brief respite of dreams. Her eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the dim light of the room as it brightened, the main lights turning on. A soft yawn escaped her lips as she stared up at the underside of the bunk above her. Still in this hellhole, she thought bitterly. But despite the grim reality of her situation, a small part of her remained curious—what would today’s game be? What kind of twisted trial awaited them?The music continued to play, its familiar melody filling the space. She had grown tired of hearing it every morning, but, strangely enough, it carried a sense of calm, almost soothing in its predictability. Rolling off the thin mattress beneath her, she let her feet hit the cold floor. The black metal frame of the bunk bed loomed above her as she rubbed her eyes. They still felt heavy, her body reluctant to wake fully.

“The third game will begin momentarily,” the woman’s voice announced over the speaker system, cutting through the music. “All players, please get out of bed and get ready. Let me repeat…” The instructions droned on, but she barely listened, sighing softly instead. Around her, the others were beginning to stir, groaning and stretching as they reluctantly pulled themselves out of their beds. Her gaze, however, immediately sought out In-ho. As always, he was already awake, sitting silently on the black metal frame of an empty bunk, his posture calm and composed. She had never seen him sleep in. Did he even get tired like the rest of them? Or was he simply too restless to rest? She couldn’t help but wonder.

Her own eyes were still soft and sleepy as she yawned again, covering her mouth with one hand while the other reached up to rub the lingering drowsiness away. When her vision cleared, she noticed In-ho’s eyes on her. Startled, she froze for a moment. His gaze was gentler than she expected, almost warm in contrast to the cold and detached demeanor he usually carried. It caught her off guard. She hesitated, but then a small, shy smile tugged at her lips as she looked away nervously. Her hands instinctively went to her head, smoothing down her messy hair in a vain attempt to compose herself. She sighed quietly, trying to shake off the awkwardness of the moment. It was time to focus.

~

The doors of the large elevator slid open with a soft chime, revealing the vast room where their next game awaited. The woman’s voice, calm yet unnerving, echoed through the speaker system, pulling their attention forward. “Welcome to your next game. The game you will be playing is mingle.” Her voice lingered in the air as they hesitated. As the group began to step out of the elevator, her eyes darted around the room, scanning her surroundings. She walked hesitantly, trailing behind the others as they entered a large, dimly lit room. It was a peculiar space, dominated by a giant spinning platform in the center. Fifty differently colored doors lined the walls, creating an almost surreal atmosphere. The platform itself resembled a carousel, but instead of horses or whimsical decorations, it was an unadorned spinning disk—a foreboding centerpiece for the task ahead.

Her breath caught slightly as she surveyed the room, nerves bubbling under the surface. Mingle. The name struck a chord. She had played something similar before, but she wasn’t confident in her skills. The memory of it only made her chest tighten further. Her hands fidgeted slightly as she tried to focus. Who wouldn’t be nervous in a situation like this? The stakes were far too high. She didn’t want to die. The woman’s voice cut through her thoughts again, crisp and unyielding. “Let me repeat, the game you will be playing is mingle.” The repetition didn’t soothe her; it only added to the weight in the air. Around her, the rest of the group exchanged uneasy glances, the tension palpable. Some admired the room’s dim, elegant design, but beneath aesthetics lay the truth: the games were anything but beautiful.

“All players, please step onto the center platform," the woman’s voice instructed. The words hung in the air like a command that couldn’t be disobeyed. “When the game starts, the platform will begin to rotate, and you will hear a number. You must form groups of that size. Go into that room and close the door within thirty seconds.” The instructions seemed deceptively simple, but the reality of executing them in the heat of adrenaline and chaos was another matter entirely. Her stomach twisted as she imagined the chaos that was sure to unfold.

“Oh, this game? We used to play something similar on school trips. We formed groups by hugging,” Jung-bae commented with a nervous laugh. The attempt at lightheartedness felt thin, but it broke the silence. “I’ve played before too,” she chimed in softly, her voice barely audible. “Yeah, except instead of hugging, we go into those rooms,” Dae-ho added, his tone carrying a mix of dread and resignation. Her gaze lingered on the platform’s dim lights and the odd pony-like figures scattered in the center, their presence oddly unsettling. In-ho’s eyes, however, remained fixed on her. He observed her closely, his expression unreadable. She had no idea who he truly was or the depth of his role in all of this. To her, he was just another participant. But to him, she was far more than that. He was a player in his own game, yet his thoughts were consumed with her safety. He was determined to protect her, no matter what.

“If the number is bigger than five, we’ll find the additional people we need.” Gi-hun said as glanced at everyone, trying to offer some semblance of leadership. Dae-ho frowned, his concern evident. “But what if it’s smaller than five? Like three or four?” The question hung in the air, heavy with implications. “No matter what happens, don’t panic. Let’s stay calm,” In-ho advised, his voice steady and reassuring. Her eyes instinctively flicked toward him, drawn by his calm demeanor. He seemed to carry an air of certainty, as if he already knew the outcome of the game. How could he remain so composed in a place like this? The thought lingered in her mind, distracting her momentarily. She shook her head, trying to refocus. She couldn’t afford to be distracted—not now. She had to survive. As the group began moving toward the platform, her steps felt heavier with each passing moment. The platform loomed ahead, its surface wide enough to accommodate all the players. She walked alongside In-ho, her presence near him both comforting and unsettling. Jung-bae flanked her other side, his expression tense. Once on the platform, everyone lined up in uneven rows, spreading out from the center to the edges. Her hands trembled slightly, betraying her nerves. She sighed shakily, trying to steady herself, but the anxiety clawed at her composure. In-ho glanced down at her, noticing the slight tremor in her hands as she patted them against her thigh in an attempt to calm herself.

“It’s gonna be alright... don’t think about it too much,” he said softly, his voice a gentle reassurance. She glanced up at him, her soft eyes meeting his. A small nod was all she could muster as she whispered, “Okay.” Her gaze dropped back down to her feet, the stillness of the platform beneath them grounding her for a fleeting moment. “Let the game begin,” the woman’s voice announced over the speaker, breaking the fragile silence. Her breath hitched as the platform beneath them trembled, a faint vibration signaling the beginning of movement. Slowly, it started to spin. Gasps rippled through the group as the sudden motion caught many off guard. She stumbled slightly, the unexpected shift throwing her balance. Instinctively, her hand reached out, brushing against In-ho’s before gripping it firmly. She hadn’t meant to grab his hand—it was a force of habit. Her cheeks burned as she realized what she had done. Nervously, she glanced up at him, her face flushed.

In-ho looked down at her, a faint smile playing on his lips. Without hesitation, he held her hand, his touch steady and reassuring. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, a silent promise that he would keep her safe. For a moment, her fear subsided, replaced by the brief comfort of his presence. But the platform continued to spin, and the game had only just begun. The lights in the middle of the platform shut off, dimmer lights above them flickering as they turned on. She glanced up nervously, her breath uneven. She was still slightly jittery, her hands trembling as she tried to calm herself. The atmosphere was heavy, a strange tension hanging in the air. Then, a children’s song began to play softly across the room, the whimsical melody contrasting eerily with the silence. “Round and round, let’s go in circles and dance,” sang the cheerful voice in the music, the lyrics echoing faintly. The platform beneath them began to spin, slow at first but gradually picking up speed. Everybody remained quiet, their gazes fixated on the room and the spinning platform, the only sound being the haunting children’s tune.

There were 255 players alive now. The number loomed in her mind, a reminder of how quickly the others had disappeared. A slight shake ran through the platform beneath them, causing ripples of unease among the participants. Without warning, the platform came to an abrupt halt, throwing some people off balance. reader stumbled, nearly losing her footing. In-ho’s hands darted out instinctively, gently steadying her before she could fall. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but the adrenaline coursing through her veins quickly overshadowed it. She glanced at him briefly.

“Ten.” The woman’s voice over the speaker rang out. The room plunged into darkness as the lights cut off, replaced by a deep, warm purplish glow that filled the space. Frantic yells erupted around them, the quiet spell broken as chaos descended. People scattered in all directions, searching for others to team up with. Groups were forming hastily, the countdown ticking away in everyone’s minds. Y/N and the rest of her small group huddled together tightly. There were five of them—they needed five more. Reader her voice shaky from nerves, hurried over to the group next to them. “H-how many of you guys are there?” she asked urgently, her words spilling out in a rush. “Four,” Hyun-ju replied quickly, her expression just as panicked. “That makes us nine,” Jung-bae added, his voice edged with tension.

Another random group of five approached them in a frenzy. “Are you a group of five? So are we. Come with us!” one of them shouted, their tone insistent. They reached out, as if to pull them along, but before they could join, another group swooped in.

“Hey, we have five people too! Come on, come with us!” the second group said, tugging the first group away with them. Now, Y/N’s group and the group of four were left behind, still one person short. Panic set in as the seconds ticked away. “We have to hurry! There’s no time, Gi-hun!” In-ho called out, his voice rising above the growing noise. “We need one more!” Hyun-ju yelled, her eyes darting around frantically. Then, she spotted a woman standing off to the side. Without hesitation, she sprinted toward her, grabbing her arm. “We have ten now!” she shouted triumphantly.

“Room 44! Green door!” Gi-hun yelled back.

“Run!” Jung-bae added, his voice urgent.

reader ran with everyone, her heart pounding as fear and adrenaline surged through her. The group spilled into the room, the door slamming shut behind them. She leaned against the wall, breathing heavily and shakily. A small beep sounded, signaling that time was up. The door locked with a resounding click, trapping them inside. She wasn’t standing far from In-ho, her eyes instinctively drawn to the small opening in the door. Peering through, she could see the couple of remaining people who hadn’t managed to find a group. Her stomach twisted as she watched a guards approach them. The loud, sharp sound of gunshots rang out, echoing through the room as the players were executed one by one. Her eyes softening into ones of sympathy and remorse. A guy in front of their door catching her by surprise. “Please don’t shoot me!” He said, before getting shot right in the head. Right in front of her eyes through the opening in the door. She flinched at the sudden close noise, gasping softly as her body tensed. She stumbled slightly, bumping into In-ho by accident. Startled, she jumped and quickly turned around to face him. “I’m sorry,” she said gently, her voice trembling. Her nerves were getting the better of her, and it showed. In-ho’s eyes were locked on her, his dark but strangely gentle gaze steady. “Are you okay?” he asked lightly, his voice calm despite the chaos that had just unfolded. She nodded quickly, avoiding his eyes as she tried to compose herself. She didn’t want to look out the door anymore. The image of those left behind was burned into her mind, and she knew it would haunt her long after this moment had passed.

The lights then turned back on. The light beeps of what sounded like a forklift echoed softly in the tense silence. The woman’s voice came through the speaker once again, calm and detached as always. “The following players have been eliminated. Players 013, 043, 049, 054, 060.” She continued listing numbers in a monotone voice, the names blending together as the players in the room exchanged wary glances. This round had been brutal, far more challenging than the others. For some, it seemed almost impossible. After a few minutes, the guards began clearing the room, efficiently removing the lifeless bodies, placing them in boxes, and wheeling them away on carts. A buzz suddenly filled the air, signaling the unlocking of the door. “All players, please step back onto the platform,” the woman’s voice commanded over the speaker. The room collectively sighed, the heavy weight of the situation pressing down on everyone. Dae-ho moved toward the door, opening it as the group shuffled out.

Reader followed hesitantly, still shaken from the events of the previous round. Her mind raced, replaying the chaos. She clenched her fists, reminding herself to stay focused. Caution wasn’t enough anymore; speed was her only option. Quick and fast—that was the strategy now. She walked back onto the platform, her gaze lingering on the dark stains of blood smeared across the ground. A chill ran down her spine. She couldn’t end up like them. She wouldn’t. The thought alone made her stomach churn. In-ho trailed not far behind her, his sharp eyes watching her every move as she returned to the platform with the others. He noticed the slight tilt of her head as she glanced around nervously, trying to take in her surroundings. He could sense her fear, and though he hated to admit it, it bothered him. He didn’t want her to feel this way—even if he knew part of it was his fault. Still, he cared more about her safety than her feelings at the moment. For him, that was all that mattered.

Everyone lined up back on the large platform once more. The overhead lights flickered before dimming, casting faint shadows across their faces. The platform trembled slightly, causing several players to stumble as they tried to steady themselves. Reader felt her balance falter but managed to catch herself just in time. She instinctively glanced to her side, expecting to see In-ho, but he wasn’t there. Instead, he had moved to stand in front of her, next to Gi-hun. She watched as the two men exchanged hurried whispers, likely trying to strategize about the next number. The eerie music began to play once again, a mocking tune that felt out of place amidst the tension. The platform creaked as it began to move beneath their feet. “We will go hand in hand, and have fun jumping around. Round and round—” The sudden jerk of the platform stopping caused gasps to ripple through the group. Some players stumbled again, their nerves frayed.

“Four,” the woman’s voice announced over the speaker, cold and emotionless. The lights flickered off, replaced by the dim, purplish glow that seemed to swallow the room. readers heart quickened as she scanned the crowd for familiar faces. “Your four, go!” Gi-hun shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. “No, it’s okay! I’ll go find another group. I’m sure there’s another nearby,” reader yelled, trying to make herself heard over the noise. In-ho’s expression darkened at her words, his jaw tightening. He couldn’t let her run off—not when the chances of finding another group were slim. “No. You four go. Go ahead,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“B-but—” reader stammered, her voice trembling. She didn’t want to leave him. What if something happened to him? The thought was unbearable. “Go,” In-ho said strictly, turning away before she could respond. Without another word, he disappeared into the frenzied crowd, searching for another group. Reader watched him go, her chest tightening with worry. She wanted to call out to him, to stop him, but before she could, Jung-bae gently grabbed her arm. “We have no choice. Let’s go!” he urged, pulling her toward the purple-lit room. The four of them rushed inside, the door slamming shut behind them. Reader exhaled shakily, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Her eyes immediately went to the crack in the door, straining to catch a glimpse of In-ho. Her heart raced as she scanned the chaotic scene outside. People were yelling, running for rooms, and the flashing lights made it nearly impossible to focus. She couldn’t spot him in the sea of bodies.

The buzzer sounded again, signaling the end of the round. The lock on the door clicked into place, and the unmistakable sound of rapid gunfire filled the air. Reader flinched, her back pressing against the cold wall behind her. Her heart pounded as the adrenaline coursed through her veins. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to steady her breathing. How many more rounds could she survive? How many rounds were left? The question lingered in her mind, heavy and unanswerable. The lights flickered before tuning back on, the clicking sounds of every door unlocking echoing through the space. As the mechanisms released, each door swung open, and people began stepping out cautiously. Blood smeared across the floor, more than before, a grim reminder of what had just occurred. The guards moved swiftly, disposing of the bodies with practiced efficiency, clearing the way before unlocking the remaining doors. It was then that **reader** stepped out, her breath shaky but steady enough. Her eyes darted around the vast room, scanning frantically for in-ho. Where was he? She pushed forward, her nerves on edge, walking alongside dae-ho, jung-bae, and gi-hun. The group stopped just outside the door, their expressions tense, voices rising as they began calling out for in-ho.

“Young-il!” Dae-ho shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth to project his voice louder. “Young-il?” Jung-bae called out, his tone edged with concern. reader glanced around nervously, her heart pounding against her ribs. Her wide, soft eyes flickered with worry as her gaze swept the room. Then, finally, she heard it—a familiar voice that made her heart skip a beat. “Gi-hun.” The voice was steady, calm, and unmistakable.

She turned sharply in the direction of the voice, and there he was. In-ho was walking back towards the group, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Relief washed over her like a wave, softening her expression as a sweet smile replaced her anxious frown. “Young-il!” Dae-ho called out again, this time with a breathy chuckle of relief. “Oh, thank god,” Jung-bae muttered, his tone heavy with gratitude as he stepped forward to embrace in-ho in a tight hug. In-ho stood beside reader, his presence grounding her in the moment. She let out a gentle chuckle, watching as Jung-bae clung to him briefly before stepping back. “I was worried,” Gi-hun admitted, his voice sincere, though tinged with a rare softness. “I’m glad you made it.”

Reader remained still, her gaze fixed on in-ho. Her eyes, wide and tender, were filled with a mixture of relief and unspoken gratitude. “I’m a likeable guy,” In-ho said with a light chuckle, his tone playful yet modest. “So I’m good at games like this.” A small smile broke across her lips as she watched him, her heart settling into a more even rhythm. In-ho’s gaze shifted then, turning towards her. His eyes, which had moments before been sharp and focused, now softened as they met hers. There was something gentle in his expression, a quiet concern that made her chest feel warm. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice light and unusually soft, as though he feared startling her. “Yes… I’m okay,” she replied, her tone quiet but sincere. “I’m glad you made it.” Her lips curved into a sweet, gentle smile, one that carried all her relief and gratitude in its simplicity. In-ho smiled back, the corners of his mouth lifting in a way that felt personal, almost intimate. His eyes, filled with affection and care, lingered on her for a moment longer before he sighed lightly and turned his attention back to the group. “All players, please step back onto the center platform,” the woman’s voice rang out again, cutting through the moment. It was calm, detached, and yet insistent, as though reminding them that their reprieve was only temporary. Reader took a deep breath, her smile fading only slightly as she prepared herself for whatever came next. Beside her, in-ho remained steady, his presence a small comfort amidst the tension that hung in the air like a storm cloud.

~

Two rounds had passed, and now it was the final round. The remaining players hesitated for a moment before stepping back onto the platform. Tension filled the room as everyone prepared themselves for what was to come. Reader moved to walk beside In-ho, wanting to stay close to him once again. She felt less jittery than before, having learned to be more cautious after the previous rounds. The woman’s voice echoed through the speakers, commanding attention. “Now, the final round will begin.” The platform shook slightly, causing some players to stumble. The familiar melody of “Round and Round” began to play again, filling the room with its eerie rhythm. Reader eyes darted around the room, noting the doors, the flickering lights, and the bloodstains that painted the floor and walls. In-ho, however, kept his gaze on her, watching her closely. She didn’t appear as nervous as earlier, which reassured him.

On In-ho’s other side stood Gi-hun, with Jung-bae behind him. “What do you think the number will be this time?” Jung-bae asked curiously. Before Gi-hun could answer, In-ho replied with quiet certainty, “Two.” Reader glanced up at him, noticing how his focus had shifted from her to the doors ahead. “Why two?” Jung-bae pressed, frowning. “There are 126 people left,” In-ho explained calmly. “And there are 50 rooms. That means there won’t be enough for everyone—only 100 people will survive. The rest will be killed.” His tone was steady and confident, leaving no room for doubt. A tense silence followed, broken only by the haunting music.

Suddenly, the platform came to an abrupt stop. The lights flickered off, replaced by the purplish glow that bathed the room in an unsettling hue. The woman’s voice declared, “Two.” Readers nerves returned, tension rising in her chest as her eyes flicked around uneasily. Sensing her fear, In-ho quickly grabbed her hand. “Come on,” he said firmly, leading her toward one of the rooms. Her heart raced as she followed, her cheeks flushing as his hand held hers. But as they neared the door, another group converged on the same target. Before she realized what was happening, a pair of hands shoved her back. She let out a startled squeal as she hit the floor, her breath knocked out of her. The two others rushed past her toward the door.

Hearing her cry, In-ho spun around. He immediately saw her on the ground and his eyes darkened. She scrambled to her feet, running toward the door, but one of the men had already slipped inside. His partner tried to follow, but In-ho intercepted him. Wrapping an arm tightly around the man’s neck, In-ho growled, “Get in!” to reader. She obeyed without hesitation, darting into the room, her breaths quick and unsteady. Relief washed over her, but it was short-lived. Inside the room stood another man, his presence immediately setting her on edge. In-ho shoved the second man out of the doorway, entering behind her. His expression was cold and intense as he turned to the remaining intruder.

“Get out,” In-ho demanded, his voice low and firm.

The man’s eyes darted between In-ho and reader before shaking his head defiantly. “We were here first,” he spat, referring to himself and the man In-ho had thrown out.

The timer began to beep, counting down from 18. There was no time to argue. In-ho lunged at the man, tackling him to the ground. The sudden banging on the door behind her made reader jump. Someone outside was trying to force their way in. She pressed against the door, struggling to hold it shut as fear gripped her.

“There are three people in here,” she thought frantically. “There can only be two.”

The woman’s voice continued counting down. “Seven… six…” The banging stopped as the person outside ran off, searching for another open room. She turned her attention back to In-ho and the other man, who were locked in a violent struggle.

“Five… four… three…” In-ho had the man in a headlock now, his grip unrelenting. Readers heart pounded as the scene played out before her. Her eyes big, filled with worry. And now fear.

“Two…”

With a sharp jerk of his arm, In-ho snapped the man’s neck. The sickening crack echoed in the small room. Reader gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as she stared at the lifeless body slumping in In-ho’s arms.

“One.”

A soft beep signaled the end of the round, and the door locked with a final click. The woman’s voice spoke again. “Game over.”

Readers wide eyes glistened with fear and disbelief as she looked at In-ho. He was still crouched on the floor, the dead man’s body at his feet. His dark eyes met hers, showing no remorse. Slowly, he stood, his expression softening slightly as he approached her. She instinctively took a step back, her body pressing into the corner of the room. “Y/N…” he said quietly, his voice low and cautious. “Just…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Just don’t say anything.” “I had to,” he said firmly, his tone unwavering.

“I know…” she replied in a barely audible voice.

In-ho stood directly in front of her now. His hand reached out, his fingertips brushing against her cheek as he gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She flinched slightly at his touch, her fear still lingering. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he whispered, his voice soft and regretful. But he didn’t feel any regret, not at all.

All that was important is that she lived.

[aliyahwritings]

RAFE CAMERON and his DESI!GIRLFRIEND

masterlist.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who complains when you first show him Bollywood movies about how long they are, but ends up more interested than you (he cried during K3G because of his daddy issues).

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who gets laughed at when he first met your family because his eyes were getting teary when eating your mum's food. With time though, he became used to it and can handle it better... until he tastes your grandma's food and it's over for him.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who didn't get to see you with your hair oiled up in the beginning of your relationship because you were scared the scent would be too much for him, but it has now become a routine. He literally drives you to your mom's for your usual head/hair oil massage, and watches intently how your mama does it, so he can do it for you later (that's so husband coded of him omggg).

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who watches you with unwavering attention every time you get ready, mesmerized by the way your bangles slide down your wrists and the soft clinking sound they make. His gaze lingers as you adjust your dupatta, taking his time to memorize every delicate movement.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who's obsessed with the feel of your bangles against his skin—when your hands trail over his chest or cup his face, the cold metal pressing into his warm skin. Sometimes, he holds your wrist just to play with them absentmindedly, rolling each bangle between his fingers like it’s his favorite toy.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who secretly practices pronouncing your full name in the mirror until he gets it right, savoring the way it rolls off his tongue. He knows how much it means to you, and when he says it perfectly in front of your family, the proud smile you give him makes every attempt worth it.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who always makes an effort to wear traditional fits when it matters, showing up in kurtas that hug his frame perfectly. He stands out, but in the best way—earning approving nods from the uncles and heart-eyed stares from the aunties who pull you aside just to say how lucky you are.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who thrives during family gatherings, blending in like he was meant to be there all along. The aunties dote on him endlessly, praising him for helping with the decorations or carrying heavy boxes during wedding prep. The uncles offer him drinks, impressed by how quickly he’s learned to fit into the chaos. He doesn’t even blink when the music starts and you’re pulled into the center of the room to dance. Instead, he watches, leaning against the wall with a soft smile, arms crossed over his chest as he admires the way you glow in your element.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who never complains when you drag him to fabric shops or markets, even if you spend hours picking out the right color or embroidery. He stands patiently by your side, occasionally giving his opinion but mostly just watching how excited you get. He'll sneak up behind you, whispering how stunning you’d look in everything. More than once, he’s slipped away to quietly pay for the set you were eyeing, only for you to find it in a little box on your bed later that night.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who's become so used to you calling him pagal (crazy/idiot) that he's started using it with his friends.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who learned how to drape your sari. Did it take him a while? Yes, but that doesn't count. He knows where to make the folds and where to tuck in the fabric, and that's enough for you. He even starts buying you new ones because of how beautiful you look in them.

MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE MARRIAGE

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who's very committed to his bit (dance) and practices for days and days. He would act as if he's just doing it for your family and that's it's nothing, but you know he loves it.

BOYFRIEND!RAFE ... who turns into Nick Jonas for real!!! He's not complaining once about the amount of ceremonies there is. He's in awe of your culture and that's all.

HUSBAND!RAFE ... who, after the wedding, is constantly making sure you’re okay. He holds your hand tightly in the car, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb, always asking if you’re comfortable, if you need anything. Even on your honeymoon, when it’s just the two of you, he still can’t stop marveling at how lucky he is to have you.

HUSBAND!RAFE ... who spoils you relentlessly. He doesn’t care if you insist he doesn’t have to—flowers arrive at your doorstep every week, jewelry boxes sit on your dresser, and he’s constantly booking spontaneous weekend getaways just because. When you scold him for spending too much, he kisses your forehead and brushes it off.

HUSBAND!RAFE ... who keeps your wedding photo framed on his desk. He’ll sit and stare at it during late nights at work, running his thumb over the glass while thinking about how much he misses you. He counts down the minutes until he can come home, and when he finally does, he’s pulling you into his lap the second you greet him.

HUSBAND!RAFE ... who brings home little things that remind him of you. If he spots bangles, dupattas, or anything embroidered with colors you love, he’s buying it without hesitation. Sometimes he gets the sizes wrong, but the effort makes you melt every time.

HUSBAND!RAFE ... who’s absolutely soft when it’s just the two of you. His tough, cocky exterior melts the second you’re alone. He’ll wrap himself around you, burying his face in your neck as you stroke his hair. He’s happiest when he’s in bed with you, legs tangled together under the covers, whispering about how he’s never letting you go.

HUSBAND!RAFE ... who always keeps his promises. No matter how chaotic life gets, he’s there—by your side, unwavering in his love and loyalty.

INFO ABOUT UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @aliyahwritings-notifs and turn on notifications!!!

[ahhhwomen]

Long overdue sorrow.

Vampire Empire

Part 7.2

Pairing: DarkVamp!Wanda Maximoff x DarkVamp!Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

A/N: I got imposter syndrome, so hehe… also I don’t know what comfort is… but this is it ig? Well its my version, take it or leave it.

Chapter Warnings: Self-hatred, my version of comfort, allustions to past abuse Minors DNI 18+

Word Count: 3k

Taglist

You can still feel her.

Stained teeth crush together, grinding and creaking as your jaw suffers to bite down the nausea that settles in the pit of your stomach.

Bits and pieces of adrenaline rush inside you, leaving you unaware of the blood that trickles from your lip, smudging against your tear-stained cheeks as you strain yourself while the remnants of your nightmare float inside your head.

Her hands.

Her claws.

Her teeth.

Her taste.

It’s as if you’re still there. 

Its…

It’s just-

It’s- it’s too dark.

That’s it.

Your enclosure.

It’s just too dark.

You grope blindly against the floor; your eyebrows scrunched together as you search. The cord of your heat lamp had been janky for a while, so it was bound to snap at some point.

Your palms are spread wide to offer the most surface area as you glide them gently atop the space beside your knees. The glide is smooth, lacking the usual bite as skin scratches against concrete. You feel individual sensations against the pads of your fingertips; you can’t, for the love of you, remember having this much space to search through before.

It takes you far longer than you care to admit before you realize something is definitely wrong.

The ground.

It’s soft?

“Hey, baby.” You yelp at the sound of her voice and flinch as the overhead lights flicker on.

Squinting, you lift your left hand to shield yourself from the light that filters above you. A few strands of rouge light shine between your fingers, illuminating them and blinding you as your eyes adjust to the harshness.

Something is obscuring your view of the doorway, which definitely doesn’t make sense because your enclosure doesn’t have a doorway, it barely has metal bars.

After a few seconds, the blob of darkness morphs into the scary older redhead.

Ah.

Right…

It's like a blanket of stone settling atop your frame as the circumstances sink in.

It’s so heavy… pushing and dragging against your neck and shoulders as you dig your hands into the carpet to keep yourself up.

You look at her for a moment. With her right shoulder pressed against expensive oak, Wanda fumbles with her feet as she leans against the doorframe. Seemingly uncertain of which leg to add the most weight to.

It’s so distinctively unlike her…

And yet, though she is clearly unsure of herself, she still holds her head high, shoulders rolled back, and her feet firmly planted.

It’s almost funny… the resemblance.

Goosebumps litter your skin as the chill of the room invades your senses while you take in your surroundings. Shifting your focus to the bed behind you, you see sheets and pillows scattered along the floor where you must have fallen.

There is rustling in the background as the older redhead moves around, but you ignore it. You can’t look at her. You are surprised she can look at you.

The sound bounces off the walls first. It’s like the echo of a recurring nightmare as the heavy sound bounces and rings in a screech inside the brightly lit room. With your head turned, you can’t see, but you know the command well as she knocks twice beside her heel.

The resemblance.

It hurts…

That must be humorous to her.

Which only makes it hurt more…

“Come here.” The two taps against the cushioned flooring repeat. The sound is heavier than before, with more pressure behind each knock. Her clenched fist twitches a little after each collision, and her voice stays firm.

You drag your legs against the strange softness beneath you, seeping into it with more weight than strictly necessary. When your palms leave the designated path for a moment and stride slightly to the sides, the carpet itches against your scrawny fingers.

The floor is entirely carpeted in this room…

Clawing forward, your knees push down upon the material, testing its durability. Your knees don’t ache, and there is no screeching groan as your joints struggle. You can’t feel the movement in your bones.

There is no bite of pain.

You hate it.

The carpet brushes against the sides of your butt as you sit down a few feet in front of the knelt-down woman. Trying in vain to alleviate the slight itchiness, you attempt to evenly distribute your weight between your hands and rump. It takes a few trials and errors before you find a comfortable enough position.

When you stop squirming, Wanda takes a hold of your jaw, twisting your head gently until you are forced to look into her eyes. Your neck strains against the movement, unsure of whether to obey or not, but it’s fruitless; you know you can’t stop yourself.

She runs her thumb, back and forth, against your chin as her slightly curled pointer holds your head up, “You are mine.”

Huh?

Instead of elaborating, the older redhead licks her thumb.

It’s wet and cold against your cheek as she smooches it over the trail of dried blood originating from your split lip. Her finger runs over dried speckles repeatedly, flaking them off and catching them on her spit-covered thumb, saliva rehydrating it until it glistens to life.

She continues like this for a few moments. When she deems her work good enough, Wanda wipes her thumb on her pants, purposefully avoiding the taste of you.

You should be offended.

However, you understand.

You have always understood.

The older woman continues in a firm, yet gentle, tone, “It’s my job to take care of you. You don’t think, you don’t do, you just listen.” Being this close to her, you can feel her breath dancing between the two of you; it puffs against your lips periodically.

Why bother?

If you could, you might have asked her that.

God, you are so fucking disgusting.

For someone who’s been praised for their intelligence since childhood, Wanda feels incredibly stupid at this moment.

Wanda knows that look.

She should have noticed sooner.

It wasn’t like your detached behavior from the last couple of days. This was different. You didn’t cower away from her, and you didn’t look through her either.

You were here, but not with her.

You look angry.

But not at her.

Oh…

Oh no.

Abso-fucking-lutely not.

For a moment, everything is a blur of motion as the redhead moves at an inhumane speed. Not giving you enough time to react.

Warm hands encircle your waist. Her left hand rests the lowest, just above your tailbone, drawing small imaginary circles as her right hand sneaks its way into your hair. She gently hauls you into her lap, catching you off guard as a tiny squeak escapes from your lips before you can stop yourself.

You tense, preparing for the harsh tug as claws grip your hair firmly while she feeds from you. Instead, Wanda pushes against the back of your head with an open palm until you are forced to lie your ear against her shoulder, hiding your face beneath her jaw.

There isn’t much time to react before Wanda makes up her mind.

“Come. It’s late.”  Her left hand shifts from your lower back to supporting your bottom as she lifts you up and starts the trek to the master bedroom where Natasha is waiting for the both of you.

All you can focus on is the sound of her bare feet hitting the flooring as confusion and uncertainty simmer below the surface. However, you are too exhausted to think up questions you will never have answered or fight her grip, so instead, you relax into her.

She’s warm against your bare skin; it’s different from your heat lamp. Depending on the temperature outside, your red lamp would either scorch you or delicately balance you between life and death. Her skin was smooth, unlike your own, the subtle smell of roses submerging you in its warmth, softness, and false safety.

She can’t lie…

Natasha has to fight incredibly hard not to gasp out loud at the sight that greets her as her wife carries you into their bedroom.

The sheets beneath Natasha ruffle as she places her book on the nightstand beside her. The cover is leather, far older than you, so its texture runs deep, leaving small pits in the most used positions where the oil of her fingertips has run its course over the years.

She had been keeping a tuned ear on the baby monitor on Wanda’s side of the bed, but she didn’t expect this when she heard Wanda’s command for you to follow.

You are allowing yourself to be held…

But it’s not just that…

Natasha’s eyes are glued to the pair of you as Wanda pats your bottom reassuringly while she works on juggling you while attempting to get you both placed on the bed with the sheets pulled back.

You are resting with your head against Wanda’s throat…

The world’s most powerful vampire…

The mantra repeats inside Natasha’s head in the few seconds it takes for Wanda to settle on the bed with you still atop her lap.

You are resting… with your teeth against the only vulnerable part of a vampire’s anatomy.

Wanda gets squirmy even if it’s Natasha getting close to her throat.

The quick jab to her ribs is the only thing that brings Natasha back from her gob-smacked stare as Wanda flairs her elbow out and tilts her head toward your slumped frame. The lack of proper rest must be getting to you if you allow this much touch, especially from her wife.

Natasha’s lips can’t help but lift a little, seeing your small frame curled like a sleepy kitten on top of her wife’s lap, it was rather cute.

Reaching over slowly, so as to let you retreat from her touch, the younger redhead is delighted to be allowed to run her hand over your back gently while you relax heavily against the warm body beneath you.

You shouldn’t be doing this.

The pressure of multiple sets of hands pulls you deeper into the steep waters of your exhaustion.

They will make a fool of you.

The disgraceful pig you are.

Absolutely revolting.

“Stop that, baby.” Wanda drags her fingers through your hair, detangling and smoothing down your frizzy ends.

Your behavior was telling…

She weaves through your strands, tenderly separating parts and placing them to the side of your neck, the opposite side of the one that nuzzles her. Though it doesn’t expose your face to her watchful gaze, she can see your jaw peeking out and leans down to place a quick peck, unable to help herself.

It’s all so very strange…

Yesterday, she could barely look at you.

After… well you know.

You are rather sickening, so you can’t blame her.

But… what is going on…?

Wanda can practically feel the self-loathing that oozes from your very essence; it is her fault, really. She had assumed you would need space after what she did, but looking at you now, subtly shaking inside her hold due to the guilt you carry, Wanda realizes her mistake.

Pats turn into tender scratches. The tips of her nails rake down the back of your neck, the nail on her pointer is distinctively sharper than the rest, it pushes down on your skin, leaving behind a trickle of pressure, tugging lightly against the small hairs at the nape of your neck.

It feels…

Nice?

“I’m sorry, kitten,” Wanda whispers against the side of your head. Again, Natasha is the one who has to refrain from doing a spit take as her wife admits fault in such a caring manner.

The older redhead has her cheek pressed into the side of your head, leaving her words soft as she sighs them against the shell of your ear. The tiny hairs on the upper part of your ear stand at attention as her breath washes over them in a soothing pattern.

“It’s not your fault. It was never your fault.” She stills the hand against your neck, shifting it until her palm holds loosely against your jugular, and she pushes down against it. Pushing and prodding until you groan in relief. It’s on the tip of too tight, challenging your every breath.

Just like your collar used to.

“Want to know how I know this?” The question is rhetorical, and Wanda answers before you can think about it, “Because I am not Carol. I’m not a monster.”

Her other hand strokes your back. Her fingertips are warm, yet they leave behind trails of chills as she drags them back and forth against your shoulder blades while Natasha rests her hand against your lower back, “And neither are you.”

Yes, you are.

Your nose digs into her throat, desperately trying to escape the lies that pour from the older woman. You can feel her pulse against you, beating in a rhythm far slower than your own.

You might not have the accessibility to a mirror, but you aren’t stupid.

You aren’t like the other pets. You know how you look and what the meaning of your scars are. There is nothing desirable about you except for being a fucking juice box.

That damn collar was the only thing shielding you from your true gruesome self.

Without it you are nothing.

Nothing but h-

“You are mine.” A veiny hand joins the comforting weight against your throat, and you gently sway to the side as Natasha playfully shoulder bumps her wife in warning while she strokes the other side of your throat. The redhead sighs a chuckle, “Mine. And Natasha’s.”

Wanda leans even closer, whispering directly into your ear, it tickles a little, “But mostly mine.”

Your brows furrow in confusion for what feels like the hundredth time that night, but Wanda beats you to it, “I don’t know why… I don’t know when it changed; perhaps you were always meant to be ours.”

“These-“ The older redhead pushes gently onto one of the many scars that litter your neck, “don’t change that.” Wanda can feel your eyelashes flutter against her skin as you squint in suspicion.

Wanda continues to whisper softly, keeping a layer of calm that she hopes will settle some of your worries for the night, “We will get you a new collar. Natasha tells me she has ordered your name tag, though that one scares me a little because she refuses to tell me what’s on it…” The redhead aims for playful reassurance, but she hears you sniffle long before the first tear slides down her throat.

Isn’t it enough already?!

Why do they never know when to stop…

GOD JUST STOP!

You whine in disdain, horrified with your own reaction as you hear Wanda speak of a future you know to be false. You squirm inside their hold, tightening your hands against the older redhead’s cotton t-shirt as you desperately attempt to collect yourself silently.

“Look at me-“You pull away from her, embarrassed by your own reaction. She guides you back with her pointer while continuing to gently shush you, “No baby, eyes on me.”

You obey, if only to make her stop talking. Screwing your eyes open, your look into her eyes with tears obscuring your view, it stretches and morphs the sight before you, leaving you unsure whether you are really looking at her or not.

Wanda tightens her grip on you, the mere sight of your tears leaving her angry at memories she knows she can’t erase, but her anger can wait.

It needs to be said.

“You are mine. And you are beautiful.” She whispers between the two of you, the words land somewhere between your eyebrows, and you stare down at her. Natasha is glued to your back, keeping you sandwiched between the two of them so you can’t escape.

It’s unavoidable.

In that moment, everything boils over.

Every pot of despair, fear, hurt, and sorrow, bubbles and hisses.

And you?

You sob like the child you never were.

Natasha’s hands grip your midsection from behind. Your pain sears through her, and she digs her fingers in enough to feel your ribs expand and contract as you wheeze your pain through gurgling sobs.

“You are beautiful,” the younger redhead repeats the words of her wife, determined to say it until the end of her life if only to get you to believe it. You have been through so much, and you deserve this. You deserve the truth.

“Shhh… I know, I know, just breathe for me, honey,” Wanda keeps one hand firmly planted against your chest, helping regulate your breathing as she pushes up and down, while the other wipes away your tears.

You heave yourself on top of Wanda, curling into her, sticking your head as tight against her neck as you can manage.

It hurts.

Everything hurts.

But…

You claw your hands under her shirt, desperate for contact. Wanda relents, separating herself for a split moment so she can strip off the ugly band shirt she only uses for sleep attire.

With her naked skin pressed against yours and the praise whispered from her counterpart, you feel like you can finally breathe for the first time in your life.

Your body is determined to wring out every ounce of sorrow it has carried for so many years, and the two redheads let it. Cooing and soothing you as you sob.

It’s far passed midnight when you finally calm, only a sniffle here and there remaining. Truly spent and wrung out, you pass out against Wanda’s chest.

Wanda kisses your forehead and lets herself truly feel your weight settling on her chest; she feels your breath against her sensitive neck, your hands loosening.

It feels right.

Like you were always meant to be here.

Nothing is permanently fixed.

Wanda still has some next-level groveling to do after the stunt she pulled a few nights ago.

And in the morning, you will go back to your quiet, reserved, shy self.

But, for tonight; you cry, you cuddle, and you sleep without guilt or fear.

For once, you are free.

(You guys waited 9 months for this absolute garbage... I am so sorry)

Taglist:

@thinking1bee @tobiaslut @esmeseasle @skittlebum @tia-thesimp @maximilfsworld @leenasayeed @scarlethexelove @itsalwaysskorpioszn @observeowl @tekanparadiae @adelareys @anqyuicka @ichala @thalia-is-not-ok @lovelyy-moonlight @wandamaximoff-simp @opossumking03 @confidant-thoughts @delivery-bird @esouliie @geydumbbetch @dorabledewdroop @herwagonempathkid @mommysfavouritegirl @auroraromaximoff @roman0ffsheart @morganna-la-faye @kaosrsing @lizzieswife101 @og-kxsh-420 @chibilauren @sgm616 @cyber-juipter @falloutboy-lover @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @likefirenrain @cole2907 @rahhhha @taliiiaasteria @dehydratedcoffeeaddict @viktoriaromanovaa @julz2000 @ahintofchaos @consti-ss @broimjustadepressedlesbian @rowiebear @crispychaosmaker @mary-20 @romanoff101 @alexawynters @dinno-nuggets @riddlesknot @marvelwomenarehot0 @mommysgoodlittlebrat @purplelandyouth @consti-ss @redwolfphoenix @imnotawitch @transparentflapfarmsludge @gaylorvader @inarayofmoonlight @macaroni676 @xuxxke79 @laserbeam473 @mousetheorist @doyouseetthewords @vanessashands

[mocharyc]

Invincible variants x reader Pt. 7✩ ‧ ₊ ˚

♡ A heart can beat, even for the hated one...♡ Tag list: @irlandajacquelinne-blog

✩ ‧ ₊ ˚ Unbound Tensions‧ ₊ ˚

☆ WC: 9k+ [Part 7] ☆ TW: fluff (mainly Lensless Mark) ☆ Author's Note: I wrote 22,072 words for this chapter. YES, you heard me. Why? Because, I wanted to include smut!!! AH, I talked with a lot of people, and everyone said I should split it (╥﹏╥) so here's the lead-up to the smut chapter, pleaseee give it some love <3 I worked really hard on this...

––––––––––––––

The silence was a physical weight, a suffocating blanket woven from the threads of destruction.

Not the peaceful hush of a forest at dawn, but the hollow stillness that follows a storm's brutal rampage. Dust motes, like tiny, restless spirits, danced in the slivers of weak sunlight filtering through grimy, cracked windows. Their ethereal ballet cast long, skeletal shadows across the room's battered floor.

Y/N lay on the remnants of a broken bed frame, springs jutting out like the ribcage of some forgotten beast, the torn mattress a testament to the room's violent history.

Distant explosions, muffled thunder in the ruined landscape, vibrated through the weathered walls of the abandoned house. Smoke, thick and ashen, billowed against a sky the color of a bruised plum, visible through a jagged crack in the half-drawn curtains.

Consciousness returned slowly, a reluctant swimmer surfacing from murky depths. The room spun, a dizzying kaleidoscope of faded floral wallpaper, cracked plaster, and forgotten, overturned furniture. Her muscles screamed, a symphony of throbbing pain that spoke of brutal battles and forced, rapid healing.

The memory of the raw, blazing power that had erupted from her, the desperate grasp of the variants as she faltered, and Omni's tear-streaked face flashed behind her eyelids.

A ragged breath, a broken sigh, shattered the oppressive quiet. Y/N's eyelids fluttered open, her gaze snapping to the source of the sound. Her pupils dilated, adjusting to the dim light, and her heart clenched.

Lensless Mark sat against the far wall, a prisoner in his own skin. Heavy, industrial-grade chains, thick as her wrist, wrapped around his body like metallic serpents, binding him from shoulders to ankles. Each link, precision-welded, gleamed with a cold, surgical intensity. The metal crisscrossed his torso in an intricate, punishing web.

His luchador-style mask, usually a symbol of his arrogant swagger, was askew, revealing a landscape of mottled bruises blooming across his cheekbones like dark, grotesque flowers. One eye was swollen shut, the skin around it a bruised purple-black, a testament to the brutal beating he'd endured. A trail of dried blood, like a macabre paint stroke, ran from his split lip to his chin. His single visible eye, however, burned with a fierce intensity that belied his vulnerable position. A fresh bruise, a dark purple blossom, marred his jawline—a souvenir from the other variants' fury after his attempt on her life.

Y/N's muscles coiled, her instincts screaming for defense. Her fingers curled into half-fists, ready to unleash the power that still hummed beneath her skin. But Lensless Mark wasn't lunging. He wasn't attacking. He was simply watching, his gaze a silent, smoldering question.

"Well, well," he drawled, his voice a low, gravelly rasp, that single eye glinting with a mix of sardonic humor and barely contained rage. "Sleeping beauty finally graces me with her presence."

His nostrils flared slightly, his upper lip curling into a brief, almost involuntary sneer. "Wonderful performance back there, by the way. Real fuckin' heroic."

The sarcasm dripped from his words, but beneath it, Y/N detected an undercurrent of something else—a flicker of curiosity, perhaps, or a grudging respect. The chains rattled softly as he shifted, a metallic whisper in the oppressive quiet.

"Your Marks were... thorough," he remarked, his one good eye tracking her movements as she examined him. His voice carried a note of grudging respect. "Bunch of overprotective bastards."

Y/N arched an eyebrow, her lips pressing into a thin, hard line. "You tried to kill me."

"Fair point." A sharp, unexpected laugh escaped him, a sound that was part genuine amusement, part something darker, almost feral. "But where's the fun in killing you quickly?"

Ignoring him, she traced the intricate pattern of the restraints with her gaze. They weren't just simple bindings; they were a statement, a message from the other variants: You are not to be trusted. Each link, custom-forged and precision-engineered, spoke of a desperate need to contain someone with superhuman strength. A Viltrumite's handiwork.

"Comfortable?" she asked, her voice raspier than she expected, her throat dry and raw.

Lensless Mark let out a sharp bark of laughter, tilting his head back to expose the bruised column of his throat. "Oh, absolutely. Nothing says 'five-star accommodation' like being chained up by my multiversal doppelgängers."

Despite the humor, tension radiated from him like heat. His unrestrained eye darted around the room, assessing, calculating. The trademark cocky swagger of his personality, usually a roaring fire, was now a smoldering ember, struggling beneath a glass dome.

"They could have killed me," he said suddenly, his shoulders pulling against the chains as he leaned forward. "But no. Chained me up like some... pet." The last word dripped with contempt, his teeth bared in a brief, almost involuntary snarl.

Y/N shifted, wincing slightly as a jolt of pain shot through her side. The memory of her recent power surge, of the blinding moment of self-healing, was still vivid. She could feel the residual energy humming beneath her skin, a subtle vibration that spoke of untapped potential.

"Why didn't you try to escape?" she asked, her head tilting to one side, her eyes narrowing as she studied him.

Lensless Mark's lips curled—part smirk, part snarl. "And go where, exactly? I'm stuck in THIS universe. THIS world!" His good eye widened with emphasis, veins standing out on his neck as anger flashed across his face.

The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken history. Y/N's fingers traced absent patterns on the worn fabric of her partially torn suit, a nervous habit honed through years of survival.

Her eyes continued to study Lensless Mark, searching for something beyond the surface bravado.

"You want to know about the GDA," she said, her voice flat, devoid of inflection. It wasn't a question.

Lensless Mark's eyebrow arched, a micro-expression of surprise quickly masked by his characteristic smirk. "Well, aren't you a mind reader?"

A humorless laugh escaped her, a dry, brittle sound. "Trust me. If I could read minds, I'd have escaped that hellhole years ago."

Her gaze grew distant, her eyes unfocusing as they fixed on a point beyond the room's peeling wallpaper. The chains binding Lensless Mark seemed to fade into background noise as memories surfaced—sharp, jagged things that cut like broken glass.

"They didn't just experiment," Y/N began, her voice taking on a clinical detachment that spoke of practiced self-preservation. "Experimenting implies scientific method. What they did? That was torture disguised as research."

Lensless Mark remained silent, his good eye fixed unblinkingly on her face.

Her fingers unconsciously traced a thin, barely visible scar along her forearm—one of many hidden beneath her suit. "Viltrumite physiology is... complex. Unpredictable. The GDA wanted to understand its potential. To create something controllable. Something they could weaponize and use."

Her jaw clenched tight, a vein pulsing at her temple. The chains nearby seemed to vibrate with her rising emotion, though whether from residual power or pure psychological intensity was unclear.

"They'd inject me with different variants of Viltrumite blood," she continued. "Mark Grayson... Nolan Grayson... and they watched how my body responded. Rejected. Adapted. Died. And then brought back." Her laugh this time was closer to a sob, her eyes glistening briefly before she blinked the moisture away. "Regeneration was both a blessing and their favorite torture method."

Lensless Mark's eye had lost its sardonic gleam. Something darker moved behind it—recognition, perhaps. A flicker of something that might have been empathy, quickly buried beneath his trademark cynicism.

"Sounds fun," he muttered, but the words lacked his usual bite, his gaze dropping momentarily to the floor.

Y/N's head snapped toward him, her eyes blazing with an intensity that made the air between them seem to shimmer. "Fun? You think this was fun?"

The chains binding Lensless Mark seemed to shift almost imperceptibly. Not from his movement—he remained perfectly still—but from the charged energy suddenly filling the room.

Her hands, which moments ago had been trembling slightly, now looked frighteningly steady. The same hands that had unleashed that devastating energy against Lensless earlier. The same hands that had survived countless GDA experiments.

"I'm not looking for your pity," she said quietly, her chin raised, her eyes hard as flint. "I'm telling you so you understand. I'm not a victim. I'm a fucking survivor... And the only one who lived out of every one of their goddamn experiments."

A long moment passed. The dust motes continued their silent dance. Outside, the world remained in total destruction—unaware of the complex drama unfolding in this forgotten room.

Finally, with a heavy grunt of pain, Y/N pushed herself up from the broken bedframe. Her legs trembled beneath her weight, muscles quivering with the effort of supporting her still-recovering body. Each step toward Lensless Mark sent shockwaves of pain through her healing tissues, but she refused to show weakness, her face a mask of determination.

Lensless Mark raised a brow as she approached, his one good eye tracking her movement with predatory attention. The dark swelling around his other eye had begun to recede slightly—the accelerated Viltrumite healing already at work.

Her fingers hovered near the industrial-grade chains, tracing their intricate welding without touching. The metal gleamed coldly in the dim light, each link casting its own small shadow. She could feel the energy signature of the other variants on them—their anger, their protective fury encoded in each precision weld.

"Admiring the jewelry?" Lensless drawled, that single eye glinting with humor. His chest rose with a deep inhale, nostrils flaring slightly.

"No… It just looks like you lost a fight with a garbage disposal," Y/N's lips quirked, a flicker of amusement in the dim light. "I've seen cleaner dumpsters."

"Cute," Lensless Mark retorted, the single visible eye rolling with exaggerated disdain. "Real original. You want a medal, or just a participation trophy?"

Their banter, sharp and laced with unspoken tension, filled the room. Outside, the world burned, a stark counterpoint to their delicate dance of words. Each jab, each retort, was a subtle negotiation, a drawing of invisible lines in the dust-laden air.

Her fingers, light as a feather, traced the cold metal of the chains. Not sympathy, but a clinical curiosity drove her touch. She tested the links, feeling for weaknesses, gauging the resistance they would offer to her enhanced strength.

"You want out?" The question, deceptively casual, carried the weight of unspoken conditions.

A sharp, barking laugh echoed off the cracked walls. "Out? I want to not be a goddamn ornament in this charming apocalypse-chic bedroom." He leaned forward, the chains biting into his bruised flesh, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

Y/N arched a brow, a flicker of a smirk playing on her lips. "Conditions, then."

"Always," he hissed, the word a rasping promise. His good eye narrowed, calculating, predatory.

"A pinky promise." She extended her smallest finger, the gesture absurdly childish in their brutal reality. For a fleeting moment, a hint of something softer, almost playful, flickered across her face.

Lensless Mark stared, his jaw slack, the single visible eye widening in disbelief. "A what?"

"You heard me." The playful glint vanished, replaced by a hard, unwavering stare. "Pinky promise you won't immediately try to kill me, or anyone else, when I release you."

He laughed, a startled, genuine sound that rattled the chains around him. "Are we children playing in a sandbox?"

"Promise, or stay chained." Her voice held a steel edge, the extended pinky a silent challenge.

Slowly, deliberately, he extended his own pinky, a gesture that was both ridiculous and utterly serious. "Pinky. Fuckin'. Promise."

Their smallest fingers locked, an absurd pact sealed in the heart of a shattered world. The brief contact, surprisingly warm, lingered as she turned her attention to the chains.

Her fingers closed around a link, thumbs tracing the metal's cold, unyielding surface. She felt for weaknesses, pressure points where the metal might yield. Her grip tightened, the chain feeling like a throat beneath her fingers.

Muscles coiled, Viltrumite strength surging through her arms. Veins, dark and prominent, mapped the pathways of her enhanced power. She applied pressure, a slow, inexorable force.

The first chain snapped, a sharp, gunshot-like crack that echoed through the room.

Metallic links scattered across the worn floorboards, catching the weak light. They skittered into shadowed corners, disappearing like fleeing insects. Y/N's movements, precise and fluid, spoke of countless hours spent understanding mechanisms, a skill honed in the GDA's brutal laboratories.

Lensless Mark watched, his single eye narrowed, lips parted slightly. The bruising around his socket began to yellow, the first signs of rapid Viltrumite healing pushing through the battered skin. "Impressive," he muttered, "didn't know they programmed lockpicking into their little science project."

Her hands stilled, her eyes flashing with a dangerous intensity. "I learned a lot in the GDA. Survival wasn't a choice; it was the only option."

Another chain yielded, the sound softer, almost intimate. The metal twisted and deformed, giving way under her relentless pressure.

Outside, the world continued its fiery death throes. Distant screams and explosions painted a hellish soundscape, a constant reminder of the multiversal war raging beyond their sanctuary. The other variants—Omni, Mohawk, Sinister—remained locked in their negotiations with Angstrom Levy, their voices a distant, indistinct rumble.

"So," Lensless Mark drawled, breaking the silence, his head tilting to one side, "you're not curious why they left me here? Chained up like some… personal project?"

A flicker of humor touched Y/N's lips. Her fingers moved with methodical precision, each link yielding to her strength. "Maybe they thought you needed a timeout." A soft giggle escaped her, surprising even herself.

"A timeout?" His single eye narrowed, a muscle twitching in his bruised cheek. "Because chaining up a multiversal Mark Grayson variant is standard procedure."

Another chain fell, joining the metallic graveyard around them. Each broken link was a promise, a step into the unknown.

"They beat the shit out of me," Lensless Mark said, his voice losing its edge. His gaze fell to the floor, his shoulders slumping. "Not just a fight. A statement."

Her hands paused. Her gaze locked with his, the single eye burning with an intensity that cut through the dim light.

"Because you tried to kill me." She stated the fact, not an accusation.

"Because you're a fucking clone," he spat, his voice raw with rage. "A disgusting imitation wearing her face."

Y/N's fingers froze on the chains, her mouth falling open in shocked confusion. "What?"

He turned away, jaw muscles working furiously. "Forget it."

Her grip tightened, knuckles whitening. "No. No more chains until you explain." Her voice was hard, all humor gone. "You owe me that much."

"I don't owe you shit!" he snarled, yanking against his restraints. The chains held, barely. His eye blazed, and Y/N braced herself.

"FINE!" he exploded, the word echoing in the room.

"My Y/N was HUMAN!" The confession tore from him, his voice cracking. "Just a normal, beautiful human. She didn't need superpowers," a brittle laugh escaped him, his head shaking. "... she looked just like you. Exactly. But she didn't have Viltrumite blood. She was perfect, not like…"

His words trailed off, his jaw clenching. The unspoken venom hung heavy in the air.

The confession hung between them—raw, unexpected. A glimpse beneath the sardonic exterior that showed something more complex than the sadistic killer the other variants had described.

Her fingers silently resumed their work. Another chain fell, the metal giving way with a soft, metallic groan. Y/N's face remained unreadable, eyes focused on the task at hand rather than on his face.

"And that's why you hate me," Y/N said softly, the realization settling like cold steel. "I'm her echo, but distorted. A version you deem... wrong."

Lensless Mark remained silent, his posture shifting subtly. The defiant edge, while still present, was softened by a flicker of something akin to vulnerability. His shoulders slumped against the wall, the fight draining from him like air from a punctured lung.

The final chain fell with a heavy clank, joining its brethren in a metallic heap on the floor.

Freedom waited, a tangible presence in the room. Potential crackled in the air, a silent, volatile energy.

Lensless Mark slowly brought his arms forward, rubbing at the raw, chafed skin where the chains had bitten into his wrists and chest. His fingers probed gingerly at the bruises marring his torso, wincing at particularly tender spots. He flexed his muscles experimentally, gauging their response after hours of confinement. Despite the lingering weakness, a predatory grace underlay his movements—a hunter assessing its strength before the kill.

"Well," he purred, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper as he looked up at her through his lashes, a smile playing on his lips that didn't reach his eyes, "about that pinky promise..."

The air thickened, charged with a palpable tension. Y/N's muscles tensed instinctively, her body reacting to the predatory gleam in his eye before her mind could fully process the threat.

His bruised face transformed, the fleeting vulnerability vanishing, replaced by a cold, calculating mask. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he slowly, deliberately, rose to his full height.

The broken chains lay scattered around his feet, discarded metallic snakeskins. The afternoon light caught each link, casting distorted, elongated shadows across the worn floorboards.

Lensless Mark rolled his shoulders, his neck cracking with a satisfying pop as he tilted his head from side to side. His single good eye never left Y/N's face. The swelling around his other eye had receded, revealing a sliver of iris, giving him an unsettling, lopsided gaze. He ran his tongue over his split lip, tasting copper and a hint of victory.

"I did promise not to kill you," he whispered, taking a step forward that closed the distance between them. His boot crushed a chain link underfoot, the metal yielding with a dull crunch. "Immediately."

Y/N didn't flinch. Her feet remained rooted to the dusty floor, her weight subtly shifted to the balls of her feet, poised for action. Her chin lifted, nostrils flaring as she inhaled deeply, registering the scent of his sweat, blood, and something uniquely him. Her eyelids lowered slightly, her gaze sharpening with focused intensity.

"So, that's it?" Her voice, deceptively soft, held the edge of a honed blade. "First taste of freedom, and you're already breaking your word?"

A harsh laugh reverberated through the room, devoid of mirth. It grated against the silence like fingernails on slate.

"My word?" Lensless Mark's chest expanded with a sharp inhale, the bruises on his torso shifting with each breath. "You dare speak of words and promises? That's rich."

Another step forward, the floorboard creaking beneath his boot.

"In my world," he continued, his tongue darting out to touch his split lip again, "the GDA took her too." His voice dropped to a whisper, the words hanging in the air like poisoned darts. "But she didn't survive. She didn't become… this." The last word dripped with contempt, his hand gesturing toward Y/N with a dismissive flick of his wrist.

Y/N's eyes narrowed, her pupils dilating and contracting as she processed his words. A tiny muscle twitched at the corner of her mouth, the only visible sign of the emotional impact.

"I didn't ask to be their experiment," she said, each syllable precise and measured. The veins in her forearms became more pronounced as her hands curled into loose fists. "I didn't choose this."

Lensless Mark's gaze raked over her, taking in the subtle signs of her enhanced physiology—the unnatural grace, the contained strength, the too-perfect healing of old wounds. His lip curled, revealing his teeth in a predatory snarl.

"But you survived it," he hissed, bitterness etched in the lines around his mouth. "You thrived on it. Became exactly what they wanted."

Before Y/N could respond, a chorus of angry voices erupted outside, distant but distinct. Both occupants of the room froze, heads turning toward the window. The abandoned house suddenly felt paper-thin, the walls barely containing the sounds of the apocalyptic world.

"That's Mohawk," Lensless Mark muttered, his good eye narrowing as he cocked his head, listening. His earlier aggression momentarily receded, replaced by a flicker of concern.

Y/N moved to the window, careful to stay to the side of the grimy glass. Her fingers curled around the peeling windowsill, wood flaking beneath her touch. The sky had darkened to a bruised purple-black, smoke spiraling upward from multiple points across the devastated landscape. Several blocks away, floating figures hovered in the haze.

"Something's happening," she whispered, her breath fogging the glass. Her enhanced vision picked out details—Sinister's distinctive black and yellow suit, Omni Mark's red and white insignia, and a smaller figure with a bulbous head surrounded by portal drones. "Angstrom."

Lensless Mark appeared at her side, his proximity sending a shiver down her spine. He shouldered her aside, pressing his face to the glass. His breath quickened, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Well, well," he drawled, the forced casualness failing to mask the tension in his voice. "Looks like the family reunion is getting heated."

The voices rose again, carried on the smoke-laden air—anger, threats, demands. The hostility vibrated through the very foundation of their sanctuary.

Y/N turned from the window, her mind racing. Her gaze swept over the broken chains, the splintered bed frame, the peeling wallpaper—evidence of a world unraveling. Determination hardened her features.

"We need to go there," she said, the words dropping into the charged silence.

Lensless Mark's head snapped toward her, his expression shifting from surprise to disbelief to mocking amusement. "We? There's no 'we' here, sweetheart. I tried to kill you. Multiple times."

Y/N stepped closer, invading his space. Her eyes locked with his, unflinching.

"And yet here I am, unchaining you," she countered, a dangerous smile playing on her lips. "Something's happening with Angstrom. Something that has all of them," she gestured toward the window, "in an uproar. Don't you want to know what it is?"

A muscle ticked in Lensless Mark's jaw, his gaze flicking between her and the window. Outside, a flash of blue light illuminated the sky, followed by Mohawk Mark's enraged bellow.

"I'd rather be anywhere but helping your little boyfriend squad," he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt even as curiosity flickered in his visible eye, warring with the hatred that had become his constant companion.

Y/N sensed the opening and pressed her advantage, closing the distance between them. The floorboards creaked beneath her careful steps. "They're not my boyfriends," she said, her voice dropping to a honeyed whisper that seemed to reach past his defenses and resonate somewhere deep within him. "They're using me to replace someone they lost. Just like you said."

A subtle change rippled across Lensless Mark's features—his pupil dilated, the one visible eye darkening with an emotion he couldn't quite conceal. His lips parted involuntarily, the slightest tremor passing through them as her words found their target with unerring precision.

"And if Angstrom gets what he wants," she continued, her gaze steady and unflinching as it locked with his, "we all lose. Including you." Her hand hovered near his bruised forearm, not quite making contact but close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. "You want revenge for your Y/N? Angstrom is the architect of all this destruction. Of all these universes colliding. He's the reason we're all here, suffering."

Something shifted beneath the carefully constructed mask of disdain Lensless Mark wore—a flicker of genuine emotion breaking through like sunlight through storm clouds. His nostrils flared with a sharp intake of breath, shoulders squaring beneath the tattered remnants of what had once been an immaculate suit.

"Fine," he spat, the single word seeming to cost him physically. His jaw clenched so tight a muscle jumped along its edge as he practically vibrated with the storm of conflicting emotions battling for supremacy within him. "But this doesn't make us allies. This doesn't make us anything."

Y/N's smile appeared briefly—genuine despite its fleeting nature, a flash of relief that vanished as quickly as morning dew under a harsh sun. "I wouldn't dream of it."

Without further conversation, she moved to the window with fluid, purposeful strides. The hinges protested with a rusty screech as she pushed it fully open, the metallic sound slicing through the heavy silence hanging over the room. Cool evening air rushed in, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of destruction—smoke and dust intermingling with the faint, metallic tang of blood.

Y/N paused at the threshold, glancing back once at Lensless Mark. Her expression remained unreadable in the fading light, shadows playing across the contours of her face. Then she stepped onto the windowsill and launched herself skyward, her body cutting through space with the effortless grace of a predator taking flight.

Lensless Mark watched her disappear, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He stood motionless for a heartbeat—just long enough to mutter a string of creative curses under his breath, each syllable laden with frustration—before following her lead.

They soared above the devastated landscape, twin shadows against the darkening canvas of the sky. The city sprawled beneath them in ruins—buildings reduced to skeletal frameworks, streets split open like wound-like gashes across the face of the earth. Bodies of fallen civilians painted macabre patterns on the ground below, while fires burned unchecked in several districts, their orange-yellow flames serving as beacons in the gathering gloom.

Y/N maintained a slight lead, her body positioned to minimize wind resistance, arms extended at her sides. Her hair streamed behind her like a battle standard, dancing and whipping in the turbulent currents.

Lensless Mark kept pace a few feet behind and to her right, his movements marginally less fluid, the grace in his flight hampered by injuries that refused to be ignored. The exposed portion of his face remained locked in a grimace of concentration, jaw muscles bunching as he clenched his teeth against the pain radiating through his body with each powerful thrust through the air.

They approached the gathering of variants with tactical caution, using the smoke-filled sky as natural camouflage. Below them, the confrontation unfolded above the skeletal remains of what had once been the Grayson family home, its once-welcoming structure now reduced to little more than ash and memory.

The variants hovered in a loose circle around Angstrom Levy, whose bulbous head glistened with a sheen of nervous sweat. His beady eyes darted between the assembled Marks, constantly calculating as he manipulated a constellation of glowing green portal drones that floated around the group like mechanical fireflies, their emerald light casting eerie shadows across the faces of the gathered variants.

Y/N signaled to Lensless Mark with a quick gesture, indicating a partially collapsed rooftop nearby. They descended in perfect silence, landing in a crouch behind a chimney stack that had somehow survived the destruction intact.

"—you promised us anything we wanted!" Mohawk Mark's roar cut through the evening air, each word punctuated by flecks of spittle flying from his contorted lips. The mohawk crowning his head seemed to bristle with his rage, while veins pulsed visibly at his temples. "And now we get nothing?"

Angstrom's laugh—nasal and grating—bounced off the ruins surrounding them as his abnormally large head tilted backward. Sweat trickled down his bulbous forehead, catching the green light of the portal drones as his eyes continued their nervous dance between the variants. "I promised you new universes to conquer. But first, you need to complete your part of the bargain."

"We've done enough," Omni Mark grunted, his powerful frame rigid with barely contained violence. His fists clenched at his sides, the red material of his gloves straining across the knuckles as though struggling to contain the force within. The black lenses of his mask gleamed with menace as he leaned forward, shoulders hunched like a predator preparing to pounce. "This world is in ruins, and we already lost half of us. Invincible's reputation is destroyed. It's time for you to pay up."

Sinister's laugh shattered the moment like broken glass, sharp and dangerous. "Or should I rip that swollen head off your shoulders and be done with it?" His fingers flexed with deliberate slowness, a silent promise of violence to come.

Emperor Mark floated slightly higher than the others, positioning himself with the natural authority of one accustomed to command. His voice cut through the tension like a well-honed blade. "You're stalling, Angstrom. That makes me wonder what you're hiding."

Phantom Mark hovered silently to the side, his full-face mask rendering his expression unreadable, but his body language—head tilted at a calculating angle, arms crossed over his chest—radiated cold assessment.

Prisoner Mark spat on the ground below, his scarred face twisting into a mean grimace that pulled at the puckered tissue crisscrossing his features. "If you think you can double-cross us after everything we've done—"

"Maybe he needs a reminder of who he's dealing with," Viltrumite Mark suggested, his voice a study in deceptive calm. One by one, he cracked his knuckles, each pop carrying ominously through the still air like distant gunshots.

No Mask Mark's lips curled into a cruel smile, his eyes reflecting the sickly green glow of the portal drones as he edged closer to Angstrom. "I've been wanting to get my hands on you since day one."

From their vantage point, Y/N's fingers curled around the rough edge of the chimney, knuckles whitening with pressure as she observed the confrontation unfolding above them. Beside her, Lensless Mark's breathing had become a carefully measured rhythm, each inhale and exhale a deliberate exercise in control.

"Something's wrong," she whispered, the words barely audible even to Lensless Mark's enhanced hearing. "Look at Angstrom's portals."

Lensless Mark narrowed his eyes, focusing on the glowing rifts surrounding the variants. Several of the portal drones pulsed with an erratic rhythm, the edges of their projections wavering and fluctuating as though struggling to maintain coherence. A discordant humming filled the air, the vibration setting teeth on edge and raising the fine hairs on the back of the neck. Behind each variant—all of whom had their attention fixed on Angstrom—additional portal drones were silently rising into position, their movements deliberate and predatory.

"He's losing control," Lensless muttered, a note of grudging respect coloring his voice. "Too many portals open at once, too many dimensions bleeding into each other."

Y/N's gaze flicked to him, surprise momentarily widening her eyes. "You know about dimensional physics?"

His lips curled in a sardonic sneer, though a glint of dark humor danced in his good eye. "I've hopped more dimensions than you've had hot meals, sweetheart. You pick things up."

Their attention snapped back to the confrontation as Mohawk Mark's voice rose above the others, slicing through the cacophony with razor-sharp clarity.

"Enough talk!" he shouted, his dark suit blending with the gathering shadows. "Either you send us where we want to go, or we tear you apart."

Angstrom's expression twisted—fear and calculation battling for dominance across his features. His hand slipped into his pocket with practiced smoothness, withdrawing what looked like a small remote control. Behind the variants, the drones began to rise higher, their movements synchronized with cold precision.

"I believe in contingency plans," Angstrom said, his voice suddenly steadier than it had been moments before. "You want new worlds to conquer? Fine. But not the ones you're thinking of."

His thumb descended on a button, and the drones surged forward, surrounding the variants in a complex geometric pattern. Green energy crackled between them, forming a lattice of dimensional power that began to constrict around the assembled Marks.

"He's going to send them all away," Y/N breathed, her body coiling with tension. "To some hell dimension where they can't threaten him anymore."

Lensless Mark's hand shot out with surprising speed, fingers closing around her wrist with undeniable strength. His eye locked with hers, something unreadable flickering in its depths.

"Let him," he hissed, teeth bared in a feral grin that spoke of old hatreds and deeper wounds. "Less competition for me."

Y/N yanked her arm free, disgust flashing across her face like summer lightning. "They're you. All of them. Different versions, but still you."

"Exactly," he countered, leaning closer until she could count the flecks of gold in his irises. His visible eye narrowed to a dangerous slit, while the corner of his mouth curled upward, revealing teeth stained with dried blood. "And I hate myself more than anyone."

The air between them vibrated with unspoken tension. Y/N's jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath the skin of her cheek. Her pupils contracted then dilated as she made her decision.

"I'm going," she stated simply, her voice brooking no argument as her body tensed like a spring.

Lensless Mark's curse disappeared into the wind as Y/N launched herself skyward. Her body sliced through the smoke-laden air, arms extended at her sides, hair streaming behind her like a battle flag. The bruised sky seemed to darken further around her as she rocketed toward the confrontation, a living missile aimed at its heart.

Below, Lensless Mark's features contorted in frustration, nostrils flaring as he dragged in a ragged breath. The swelling around his injured eye had receded enough to allow him to squint through it, giving him a lopsided, dangerous gaze. With a growled string of profanities that would have made hardened criminals blush, he pushed away from the rooftop with enough force to cause the decaying structure to crumble further beneath his departure.

The variants remained oblivious to Y/N's approach, their attention locked on Angstrom. The villain's fingers danced across his remote control with manic energy, sweat beading on his forehead as he manipulated the floating drones. Each mechanical orb pulsed with increasingly erratic energy, the portals they generated flickering and destabilizing as they formed a tightening net around the assembled Marks.

"—tired of your games!" Omni Mark's voice carried over the electric crackle of dimensional energy. His fingers curled into white-knuckled fists at his sides, tendons standing out like cords beneath the material of his gloves.

"You promised us new worlds!" Mohawk Mark snarled, his teeth flashing dangerously in the sickly green glow of the portals. Jaw muscles bunched beneath his skin as rage contorted his features.

Sinister Mark hovered slightly apart from the others, his yellow cape billowing behind him like wings of sulfur. His shoulders hunched forward, head lowered in the posture of a predator preparing to charge. A savage grin split his face beneath the black lenses of his mask, teeth gleaming as a low, menacing laugh bubbled from deep within his chest.

"You lying piece of shit," Sinister hissed through clenched teeth. "I'm going to enjoy peeling your skin off strip by strip." His yellow-gloved fingers flexed and curled in rhythmic anticipation, as if already feeling Angstrom's throat beneath them.

Angstrom's lips peeled back from his teeth in a nervous grimace that tried and failed to masquerade as confidence. His thumb hovered over the central button of his remote, eyelids flickering with anticipation. "You'll get your worlds," he said, voice pitched higher than normal as adrenaline coursed through his system. "And you'll die there."

Y/N's approach created a subtle displacement in the air, a whisper of movement that Omni Mark detected first. His head snapped toward her, eyes widening beneath his mask as recognition dawned.

"Y/N, NO!" His arm shot outward, fingers splayed in desperate warning as he tried to alert her to the danger.

Angstrom pivoted with unexpected agility, eyes bulging as he spotted Y/N hurtling toward him. His finger jabbed frantically at the remote, redirecting one of the drones into her flight path. The device responded with a mechanical whir, positioning itself directly before her. Green energy coalesced around it, swirling into a vortex that yawned open like a hungry maw.

Y/N's pupils contracted to pinpoints as she registered the trap too late. Her momentum carried her forward despite her best efforts, muscles straining as she attempted to alter her trajectory. The portal reached for her with invisible fingers, the air around it warping and distorting with dimensional instability.

Lensless Mark streaked through the air to her left, the remnants of his mask fluttering away from his face, revealing more of his features than he had exposed in years. His hand dipped into a pocket, producing a shard of mirror—a makeshift weapon salvaged from the abandoned house. The setting sun caught it at precisely the right angle, creating a blinding flash that struck Angstrom's eyes with surgical precision.

Angstrom's head jerked backward, eyelids squeezing shut against the sudden assault on his vision. His grip on the remote faltered, thumb slipping across its surface. The drone pattern wavered in response, creating a momentary opening in their formation.

Y/N seized the opportunity, twisting her body mid-flight to avoid the portal directly in her path. Her trajectory shifted, bringing her around behind Angstrom. The air parted before her fist as she drove it forward with all her strength, connecting with Angstrom's skull. The impact reverberated up her arm, bone meeting bone with a sickening crack that echoed across the ruined landscape.

Angstrom plummeted, his body spiraling toward the devastation below. Blood sprayed from his mouth in a fine crimson mist, catching the light of the surrounding portals. His fingers maintained their death grip on the remote, thumb pressing a sequence of buttons as he fell.

The variants roared in unison, breaking free of the destabilized portal net. They remained hovering above, their attention fixed on the spectacle below rather than pursuing Angstrom themselves. Their expressions ranged from surprise to excitement, but all shared one common element: bloodthirsty anticipation.

"Finish him!" Mohawk Mark shouted, fist pumping the air as he destroyed a nearby drone with his other hand. His mohawk seemed to bristle with bloodlust, eyes wide and feverish with excitement.

Prisoner Mark's chains rattled melodically as he crushed a drone between his palms, the metal links of his restraints clinking against each other like wind chimes. "Don't let him escape!"

"Watch the drones!" Emperor Mark warned, his voice carrying the authority of command as he blasted one out of the air with his heat vision, the red beam cutting through the darkening sky like a laser scalpel.

No Mask Mark grinned savagely as he kicked one drone into another, creating a small explosion of green energy that illuminated the scars crisscrossing his face. His eyes glittered with malice, reflecting the dimensional energy surrounding them. "Show him what happens when you cross us!"

The variants focused on destroying the remaining drones, smashing them with fists, feet, and energy blasts. Green sparks and fragments of metal rained down upon the devastated landscape below, a strange technological hailstorm over the ruins.

Y/N dove after Angstrom, her body streamlined for maximum velocity. Wind roared past her ears, heart hammering against her ribcage as she accelerated downward. Her hand reached out, fingers stretching toward Angstrom's falling form.

Too late, she saw what he had done.

A new portal opened beneath him, swirling with sickly purple energy—different from the familiar green of his standard portals. This was something else, something engineered for a specific purpose. His thumb caressed the remote one final time, altering the destination encoded in the vortex.

Angstrom's eyes locked with Y/N's as he plunged toward the portal. Blood bubbled between his lips, spattering across his chin and neck in a grotesque parody of a beard. His mouth stretched into a rictus of hatred, teeth stained crimson with his own life essence.

"Enjoy your trip," he spat, the words barely audible over the roar of the portal's energy.

Y/N tried to pull up, to change course, her muscles straining against her own momentum. Too late—the portal expanded like a hungry beast, swallowing Angstrom and reaching hungrily for her.

The variants froze in mid-air, horror dawning on their faces as they realized what was happening. Omni-Mark's arm extended toward her, fingers outstretched in futile desperation. Lensless Mark hovered nearby, both eyes now visible and widened with what might have been concern, his hand reaching toward her in an unconscious gesture.

Sinister Mark, who had been hanging back observing, suddenly became aware of a drone hovering unnoticed behind him. His attention had been entirely focused on Y/N, his black lenses reflecting her plummeting form. For a split second, his normal vigilance lapsed, his body frozen as he watched her fall. The drone's circuitry hummed as it targeted his distracted form. The device activated, creating a second portal that intersected with his flight path.

"Son of a—" His curse was cut short as the portal's energy engulfed him, pulling him inexorably in the same direction Y/N had vanished.

The sensation was like being flayed alive while simultaneously being compressed into a space far too small for a human body. Colors that existed in no known spectrum swirled around Y/N, pressure building against her eardrums until she thought her skull might shatter from the force.

Then, abruptly, release.

Y/N tumbled through open air, disoriented and gasping. Her body struck the ground with bone-jarring force, enhanced physiology absorbing an impact that would have pulverized ordinary human anatomy. Dust billowed around her, a cloud of gritty particles that coated her sweat-dampened skin and invaded her lungs with each desperate breath.

She rolled onto her hands and knees, fingers digging into alien soil as her vision swam and finally began to clear. Her head lifted, eyes widening as she took in her surroundings.

A wasteland stretched in every direction—not the devastated cityscape she had left behind, but something far more alien and terrifying. The sky above hung low and oppressive, a sickly shade of yellow-green that reminded her of infected tissue. Three moons of varying sizes and colors suspended in that alien firmament, casting overlapping shadows across the barren landscape. Jagged rock formations jutted from the earth like broken teeth, their surfaces gleaming with an oily iridescence that suggested something beyond normal geology.

And moving across that landscape—massive shapes that defied classification. Creatures composed primarily of teeth and claws and hunger, their bodies shifting and reforming with each lumbering step. Smaller, quicker things skittered between the giants, gleaming carapaces reflecting the eerie light of the alien moons.

Y/N pushed herself to her feet, muscles trembling with the effort. Her heart hammered against her ribs as understanding crystallized in her mind. This wasn't just another Earth, another timeline. This was something else entirely.

A monster universe. A place where the laws of nature had taken a different, nightmarish turn.

The largest of the distant shapes changed direction, its hulking form now moving purposefully toward her. The ground trembled beneath its approach, vibrations traveling through the soil and into Y/N's bones. Her muscles tensed in response, body automatically shifting into a defensive stance despite her exhaustion.

From three other directions, more creatures noticed her presence, their misshapen heads swiveling toward her with predatory interest. The smallest was still twice her height, its body a writhing mass of tentacles supporting what appeared to be a cluster of jawless mouths. It moved with surprising speed, covering ground in undulating lurches that ate up the distance between them.

Y/N's fists clenched at her sides, knuckles whitening as she prepared for a fight she wasn't sure she could win. Four against one, each creature more nightmarish than the last, and her body still recovering from the dimensional transition.

The monsters closed in, forming a ring around her. The largest towered at least thirty feet high, its body a grotesque fusion of insectoid and reptilian features. A cluster of milky eyes tracked her movements, pupils contracting to vertical slits in the dim light. Its maw gaped open, revealing row upon row of serrated teeth arranged in concentric circles that extended deep into its gullet.

Y/N circled slowly, keeping all four creatures in her field of vision. Her breathing steadied, muscles warming as she gathered her remaining strength. If this was to be her last stand, she would make it count.

The tentacled monster lunged first, appendages whipping toward her with the speed of striking snakes. Y/N leapt skyward, barely avoiding the attack. Her fist connected with what might have been the creature's head, the impact sending shockwaves up her arm. The monster stumbled but didn't fall, tentacles reconfiguring to maintain its balance.

Before she could press her advantage, the largest creature's arm shot out—a limb that seemed to elongate impossibly, ending in razor-sharp claws that raked across her back. Pain lanced through her body, hot blood soaking through the torn fabric of her suit. She spun in mid-air, teeth gritted against the agony, and delivered a retaliatory kick to the monster's forearm.

The third creature spat a stream of caustic fluid that struck her left shoulder, eating through fabric and searing the skin beneath. Y/N bit back a scream, the smell of her own burning flesh filling her nostrils. She dropped lower, trying to use the tentacled monster as a shield against further chemical attacks.

The fourth monster, a quadrupedal nightmare with a body structure suggesting both canine and arachnid heritage, circled warily, looking for an opening. Its face split horizontally, revealing not a mouth but a writhing nest of smaller, worm-like appendages that reached toward her hungrily.

Y/N fought with everything she had, each blow delivered with precision and desperate strength. Her fists created craters in monstrous flesh, her kicks shattered what might have been bones. But for every creature she staggered, another pressed forward. For every attack she evaded, two more connected.

Her stamina began to flag, muscles burning with exertion. Blood ran freely from multiple wounds, her accelerated healing struggling to keep pace with the damage. The monsters seemed to sense her weakening, their attacks becoming more coordinated, more precise.

A tentacle wrapped around her ankle, yanking her downward. She twisted, breaking free, but the motion left her open to the quadruped's charge. Its multi-jointed limbs propelled it forward with startling speed, body colliding with hers in mid-air. They crashed to the ground together, Y/N pinned beneath its considerable weight.

The worm-like appendages in its face writhed closer to her skin, exuding a paralytic toxin that numbed wherever they touched. Y/N struggled beneath the creature, muscles screaming with the effort as she tried to heave it off. Her vision began to dim at the edges, consciousness wavering as the other monsters closed in for the kill.

This was it. After everything she'd survived—the GDA experiments, the variants, Angstrom's traps—she would die here, torn apart by monsters in an alien dimension.

A dark blur streaked across her fading vision—something moving too fast to track properly. The weight pinning her suddenly vanished, the quadruped monster flying backward as though struck by a wrecking ball. The sound of impact echoed across the barren landscape, followed by an inhuman shriek of pain.

Y/N rolled onto her side, blinking to clear her vision. Through the haze of pain and exhaustion, she made out a familiar silhouette standing between her and the remaining monsters. Armored and imposing, his black and yellow suit gleamed in the light of the three moons, lenses reflecting the creatures' movements.

Sinister Mark.

His masked head didn't turn toward her, attention fixed on the creatures regrouping before him. His stance radiated aggressive confidence, arms hanging loose at his sides, shoulders squared beneath his dark armor. His yellow cape fluttered in the alien breeze, torn but dramatic against the wasteland backdrop.

"Stay down," he commanded, voice tight with barely contained rage. The words emerged as a snarl, every syllable vibrating with violent intent. Gone was the mechanical calm she'd heard from other variants, replaced by raw fury barely contained within human form.

The largest monster roared, the sound vibrating through Y/N's bones like a physical force. Sinister Mark didn't flinch. He simply tilted his head slightly, a wide, savage grin splitting his face beneath his lenses.

"You can't touch what's mine," he laughed, the sound cold and menacing. His body tensed, poised like a coiled spring. "My turn."

What followed wasn't just a fight—it was a massacre. Sinister Mark moved with lethal precision, each blow calculated for maximum damage. His laughter rang out with every strike, a sound of pure joy at the carnage he created. He didn't waste energy on showy techniques or unnecessary movements. His fighting style was brutally efficient, almost surgical in its application of violence.

The tentacled monster exploded in a shower of viscera as Sinister's fist punched clean through what passed for its central mass. "Too easy!" he cackled, lenses glistening with alien blood as he shook gore from his yellow glove with a flick of his wrist.

The acid-spitting creature's head separated from its body before it could unleash another chemical attack, Sinister's hand moving too fast to see properly. "Is that the best you've got?" he taunted, voice dripping with disdain as he kicked the severed head toward another approaching monster.

The quadruped that had nearly killed Y/N limped back into the fray, its body structure already realigning from the previous impact. Sinister Mark met its charge head-on, hands gripping opposing sides of its horizontally-split face. His arms tensed, muscles bunching beneath his armor.

"Let me help you with that face," he sneered and then ripped outward with a wet, tearing sound. The creature collapsed, twitching, as Sinister tossed the separated halves of its head aside, his shoulders shaking with laughter. "Much better!"

The largest monster hesitated, milky eyes tracking Sinister Mark's movements with newfound wariness. It began to back away, massive feet creating small tremors with each step. Sinister leapt upward, his body a dark projectile against the alien sky. He landed atop the creature's shoulders, hands gripping what might have been its skull.

"Not so fast," he growled, spittle flying from his lips as he snarled the words. "The fun's just starting." With a single, powerful motion, he twisted until something inside the monster gave way with a sickening crack that echoed across the wasteland.

The creature's legs buckled, its massive body crashing to the ground with earth-shaking force. Sinister rode it down, maintaining his position until the last tremor had passed through its dying form. His laughter echoed across the barren landscape, the sound filled with genuine pleasure at the destruction he'd wrought.

Silence descended over the battlefield, broken only by Y/N's labored breathing and the distant calls of other monsters, wisely keeping their distance after witnessing the fate of their brethren.

Sinister Mark turned toward her, his armor spattered with multicolored fluids that dripped slowly to the ground. He approached with measured steps, his silhouette black against the alien sky. Despite having just saved her life, there was nothing reassuring about his advance.

Y/N pushed herself to a sitting position, wincing as her injuries protested the movement. Her eyes never left Sinister's face, searching for some hint of intention behind the blank lenses of his mask.

"You look like shit," he observed, voice sharp and abrupt. A smirk played at the corners of his mouth as he loomed over her, cape billowing around him like a shroud. "Waiting for a thank you? Or did I interrupt your suicide attempt?"

A bubble of unexpected laughter escaped Y/N's throat, the sound edged with pain and the rising tide of hysteria. "I feel like shit too," she managed, one hand pressed against a particularly deep gash across her ribs that pulsed with each heartbeat.The alien ground lay scattered with dismembered creatures, their multicolored fluids pooling beneath mangled limbs. 

Sinister folded his frame into a crouch beside her, the movement as fluid as the violence had been moments before. His yellow gloves—vibrant against the desolation surrounding them—reached toward her face, the leather catching on her skin as he tilted her chin upward. Blood transferred between them at the contact, a macabre watercolor of her own crimson mixed with the iridescent fluids of the monsters he'd torn apart with disturbing enthusiasm.

"I don't save people," he said. The words slipped from his lips like blades, sharp with an undercurrent of promised violence. Behind the black lenses of his mask, she couldn't see his eyes, but his exposed lower face betrayed him—a twisted grin spreading slowly, pulling at the corners of his mouth until teeth gleamed in the dim light. Her own battered reflection stared back at her from those obsidian lenses. "But these things don't get to have all the fun with you."

His thumb brushed across her lower lip with unexpected delicacy, leaving behind a crimson streak that stood stark against her pallor. 

He cocked his head, a gesture both predatory and curious. The movement caused a ripple through his torn cape, the yellow fabric catching what little light filtered through the alien atmosphere.

"Those idiots lost you," he continued, leaning into her space until his breath warmed her face, carrying the metallic tang of blood and the acrid scent of battle. "Their loss. My gain."

Y/N wrenched away from his grip, the sudden movement sending fresh waves of pain radiating through her battered body. A hiss escaped between her clenched teeth. Her hand flew instinctively to her shoulder where an acid burn throbbed beneath her torn suit, the edges blackened and still smoking faintly. The muscles in her jaw worked beneath her skin as she fought to control her expression, to hide the vulnerability the pain created.

A laugh erupted from Sinister's throat—high and untethered, his head thrown back with manic abandon. The sound echoed across the barren landscape, returning distorted and hollow.

"Still playing tough?" His body shifted closer, bringing with it the scents of battle that clung to him—a heady mixture of sweat, adrenaline, and blood. Something glittered behind the black lenses, something hungry and intent. His smile never faltered. "Reminds me of my Y/N."

Before she could react—before she could even process the possessive claim in those words—his arms slipped beneath her knees and back. He lifted her against his armored chest in one fluid motion, the metal plates cool against her torn suit. Her injured shoulder pressed against him, drawing an involuntary gasp from her lips. Her fingers clutched at his suit, seeking stability in the sudden vertigo.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" His mask remained fixed on her face, head tilting as he studied her reaction. The corner of his mouth twitched upward, not quite a smile, not quite a sneer. "Pain means you're still alive. Be grateful."

Without warning, he launched skyward, the sudden acceleration forcing her body against his. Her arms wrapped around his neck, instinct overriding caution. Her face pressed against his shoulder as the wasteland blurred beneath them. Three alien moons hung overhead, their overlapping shadows creating patterns of darkness across the barren landscape.

"Let me go," Y/N demanded, her voice tight with pain and anger. She pulled back just enough to meet the impassive black lenses of his mask, the wind whipping her hair across her face in wild tendrils.

A laugh vibrated through his chest, genuine in its amusement. The sound rumbled against her body where it pressed against his. "After I went through all that trouble?" His grip tightened, pulling her closer until the yellow of his gloves stood stark against her torn suit. "Besides, those things down there are probably calling their friends for round two."

In the distance, massive shapes undulated across the alien terrain, drawn by the earlier commotion. Sinister adjusted their trajectory toward a jagged rock formation rising from the wasteland. As they approached, the dark mouth of a cave became visible, a shadow deeper than the surrounding darkness.

“How sweet home~”

––––––––––––

☆ YAY! Okay, I hope y'all like this chapter, even though it was just build up... ☆ And mainly fluff cause the next chapter is the main course~ ☆ Good news, I already wrote the next chapter so no waiting!! ☆ Go check it out for some fun with Sinister~ ☆ Pt.8

[writing-mlm]

Ordinary

Summary: Things are complicated considering Tim lives by a no-kill rule instilled by Bruce and his boyfriend is a mercenary. Thankfully you’re open to a new career choice. Pairing: Tim Drake x Male! Reader Word Count: 2.4k Tags/warning: make out scene, one killing scene, sad Tim, boys kissing, secret relationship, (Y/n) is used twice, Tim is Robin bc Damian is away

Your face was dangerously close to his, but you think close doesn’t truly describe just how close the two of you were. His lips, mainly due to the fact they were swollen, pressed to yours in a ghostly manner. Every so often, you’d feel his breath slip past his lips and you removed your eyes from his. 

Darting away from his blue eyes, you looked at his lips. The gaze stays for a couple of seconds before you heard Tim mutter fuck it then he grabbed your collar and pulled you into another kiss. You pull him closer by the sides of his waist, pulling his torso from the comfort of the wall and into your body. His hands traveled from your collar and curved around your body, cupping the flesh of your ass and you smiled, pulling away. 

“That’s new,” You breathed, your eyes darting between his. His pupils were blown and his face was beyond flushed— he looked so good. 

“A good new?” He asks, leaning in close. His breath was heavy against your lips, his chest heaving up and down with each pant before they evened out just a bit, just enough to allow him to swoop back down when you nodded. 

His lips sealed against yours again as his hands found comfort on your butt again, squeezing and kneading it every so often. Your hands, unlike his warm, needy ones, were softly pressed to his face. Cradling him there, knowing he won’t go away. 

Carefully, he began to lay you down on his bed but once your back hit the bed you turned him over. His back hit the bed with a small thump and you heard the creaks in the metal bed frame. It didn’t take long for the two of you to get adjusted to the new position, his hands were more than welcome to remove your shirt and begin the same to your pants while you carefully unbuttoned his— extremely expensive— shirt. 

Just when it was getting good— like really good, you heard one of your burner phones ping and groan. 

“Baby…” He trails as you sit up to grab the phone from your jacket that had been tossed onto the headboard. You glance at him but still check the message. “C’mon! You don’t have to!” Reading the message, you send back an okay text and toss the phone to the bed. 

“I kinda have to,” You tell him, grabbing his hands and pulling him up to his knees. “Besides, it’s that millionaire you hate. The Canadian one who called you a fag.” He sighs and shakes his head before climbing out of the bed. He stumbles a bit and you chuckle, watching him walk away. You sit down, letting your legs hang from the bed, and watch as he moves over to the hotel's kitchen. He had brought a cheap pot with him and had some extra tea bags in his bag, so you figured he was doing that. 

“I still don’t agree,” He stresses, pouring the hot water into the styrofoam cup and then dropping the tea bag inside. “Killing isn’t the only option you have.” With a cup of tea in his hands, he turns his back to the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his ankles crossed and you can’t entirely focus. He just looks too good. 

“I don’t have a degree,” Finally looking at his face, you see his unimpressed glare while he dips the bag in and out of the cup. “I mean- shit man!” Putting your sweater back on, you stand up and move towards where you’d put your shoes. “Some of us didn’t have the option to get anything other than a GED!” You toss your hands in the air as you finish stuffing your feet into your shoes. 

“Darling. I didn’t mean that!” He sets the cup down and stops you from grabbing your jacket. 

“What?” You look at him. “Baby, I’m not upset.” You smile, putting a hand on his face. “Sorry, my tone came off wrong. I’m…” For a second, you look away and try to find the right word. “Bad at regulating this. Um… I’m just saying. And I’m getting dressed because I kinda gotta meet my client soon.” 

“Oh,” He removes his hand, a red creeping on his face. “Sorry.” Tim’s eyes dart down for a second and you lift his face up so he’d be looking at you. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Kissing his cheek, you smile and just hold him for a second. “Communication, right?” He nods and you finish collecting your stuff. 

“I’ll text when I’m heading back!” 

—

Two days after meeting with your client, you had deemed it the right time to seal your end of the deal. 

And for fifty-million dollars, you were sitting in a fucking muddy area along the Canadian border. You swore ice was creeping up your ass and probably some type of toxic waste from the connecting factory pipes. But still, a job was a job. 

Marv White was your target and he wasn’t hard to spot, in the mixture of workers in proper factory gear he was in a well-tailored suit and stupid shades. It was nighttime, to add insult to injury. He was also pretty tall, towering over the workers he was talking to. Yelling at, was the right word, if you were being honest. 

He seemed like a nightmare to be around, especially if his own daughter wanted him dead. 

But it wasn’t your business, so you steadied your breathing as you looked through the scope mounted on a mossy rock. He was right between the crosshairs and you stopped your breathing when you pulled the trigger. 

It jutted you back just a tad, but you were still able to watch as the bullet hit him square in the head and he dropped. The workers scattered but you didn’t care to take them out, they weren’t targets and didn’t try to attack you. Although, you felt bad as you had probably just scared them for life. 

Either way, you took a picture of his body and sent it to your client. Within seconds the second half of your payment was sent and you grinned. 

“Seriously?” Robin drops down behind you as you’re taking apart your weapons to pack up. 

“Aren’t you too old to be Robin?” You chide, sparing him a look as you climb out of the pond and got out of the wet clothes. 

“Have some dignity!” He physically turns away, his hands on his hips and eyes squinted in the distance. You shake your head, putting on a new pair of boxers and then some pants. 

“I got plenty, especially since I don't wear spandex in my free time.” Robin turns back around and sighs, seeing you fully dressed. “What do you wear to stop your thighs from rubbin’ together? Because mine—“ You pat your outer thigh with a sharp breath in. “Burning.” 

He doesn’t respond but he does follow you to your getaway car as you hear police sirens approaching the factory. 

“Last one?” He asks, his eyes not moving from the gun you had tossed into a secret compartment in the trunk. Shutting the trunk, you hold onto the hood for a second, closing your eyes with a sigh. God, his voice was so desperate. So… so sad. You felt bad, knowing the truth. But you could never lie to him. 

“Not by a long shot,” You sigh, giving him one final look before getting into the car and speeding off. 

Driving back to your temporary hideout, you transfer the money into two accounts; one for free spending and one for your savings account. 

“With that money—“ Tim says as his hands run down your arms, they’re still gloved but you can feel his head on your neck and you can tell his mask is off. “You can go to college.” Closing your laptop, you turn to look at him and frown. 

“No college would accept me, one glance at my name and I’m blacklisted.” Tim sighs, jumping to take the spot next to you before grabbing your hand. 

“You could always change your name, legally.” He offers. 

It’s as if you hadn’t thought about that, you had told Tim the name you’d picked, hell you’d almost gone through with it more than a dozen times but… you can’t. You can’t just walk into a government building without expecting to get arrested. This life— the life you had no say in, was one you'll forever be stuck in. 

“Maybe.” Offering him a smile, he smiles and leans in close. 

“You smell like a fucking sewer, take a shower.” He whispers before shoving you off of your seat. 

—

Tim hated how he had to skirt around the fact that he had been dating someone from his friends and family. But what he thought he hated most, was the fact that no one absolutely no one seemed to notice it. 

Hadn’t he seemed happier? He felt happier. He thought his eye bags were going away, he knows he’s slept more than he has in a long while. He knows he’s injured a lot less, too. So… was he just that insignificant in their lives that no one noticed how different Tim was? 

World's Greatest Detective, he glared at Bruce as he worked on repairing the Batmobile after someone planted a bomb under it. The world's greatest detective couldn’t tell when his own son was in the best mental shape he’s been since he was a child?

Some fucking mentor he was. 

He wants nothing more than to ask you home, to show you off the way Dick shows off Kory. He wants his amazing relationship to be known so widely he can finally meet you without having to take so many precautions. He wants a love he can have so openly that everyone else cringes and whines when you show up. He wants an insufferable love. 

He just wants you, in every way he can possibly have. And he feels so selfish for that. 

So selfish in fact, that Tim decides then and there, as he’s in the Batcave, to forge some official government documents. Not like he hasn’t done it before. 

He’s meeting up with you later that night, he figures, it’s the best time to give you it. A little early birthday gift. 

The whole time he’s typing the document, he can feel the wide grin on his face. He’s cheesing like an absolute madman and when the paper gets printed— oh he’s over the moon. It looks so real! But, that’s to be expected, Tim is quite possibly the most skilled of his family; especially with these sorts of things. 

He follows his routine after that, though. He clears himself of any trackers and leaves his stuff behind. Anything that could be bugged is left in the solace of his locked room, but he takes his phone and that’s it. Just in case there’s an emergency. 

He puts on clothes his family has never seen him in, it’s tucked away in a part of the closet he made himself and he tells Alfred that he’s going for a long walk and to expect him home at some obscene hour. Or not at all for the next day, depending on how things went. 

The meetup spot isn’t in Gotham, it hardly ever is. This time, it’s just two stops outside and he sees you waiting outside the station with a mask and umbrella. He didn’t see the rain until he saw the umbrella and he swears he would’ve known if there was going to be rain. But the news didn’t say anything about rain. 

“I am an anti-miracle worker,” You give him a grin when he comments on it. Ah, he laughs, taking your hand in his as the two of you walk towards the car. 

You like Tim a whole lot more than you’d ever admit, and you’re beside yourself whenever you think of him. Enjoying company wasn't something you were ever used to, company growing up just meant work. Solitude meant you were free to do whatever. 

Until you met him. 

Robin was something else, though. Tim… now Tim was amazing. You lo— enjoyed everything about him, you liked all his quirks, his flaws, and his greatest feats. Being around him was so different, it never felt like a chore or something you had to actively work for. He was comfort, he was many things and you strived to always make him feel more than enough. 

That Tim never had to be anything other than himself, that he was worthy of the best of you; that he didn’t deserve the worst of you. 

Fuck it. 

You were madly in love with him. 

Thinking of him was like thinking. It happened whether you liked it or not. He was the first person you talked to in the day, he was the first person you told good or bad news. He was your everything.

“Are you okay?” He asks. “You’re holding my hand really tight.” Relaxing your grip, you apologize and see the street light change to red. 

“I…” You shrug, pulling your hands up to kiss his knuckles. “I love you, is all.” He smiles, it’s nice to hear it. He knows it, he’s Tim fucking Drake, of course, he knows that you love him but to hear it. God, it’s like he’s on cloud nine. 

“I love you, too,” He hums, kissing your knuckles back. You smile, a big and goofy smile he almost can’t believe you kill people for a living. 

Back at your base, you’re putting dinner into the oven while Tim is at the small dining table, digging into his bag to pull out a folder. He puts it on the table and you pick it up with one hand, the other holding your tea cup. “Open it, dork.” He says when you raise an eyebrow at him. If he wants you to kill someone, all he has to do is ask. 

“My clients give me folders like this,” You sigh, grabbing the folder. “Just so y'know.” You open it, a little confused about what it is until you get about three sentences in. 

“No,” You breathe, eyes welling with tears. The cup is set on the table and you grab the paper with both hands and read over it. “Tim.” Your voice is raspy as you look at him. He nods, looking between you and the paper. 

“(Y/n) (L/n) has no criminal history, unlike Darling Wilson.” He softly says and reaches over to grab your hands.

“(Y/n) can go to college. You can get out of this life.” 

[meowgumi10]

“Not so loud princess”

Princess reader x thief sukuna

Royal au

CW: smut, name calling/pet names (slut,honey), weapons mention, tiny bit of knife play, virgin reader, porn with a plot

I’m not the most amazing at writing smut and idk how to use punctuation (also this is not edited) but enjoy!

Sukuna a well renowned thief in the criminal world,he had gotten a high level job: to steal some royal jewels. He was used to high level jobs but he had never attempted to steal from the royal palace itself, though it should be very interesting.

You, the princess had just gotten into bed after a long night of dancing and chatting with many other debutants and Noblemen. You sigh as you settle into your soft bed, your eyes fluttering closed as you drift off

Sukuna had calculated perfectly how to steal some jewels and be out of there without being noticed. He was going to sneak into the princess’s bedroom and keep her quiet with a knife as he took a few necklaces and earrings, maybe even a tiara if he’s lucky. He snuck past guards and maids doing some overnight work. He slowly opened your window,seeing your sleeping form and smirked to himself thinking this would be easy. His crimson eyes scanning the large room as he stepped into it, despite his very large frame he was as quiet as a mouse.

His well adjusted eyes looked through your various drawers and stands full of jewellery.He finally saw some earrings with giant Diamonds in the centre, just as he picked them up he was hit in the head with something heavy; he hit the floor and grabbed the back of his head “fuck” he groaned as he looked at what hit him. You stood over him in your cute little cotton night gown,a pure gold candle holder in your hands as you stood in an attacking stance “What are you doing here scum?!” You say trying to hide the shake in your voice. Sukuna almost laughed at the sight in front of him “relax princess, I’m not here to hurt you” he says getting up, he towered over you but you didn’t waver your stance or determination, “you’re not the dainty little thing people describe” he chuckles and steps closer “shut up! Answer your princess, what do you want?” You say slightly lowering your ‘weapon’. He scans over your form “just here for a few trinkets, you have so much you wouldn’t mind if I took one or two right?” He said pulling the large dagger out of his thigh garter. You lower the candle holder and step back “okay take some…just don’t kill me” you mumble in defeat.

He stepped closer and dragged the blunt edge of the blade along your collar bone, the feeling the cold metal against your exposed skin made you shiver “I won’t kill you princess” he whispers, you whimper softly “please don’t hurt me” you mumble; he chuckles and retracts the dagger, he turns and grabs a few pieces of jewellery before stuffing them in a pouch, he turns to leave but you stop him. “Is that it?” You ask, he looks over his shoulder at you “what do you mean? You wanted me to hurt you or something?” He says with an eyebrow raised, “no…it’s just, you have the princess here in nothing but a nightgown and you’re just going to leave?”

He grinned and turned around fully “I didn’t know her royal highness was a slut” he chuckles and walks closer, he was so massive. You swallow and look up at him, your nipples were poking through the thin cotton of your nightdress, it outlined your hips perfectly “besides…you couldn’t handle me princess” he smirks. You blush softly “you’re an ass” you mumble; he suddenly grabs your face in his large veiny hand causing you to gasp softly “what was that princess? You should speak up” he says leaning down, his breath fanning on your lips. You bite your lip soft and look up at him, his tattoos were attractive to say the least and his piercing red eyes made you feel naked. “N-nothing” you mumble.

He pulled his dagger out again and hooked the tip of it under a button of the top of your night gown “maybe I should take extra payment…this is a dangerous job you know?” He says popping the button off. Your chest rises and falls with your heavy breaths, you don’t reply and just watch the blade that’s so close to your skin, yet you’re not scared… your pussy is throbbing in a way you’ve never felt before. “Do you even know what sex is princess?” He chuckles, you blush deeply “yes!…it’s how you make babies” you say shyly, he chuckles again and pops the second button, getting a clearer view of your breasts.

You let your nightgown slip off your shoulders and pool at your feet, your panty-clad body on display for him. He tucks the dagger away and sets his hands on your hips, walking you back onto your bed “will you be gentle?” You whisper, “Mm…fine” he mumble and starts to unbutton his shirt. His muscular and tattoo filled torso revealed to you, he looked like a Greek god, your breath became even heavier and your chest rose and fell even quicker. Your eyes trail down to the pink path of hair that disappeared into his pants. “See something you like, your highness?” He says lowly with a boyish smirk in his face, your hands reach out to tentatively unbuckle his belt, he chuckles again “quite the eager little thing aren’t you?” He says helping you take his pants off. In one swift motion you pull his pants and boxers down together, your jaw almost drops when you see the size of his cock.

It seemed about 8 inches and quite thick, it was veiny and the tip was bright red, his cock stood tall and proud as it dripped with pre cum “do i turn you on that much?” You ask as you look up at him. “Hm…give it a taste honey” he says, you look back down at his cock and give his fat tip a kitten lick. He groans and puts his large hand on your head “that’s a good girl” he praises.his pre cum tasted a salty but for some reason you liked,you wrap your lips around the head and suck softly, your tongue swirling around it. He groaned and cursed under his breath, watching how your lips wrapped around him, it was so erotic;Before he got carried away he pulled your head away “lay back princess” he orders. You lay back on your bed and let your legs fall open, he can see the outline of your gushing pussy perfectly through the thin fabric or your cotton panties, “what the people say is right…you are fucking perfect” he mutters and runs his thumbs along your clothed slit making you moan softly. He peels your panties off to reveal your beautiful pussy, your clit hard and twitching, your virgin entrance practically calling his name.

He kneels down and buries his face between your legs, making you gasp out a moan, your hand instinctively going to hold his head as he licked between your folds. “Fucking delicious” he growls against your pussy, you let your head fall back as your fingers tangled in his hair, he sucked on your clit and lapped up your juices hungrily. You gasp and moan,never having felt like this when you slipped your fingers into your panties at night.He slipped a thick finger into your tight hole, your inner walls clenching around his finger “Virgin pussy is always the best” he murmurs, the sound vibrating onto your pussy. He started to pump his finger and in and out of your tight hole as he kissed and licked your clit, his large hand pinned you down by your pelvis to stop you from squirming, but it’s only made the pleasure more intense. Your moans and whines filled the room, you couldn’t even care about anyone hearing you, this man who’s name you didn’t even know was making you feel like you had discovered Pandora’s box and opened it.

He added another finger and starting scissoring your pussy open, twisting his fingers as he pumped them in and out, his tongue never stopped moving on your clit. You looked down at him with hazy eyes as he devoured you “so good- hah!~” you manage to get out, he smirks against your pussy and looks up at you “sukuna” he mutters against your clit. He pulls his fingers out and licks them clean “don’t be too loud” he says as he strokes himself, you’re still panting and feel like everything is moving so fast “s-sukuna?…” you whisper as you look up at him with lustful eyes, “yes ,princess?” “Will it hurt?” He would almost believe you were an innocent young girl if you hadn’t been the one to seduce him in the first place. He spread your pussy lips and looked at your hole “yeah…but the good kinda pain” he says. You swallow nervously and take a moment to really scan his face “you’re quite handsome, sukuna” you say softly, he looks at you as he keeps stroking himself “why thank you princess…you’re not so bad yourself” he smirks.

You didn’t know what it was about him, his voice? His tattoo? That scar that didn’t scare you as much as it should’ve? Perhaps it how he spoke, the soft purr in his deep voice that made your heart skip a beat? Either way you knew one thing, this criminal shouldn’t be near you, let alone be defiling you in such a manner.

He set one of his knees onto the bed, the other planted on the floor to brace him as he lined himself with your entrance, his dark red eyes looked into yours as he slowly pressed his tip into your small entrance. You gasp and whimpered, your hands immediately going to grip his bulging biceps, “relax” he whispered again your shoulder. He pressed kisses along your shoulder, that were surprisingly soft, he growled as he continued to push in; your tight walls squeezing him like a vice, he wasn’t sure if it was the thrill of fucking the princess or if you were just that perfect but he had never felt this good. He pushed in, inch by inch, he kissed you to stop you from crying out and whimpering so loudly; his tongue invading your mouth and not leaving a spot untouched as he claimed you fully. Your back arched off the bed and your nails dug into his skin as he bottomed out with a grunt, he left opened mouth kisses down your throat and along your collar bone as he allowed you to adjust to his size “if you fit into my pouch, princess,I’d steal you away right now” he whispers against your skin. “Sukuna…this is” you could barely finish a sentence, your whole body was feeling things it had never felt before, he ever so slowly started thrusting in and out, “oh…oh god!” Your nails left crescent shaped marks on his biceps. he started moving faster, his massive cock stretching you out impossibly “ah! Sukuna~!”, he put his hand over your mouth “shh…Not to loud princess”. Your loud moans and cries were muffled but the loud squelching of your pussy being pounded into was not, the sound of skin against skin filled the room, his climax was building up quickly and so was yours.

Your eyes started to roll back as he pounded in and out of you, “fuck…look at me princess, look at this scum of a man as he ruins your pretty pussy” he moans, nipping your ear, your breath was hot against his palm and your nails were almost making his back bleed as you clawed at his skin. His other hand reached down to rub your clit, your legs started to shiver at all this new stimulation, your pussy spasmed around him. You felt like your head was spinning, you looked up at him and moved his hand from your mouth, yanking him down for a kiss once more. You never felt anyone’s touch, anyone’s comfort but this? You hoped he’d sneak in and rob you every night if that’s what it took; the way your tongues tangled, how your bodies moved against each other it was addictive.

You were so close, so so close to gushing all over him. You break the kiss desperately, before you can speak he cuts you off “let go…cum for me” and just like magic you do just that. You bit down on his shoulder and creamed all over his cock that was still pounding into you, the way your walls squeezed around him threw him over the edge. He pulled out and came on your stomach like a gentleman. You were panting and whimpering softly as you laid back on your bed, your hair a mess and a thin sheen of sweat over your body, he’d never seen a more beautiful sight “that…that was so amazing” you whisper to him “it was” he whispers back and wipes his cum of your stomach with a tissue.

You sit up a little as you watch him get dressed “ what will you do with my jewels?” You ask curiously, he glances at you as he buttons up his shirt “I give them to my handler, he gives me a nice big payment and I get called for more jobs, that means more money” he says, “so…you’ll come back?” You ask hopeful, he chuckles “sure princess, just don’t tell on me alright?” He smirks; before you’re able to answer he disappears into the night.

You flopped back onto your bed and try to process what just happened, hoping he would keep his word and really come back.

[yawnderu]

Lorelei — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | Part IV

1 2 3 4 5 6

Simon doesn't cry. The last time he cried was out of shock, coming home to see his entire family executed by who he thought were his allies, his friends, his comrades. Simon doesn't cry, but you can see how broken his soul is in the way his hands delicately hold you close to him. You can feel it in the way his heart is beating fast in your ear, his lips pressing gentle kisses on the top of your head while you're barely conscious, too tired from the late-night conversation you had with him.

The man who broke you a year ago is the same man whose touch pieces your soul together, his warm hands doing nothing but serve as a reassurance that he's here. He's here, alive, and he's not going anywhere. Not anymore.

He waits until you're snoring softly to gently settle you back down in bed, taking one last look at your peaceful sleeping expression before getting up from bed slowly, leaving the room and walking in the dark towards his baby's room. He closes the door behind him, approaching the crib with footsteps so quiet one would think he's still the ghost, but he's not, not when he's here. He's just Simon.

"Hey, sweet girl." He greets in a whisper, leaning down in front of the crib to look at his daughter. What a fucking sight, he thinks; brown eyes focused on the way his tiny girl is holding a bunny plushie close to her, wearing the skull pattern pajamas he bought her a few weeks ago. Simon has strong genes— the baby looks like a girly replica of him, her dark brown hair framing her pretty face, nose slightly rosy from the cold. He adjusts her beanie, lifting the blanket enough so more of her body can be covered even while she's asleep. His hand hesitates when he feels the baby stirring awake, taking a step back before her brown eyes open, peering at him.

"Good morning, sweetheart." He whispers, afraid to wake you up even while you're an entire room away. His big hands reach out for the baby, cradling her in his arms as he walks around the house until he reaches the living room, not bothering to turn on the light to not bother his baby. She's calm— not crying, simply babbling as she looks up at him, her hands balled into fists, too used to holding something. Simon can feel her tiny nails digging into his bare chest, yet he doesn't mind, gently rocking his girl under the comfort of the dark living room, the moonlight illuminating enough so they can both look at each other.

"Papa." His heart almost stops when he hears the little girl say her first word, looking down at her with wide eyes and a proud smile. He almost thinks he imagined it until she repeats it louder, tiny hands pulling on his dog tags. His hand dwarfs the baby's head as he presses her closer to his bare chest, closing his eyes and focusing on the feeling of her tiny body against his. He never thought he'd be a father— hell, the idea itself never went through his head even when his family was alive, yet ever since he first saw his baby girl? Simon fell in love.

"Papa's here, Astrid." He plants a gentle kiss on her forehead, her tiny balled up hands now holding his cheeks and pulling slightly on the stubble, making him groan in pain, something she finds amusing, a cheeky giggle coming out of her.

"Gentle." He reminds her, pulling her away so she's not able to keep torturing his scarred cheeks. He smiles down at her, one of his hands coming up to gently pinch her chubby cheeks, another giggle coming out of the tiny girl. She’s an angel— rarely cries and is always giggling, her gummy smile full on display for anyone lucky enough to see her.

His pretty angel. A split image of everything Simon could have been if he had a normal family and rather than feeling bitter about it, he feels happy. Happy to be able to see her grow, to give her and you the life you both deserve, even if you're not together.

He lays down on the couch with the baby resting on his chest, the chain and metal of his dog tags enough to keep her distracted as he admires her under the moonlight seeping through the window, wanting to memorize every single detail on her tiny face. The pain of losing a second brother to him is still there, yet this tiny girl heals his soul and gives him hope.

Johnny would have loved you. He thinks as he looks at her, imagining Johnny playing with his baby. A quiet chuckle escapes his lips as he thinks of the tiny girl pulling on his mowkhawk, her bad habit of pulling on people's hair something he became too familiar with, his buzzcut not saving him from his baby's surprisingly strong grip. His mind inevitably goes back to his family, thinking of Joseph playing with his baby, of Tommy experiencing being an uncle, or Beth and his mum gossiping with you while looking at Simon, proud smiles in their faces. He can't help the way his eyes sting, slightly rimming with tears in the company of his baby.

His eyes close as he takes a deep breath, allowing a stray tear to roll down his cheek while the rest dots his long eyelashes. His hand plays with his little girl's hair, the other one firmly holding her close to his bare chest while she babbles on, her innocence a complete contrast to who he is.

"Mum?" He begins, eyes still closed and voice shaky.

"This is my baby, Astrid. She's four months old... lovely girl, ain't she?" He speaks quietly to nothing, imagining his mum is there, watching over him, a bright smile on her lips.

"I still haven't won her mum over, but I'm trying. I'm gonna marry this girl, mummy, I know I will." Simon doesn't cry, but his stomach muscles tense as he holds back a sob, not wanting to startle the baby resting on him. Her silence finally makes his eyes open, tear-rimmed circles of darkness softening when he sees the peaceful sleeping expression on his baby.

"I love you so much." He confesses in a whisper, his short nails gently massaging her scalp, his warm chest working as a personal heater for the sleeping baby. His back is starting to hurt but he's not going to risk waking the girl up, simply closing his eyes again and focusing on getting some sleep. With how badly he has been sleeping since he came back, he doesn't even realize when he drifted off to sleep, only being awoken hours later by the smell of pancakes and tea.

He looks down at his chest, finding a blanket covering him, but no sight of his baby. That's enough to send him in a panic, immediately getting up and looking around the living room, his fast-beating heart only slowing down once he sees the baby sitting on a highchair in the kitchen, your back turned to him as you hum and prepare breakfast.

"Bloody hell— you scared the shit out of me." He lets out a deep breath, trying his best to calm down as he starts walking towards you, one of his hands resting on your waist as you look over your shoulder and shoot him a cheeky grin.

"You scared the shit out of me when I saw the empty crib." He gives you an apologetic smile, planting a soft kiss on the top of your head and laughing as he narrowly misses the kick thrown to his arse.

[PREVIOUS] [NEXT]

taglist:@skulfan1 @survivalshxt @ghostslittlegf @yaebaal @thecubanator2 @juliediets @shescabob @kenz-ee @lothiriel9 @dragonstoneshortcake @lunamoonbby @alfie2401 @perfectus-in-morte @mxtokko @cloufie @killergoddess97 @imaracoon @thepurpleaccount