#not like it of course but he will clench his teeth and bear it

[idkyetxoxo]

Jacaerys Velaryon - Reflections of Shame

Summary - She faces the scorn of Prince Jacaerys, who despises her for what she represents. Their bitter confrontation unravels pain, and understanding begins to form as threads of trust emerge between them. What starts with venom transforms into something far more complex.

Pairing - Jacaerys Velaryon x reader

Warnings - Mild language

Word count - 2265

Masterlist for Jacaerys • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

Before the war had sunk its claws into the Targaryen family, sinking its teeth like a ravenous beast, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon had never been anything but courteous—a princely figure who embodied grace and nobility. 

To imagine him now as anything less, let alone openly cruel, was once inconceivable. 

Yet here he was, transformed by conflict and burdened by suspicion and scorn, glaring down at me with eyes that held a tempest.

Of course, I was no ordinary maiden. I was a dragon seed, a name whispered with equal parts reverence and scorn. 

I had stumbled, quite literally, into destiny when I claimed the mighty Silverwing after wandering through a forgotten passageway. 

To many, I was a mystery; to others, an interloper with dragon fire in my veins. 

And to the prince, I was an affront. His disdain cloaked itself in subtle barbs and carefully metered sneers, each one laced with contempt that cut deeper than any sword.

Seated beside me was Hugh Hammer, a man whose reputation was also unknown. 

We spoke quietly of our dragons, two strangers drawn together by scales, fire, and circumstance. It was a curious sight—Hugh, a man of brute strength and feral ambition, sharing words with someone like me, a newcomer and a woman who still struggled to understand her place. 

Our dragons were as different as night and day, but in that moment, their riders shared a fragile bond of necessity.

The conversation stilled as the great doors opened, announcing the arrival of Queen Rhaenyra and her heir. 

Instinctively, I rose, fumbling only slightly as I dipped into a curtsy. 

My new gown of silken red clung to me with a weight I was not yet used to, a reminder of expectations I barely understood. 

The queen's presence commanded silence; her gaze swept the room, hard and implacable. She summoned Hugh with a gesture, and he departed with a bow, leaving me alone with the prince.

"My Prince," I greeted, my voice even as I lowered myself back onto the bench. 

Prince Jacaerys did not move, standing opposite me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. 

He observed me as if I were an unwelcome spectre—a ghost he could not banish and a burden he resented bearing.

For several agonizing moments, silence stretched between us. I forced myself to breathe, clasping my hands tightly to quell the trembling. 

"Is something the matter, my prince?" I ventured, keeping my tone light and respectful, though every muscle in my body tensed in anticipation.

His jaw clenched, and his eyes, dark and stormy, narrowed further. When he spoke, his voice was low and laced with venom. "Stop pretending."

The words struck like a whip. My breath caught, my pulse quickened, and I stared at him in stunned silence. 

This was no simple rebuke—it was an accusation, one that peeled away every fragile layer of decorum I had tried to build around myself. 

In his eyes, I was a fraud, a pretender who had dared to step into the realm of dragons. And no matter how much I tried to deny it, he would never let me forget that I was unwelcome.

The silence between us lingered, thick and suffocating, as I struggled to find my composure. 

Prince Jacaerys's eyes burned with barely restrained fury, his words heavy with disdain. 

Each passing second seemed to stretch into an eternity, and I knew whatever came next would cut me deeply, but I couldn't allow myself to falter. 

No matter how venomous his words, I had to endure them. 

A show of disrespect now could ruin me, perhaps even lead to consequences that no amount of pleading would undo.

His lips curled into a sneer. "You walk around this castle as if you belong here," he said, his tone like a blade. "Claiming a dragon does not make you one of us. You're nothing more than an intruder playing at power."

I forced myself to meet his gaze, my hands trembling only slightly as they remained clasped in my lap. 

"I have done nothing but follow the orders given to me, my prince," I said quietly. "I mean no offence."

He stepped closer, looming over me. "Is that what you tell yourself? That you belong among those of true blood? That you're entitled to walk these halls and speak with queens and princes as if you are their equal?"

His words landed like blows, each one harder than the last. I wanted to look away, to shrink from his stare, but I could not afford to show weakness. 

"I have never claimed to be your equal," I said softly. "I am here only because of the dragon I was fortunate enough to bond with."

"Fortunate?" He scoffed, the derisive laughter echoing in the chamber. "You think this is fortune? No, you're a fool. A pretender who stumbled upon power she neither understands nor deserves."

My chest tightened, and I fought to keep my voice steady. "Why must you speak so cruelly to me? I have done nothing to earn your ire."

His eyes blazed with something beyond anger—something darker, more personal. "You breathe. You exist. That alone is offence enough."

For a moment, I could only stare at him, shock stealing the air from my lungs. 

He leaned closer, his words dripping with venom. "Tell me, what were you before all this? A whore? Did you find that life beneath you too?"

The insult struck me like a slap. I felt the blood drain from my face as I struggled to comprehend the depth of his malice. 

Swallowing hard, I forced myself not to react, even as his words twisted like a knife in my heart. 

"I do not know what I have done to warrant such hatred," I whispered, my voice cracking despite my best efforts. "Why be so cruel?"

His face twisted with rage, and for a brief, terrifying moment, I thought he might strike me. "Your entire existence upsets me!" he roared, the force of his words reverberating in the room.

Silence followed his outburst, the echo of his voice fading into nothingness. 

Tears burned at the edges of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I searched his gaze, trying to understand what could make him despise me so. 

"Why?" I whispered, the question escaping me unbidden. "Is it because I am a bastard... like you?"

At that, all colour drained from his face. He went utterly still, the rage in his eyes replaced by something cold and unreadable. 

For the first time, he was silent, and the room seemed to hold its breath. I watched him, waiting for another cruel word, another strike—but none came. 

Instead, he turned away, the storm in him retreating, leaving only the aching quiet between us.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

The hours after the confrontation with Prince Jacaerys passed slowly, every moment weighed down by the memory of his scorn. 

I retreated to the solitude of my chambers, the heavy stone walls feeling more oppressive than ever. His words had echoed in my mind, each cruel syllable burrowing deep. 

Despite my best efforts, tears had fallen as I paced the room, replaying every jab, every moment of contempt in his eyes. 

I had thought myself strong enough to endure anything, but I was beginning to doubt.

Night fell, cloaking Dragonstone in shadow. The faint flicker of torchlight cast dancing shapes on the walls as I sat by the window, staring out at the distant stars. 

I did not hear the soft footsteps until it was too late. A knock at the door made me startle, and my heart leapt to my throat. 

Before I could answer, it opened, revealing the last person I wanted to see. Prince Jacaerys stepped inside, his features half-lit by the flickering light, and closed the door behind him.

Instinctively, I rose to my feet, every muscle tensed. "My prince," I managed, forcing a politeness I did not feel. "What brings you here at this hour?"

His expression was a mixture of regret and something else—something raw, unguarded. 

For a long moment, he said nothing, his gaze shifting around the room before settling on me. "I owe you an apology," he said at last, his voice rough. "I was... unforgivably cruel."

I stared at him, stunned. I had imagined many responses from him, but this was not one of them. 

"You made your feelings quite clear," I replied, my words cautious, careful. "Why apologize now?"

He exhaled heavily, running a hand through his dark hair. "Because I was wrong," he said, his tone raw with emotion. "And because you deserve better than the words I flung at you."

I studied him, searching for the lie or the hidden barb, but all I saw was a man burdened by something heavy and painful. 

"Why?" I asked quietly. "Why do you hate me so?"

His jaw clenched, and he turned away, moving to the window. "It isn't you I hate," he said, his voice low. "Not truly. It's what you represent—a reminder of my own bastardy, of my mother's mistakes and the war that rages because of it." 

He paused, his shoulders tense. "When I look at you, I see every shadow I have tried to escape, every whisper of doubt that has haunted me since I was a child."

His admission left me breathless. I had expected bitterness, but not this raw vulnerability. 

"I never asked to be a reminder of your pain," I said softly. "All I wanted was to find my place here. To serve, to live."

He turned to me then, his eyes dark and unguarded. "I know." His voice was a whisper. "And I tried to make you small, to make you feel as worthless as I do when I think of what I am. It was wrong."

The weight of his confession pressed on my chest, and I took a hesitant step closer. 

"I am not here to be your enemy," I said. "I am not here to judge you for your birth, just as I hope you will not judge me for mine."

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, slowly, he nodded. "I will try," he said. "I cannot promise it will be easy. The shadows do not leave so easily."

"I understand," I said, my voice trembling slightly.

A fragile silence fell between us. I could feel the tension of unspoken words, of wounds barely healed and a thousand possibilities. 

When he moved closer, I did not step back. He reached for my hand, his touch hesitant, as if he expected me to pull away. When I didn't, he exhaled slowly. 

"You are stronger than I gave you credit for," he murmured. "And more than worthy."

There was something softer, something almost hesitant as if he was still grappling with the enormity of his own words.

"I have wronged you," he said quietly, his voice low but steady. "More deeply than I realized. And for that, I can only offer my apologies. Words alone are a poor substitute for the damage I have done."

I searched his face, trying to make sense of the change. "I... thank you, my prince. Your words mean more than you know."

A flicker of something—relief, perhaps—passed across his features, but it was fleeting. He stepped back, creating just enough distance that I felt like I could breathe again. 

"But words are not enough," he continued, a hint of determination hardening his voice. "I cannot change the past or erase what I have said, but I can try to make amends in other ways."

Confusion knit my brow. "Make amends? How?"

His lips curved, just barely, into a small, wry smile. "I would like to teach you," he said. "Myself."

"Teach me?" I echoed, unsure if I had heard him correctly. There was a tremor of disbelief in my voice. "What would you teach me?"

"Dragonriding," he said simply. "You have bonded with Silverwing, and that alone speaks of your strength and courage. But riding a dragon is more than just a bond. It is a skill, one that can mean the difference between victory and defeat in the skies. You deserve proper training."

I felt a surge of emotion—gratitude, disbelief, and even a flicker of hope—but I quickly shook my head. 

"I couldn't ask that of you. You are the heir. You have duties, responsibilities. There are far more important matters for you to attend to."

He stepped closer, the resolve in his gaze unyielding. "As heir, my duty is to protect the claim my mother fights for—and one day, my own. Ensuring that every dragon rider fighting for our cause is prepared is as important as any political duty. This war is not won by words and titles alone."

His voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of urgency. He meant every word, and the weight of his conviction made it impossible to refuse. 

I met his gaze, feeling a strange and unexpected connection, an unspoken understanding that neither of us could deny. Slowly, I nodded.

"Very well," I said, my voice low but resolute. "If it is your wish, my prince."

His eyes softened, and for a moment, the prince I had once thought incapable of kindness or grace stood before me. "It is," he replied. "Tomorrow, then."

With that, he turned and walked toward the door, his footsteps quieter now, as if he carried less weight upon his shoulders. 

When he glanced back, his expression was unreadable—a mix of determination and something I dared not name. 

But I saw it: the beginnings of something fragile, a chance to build trust where only pain had stood.

I watched him leave, the ghost of a smile playing at the corners of my lips.

A/n - back to college now and im hanging on by threads x

[gladiatorcunt]

- A ROTTEN TREE BEARS ROTTEN FRUIT | I.

god loves you, but not enough to save you

cw: kinktober prompt (whipping/flogging), blasphemy, inaccurate religious practices, lyrical sadomasochism (more so sadism on his part), erotic religious imagery and references, this dynamic is so weird, implied (as in in my mind) bi reader and charlie, plus sized reader, reader’s chest referred to as ‘breasts’ & ‘tits’ and their crotch referred to as a ‘hole’ but they do have a seperate one other than their ass, pregnancy fantasy, vomit mention, don’t know shit about the show fuck you ryan, blood kink, interchangeable ‘charlie’ & ‘mayhew’ based on pov

do not translate, repost, or feed this work to ai |

kinktober 2024

“Shh, let me clean you up, Father.” You smile, so softly, he could snap your neck if he squeezed hard enough.

You run your nails over his back, trimmed to an appropriate length. Father Mayhew sighs the way Adam might’ve when Eve’s walls clenched around him, God never being more important than this bliss. You’re so devoted, so devout in your worship but he’s beginning to think that you cry out to a different God than he does. If you even believe in an invisible one anymore when you have a savior in the flesh.

“Thank you, dear. That’d be great.” The pulls are pulled from his lips like rotund wooden beads, as if he has no choice but to endure the stretch as they exit his body one by one.

You shuffle off the bed and kneel behind him, stroking your fingertips down his back like he’s a marble statue you just can’t help but reach out and touch. The opposite of Delilah cutting Samson’s hair, you only want to imbue him with your pure love from the inside out. Spooning milk and honey over the tender welts.

His eyelids crinkle as you kiss the nape of his neck, blotting your lips with rouge. There is no inch of his back left without, and when you arrive at the bigger gashes you lavish the cut with your tongue. Drinking his life away and cleaning him up like a good little whore, servicing the man becomes the only thing of importance to you. You dip the tip of your tongue in the recess of the deeper wounds, and caress his tensing abs from behind when he grits his teeth and traps a curse behind them. You only kitten lick him, but often he wishes you would get real dirty with it, caressing your tongue over his muscles in broad and messy swipes.

His scars from previous lashings glint in the low light of the candles surrounding you. You give them their just desserts of course, grateful pecks of attention and acknowledgement. Soothing his pain, that is the only excuse you have to encroach on the verge of breaking your vows. Father Mayhew gives you a purpose and stops your bleating with a heavy hand if you forget your place. Stern hand to raw and stinging flesh.

Sometimes there is no pillow when you kneel behind him.

The next step is that you turn around and face the wall after picking up the cattail whip off the bed and returning it to its rightful owner. You’ve already discarded your habit, no tunic, coif, or veil left on your person. They’re folded neatly beside you, only your rosary nestled in the embrace of your heaving breasts. Your peaks harden in the stuffy humid air, all the oxygen in the world confined to this small room.

He saddles up behind you, his sweaty chest so close to the flesh and contours of your back. Father Charlie breathes you in, taking whiffs of your debauched scent in between silent prayers. He never allows himself to be as forward as you are, his thread of control over his desire has not snapped yet. There are boundaries he can push, but lines he can never cross.

“Good lamb, God recognizes your penance and forgives your soul.” He whispers, dragging the strips of leather down your back until goosebumps rise to the surface.

When you least expect it, he strikes. You muffle a shout into the wall and Father Charlie’s cock jumps under his towel. Briefly he imagines slamming into your tempting body dry, with no preparation, making you sure you feel as much pain as possible. The way you’d wince with every step around the church, the begging in your puppy dog eyes when you’d take communion. How he could hold it above your head like a bone in the shape of a fractured cross, dangling just out of reach of your gorgeous mouth.

The devil gives him dreams of fucking your throat until you’re vomiting and hoarse.

Every droplet of bed peeking out from the cracks of your skin to say hello nourishes him. He shushes you when you’re unable to hold back your sounds, cooing when he notices you humping the air after the fifteenth hit. You just can’t help yourself, nerdy by nature and nurture.

You start soaking the pillow beneath you, imagining what he must look like. A man and his broad hulking body curling around you as he hurts you. Your hole suddenly feels so empty, you have a night of riding your pillow ahead of you, you just want to be good for him in all the ways you’re supposed to be.

As you let a demon of sex control your body, he spies a flash of a white lacy thong nestled between your plump ass cheeks. He knows that if you had also worn a towel, he would’ve hooked his fingers under the fabric and pulled it off. You don’t get to hide any part of yourself from your Father. And he knows he will have to give himself another lashing for those thoughts alone. Even the secret wedding he plans as he strokes his angry red cock, always edging himself, he’s afraid of what would happen if he lets go. How loud the iron gates would be when they creak open. Like the way he wants to spread your ass open and toy with the hidden puckered hole.

His words are in his actions, reopening your old wounds and bringing the warm leather across your back one last time, he hopes your blood soaks through the material. Staining it, the way you have already stained his heart. Father Charlie grins despite himself when you slump against the wall, sliding his bible-roughened hands over your love handles and sticks his pecs to your shoulders.

“You did lovely, today. The Lord thanks you, and I’m so proud of you, you know that?” His thick fingers brush along the bottoms of your tits, never going higher.

He wants to slap them, wrap the beads of your rosary around them until the flesh bulges, painting your nipples in a mix of both of your blood. Marking your souls irreversibly. Marriage of the spirit, a ritualistic wedding in the eyes of the beholder. You shiver like a mouse in front of a snake, and beads of precum fall from his cockhead.

Did Saint Teresa have these feelings when she had the vision of an angel piercing her heart with their golden spear? Did Saint Sebastian when he was pierced by those arrows under the order of the Emperor? Did David when he wrenched Goliath’s head back by his hair and bested him into humiliation? Did it compare to the covenant he formed with Jonathan?

He kisses your glittering scars in thanks and washes your blood away with his lips and tongue too. But unlike any other day in which you’ve done this, he stands up with a grunt and pulls you up with him. Father Mayhew falls backwards onto his bed and so you follow dutifully, and because the hold he has on your wrist is strong to the point of bruising. You lay your head over his heart and pant into his skin as he teases your plush thigh, tracing crosses into the chubby expanse of skin.

“No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us.” He cajoles, walking on that burning tightrope with you.

He wonders if your cunt would be just as chubby, if you’ve ever thought about humping the organ bench, riper than the forbidden fruit, and he mentally catalogs an extra long session of repentance. To be fresh and clean again. Father Charlie will go through his sermons with his lighthearted tone and charming personality, desperate to hide that he’s thinking of plunging his tongue in your asshole. Sipping and slurping up your musk like it’s the only holy water he needs to live. Or entice you into eating his ass, you would love being able to serve him properly, no doubt.

To nourish you with his fragments, his vertebrae and viscera. The body and the blood. The teeth and the testicles.

He’ll sit in quiet contemplation in front of the pulpit, pouring wine over your body in his mind. Following the red trail with his tongue as it trickles down the valley of your chest and dips in and out the folds of your belly. He’ll leisurely open his mouth on a silent moan at the top of your mound, the hairs like yellowing blades of glades against his philtrum, in a perfect paradise there’d be blood there too. His own personal, pervertedly literal, red sea.

You’d look so beautiful, swollen and fat with a child growing in your womb. A shame that can never happen, but a blessing that no heretic of a man could snatch you up and take you away from him. Your flock is here, and the heavy crook of his staff is all you need to guide you back home when you go astray. Trapped in his thighs, molded by his hands, punctured into line with his cock.

[rosenclaws]

warnings: smut, minors dni, fingering, fem!reader, horny logan, dirty talk, slight? somno but its fully consensual

a/n: shoutout to my bf who inspired this post oop

Logan who can’t sleep without one hand up your shirt and one hand down your panties. It’s like you’re his own personal teddy bear. He just can’t help it that holding you soothes him to sleep.

Logan who has a no pants rule in his bed because pants block his damn access to your gorgeous ass and body. Of course if you ever wanted to wear them he’d let you but let’s be honest, you never do.

Logan who wakes up in the middle of the night with a raging hard on and a desperate need for your touch. Good thing he’s already half groping you in his sleep. Not that you’d ever complain waking up to your hot boyfriend squeezing your tits.

Logan who grinds his cock against your back, humping you like a damn dog as his fingers tease your cunt. His teeth nipping at your ear as you quietly beg for more. He’d growl in that deep gravely morning voice that you feel so fucking good and that he can’t get enough of you.

Logan who at your begging dips two fingers into your cunt and fucks you with them until you’re squirming and whining to come. He just loves every noise you make but he covers your mouth with his other hand. Telling you to be quiet or else someone’s gonna hear what a slut sounds like.

Logan who buries his face in your neck as he feels you come around his fingers, clenching around them as your muffled moans sound like music to his ears. He muffles his own moans against your skin as he comes against your back. Logan who sighs happily and kisses you gently as he cleans up both of your messes. Cooing at how perfect you are and such a perfect toy for him to play with.

Logan who just can’t get enough of you no matter how many times he has you. Day or night he’s utterly insatiable. And you wouldn’t have it any another way.

[umamaki]

HOW'S THE VIEW FROM UP THERE?

1/5 of my valentine's day event!

sylus x reader

CW reader with female anatomy, explicit smut, established relationship, kinda cutesy domestic imo, pet names, oral sex (f!receiving), oral slight teeth... wc. 0.9k

NOTE pls bear with me. drafting this was the hardest thing i’ve done and i think i genuinely forgot how to write.

You lean against the headboard, unmoving as Sylus lays on top of you. He’s on his stomach and his head rests just below your chin. You’d believe he’s asleep if not for his fingers absentmindedly tapping against your ribcage.

It’s out of the blue, but you can’t shake the urge to tell him the thought that just came to mind. A hand reaches down to play with his hair, lightly twirling his strands and scratching his scalp. He groans in contentment. The room’s silence had been broken and you take it as your chance. 

“Y’know, Sylus…”

You trail off, vaguely shy. He waits before prodding you on, “yes, what is it?”

“I… quite like this view of you.” He raises his head now, still confused. You continue, “I mean, seeing the top of your head like this. I like it. I like it a lot.”

There was truth in your words. Sylus is typically the one who towers over you, the one is used to seeing the top of your head. And so you’ve grown to cherish the moments in which he feels comfortable to be in a vulnerable position around you, offering his body to you, allowing you to touch him wherever you please. Though, the thought of not doing so had never once crossed his mind. 

So it intrigues him, what you had said. “Is that so?” You nod. He brings himself to hover face to face with you, “and what other times do you see the top of my head?”

You look up to think. He appreciates the way your lashes flutter against your cheeks and how your lips subconsciously pout when you’re lost in thought. 

“Well… When you carry me on your shoulders, when you tie my shoelaces, or right now when you lay on me, and um,” your voice lowers in saying the last part; you’re still a little embarrassed. 

But Sylus has never been a believer of shame. He’s smirks down at you now, a spark of excitement in his eyes. “Could you repeat that last part for me, sweetie?”

“You heard me.” You stand your ground.

“I did not,” he feigned innocence, eyebrows raised, “please?”

“I said, I like seeing the top of your head when you.. go down on me, too.” Your hands come up to cover your face in embarrassment as quickly as Sylus raises his to remove them from your face. 

“If you wanted me to eat you out, you could’ve just asked me to, dear.”

He laughs when you push his forehead back. The trail of kisses he leaves from your jaw to collarbone tickles and you give in, “fine, go on then,” your legs spread open for him, you sink back into the sheets, an invitation for him.

“Not feeling shy anymore, hm?” Of course he gives into your wishes, but it isn’t Sylus if he doesn’t at least ruffle you up beforehand. He licks a teasing stripe up through the fabric of your panties, eyes never breaking away from yours. “How’s the view now?”

His hot breath mingles with the wet patch on your underwear as he speaks directly into your cunt. You’re too pent up to entertain his teasing. An impatient hand pushes his face back down onto your heat, “view’s good, great. Please continue.”

You feel him smile into your cunt. He peels the fabric off, afterwards using his finger to separate the string of arousal that clung to your undergarment. The cold air of the room on your wet pussy makes you clench around nothing. “I can tell, you’re already drenched.”

He begins to lap at your slick folds before you can get a word back in. He eats you out like a man starved; never once coming up for air, but inhaling the scent of your heat so intensely that his back rises and falls with each deep breath. 

His hands are splayed out on each of your thighs, keeping your legs apart, allowing himself to relentlessly continue lapping up your leaking juices, savoring your taste on his tongue. Your legs shake under his grip as he switches between flattening and tensing his tongue, pushing the muscle up your cunt and through your folds. His nose bumps into your clit, sending a jolt up your body.

“Oh my god—Sylus—” the stimulation draws out breathless moans and whimpers from your lips and he’s enjoying every sound of it, “Sylus, m’close.”

“Yeah? Gonna come on my face baby?” His red eyes lock with your pleading ones before shifting his appreciative gaze down to the marks on your tits and the crease in your tummy, then back onto your eyes.

“Mhm—” 

“Now tell me,” his bruising grip on your legs pushes them up, knees reaching your ears, “you cumming because of the view? Or because of my tongue on your pussy?” He had always been so brazen with his words, never filtering his vulgar language. For some reason, the fact turns you on extraordinarily. 

“B-both!” You had to stutter it out in between moans, using up the last of your coherence to respond to him.

“Good.” You’re immediately taken to your climax when he catches your clit between his teeth; he does it lightly, but the unexpected sharpness of it immediately sends your orgasm crashing through you. His tongue guides you through your release, unwavering, despite your thrashing body beneath him. The orgasm is intense and overwhelming, blurring your vision before finally making your body go slack against the sheets. 

At last, he relieves you from the overstimulation. Your sheen covers the entirety of his chin, and he’s shameless in licking his lips clean when he catches you staring. 

“Darling, I just might have a new favorite view after this.”

taglist form

@jin-fei @isagistar @venussakura @syluriar @shoyosthighs

[hedwigette]

I personally do understand why he would become an Auror: Harry was a child who lived through all his childhood without love and especially, without feeling safe. The reason Harry loves Hogwarts so much, the reason why he's calling it a home is because he feels safe there. Hogwarts has always been a safe sanctuary for him.

During his time with the Dursleys and because of Voldemort, Harry never had managed to stay and feel safe partly because the adults around him couldn't take their responsibility correctly to protect him and he had to do that himself.

The wizarding world gave Harry a place that legitimated his "freakiness". For the Dursleys he was a freak, but for the Wizarding World he is a (brillant) wizard.

That's why I believe that Harry would want to take the responsibility to keep the Wizarding world safe to prevent a Voldemort 2.0 to rise. Security is what he lacked during his childhood and teenage-hood and it was the most important thing he sought after but never received.

In Cursed Child, we clearly see how security is the most important factor - so much that he's willing to put his son's happiness aside if it means keeping him safe because at Albus' age it's what he would have wanted.

Harry may not like the government (at least those in power like Fudge or Scrimgeour - though he might like Kingsley's policies, he's not an anarchist) and I'm sure he will fight for reforms against the corruption there, but he loves the wizarding world enough to put himself in danger. He will protect it the same way the wizarding world protected him - in a certain way, saved him - from the Dursleys.

What profession do you see Harry in? When I was younger I was adamant he would have been a professor. After reading the book again in my late 20’s I can’t see it anymore. I think he would have been a Auror because solving mysteries and catching felons would intrigue him more than dealing with a bunch of students grading papers. I think he would get bored and would resign after a year or two. I know people who love professor Harry love pointing out him teaching in Dumbledore’s Army and I think people forget he only had to do the practical part, not the theory aspect. I can’t image him reading multiple essays on the same topic. It would drive him bonkers. (Hermione would be in cloud 9 though). I love teaching my nephew and his friends how to play soccer, would I ever take it as a profession? Never. It’s a part time passion not a career. Im sure he made surprise visits to Hogwarts as a guest lecturer but that’s it. In an AU where Jily lived I could see Harry becoming a quidditch player or even taking a liking to potions because of his mom who didn’t put the bitter taste in his mouth like Snape. In canon the only two careers I could see holding his attention is curse breaker and being an Auror, purely because of the mystery of solving puzzles and being on his feet. The one thing I still agree with my younger self is Harry would have returned for his 8th year and so would have Ron. I think he needs a year to just be a kid who sneaks around the castle exploring different corridors to make out with Ginny. 

Well, I do like the idea of Harry returning to teach DADA at Hogwarts, as I mentioned here, here & here. Though, an anon did bring up a cool idea for Harry to be more of a private investigator than an auror for a few years before becoming a DADA professor. I just don't see Harry as someone who'd be good at receiving orders and working within the ministry. Like, with everything that happened with the ministry in the final 3 books, I find it kinda insane Harry chooses to work there after we spent 3+ books going over how corrupt and ineffectual they are and how much Harry dislikes it. It just feels iffy to me.

I think Harry would surprise you with his patience, honestly. I think he is very capable of reading dozens of essays about the same thing and grading them. Like, the fandom likes to forget it, but Harry read all his course books before first year:

Harry kept to his room, with his new owl for company. He had decided to call her Hedwig, a name he had found in A History of Magic. His school books were very interesting. He lay on his bed reading late into the night, Hedwig swooping in and out of the open window as she pleased. 

(PS)

He does do reading and research on his own and with Hermione when he needs/wants to:

There was much less laughter and a lot more hanging around in the library when Hermione was your best friend. Harry still hadn’t mastered Summoning Charms, he seemed to have developed something of a block about them, and Hermione insisted that learning the theory would help. They consequently spent a lot of time poring over books during their lunchtimes.

(GoF)

Harry was already hurrying up the spiral staircase to his dormitory. . . . He would grab the Invisibility Cloak and go back to the library, he’d stay there all night if he had to. ... “Lumos,” Harry whispered fifteen minutes later as he opened the library door. Wand tip alight, he crept along the bookshelves, pulling down more books — books of hexes and charms, books on merpeople and water monsters, books on famous witches and wizards, on magical inventions, on anything at all that might include one passing reference to underwater survival. He carried them over to a table, then set to work, searching them by the narrow beam of his wand, occasionally checking his watch. ...

(GoF)

Harry is so capable of sitting down and grading essays if he wants to. He's actually not averse to studying and reading at all, not on his own. He's just mirroring Ron and the other Gryffindor boys to fit in because it's what Harry does.

He'd be one of the teachers who give bonus points if a student writes something funny in their essay, I just know it.

Also, even for the DA, he actually made lesson plans:

Sirius and Lupin had given Harry a set of excellent books entitled Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts, which had superb, moving color illustrations of all the counterjinxes and hexes it described. Harry flicked through the first volume eagerly; he could see it was going to be highly useful in his plans for the D.A.

Like, he read through Defence books and organized plans for spells to teach, in what order, and how to teach them. Harry spends a lot of time thinking about the DA in his head in OotP. About the successes of his students that he feels so proud of but also when he's gonna do the next meeting and what he'd teach.

90% of his DADA professors can't say the same.

Also, Harry actually kept track of the state of every student and applied the teaching method best for them and didn't pick favorites:

They all divided up obediently; Harry partnered Neville as usual. The room was soon full of intermittent cries of “Impedimenta!” People froze for a minute or so, during which their partners would stare aimlessly around the room watching other pairs at work, then would unfreeze and take their turn at the jinx. Neville had improved beyond all recognition. After a while, when Harry had unfrozen three times in a row, he had Neville join Ron and Hermione again so that he could walk around the room and watch the others. When he passed Cho she beamed at him; he resisted the temptation to walk past her several more times.

(OotP)

Like, the fact he wanted to pay more attention to Cho and then didn't because he knows that's not what he should do as a teacher is already better than a good chunk of Hogwarts professors (McGonagall, Snape, Dumbledore, and Slughorn all clearly have favorites).

Like, Harry is putting into the DA more effort than just showing them practically what they need to do. He spends all his lessons with Umbridge thinking about the DA. He reads and studies so he can teach them better. He put a lot of effort into it.

Not to mention Harry was dealing with the DA that included about 30 members compared to the average Hogwarts class, where a professor only needs to manage 20 students in the classroom.

As for 8th year. Yeah, I like to think he comes back. I think it'll be a good healing opportunity for him. Though, I personally do not envision him making out with Ginny since I don't like Hinny. But the idea is that the poor boy needs a break.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

You're my favorite writer, and König is my favorite aussie man, so OF COURSE im making you write for him, hal, BEAR W ME !

Alright, what do you think about König with the “You’re here late.” prompt? The reader is part of KorTac and always worked alongside König, since they both entered about the same time, because of the readers personality, they are always fighting, one of these fights are specifically bad, leading the reader to go on a mission with another KorTac member, to help out somewhere else and take their mind off things, when the reader face a problem on the mission and ends up arriving late, König is furious.

Moths Hit the Window

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Fights with König were always loud, but this time his comments went a bit too far.

WORD COUNT: 5.9k

WARNINGS: Verbal fighting, angst, high tension, blood & stitches, wounds, canon typical violence, guns/weapons, death, suggestive near the end, fluff, hurt/comfort, etc.

A/N: Huge thanks to @idocarealot for the German translations!! Also, König's wearing the arachnid skin in this because I love it sm - enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You seethe. If eyes could turn red yous would be a beautiful shade of crimson—bloody knives ripping out of the cornea to strike whoever happened to get too close. It was as if the very air boiled with the force of a raging tsunami as you stomped down the local military base’s hallways, covered in blood and guts. Never had you reconsidered working for KorTac more than at this very moment. 

Maybe I should just become a mercenary, you rip at the torn-apart gloves over your hands and jerk your arm out. Passerbyers quickly avert their eyes as you shove them into a garbage can and continue on with a growl. No shitty rules, no regulations—no fucking partners.

If people happened to slide past without noticing the steam coming out of your ears, they would have immediately locked eyes on the pure elephant of a man trailing fast behind. König’s eyes were goring into the back of your neck, gray and tan garb swaying as the packs and flash grenades on his combat vest bounced with every step. Accents of red do nothing in comparison to his visible flesh—the section of his eyes uncovered by his mask and head rig alight around his obsidian gaze. 

 König was muttering to himself far under his breath, curses and harsh comments all in German that he wouldn’t say to your face. At least not right now in view of others. 

“I can hear you, you dimwit,” you hiss over your shoulder, grinding your teeth as you both make your way to the armory, “curse me out quieter!” 

“You are making a scene!” The beast grunts, that heavily accented English striking your eardrums with its harsh dialect. 

“Oh, jeez!” You raise your voice even higher, turning back forward and clenching your hands into fists as blood and guts drip off your gear—none of it yours. “I’m just so damn embarrassed, König! I’m making such a large and obnoxious display. Whatever will I do?!” Sarcasm like a valuable drug is injected into the waves of your voice. People from open doorways look out with shock, brows pulled up. 

Everyone quickly darts back away when you snap your head in their direction and send them a scathing glare.

No one was surprised to find you and the Austrian going at it again but knew well enough to stay out of the crossfire. Lest someone get roped into it.

“Fuck off!” You spit the last curse into the burning air and shove past a soldier ahead of you.

König’s dark eyes flash dangerously, lips under his mask twisting into a sneer. The man’s shoulders seem to dig in even farther, spine curling over as if a brooding child. 

This had all started the second you’d joined up with KorTac. Fresh out of the military and eager to get back into the game after a good vacation the PMC group had been at the top of your list. But if you’d known you’d be paired up with this damn mountain every chance there was just because he’d got into the game at nearly the same time as you, you’d have put in your luck with SpecGru. 

“I do not see how this is appropriate behavior,” König follows as you place your palms on the black metal of the armory door, pressing with your shoulders. “I did what I was tasked to do—”

The masked man is cut off as you whirl on your heels, the door slamming shut as his body is shoved into it with strong arms. Dark eyes go wide in surprise, feeling the dig of your nails on his abdomen as your form presses into him and the chill of the door on his spine. You feel his skin bunch under his thick shirt and even if you want to stare him down that’s just not an option. Your warm figures shuffle together with panting breaths and dangerous glints in your eyes. 

“Bull,” you drag out the word, growling it right up into his neck; sniper hood caressing your chin. König’s breath hitches with shakes of swirling emotions. “Shit.”

Shoving once more so he gets the point, you push off of him and stalk away like a feral wolf, already unclipping grenades and medical packs from your vest. 

“You’re the damn reason the target got away!” Gear is thrown haphazardly to the long table in the center of the room. The Austrian watches with predatory eyes, hands clenched so hard that they quiver. He stays still, watching, as you send scathing glances. “The reason we’re going to be here for ten times longer than we’re supposed to be!” 

“It is not my fault you failed to properly check the perimeter before you rushed in like a fool.” Volatile couldn’t be used to describe this…this was nothing short of volcanic. It was as if there were two sides of a scale filled with bullets and gunpowder—fire in the middle that was equally heating both piles as they raised and lowered erratically. König’s voice grates over the air, “I did what I could to fix your scheiße plan!”

“Don’t you shit on my plan!” You point, voice bouncing off the weapon racks as you rip the rifle strap from over your chest, chucking it away. 

“I will shit on it—it was…it was…!”  König’s voice cuts out and he can’t find the words. The Austrian descends into visceral German ramblings. “Es war so ziemlich der schlechteste Plan, den ich je gehört hab. Welcher halbwegs vernünftige Mensch geht in eine heiße Zone ohne vorher alle Zielobjekte richtig zu markieren?! Ich kann dich und deine Rücksichtslosigkeit nicht mehr leiden — du bringst mich um meinen Verstand! Hast du überhaupt ein Gehirn in deinem Schädel?”

You shake your head to yourself, heart pounding. “You’re still the one that was supposed to focus on the HVT. I rushed so he would flush out, but, no,” taking out the magazine of the rifle you hold it in your hands like an accusatory ruler that a teacher would hold. König shoves off the door and stands to his full height; arms tensed and straining before they coil around his chest in a soothing gesture. 

He hated the fighting—the constant strain between the two of you. But when you were together it could never amount to anything else. The room felt like it was a million degrees.

Your eyes stab at him, “No! You had to go and focus on me! I hate to break this to you,  König,” feet come forward and you once again find yourself close to him—breathing the same air and taking in the scent of gunpowder and blood. You point the tip of the magazine into his chest. His unseen lips pull; jaw clenching with held-back fire. “But I am not your damn mutt to keep on a leash. I had it under control.”

It’s as if you don’t realize the Austrian could snap you in half with a single kick of his leg, as if the sheer size of König had slipped your mind as a whole. His hands could snap your neck in an instant, but that was only if he got ahold of you. 

But that was a line the both of you were never planning to cross. Words were one thing in this profession, actions another. If you ever got into a physical fight, you’d both kill each other, no doubt. 

You’d like to think you’re a bit above that, but perhaps not.

König’s chest rises and falls deeply, taking in calming breaths as he tries to get his temper under control. “You didn’t,” he jeers out, “I saved your life, you Heißluftgebläse. And if you wanted to be treated less than a dog,” he grunts to you, head pulling down close to your face, harshly whispering out, “You could have simply asked me, yes?”

You both snarl at each other's throats like rabid animals, the world disappearing all around the obsidian eyes that match with yours; for a moment you get lost in the shining bits of silver in his iris that seem to burn with chilled iron. What little skin you can see is flushed and tight—hawk nose nearly poking out your eye as you’re leaned over like a giraffe near a bush.

Body vibrating, you sharply breathe, “I’m not even going to ask what that fucking means, you tool.”

“Good.” The words are bitten and fast, “because I am not telling you.”

“Great!”

“Perfekt!” You both were arguing like children. Hot faces and unwilling to let the other have the last word. If you got along it might have been funny. 

“I’m going to dump all of your Einspänner out on the tarmac.” Your sure voice echoes with a definitive promise to the tone. 

Pale lids widen in horror at the threat to the Austrian's favorite beverage, comfortably sitting in the Base’s fridge. 

“You would not,” König’s tone is deathly serious and you smirk, eyes dancing. “You…” a guttural growl meets the air, mind translating words and giving meanings, “beast of a woman!”

“Oh, is that the best you can fucking do?!” You yell, splaying your hands out widely and moving away from him. “Now that’s really a show stopper, König, I’m shaking in my damn boots.” 

“Ich komm mit dir nicht mehr klar.” König yells, moving back and placing both of his hands atop his head, knuckles white. “You’re rude—you do not even try to get along. You are loud and disrespectful; how do you live like this?!”

Your eyes slightly widen, watching the Austrian.

“Don’t try?” You echo, scoffing loudly. “What do you mean don’t try? I was the one to try and smooth things out between us in the beginning.”

“When?!” König spreads his hands out, knees slightly bent. “Because I have no recollection of such events.”

“Well of course you wouldn’t!” The heat was meeting a breaking point—words were getting more personal, sharper. Like a blade being honed for the kill slowly; being sharpened by rocks and whetstones of conviction. 

König points a finger at you, voice going low and thin, “I’ve had enough of you, yes?” His sniper hood moves rapidly with his fast ricochets of breath. “Just about enough. Would you have wanted me to let you die?”

“I had it,” your lips spit, nose scrunched, and forehead tight. The man’s chest vibrates with a mute growl. 

In all actuality, you’d never seen him this worked up before. König wasn’t above giving your quips back even if he obviously disliked it—most of that was due to the strange familiarity between the two of you. In large crowds, the man preferred to stay silent. This only added to his almost deadly aura with others, though you knew the muteness was because of social anxiety and not some built silence. He wasn’t shy per se, just afraid he’d say something wrong; mess up the conversation. You did most of the talking in meetings and you never minded it. Added him in when the topic was something he knew a lot about.

Your mind had addled it up to thinking it was cute, actually. How his feet would shuffle; his half-lidded gaze and his intense eye contact to let them know he was still listening. When he’d have to remind himself to look away with a pinch to his thigh because it was starting to seem threatening. It was endearing, even.

But around people König knew, well, he was going to speak his mind. No matter how long it takes his brain to catch up with his lips.

The only thing the two of you were good at was being moths—hitting the metaphorical window over and over on the same topics and tension points. Slamming heads and flapping wings. You were at the end of your rope just as he was.

“I should have never taken you as a partner!” He calls, feet splayed. “Should have gotten out of this the second you were assigned with me. Gott, ich hab wirklich versucht, dich zu verstehen — Ich hätte gleich aufgeben sollen.” Your lips thin, lungs stalling as all the air vacates the room. You stand still and listen to what he really thinks, fingers shaking.

König’s large form towers over all, great sparks of electricity flying out. His gear shakes as he moves, thigh straps pushing fabric to shift and conform to his body. Your blood pumps with brewing hesitance. 

Maybe this had gone too far. I’ve never seen him like this.

“I can’t stand you any longer! Pathetic squabbles that mean nothing, absolutely ludicrous plans that make little headway.” Your head bursts with aggression and what little warning signs you have are squashed. “I can’t keep saving you because you can’t do your job correctly!”

“You don’t have to save me at all!” You scream. “You can’t keep your damn eyes off of me for five seconds, König.” Feet move away quickly from the armory door as if someone had come to put away their stuff but thought better of it. The next words burst from you before you can think of the contents. “It’s like you fucking love me or something!”

König doesn’t miss a beat, but for months afterward, he wishes he had.

“Oh, do not make me laugh—” he scoffs ferally, adrenaline making him talk, “as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place.” 

Twin eyes widen and both parties immediately fall silent. A sharp inhale.

Too far.

Under the hood, König’s face goes an embarrassing shade of red all the way down to his chest. Fingers freeze. Jaw slackens.

You feel like your heart was just grasped in his grip and ripped out of your ribs with one violent motion—one sentence out of all the others enough to knock down the rebuttal that had formed on the tip of your tongue. Your throat closes up as you blink in shock.

“I-I…” König stutters, mind blanking as he struggles for words. But anger was easier than pain.

Numb fingers rip off the last of your weapons and belongings as you let them hit the floor with defining thuds as warm shame floods your cheeks. Shaky puffs of breath like a panting dog. Dark eyes watch with regretful panic, heart jumping and eyes flinching. The adrenaline it…it made him forget himself on occasion—how to properly act when not on the battlefield. It was like that with everyone but…but he hadn’t meant that.

Shame that it’s already too late.

Your fisted hand slams into his chest, brutal and unforgiving. König lets off a grunt but does nothing as you slither past, hissing into his ear, “Find yourself a new punching bag.”

His hand snaps to his breast where you had slammed your KorTac patch right into his heart, catching it. It’s many moments before he can think enough through the alarm; form words.

“I…I didn’t…oh, du blöde Kuh!” 

By the time the man composed himself, panicked tears burning in his eyes, the door had already slammed shut. His feet squeaked over the tile to an empty audience. 

—

Private Military Companies don’t have ranks. There are no Sergeants, Lieutenants, Generals or Colonels. Just people. Beyond the orders you’d been hired on, there was nothing keeping you in line with König on this mission. And those orders were loose at best.

Adhere to policy and listen to the Base’s COs. Shut up and get the job done. 

The Austrian and you weren’t due out for another week because of rotations. Since you’d failed to capture or kill the HVT that you were assigned, another group had picked up the tracks in the meantime. Like an oiled machine, the gears of this operation kept whirling. 

Evolve, or die. 

“Lieutenant!” You call to the geared-up man on the tarmac—the one heading that very same group. It had been only a few hours since the incident in the armory. You needed a distraction; blood was still running high and brain pounding for release. There were only so many times you could bruise your fists and legs on a punching bag before people started giving you nervous looks. “Need an extra hand?”

Your voice sounds strained, even to you. The man looks you over once and narrows his eyes. Nods not moments later. 

“Get tired of your big friend? Okay, how fast can you be ready for me?” You feel your shoulders loosen, a relieved sigh exiting your lips.

“Three minutes.”

“...get to it then. We move in five.” 

So that was how you found yourself backed into a corner five hours into the op from hell—bloody knife held tightly in your grip and mouth open in ragged pants. 

“Fuck,” your vest is torn and riddled with bullets; your entire chest must be bruised by now because it surely aches like it is. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You really are reckless, just like König had said you were. Maybe you’d just never realized it because he always seemed to watch your six. This…this was really bad. The comms were awash with screaming orders and panic, ringing out across the abandoned mining factory that exploded with light from gunfire and the sounds that accompanied it. You knew for a fact three soldiers were down; two KIA. 

The Lieutenant is one of them. 

Your hand snaps to the radio strapped to your chest, one eye squinted in pain at the ragged slice across your left brow line. At your feet, two heavily armed men lay dead. 

“Pull back! They knew we were coming!” But your word didn’t carry weight here. Your face twists between pain and rage. König’s comment still rings in your ears as the onset of tinnitus does, as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place. It wasn’t ideal to be thinking about this now—it was detrimental that you didn’t. 

But König and the things he did often stained your brain. No matter how much you tried to distance yourself from that fact. 

Snapping the knife in your grasp down in an arch to dispel the blood from the blade, you take a steel-laced inhale and shove off the wall. Limping, but moving. Sprained ankle. Nothing you hadn’t dealt with before.

The concrete under you is splattered with crimson viscera and you stumble over spasming bodies riddled with bullets. With a subdued shink you slip your knife into its thigh sheath, grabbing the FTac Recon strapped around your chest after slamming a fresh mag into it. With a numb calm overcoming you, you slip your forefinger into the trigger guard, poised over the easy press of the trigger itself. 

The long shadows spread over you; your head illuminated by the dull sheen of the moon as you pass under a stretch of open sky to slink into the building across the empty street. Feral yells still bounce off the air and you go to them readily, purpose settling in your veins. 

Pain flies to the back of your mind, displaced by adrenaline and the rabid puffs of breath that fall like grinding thunder from your lips.  

You wonder what König’s thinking right now—he’d without a doubt noticed that you were gone. He’d even probably gone to your barracks room to try and apologize and found it empty. That was just how he was. 

Would he be happy? You wondered. Relieved to see you out of his life? You’d both done nothing but fight, but there were moments of peace. Understanding. 

Shared meals and comfortable, yet sarcastic, comments; soft glances when the other wasn’t looking. Heat in your face and obviously shown on his when shy hands brushed. 

Your hold tightens on your gun, brows dripping with sweat as it dribbles down along with the blood. Gunfire flashes. 

Closer now.

Shadows scream on top of a raised walkway attached to an in-mountain compound, targets with trigger fingers firing on your fellows who take cover behind crumbling walls. Pinned down. You watch, unseen, from a broken window as dust and moths collide. 

Your eyes lock on the closest hostile and you raise your weapon slowly, barrel resting on the frame between shattered glass. You clock the distance and adjust accordingly; breaths falling steady. 

The small insect that keeps hitting the window plays in your mind over and over—drowning out the yells; the fire. 

Just a moth readily willing to smash into that barrier until it dies. You hum under your breath and rest the gun into the crook of your shoulder, cheek to stock. 

Your finger slams into the trigger. 

—

You stumble out of the loud infirmary with a bloody rag pressed deeply into your forehead, medical pouch under one arm. You hear rushing feet and barked orders from nurses and doctors just before the door closes, cutting off as you stake out on your own.

Limping, you reason there were others with more severe wounds than your own; as blood drips from your flooded rag, your feet take you deep into the base one broken step at a time. You’d figure it out yourself. 

Plus, the silence would give you time to think. Think about König. 

You just gritted your teeth and decided that was better than taking up space in the infirmary. 

In times like these, the Austrian would fix your wounds for you, just as you did his. While you had your disagreements and heated fights, he’d never made it as personal as he had hours beforehand. Never made it hurt. 

“Jesus,” you mutter, rubbing your other crusty hand over the mud along your chin. Everything ached and you don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. 

Flinching along like a downed bird, you shove through into the last door into the barracks; thoughts now stuck on finding a chair to sit down on before your legs gave out. The darkness of the common area was deep—staining your eyelids as you grunt, bumping into the back of the couch. 

It’s almost funny the way the lamp flicked on mere moments later. 

You hiss, eyes snapping shut as the rays attack your sight, rendering you blind for a moment. The shaking hand on your dripping rag tightens before the spark of pain makes you lighten the pressure. 

There’s a dark grunt just as you open your eyes back up.

“You are late.” König. 

He sits in one of the chairs—sniper hood still over his head yet only clothed in a large compression shirt and casual camo pants. Like a disappointed parent, the Austrian’s arms were crossed over his chest; feet resting out and crossed at the ankles. With such a big stature the look could strike fear into anyone. 

Anyone but you, that is. 

König’s dark eyes rove over you, stopping immediately on the fabric you keep to your forehead. The previous, furious, tone stops and the flash of very real concern takes precedence. His hands tighten on his biceps, thighs tensing over the cushion; spine just a little bit straighter. 

You watch and say nothing—dead-faced. 

Your heart suddenly skips beats, stuck into the framework of the man’s eyes. König’s brows peel back and a timid stutter stays in your breast.

“...Vögelchen?” Lids blink rapidly, and before you can register anything because of your blood loss and fatigue, you’re being dragged to the couch and forced to sit down. 

Strong hands encompass your shoulders and small breaths flutter in front of your face as König peels back to kneel in front of you; spying the medical pouch in your under-arm. 

“What is this?” He mutters to you, vision flinching along your body but always dragging back to the bloody rag on your face. “What did you do to yourself?” 

Scarred hands raise before pausing, obsidian eyes staring deeply into yours as if in frantic question. Your own gaze keeps him close, spying on his veiled fear at the sight of your blood and your disappearance. He’d heard about the mission, then, that much was upfront because of his earlier comment. 

The humvee had been late arriving back. Half an hour. 

“Fuck off,” you utter, shoving off the couch before you’re captured in an unyielding press again, shoved down. Your anger spikes along with your unease, “König! I don’t have the patience—”

“I’m sorry.” The fight leaves you. 

Fingers squeeze your biceps, hold lightly shaking with nerves. “I did not mean it.” Obsidian pierces you, “Please, Vögelchen, I am sorry. Utterly. I speak so fast I misplace words—get far more,” words fail as you stare so intently at him, a strange feeling swirling in your gut. König’s face was going crimson again, though not from anger. His tone was deep and honest, accent becoming more whole with emotion. The hands on your skin stay. “Rude than I intend. It is not an excuse, but…”

In the horizontal oval of his hood, you spy the dots of tiny freckles; the whispers of auburn hair. That hawk nose still points violently from behind the fabric. König never finishes his sentence, just takes a large breath and looks to the side after a moment of silence. 

Then he steals the medical pack from your grip and opens the zipper with firm fingers, taking out gloves and gauze. Needle and sutures. It’s all placed on the side table as the bear of an Austrian stays on his knees for you—bending and shifting as the bottom of his shirt rides up. 

It’s a tense affair of touching skin; warmth and hissed curses. Gentle shushing. But you say nothing through it. Until he’s up in your face trying off stitches with forceps and a needle holder, breath making his hood lightly caress your bloodless face. His fingers are large and firm, never second-guessing or stuttering over the course of directing tools that dig a needling and thread into your flesh. 

He’s warm and every motion elicits shivers. You see his form from the side of your eye; his face’s outline as the lamp light illuminates the hood’s fabric. Shadowy silhouette of König’s strong jaw that shifts with every other breath from his wide chest. 

“You’re an asshole for saying that to me, y’know.” you slip your gaze away just as he snaps over. “Adrenaline or not.” 

The needle pauses and a swift nod is given. 

“I…I know it was. No amount of apologizing can explain how very horrible I feel. It was like I was so…so…” An annoyed grunt was leveled at himself.

“Pissed off?” You offer quietly. 

“Yes! Pissed off.” Amused glances were shared, the air slowly smoothing out between the two of you. Dark eyes quickly look away from yours and König clears his throat terse-like. But softer, steadier, “I…could not bear it if I were to see you in harm and be unable to assist you. That…is why I was watching. Why I do watch you.”

Inside of you, it was like there was a pot of water on the stove, steadily boiling under the heat. Your eyes are delicately wide when the man’s hands leave your face; kneeling body still tall enough to stare into you.

“You are…” König pauses, but not to find the words. To ready himself. He takes a long breath. “You are special to me, my Vögelchen. I can not see you hurt,” a gesture to your forehead and creased eyes. As if your pain was his own. “Not like this.”

“What are you saying, König?” You whisper, face twisted with hurt and confusion. Apprehension. “You’re giving me mixed signals. We always fight with each other. I’m not saying I’m blameless, but…c’mon, now. Look at us.” 

“Not…always.” He grumbled like a child, tools placed away and hands dripping blood before he slips the gloves off. They meet the side table with a tiny toss. The Austrian leans back onto his ankles, butt to heel. He begins to look at your forehead and you can practically hear his heart break. “I do not like arguing with you, you know that, yes?” 

“Me neither,” you whisper, fingers fiddling as a sheen of anxiousness sets in. “You just,” you pause, “confuse me.”

 König blinks in surprise, head tilting and large eyes shimmering. Your mind flashes to a curious cat and you try to explain with a burning face and fast lips.

“You say we’re partners but you never act like it,” he stares and listens. When had you both had a conversation like this before? “You make it seem like you can’t trust me to do the simplest task. I’m not,” your voice betrays you, cracking, “I’m not that useless, am I?” 

He freezes, muscles going taunt. 

“U-Useless? Nutzlos? No, no,” A hand comes to capture your chin and you let him move you where he wishes. Creased eyes lock on yours. “That is not right. You’re not useless to me—how could you be?” Pained brows move in, “did I make you think like this? Like I did not appreciate your skills?” 

Your eyes burn, and the aches from your wounds mix with the pure fatigue in your flesh to leave your emotions running between sanity and sadness. A moment later you’re turning your head away. 

König recaptures it, hands finding both sides of your cheeks. He looks shaky; desperate. 

“No, please, Vögelchen, please. I need you to look at me.”

“König, I don’t—” You close your mouth before you let out the beginnings of a sob. “I can’t keep fighting with you.”

“I know, oh, I know,” his hands are so grounding it’s like you’re the inner pages of a book, and his grip the thick leather cover—leather laced with shared scars and the same that had stitched you up countless times. This push and pull had to end. “I cannot fight with you either—it tears me apart. Oh, du weißt gar nicht, wie sehr es mich schmerzt, dein wunderschönes Gesicht anzuschreien. Mit dir zu streiten bedeutet, meinen Verstand und mein Herz gleichzeitig zu brechen.” König’s thumbs run up and down your skin, still bloody with dried flakes falling to the ground. He seems not to care a bit. 

“What can I do to fix this? Anything. Anything to get us to stop doing this to each other.” You stare into his eyes, both creased and glazed over. 

There’s a brief moment where you wonder if anyone truly even knew you as well as König did—there was no one else that you shared such a deep connection with. Years upon years of being stuck at his side. 

And someone else’s hands had never felt as good as his. They were hard and callused over but cupped your face as gently as one would cup water from a rippling stream. His eyes were stars; visible skin like porcelain, his breath raised a large and wide chest with a fast-paced heart. You could sense his throat trapping air. 

König kneeled to you and bared himself. 

Anything, he had said, to fix what he had said. To stop this. 

There was one way you could think to stop this—it might not have been smart, certainly not, but…hmm…You gradually raised your hand raised from your lap and slipped it under the front of König’s hood. 

Slowly, with all the delicateness of a glass dragonfly, your fingers strayed to the side of his neck to press into tight flesh. A rapid pulse.

The man goes to stone. It’s like you’ve stolen his nervous system. Dark eyes stay locked onto yours as you gaze back, hand dragging nails up with a light pressure near to the speed of a slug. 

König whispers your name into the empty space and the oxygen seems to dry up. Warm light from the lamp cast phantoms on walls and over skin in a small moment of foreign discoveries. The Austrian swallows saliva and you feel his neck flex. You don’t answer him, just watch and feel his own hands tighten on your cheeks in warning. 

But you never listen, do you? Reckless you were called. And König had been right.

You were reckless.

Your hand had now explored like a map the indents of hidden facial scars; long and short over jaw and lips. The hand that was doing this had hiked the sniper’s hood up around your wrist so that the man’s lashes were twitching as the fabric got too close to his eyes. And you watched. And so did he. 

A twin pair of moths hitting a glass window, staring from opposite sides at one another until they realized the break in the frame. 

“Anything?” You ask in a loose tone, barely heard above the flood in both of your ears. 

König was breathing heavily but didn’t pull away. Pupils wide and body heavy to your touch. His spine briefly straightened, until he realized he had moved back slightly and immediately hunched again if only to keep your hands on him. 

“I…” he grunts, “A…anything.” Fingers touch his nose, they spread under the hood to trace the bumps and marks he keeps hidden like buried treasure. Your vision takes in the otherworldly hue on his visible skin; the glaze of rapture in his eyes yet still that ingrained heat. 

Your body shivers at the gravel in his accented English. 

Fingers stall over his lips, hood showing you the pale being of König’s strong chin and jaw. You shift your touch to the side and find chapped lips revealed to you, a small palate scar that had healed to nothing more than a line up to his nostril. 

You spare it nothing more than a glance before you look back into obsidian. Dark ether and dead galaxies devoid of stars. Swallowed in a sea of pasts and futures. You look for hesitation; for disgust. 

You find none. 

“You said that no one could ever love someone like me,” your head leans in, and your breath mingles together with an intimacy that had never been shared between this type of partners. König, as if broken from a spell, takes down a swift inhale of air into his stiff lungs. He stares with far back lids. Flashes of unidentified emotions. “Why did you say that?”

A moment of silence and of rabid hearts. The man’s lips twitch over yours as he answers slowly, not breaking eye contact for a moment. As if he did he’d be turned to rock. As if he’d miss something amazing from happening. 

He speaks with a whispered confession.

“Because if they did—I would have to kill them. Because no other than I would be able to love you more.” Your world slows and your ears strain with the breathy words. 

Face burning your lips part with shock and awe. Violent to any other, but to you this was a confession from a man that could meet you blow for blow—calm you and infuriate you all in one. Challenge you, but knew when he’d gone too far and how to properly apologize. 

He’d waited in that chair for you all night, you’d realized. 

For you to come back to him. His partner. 

You press your lips to his and hear his pitiful sounds of gasped reassurance. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you let saliva drip off of your chins to splatter onto bent knees and shaking thighs.

König’s arms cage you; capture your waist and draw you closer, lips breaking apart before you both share a wide-eyed look of momentary pause. There was no room to breathe; to think. Chests hit together and fingers tighten to a tendon-visible hold.

The man's growing smile is wide from where you still hold his hood up by his nose, and with a lick of his red and wet lips, he reconnects your awaiting mouths. 

This time, you’re the one to gasp.

“Lass mich zeigen, wie leid es mir tut, Vögelchen.”

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[kurokawaia]

DAY TWENTY FIVE - CORRUPTION 彡 Madara Uchiha

WARNINGS :: corruption, virginity taking, discrimination, breeding, size kink, madara is mean, degradation, x fem reader, restraining (using hands), prone bone, slight choking? afab, she/her terms, reader is timid / shy / scared / inferior / shorter than madara, CNC, Old ideologies regarding birth! + more

| WC :: 3.7k+ | MDNI | 18+ | kinkmas m.list

It was a reletively public wedding, so the entire village could see the bond growing further between the Senju and the Uchiha. All the villagers thought that it was a beautiful love story, one were the two of you fell for each other despite being from enemy clans. But how could they be so wrong, it was nothing of the sort.

It was an arranged marriage. 

This was the elder's decision, thinking that it would be a more secure way to confirm that the Uchiha would not fight back in the further future. The decision was made for the protection of Konoha and being Hashirama and Tobirama's timid, innocent little sister, you couldn't object.

It's your first night within the Uchiha estate, specifically Madara's. You stand in silence biting your bottom lip, in which the red lipstick that was previously there at been removed. Not only by the rigid kiss the two of you shared at the wedding but because of you nibbling on the flesh.

Your hands grip the primarily white kakeshita, you don't know what to do, Madara isn't in the room with you right now and you are too scared to do anything. You were a Senju, but now you are an Uchiha, bounded by those ridiculous ceremonies, paperwork and those vows.  Startled, you jump slightly at the creak the door makes as Madara slides it open, stepping into the room. His eyes trail up on to you, previously analysing every part of your body. YOu could feel it, it is so strong, the scrutiny in his gaze, the judgment.  "It would appear the Senju couldn't even grant me a worthy wife. Just a fragile little thing, aren't you?" Madara scrutinises and a shaky breath leaves your mouth.   Your stomach clenches at the words. Of course, he doesn't hide how much he hates your clan even now that you two have been wed. You feel small under his gaze, and his height. The way he looks at you makes you feel so inferior. 

To Madara, you aren't his wife, you are just a filthy Senju only here to bear his children. 

"I didn't ask for this," you whisper, your voice trembling.  He lets out a low chuckle and closes the space between you. "You think I asked for this? To be tied to the likes of you? A Senju, a weakling, a woman from the enemy's bloodline?" His words cut deep and the tears prick at the back of your eyes. You mean nothing to Madara but a means to an end, nothing more than a tool for him, to bear children, to give him strong children.

Madara moves around you, so now that he is behind you, his chest is almost inches away from your back. "What did your brothers think? That by sending you to me, it would make me forget the blood spilled between us? That I'd forget how your family has tried to crush mine for generations?" He adds. You flinch. Your blood running inside you was a brand of shame in itself, reminding you that no matter how hard you tried, you would never belong here, in his world, the Uchiha world, no matter how equal your clans really are. "You're nothing here," he sneers. "Nothing but a Senju in an Uchiha household. A reminder of everything I despise."

He steps closer, so his hot breath fans across your neck and your back tenses. His hand reaches up, catching your chin in an iron vice as he forces you to meet his gaze. "And now, you're here in— my bed, in my house. But don't let yourself think you'll ever be anything more than a Senju dog." Your heart races in your chest, but you grit your teeth, god, you're so scared. Madara gazes into your eyes. "I will never think of you as a Uchiha," he announces. "You shall never be of us. Our children? Yes. But you? Never." Your chest tightens. You feel yourself start to unravel, piece by piece, under his cold gaze and cruel words. You want to be able to fight back, scream at him, and make him see that you're more than the blood running through your veins. The hate weighing upon you from him crushes you, rendering you mute. The silence is then broken as Madara speaks once more, "Get into bed, it's time you played wife." Your heart sinks, and a wave of dread washes over you. There is no love in that command, no affection. His lips ghost on your neck, below your ear before pulling the sash that held your marriage kimono together before he slips the fabric down your shoulders. Instinctively, when the fabric slips to your elbows, a gasp slips past your lips and you pull your arms to your chest, covering your exposed body. 

"W-Wait," you managed to squeak out, your heart beating furiously, you swear that it was so loud that he could hear it.

You hear the click of his tongue and can feel the roll of his eyes. "What, woman?"

"I've... never... done anything... like this," you say quietly, your hands trembling, holding the fabric tighter to your chest.

"You'll do as I say, dear," he hums, emphasising the last word, almost to mock you. "I wouldn't want to... hurt you." Scared, you nod timidly, still clenching the fabric as you walk towards the futon, your body getting heavier with every step. You only just barely managed to sit on your knees, your weight on the insides of your feet. 

Your gaze was kept tight onto the sheets in front of you. Hearing a light thud hit the floor, you glance up through your mascara-tinted lashes, and you see that the sash holding Madara's wedding attire is on the floor. You can clearly see his abs through the opening of the kimono and his pants had been stripped too, you can clearly see the bulge in his underwear. 

Then, the last of his main attire was pulled off his body and tossed onto the floor, now he is only donned in his underwear, his body bare in front of you. And before you knew it, Madara was kneeling in front of you, tugging the fabric roughly out of your hold. 

Suddenly, the breath from your chest left with a sudden escape of breath as your body fell hard to the futon, Madara's bigger hands restraining your wrists beside your head. Your eyes widen while your lips tremble at the sight of Madara above you, his face so close to yours you could fall apart underneath his gaze. 

Madara closes in, his nose almost touching your own and your breath hitches. "I'm going to ruin you," he hums, moving his head to your shoulder, his lips skimming across your flesh slowly. 

God, you were trembling, you've never felt like this before, this sensation was making you loose your mind. He was being so mean to you, to one of the kindest people in Konoha, making you feel like nothing, and yet, how he made your body feel was something words couldn't explain. 

You were so focused on how he was so close to your neck, that you completely missed how Madara had already slipped down your underwear. His thick fingers pressed against the top of your pussy, so, so, so close to slipping in and hitting your clit.

Your back arches into the touch a breathy gasp falls from your lips and you want to scream in embarrassment. All you wanted to do was to cover your mouth and you couldn't even do that with how Madara was pinning your hands above your head. 

"Fuck, you're sensitive," Madara mumbles to himself, feeling and seeing how you react to such a simple touch, he smirks agasint your neck.

He's going to enjoy this.  

Opening his mouth slightly, he latches onto the dip from your neck and you squirm underneath his imposing touch. His legs spread apart your own, rendering you unable to move. Madara's stature is so big, that you didn't think you would be able to move anyway, considering how his weight was pressing down on you, how his warmth was seeping into you. 

Helpless whimpers leave your mouth as he sucks at your soft skin, leaving marks all over your chest while his fingers still lightly play with your folds, though, they never pushed past, teasing you. 

"Please...." you whimper quietly, pleading into Madara's ear so softly and as much as Madara wanted to hate your voice, it sent shivers down his spine.

"Please what?" he asks in a low tone, lips finally pulling away from your red collarbones. 

Your breathing is ragged, cheeks flushed a pinky-red hue from Madara's touches. "Please... could I have more...?" you question slowly, quietly and Madara smirks at the obvious nervousness in your voice. 

"More?" he teases, pressing his forehead against your own and you gaze into his obsidian eyes which sent electricity down your spine.

You nod small, "...Yes."

A hum comes from his mouth as he pushes his fingers past your folds, two thick fingers pressing against your clit and you moan shamelessly. You want to cover your mouth but can't, your hands are still bound above your head. 

His fingers venture further down, tracing a path along your slick slit. The touch is electrifying, causing you to tremble in his hold, your body responding to his every movement. A whimper escapes your lips, a testament to the overwhelming pleasure that courses through you.

"So wet," Madara hums as he presses his thumb against your clit and you moan, your back arched agasint the futon. Madara frowns to himself knowing that your eyes are screwed shut

At your reply, Madara's fingers experimentally push past your slick folds, his fingers pressing past your clit, and a surge of pleasure courses through you, leaving you breathless and desperate for more. A moan left your mouth as your back arched at his touch. your reaction caused Madara to press down slightly more and your legs squeezed around his waist, moans stringing out your mouth.

You felt his fingers slide down and he found your seeping hols, drenched with arousal. You felt a finger slowly slide inside your heat, a whimper leaving your mouth. As much as Madara hates the Senju's he couldn't help but feel a pang of worry for you, your face contorts into pain after a few seconds so he stops, head tilting.

"W-Wait," you whimper. "Gi- Give me a few seconds."

"Why should I wait for you?" Madara hums, eyes slitting at you.

"Hurts," you replied trying to regulate your breathing.

A tsk left his mouth, "It hurts because you're tense. Relax," he orders and you let your body relax under him, your breathing all controlled. "See? Doesn't hurt as much now doesn't it?"

You shook your head. "Exactly," he adds and he begins to pump his digits in and out your drenched cunt.

"So good," You whimpered as he slowly pumped in and out your soaked walls. 

The sensation is overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and intensity that leaves you unable to contain your moans. You press your lips against his shoulder, muffling the sounds that escape from deep within you. His fingers explore the depths of your core, igniting a fire that consumes your every thought. Each movement, each curl, sends shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your body.

You surrender to the intoxicating rhythm of his touch, the combination of his skilled fingers and the intensity of our connection pushes you closer to the edge, teetering on the precipice of release. It's a moment of pure bliss, where time stands still, and you are consumed by the overwhelming pleasure that courses through your veins.

As Madara's fingers continued their relentless rhythm, pumping in and out of your seeping hole, there was an unfamiliar tightness growing in your lower abdomen, pleasure tightened inside your stomach. you wrap your shaky legs around him, seeking to anchor yourself to him amidst the overwhelming pleasure. your body quivers with anticipation, responding to his every touch, every movement.

"Wait!" you sob, writhing under him. "Feels funny...."

"You're going to have an orgasm, just let it happen," he scoffs, beginning to scissor his fingers, respectively hitting your soft, gummy spot every single time. 

you chant his name into his neck as praises leave your mouth, your voice filled with desire and need. The tears welling in your eyes are not from pain but from the overwhelming pleasure that threatens to consume you entirely.

In response to your plea, sucks the skin around your neck once more, groaning against your neck, his voice laced with desire. He begins to press your clit with the pad of his thumb, adding another layer of pleasure to the already intense sensations. The touch is electrifying, causing you to arch your back in response.

"Feels weird," you sob. "Feels... good too... though."

"You'll take it," Madara asserts.

The pleasure builds, the tension mounting with each passing second until you are on the precipice of release. It's a moment of pure surrender, where pleasure reigns supreme, and you are consumed by the overwhelming ecstasy that engulfs you.

Waves of ecstasy wash over you, leaving your legs trembling and weak from the intensity of the sensations. He slips his fingers from your hole and you continue to tremble from the aftermath of the orgasm. you managed to release your from Madara's neck and move away from his hold.

Your legs are trembling around his waist, your cum and arousal soaked the sheets below you, dripping down your ass from your hole. As you open your squeezed-shut eyes, you see Madara take a taste of his fingers, licking a stip up his digits, swallowing your cum and your cheeks burn red. 

Madara almost groans at your taste, so sweet, he can't wait for you to break and split from his cock. Your whimpers and screams of overstimulation are going to be heaven for him. You pull your hands from his grasp as you feel the hold loosening and cover your face. It was an immediate reaction, Madara quickly pulled your hands back above your head. 

"You will not hide from me," Madara commands and your bottom lip trembles as you nod. 

God, your legs fall lip on either side of Madara on the futon and they tremble. Then you felt a big bulbous tip press against your entrance and you arch your back into the pleasuring sensation, a moan slipping past your innocent mouth. All you wanted to do was paw at his chest, and leave scratch marks everywhere, but you couldn't.

"Please... I... want to... touch you," you whispered through your whine.

A humoured chuckle leaves his throat. "As if I'd let a filthy Senju touch me."

You then got flipped around so suddenly, your breasts pushing against the futon, hands still pinned above you, face squished into the pillow. You then felt Madara's mass press down against your back and you let out a soft whimper at the sudden weight. His abs were flush against your back, hands gripping the backs of your own, pressing them into the bed. 

Madara's breath tickled your ear and you wiggled your head at the warm sensation, your core getting wetter, your body trying to squirm away from the imposing hold that he had on you. Madara's hands moved slowly, changing his grip so that one of his hands held both of you over your head, being cautious not to get your hair entangled within the movement. 

A content sigh leaves your mouth when Madara raises his body ever so slightly, trailing his free hand down the expanse of your smooth back before his fingers meet your slick entrance, dripping with your cum.

"You're going to take all of me," he mutters against your ear before taking a nibble at your ear, you let out a gasp at the sudden action.

Then you felt a heavy, throbbing tip press against your clit and you moaned from the small touch. You tried to squirm away from the pleasurable cause but couldn't, he knew you were gonna try to run from his body due to the pleasure. So, he pressed his weight against you once more.

You held your breath when Madara sank his throbbing cock into your spongey walls, his length getting squeezed by every ridge within your soaked cunt. A groan leaves Madara's mouth and a moan from your own as his length nudged the deepest spot within you.

Madara could've busted right there and then, your tight walls constricting him made him tense. You feel so good, and he couldn't wait to take you again and again, to fill you up to the brim with his cum every night. 

Madara moans, relishing in the way your walls clench him, how could he not want to cum inside, you feel so good. His free hand grips your hip and he admires how you have perfect hips to give birth for, for a Senju, you're a perfect wife to breed. 

Madara didn't move, he wanted to relish in on how you desired to cause friction, desired to move against his touch, but couldn't. Madara's cock, prodded so deep in your gummy walls that you whimpered in pleasure, but that didn't stop him from not moving. He was still snug inside.

Hot and heavy kisses trail down from your ear down to the dip of your neck to shoulder and a breathless sigh escaped your parted lips before Madara rolled his hips into yours. A moan slips out of your mouth, his thick length scraping all the sensitive parts of your warm insides.

Madara's knees spread your legs apart so that any advances from you ensured that they would be shut down, so that you remained situated below him, your pretty body that paled in comparison to his frame. As he expected, you couldn't move from his trapping embrace.

His movements became faster, his cock thrusting into the depths of you needy hole as strained moans and whines left your throat. Madara was panting in your ear and an occasional deep groan slipped past his lips, the sounds which made your cunt flutter tightly around his length.

Madara was filling you up to the hilt, his throbbing pink tip hitting that soft, gummy spot in your cunt that caused you to scream out in fulfilment. "Close?" He breathed in a humoured tone, causing you to let out a moan and sigh, body shaking with pleasure.

Your body tried to arch away from the pleasure, not being able to take the strong rolls of Madara's hips, but as you arched your back away, his thrusts only aimed deeper, harder into your G spot. You sobbed out, tears filling your lash line. "Too much, Madara.... S-Slow down.... too much."

"Oh?" he smirked, his hips moving now at a faster pace, loving how your cunt squeezed his cock even though you wanted him to slow down, "It's alright, you can hold out," he coos.

Repetitive moans left your mouth while he pounded into your tight heat. You suddenly had the instinctive urge to press yourself into his length, but you couldn't, his weight was too heavy for you to move against him, and you were utterly hopeless as his thrusts became faster.

"Please, I wanna come," you cry out mewling. 

Your body trembled beneath him and the hold he had on your hands loosened. Your hips were getting held, then, the strength he possessed lifted you onto your knees before a bicep wrapped around your throat, lifting your head. It wasn't a tight grip but the power lifted your head from the futon while you shakily rested your weight on your elbows.

Your back arched heavily, finally being able to sink more into him. "Madara...?" you asked in a hush tone but he didn't reply and you wanted to sob because you just wanted one last thing. "Madara... please... I wan' a kiss, please."

"A kiss, huh?" he groans out. Madara hunches over you, pulling you closer to him and connecting your mouth in a sloppy, wet kiss, forcing his tongue inside your mouth, grunting into you while he swallows your moans. 

"Good, taking me so deep," Madara groaned, pulling away from your mouth and pushing this arch into your back deeper.

He watched your ass ripping again his lower abdomen, watching your cunt with black iris'. Observing how your walks sucked him in, leaving a creamy white rind of your cum and arousal around the base of his cock.

"Making you feel so good, aren't I?" Madara groaned his head tilted forward, sweat beading on his forehead as we watched your fall apart and tremble from his dick, watching your innocence fade away, broken moans slipping past your plump lips.

"Gonna fill you up," Madara groans. "You're taking me so deep, deserve to have my cum."

"'Wanna come, please," you beg, wanting to feel the release, desperate as the tears stream down your flushed cheeks. "Want it so bad."

You clench around his length as he increases his pace, instantly accommodating to the speed but your moans escalate. "Such a filthy Senju," He leaned down and mumbled in your ear chased with a deep moan that stirred your insides clenching around his length.

"Want it so bad!" you whimper, unable to comprehend any thoughts that swelled into your head.

"C'mon darling," he growled and you spasmed around his length as your high washed over you, your legs shaking as his weight pressed down even more than it was. His thrusts didn't slow causing you to whimper in overstimulation, but Madara helped it, his hips continuing to rut into mine, helping you ride out your orgasm as he chased his own.

With a groan, his lips planted against mine once again as his hips slammed into mine, hard, his cum spilling inside you causing you to moan into his kiss. And you felt more of his cum spill into your fertile womb, painting your insides white, you could almost feel your stomach bulging from how much you had of your husband inside you.

Madara slipped his softening length out, and pulled away from the kiss as you slumped to the futon, his eyes chained to the white splotches of silky come that spilled from your gaping cunt, watching with a slight frown as the cum spilled from your cunt. 

You're going to look so good plump with his children. He's going to make sure you get pregnant even if that means having sex morning and night. 

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[clare-875]

OMG, I SUUPPERRR Love the "New Names" Prompt, it was actually what led me to your blog here, the last 3 parts were a blast to read, so I was wondering if you could maybe do a part 4 that includes Kidd, King, Katakuri, and maybe 2 or 3 characters of your choice?

New Names pt.4 (Kid, Katakuri, Smoker)

_____ Pairings: Kidd x Reader; Katakuri x Reader; Smoker x Reader Summary: His reaction when you call him pal, buddy, etc. Warnings: Mostly Fluff, Female Reader A/N: I'm so sorry I haven't watched One Piece up to where King is introduced so I added Smoker instead (I couldn't think of any other characters)! I'm so glad you like the series! [One Piece Masterlist] [Part 1: Luffy, Sanji, Zoro, Ace, Law] [Part 2: Shanks, Sabo, Crocodile] [Part 3: Corazon, Killer, Mihawk, Penguin] _____

- Kid -

(A/N: Suggestive towards the end?)

When you decide to play a small prank on your boyfriend it is only later that you find out the consequences you should've regarded beforehand. But in the moment you were too giddy to care. You had finally thought of something not too bad that Kid would kick you off the ship but noticeable enough for him to react. So, when your eyes spotted your boyfriend's signature red hair and permanent frown, you had to struggle to keep the grin from spreading on your face.

You just had to see it through until the end.

He had sauntered in as always, eyes sharp and broad shoulders slouching, his gaze darting to you so subtly you'd have to be an expert to witness it. You are in an open space - the deck of the ship - and so he barely gives you any sign of intimacy but he always prefers to linger by your side. He seems irritated as you had not been beside him for long today, and you soon find out your thoughts are right by his prompt words.

"Babe," his voice is deep in the air but gritted against his teeth. "Here you are, I fucking searched the whole ship for you."

You fight to roll your eyes at his impatience but you concede to the plan you have set out for yourself and reply.

"Sorry buddy, I should've let you know earlier I'd be on deck."

And all of a sudden, you could hear a pin drop.

Promptly, it's like the ocean waves that crash against the ship go silent along with the restless wind in the sails. Your crewmember's voices hush to nothing as they eye you and your Captain, unsure of whether to laugh or cry at your words. All they know is that you are fortunate to be his girlfriend because partner or not, Kid would likely throw anyone off the ship if they called him buddy.

His expression does nothing to hide just that fact.

He had frozen still, his eyes had sharpened deadlier than usual, fists clenched to his side and face darkening. You can see the twitch of his eyebrows and the tensity of his form but are most surprised to see a slight pink hue on his cheeks. Was that embarrassment?

Despite the "dangerous" atmosphere, you have to fight back a laugh.

"Are you alright, buddy?"

Your crew members gape at you, some shaking their heads to try and stop your words. But you are bold. Of course you were, you were dating Eustass Kid.

"What the fuck did you just call me?"

Kid approaches you but then he bears witness to your lips quirking upwards into a sly grin. You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly as you lean back into the chair you sat in, but unbeknownst to you it is then that your boyfriend’s mind clicks.

"Bu-ddy," you reply in a sing-song voice.

The crew are shocked at their Captain's restraint, especially when they see him look like he's ready to murder someone. The funny thing is that he looked like he was ready to kill anyone who wasn't you.

They all collectively take a step back.

However, their shock only amplifies ten-fold when all the pent-up tension fades as Kid's lips turn upwards into a taunting smirk. Killer has to stop himself from putting a hand to his head at everyone’s absurd reactions.

"Now princess, it seems you've forgotten who's actually in charge here."

Your eyes widen in your own surprise at the sudden change in his demeanour. Kid looks at you with his same sharp eyes but his wide smirk shines almost scarily as he approaches you closer. “You think you can get away with pranking your Captain? Cause I don’t think you fucking can babe.” He pulls you to your feet before hoisting you up on his shoulder.

"Hey- okay, I'm sorry! I’m sorry! Kid! Babe, put me down!"

But Kid does not heed your words and instead walks away from the still-gaping crew, intent on having you in his chambers until it is only his name that slips your lips.

- Katakuri -

When you are left alone with your thoughts, you oftentimes come up with ideas that usually incorporate your boyfriend. And today, you found yourself quite alone. You were bored and waiting for Katakuri to come back to you after being sent on a mission to God-knows-where. Luckily, a thought had popped into your mind quite easily and it had intrigued you to see what your boyfriend's reaction would be.

Speaking of which, you could hear heavy footsteps making their way to your door, and sure enough, your stoic boyfriend had knocked, patiently waiting for you to answer. You grin happily despite your plan as you missed him though he has been gone only a few hours. "Coming!" You instantly stand and open your door, smile only brightening at the sight of Katakuri safe and at home. You see his eyes soften as he looks at you.

"Hello love," His words are gentle to you, and you hesitate for only a moment before complying with your plan.

"Hey man, I missed you!"

In a rare moment, you see Katakuri's eyes shine with complete confusion. It is followed by the furrow of his brows as though he thought it was not you speaking to him, but someone else. The expression only lingers for a moment though, and then he looks at you with his usual, serious stare.

"Love..."

You freeze when he looks at you so knowingly, so quickly.

"Y-Yeah man?"

Katakuri sighs before leaning down to your eye level, patience in the depths of his reserved eyes.

"Is this another one of your tricks where I am to be surprised by your words or actions?"

You stop in surprise at how he has figured you out so easily, only now realising he must’ve gotten used to your impromptu pranks when left to your thoughts. You stutter before sighing heavily and rolling your eyes.

"Yes love, it is. You could’ve played along though!”

Your boyfriend looks at you with the same softness in his eyes as he witnesses your pouting face.

“Apologies love,” his words are muttered gently by your ear. He then removes the scarf that covers the lower half of his face, and suddenly he kisses your cheek softly. “I just rather terms of endearment from your lips, rather than man.”

You freeze at his actions and words and all of a sudden it is you who is taken aback as heat rushes to your face. As Katakuri steps past you into your chambers you feel yourself so lost in thought that for a moment, you completely forget about your failed prank. That is until your boyfriend calls for you again.

- Smoker -

Your boyfriend is often preoccupied and busy with the tasks that come with being a high-ranking officer of the Marines. You know the challenges and toils of being one, as you are one yourself. However, that doesn't disregard the fact that you miss him sometimes, as your roles often put distance between the two of you. Today was no different but Smoker would be returning to you soon after a shorter mission than usual, and unbeknownst to him you had come up with a small prank in the short time you were apart.

Your eyes move forward to the sight of a Marine ship approaching port and you fight to contain your grin. Sure enough, you can hear the rowdiness of Smoker's crew and the shouts of Tashigi as they go to dock the ship. When they finally do, they race to solid ground, most of them grinning and others saluting you as they pass. "Hello Vice-Admiral [y/n]!" You simply smile as you await your boyfriend and sure enough, he comes off the ship to you soon after, a nod of acknowledgement as he approaches your side.

"Hello love," he murmurs to you lowly and only so you can hear. You smile at the subtle way his eyes soften slightly, knowing he has missed you too.

"Hey dude, how was your mission?"

As you walk toward headquarters, suddenly you find that Smoker has frozen and his footsteps faltered. You stop and turn to him in mock confusion.

"What's wrong?"

He eyes you carefully as smoke bellows from the cigar in his mouth.

"Dude-?"

He quickly interrupts, the furrow of his brows and twitching of his lips showing you that he has of course noticed and was troubled.

"Who are you talking to right now?" Smoker grumbles to you, still static where he stands. You decide to approach him then, and tilt your head to the side, playing dumb.

"You?"

Smoker grits his teeth, the cigar in his mouth almost snapping in half. He leans down to you, so you see the way his eyes have sharpened.

"I'm sorry love, but I don't answer to dude. I thought you of all people would know that."

Your words stumble at his sudden proximity and you feel the heat wanting to rush to your face.

"I- I don't know what-"

Smoker lifts his hand and flicks your forehead lightly watching in amusement as you stare at him dumbfounded.

"Don't do that again."

He then continues walking but silently waits for you to fall into step beside him once more. He had missed you too much to hear such a platonic term slip your lips. He smiles subtly when you catch up to him once more, a kissable pout to your lips.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

MW Reaction to You Leading Them On

Warnings: 18+, Implied Smut, Dark! Modern Warfare, Horny! Modern Warfare, Possessive Behaviour, Territorial Behaviour, Entitled Behaviour, Threatening Behaviour, Incel-Coded! Modern Warfare, Dub-Con Themes, Implied Age Gap (Price), Physical Restraining, Kidnapping, Breaking and Entering, Reader Being Held Hostage, Abuse of Physical Power, Slut Shaming, Pet Names, Profanity, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except You.

Ghost

You’d only just noticed that Ghost stood at the front door of his apartment as if he were guarding it. Perhaps from your attempts at leaving.

You’d tried apologising to him for ‘stringing him along’ as long as you had, but you genuinely believed the two of you were just being friendly, bantering. Nothing more to it.

Obviously, Simon hadn’t seen it that way. You know that now as you watch his hand slip down the front of his sweatpants, palming his erection through them.

“Why don’cha come and show me how sorry you are with that pretty little mouth of yours.” He’s so monotone when he says it that you think he’s joking. His face tells you otherwise.

Of course, you’re speechless. But Simon cares little for your bewilderment. He looks down at you, his eyes narrowing. When you don’t come to him, he steps towards you.

“You know,” he says, coming closer. You step back. “Y’hear about pretty little things like you wandering into a man’s trap. Gettin’ ravaged.”

He’s before you, now, all but chest-to-chest. His eyes are black. Gone is the man you’ve been playfully flirting with these last few months; who you’d tried to push over the edge with your accidental grazes, your unintentional whines, the batting of your eyelashes.

None of that will save you now. His voice carries the weight of a dark star.

“How do you know this isn’t exactly where I want you.”

König

König was eerily silent upon your rejection.

You both stood in his kitchen where, after watching you cook, his heart swelling beyond reason and fathom, König had blurted out that he liked you. A lot.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t return those feelings, only viewing König as a good friend at most.

And now, he stands sentinel over a reaction you can’t possibly predict. Especially as his eyes, usually crinkled with a smile and laughter, seem lighter than usual, as if drained of all their warmth.

“I see,” is all König says. He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. He leans back against the kitchen counter, one hand gripping its rounded edge while the other remains free.

“I suppose I only have one option, then.”

König stands to his full height, approaching you, invading your personal space. He’s almost chest-to-chest with you, the bulk of his frame, the size of his biceps becoming glaringly obvious to you now as his shirt struggles to contain him, pulled taut over his musculature.

“I’ll just have to destroy you for any other man you try to whore around with.”

The way in which he says it suggests indifference; as if this is something he’s done or thought about a million times before. He presses you into the counter, hands coming to rest either side of you. He bears down on you, jaw clenched and teeth gritted behind straight lips.

“Then you’ll have no choice but to come limping back to me.”

Soap

“Oh aye, Bonnie? You’re gonna drop me, just like that?”

The look Johnny gives you is one of incredulous disbelief. Yet, in some way, you feel that he already knew you weren’t dedicated to the idea of a relationship with him. Even after all the time you’d spent together, the many nights you’d enjoyed sleeping over at his apartment, the many treats you’d baked for him; these were all things one could easily mistake for friendship.

You’d considered that perhaps tonight hadn’t been the best time to let him down, regardless of how gently you did it, considering it was your weekly movie night and it was his turn to host. 

You wish you’d listened to your inner self. Especially now as Johnny watches you, his eyes silver and sharp like a wolf’s. Without warning, he pounces on you, taking your wrists and planting them into the sofa cushions.

He lies atop you, heavy. Unmoving. Struggling only makes him grunt, a spark flashing in his eye.

“Tell you what,” he proposes. “If y’can still remember yer name by the time I’m through with you,” he presses his hips against yours. You gasp at the feeling of something heavy and pointed catching you. 

“We’ll see how willing y’are to try’n lead me astray.”

Valeria

“I see how it is,” she sighs, arms crossed over her front. She has you tied to a chair in her office, mouth gagged as you try to plead with her through your tears, your eyes. “You thought you could have your cake and eat it too. Thought you could have me while trying to fuck every other bitch that crosses your path.”

You’d dared to try and break things off with Valeria – ‘things’ referring to the one-sided pursual of your love by a certain cartel mommy. But alas, your efforts to repel her had only strengthened her resolve – her need – to have you.

“I’ve dealt with your type before,” she says, bringing her face down to your level. You swear her eyes are black, devoid of the slivers of humanity she still possesses – somewhere. The wrinkle in her nose forecasts disgust, an emotion you know first-hand does not bode well with Valeria.

“I thought you were different. Thought you’d know to shut up and take what’s handed to you – especially when you’ve worked yourself so hard to get it.” Valeria’s hand comes down between your legs, her fingers wrapping around the meat of your thigh. Gripping. Tight.

“Maybe the you I’m looking for is buried in there somewhere.” You can taste the venom in her voice as her scrutinising gaze roves over your bound form. She brings her mouth to your ear, intentional and without haste.

“And all I need to do is fuck it out of you.”

Price

You considered for a moment that John hadn’t actually heard you. What, with his lax demeanour and total lack of acknowledgement of your rejection.

Of course, you were glad he wasn't reacting poorly, but to see him not reacting at all worried you.

“I could have you hidden away somewhere–” Price starts, lighting his cigar and not even looking at you, “–where you’d be for my eyes only.”

The fact that he says it so casually almost has you believing that you’ve misheard him. You blink, wait for him to prove you wrong

Much to your shock, he does nothing to quell your growing anxiety. 

“Bet you’d like that – having the attention of an older man. ‘Specially since you’ve worked so hard to get it.”

Now, he looks at you, with eyes hard and sharp as diamond, half-lidded, a glare that could cut glass.

“Sitting on my lap, wearing those tight little shorts around me. Bet you wanted this to happen, didn’t’ya.”

When you don’t respond, too shocked to even conjure a response that could cover even a fraction of what John had said, he spoke for you.

“Well, Love, got anything to say for yourself?”

He didn’t give you time to answer. He took his legs off his desk and stood, staring at you.

“Better say it now since y’won’t be able to say much by the time I’m done with you.”

Horangi

“I just can’t believe you thought this would end well for you.” Hong-Jin paces before you as you sit on the edge of your bed, a hostage in your own home. Clearly, your rejection of his proposal to become his partner hadn’t ended well, hence the lock on your front door now lay broken, your security system disarmed.

“Especially after all I’ve spent on you, after all I’ve done to you – for you.”

His eyes never left you, staring you down. You tried not to shake, tried not to make a run for the door that, while open and tantalising in its beckoning for your escape, a steel model of a man patrolled it, patrolled you. Had you prisoner.

He stops before you, stands just inches from where your knees are jittering. His hands come down to grip them, giving them a squeeze. If it’s meant to be comforting, his intentions are lost in translation.

“Maybe I wasn’t clear enough with you,” he says. Offers you an out. “Maybe I’ve given you too much freedom.”

At that, he sinks to his knees before you and, without warning, parts your legs. You yelp, trying to pull away, but he keeps you tethered to the spot. His hands shoot to the top of your thighs and you can feel his fingers hooking over the sides of your bed shorts.

You try to reason with him, try to tell him you’ll do whatever he wants, so long as he doesn’t hurt you.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. Only want to show you–” he pulls the sides of your shorts down– “what you’re missing.”

Alejandro

The instigator of such a cold reception from Alejandro had been your refusal of a date with him. One which, unbeknownst to you, he’d been planning and psyching himself up for for the past week.

“I see.” Alejandro’s face was stern, thunder clouds rolling over him, making his features dark and pointed. The onset of a storm.

You didn’t know what to say, what to do, as Alejandro stood by your front door, dressed as if he was prepared to take you out right now.

You could see his jaw clench, his eye twitch.

“Is there someone else?” he asks.

You know that getting rejected solely because someone favours another over you is bad, but being rejected without competition is worse. You swallow, unsure of which option will infuriate Alejandro more. When you fail to answer, he sighs.

“You know, I always thought you were smarter than this, (Y/N).” His voice is low and intentional, like a plane flying too close to the ground. You look up, only to find him staring down at you, taking up all the space of your doorway with his hand perched on top of it like it’s nothing.

“But maybe I just have to teach you.”

You try to speak up for yourself, try to ask Alejandro what he’s playing at, but he shushes you. Steps into your home.

“I’ll have you crawling back to me by the night’s end, Cariño.” His words carry a weight that roots you in place. “I promise you that.”

Rodolfo

“Oh, I know,” he says with all the certainty in the world. You’re in his apartment, coming to break the news to him that you can’t accept his boyfriend proposal; the one he’d sent you in a five-page-long love letter.

You blink, befuddled. “You…you know?” Your brow raises. “You’re taking this a lot better than I thought you would.”

Rudy gives a hum, a smiling one. He puts his hands in his pockets, leans against the wall behind him.

“That’s because I know you don’t mean it.” He gives you little time to contemplate his statement before he’s descending upon you like a solar eclipse. “I just needed an excuse to get you somewhere we wouldn’t be…” He searches for the right word. “Disturbed.”

Strange, considering how he was disturbing you right now. He went on.

“I mean, how else was I going to get you here? If I’d just text you, you could shoot me down without coming anywhere near me. But now,” he’s close enough that his hands rest on your arms when he reaches for you, pulling him closer to him. You stumble on uncertain legs.

His grip is soft but you feel trapped, even if Rudy is one of the few people you’d feel comfortable being trapped with.

“Now,” he says, voice low. He pulls you into his chest, hard with years of training.

“I can show you how well I can please you.”

Graves

Graves is far more used to being the player, not the played. So when he discovered that you were, in fact, engaging in what could be construed as promiscuous behaviour with him without the intention of falling for his charms, he went silent. His stare hardened.

He’d never admit it, but he’d actually grown to like you in the time you’d been together. A lot.

“So that’s it?” he says. His voice, usually rounded with his southern charm and honeyed words, strikes you like an arrow, ice and sharp. “We have a good thing goin’ and you’re just gonna throw it all away?”

You’d tried to explain to him that no, that wasn’t what you meant when you’d suggested some time apart. You just wanted to explore other options, is all.

He gives a whiplash, humourless laugh.

“Can tell you’re lyin’ from a mile away. I know you want me, need me.”

When you roll your eyes, ready to back out of the conversation altogether, he’s on you, closing the gap between you and gripping you by your shoulders. He presses you against the wall.

“Fight it all you want, but we both know you’re just gonna come crawlin’ back, so why don’t I make this easy for ya.” His breath is hot against your cheeks, a bull on the prowl. His fingers dig into your shoulders and he gives you an impish smile. One that seems to substitute something much more insidious.

“I’ll have you begging me to fuck you by the end of the night,” he promises. “One way or another, whether you like it or not, m’gonna make you all mine.”

Gaz

Gaz has played the nice guy for far too long. This, he realises as he watches someone try to chat you up from across the bar, only to make the fatal mistake he himself had made: leaving you unattended.

Gaz wasted no time. He slithered through the crowded bar to you, taking your wrist in his hand on his way. He dragged you to a small room, dark and out of the way. He locked the door behind him.

“What was all that about, then.”

He faces away from you, but even through the dim light of the one, flickering light bulb above you, you could see his shoulders heaving, his hands clenched into fists as he awaits your response.

A friend, just some guy – it doesn’t matter. Gaz turns and bears down on you, backing you against the wall. Your hands fly up to his chest to try and quell him, to put some distance between the two of you. His heart pounds and so does yours, albeit for different reasons.

“You’re mine,” he says. He pens you in, his form broad and sculpted by horrors unknown. A hand comes to take your chin between its fingers, jerking your gaze to meet his. “Have I not worked hard enough to be able to have you yet.”

His voice cracks, though he shows no signs of crying. No, Instead he presses his front to yours. Something catches your thigh and you gasp.

“Maybe you just need reminding,” he tells you, “of how much I’ve done for you.” He rolls his hips against you, his hands coming to bolt themselves on the wall behind you, caging you.

“How much I can do.”

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

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[glitch-but-ya]

Remember me.

Pairing: Sylus x Reader

Tags: Angst, angst, angst, with no comfort, established relationship, pet names like 'sweetie' and 'kitten', descriptions of blood, gore, and death.

Summary: Sylus could not fathom the feeling of everything slipping from his fingers. He couldn’t comprehend how he had lost control so easily. He watched you take a devastating blow from a wanderer, helpless to reach you in time. His world crumbled before his eyes as you fell. In that moment, Sylus realized he had less control over fate than he had ever imagined. Though you had awoken from your injuries, the relief would not last, for he would soon be dragged back into a spiral of helplessness once more.

Word count: 2,281 words.

A/N: Feeling angsty lately hehehe

"And even in my dying breath, my only thoughts will be of you."

The blood wouldn't stop. It gushed out of the gigantic wound in your stomach ceaselessly, erupting with remarkable fervor. The blood continued to flow, slipping between Sylus's fingers as his hands latched onto your stomach in an attempt to stop the bleeding. But it didn't work. Nothing did. And for the first time in his life, Sylus felt helpless.

He clenched his jaw, his teeth gritting. "Don't you dare die on me." You responded with a kind smile. Your hand reached out to caress the side of his face. "I won't make it, Sylus." You croaked out weakly. "Don't try to save a dying person."

He shook his head and curled his fists. "Don't speak nonsense. I'm not in the mood for jokes." And although his tone was harsh, his words held no bite. You knew that, of course. What part of him did you not know? Which part of him had you not learned by heart yet?

"Hold on to me," he said, guiding your hands to his neck. "I'll get us out of here, and you'll get better. I promise." "You won't die." he said firmly. You've never seen him so serious. Not with you, at least.

Sylus carried you back to his car. His arms supported your back as you hung limply from his neck. You used your last remaining strength to pry your eyes open and gaze back at the protofield. You hadn't yet processed how a normal mission could turn into an event that'd end up claiming your life. You were prepared for this, you told yourself. This is the unfair life a hunter must live. This is the sacrifice you must make for the sake of others. But now, being on the verge of death, you couldn't help but wish to live.

Your gaze drew back to Sylus. You observed his furrowed eyebrows, his sorrowful frown, and the panic etched across his face. You couldn't help but be grateful for him. To have a man like him was a blessing. He was kind to you. When you needed him, he was there. He had cradled you through the harshest nights and been by your side through happiness and sorrow. He was there, always. Even now, in death, he was by your side. It was by miracle that he happened to be in the same place, close enough to you to respond to your plea for help immediately.

You couldn't help but feel thankful for him. To have someone like him in your life was a blessing only you were lucky enough to receive. After his arrival, you had something to live for. Someone cared about you, someone worth living for. And, admittedly, you didn't want to let this privilege go. You loved him, and you knew for sure that he reciprocated. You wanted to be selfish. For once, you wanted to live.

"Sylus..." you wheezed. His gaze immediately shifted. His eyes locked onto yours, slightly narrowing in displeasure at your weak countenance. "Save your breath. No need to say anything." he looked away, almost as if he couldn't bear to see you in such a sorry state anymore.

You simpered at him lovingly. "Thank you," was all you said. Sylus did not respond for a while, his only response being a slight falter in his speed. "Don't get sentimental now," he looked away. But you could catch a glimpse of the slight tremble of his lips. It was the first time you'd seen him so vulnerable, almost on the verge of tears. And even now, he tried to be strong. He tried to conceal his sorrow, even though he knew he didn't need to. Not around you. And yet, he was so adamant on being your devout protector, he’d forgotten that he was allowed to feel. You wanted to press your lips against his, to hug him in your arms and tell him that he could stop now. That he didn't have to make such sacrifices for your sake, that he was allowed to cry if he wanted to.

But alas, your strength began to fail you. And slowly, you began to fade into a deep slumber, lulled by the warmth of his body pressing against yours. You could hear Sylus's voice calling out to you, begging you to stay with him. But you couldn't. A gentle breeze blew you away easily as if you were but a tiny fairy floating about freely in the land of purgatory. Your eyes fluttered shut, only eliciting more panicked noises from him. But they were all drowned by the welcoming darkness. And so, your eyes closed, but not for the last time.

It wouldn't be long before you'd realize that you'd survived. When you awoke, it was atop a familiar mattress as hard as stone. It was clear that someone had tucked you in gingerly, layering multiple soft blankets beneath you in a flimsy attempt at cushioning you. Despite Sylus's efforts, the rigidity and firmness of the mattress pressed against your back painfully, leaving you with a sore back. Even with the lack of effectiveness in his approach, you found Sylus's attempt oddly endearing. You giggled internally, picturing a worried Sylus hurriedly skittering about and fussing over your makeshift bed.

Your carefreeness was cut off the moment you opened your mouth to speak. You felt a lump in your throat that felt as if it bobbled each time you gulped. On top of that, your throat was dry, and your voice low and hoarse. You quickly realized that you had not the strength to even lift your arm off the bed, let alone get up and call for help. You didn't know where Sylus was. All you could do was wait until he showed up eventually, which didn't take long.

"Sweetie," his pupils contracted subtly. You couldn't tell if it was a response brought about by relief or shock, or both. Were you not supposed to wake up so soon?

Dropping the towels by your bed, Sylus fixed his composure and rushed to your side, taking your arm in his. "How are you feeling?" "Horrible." you croaked out with a small laugh. "I feel like I'm gonna die," you said, but the joke didn't seem to sit right with Sylus, on whose forehead a crinkle had formed. He made it very clear that he did not find it funny.

Changing the topic, you let out a hum. "How long has it been?" "A week." You nearly choked on your own spit, but said nothing in response. You didn't have the energy to. Sylus caressed your hand thoroughly, his eyes slightly narrowing as he felt your skin. But you couldn't tell why. "We didn't know if you were going to, well... do you remember what happened?" You placed your finger on your lip, humming in thought, before nodding weakly. "You got discharged yesterday. I guess you're really taking a turn for the better, huh?" And yet, as he spoke, he did not smile. He only inspected your hand further, running his fingers over the bumps of your knuckles, and tenderly tracing the skin of your palm. "...Did you always have cold hands, sweetie?"

You only responded by pointing to the jug of water on the large, ebony nightstand. Following your request, Sylus grabs the jug and pours you a glass of water. "Here, I'll help you." he helps you sit up and brings the glass to your lips. Only for you to begin choking on the water as you drank. Sylus patted your back reassuringly. "You've been quite... breathless, haven't you? Your breathing is faster, and so is your heart rate." He placed his hand on his chin and thought. "Your face is pale, your hands are cold. And—are you listening?"

You stared at him before flashing him with a sheepish smile. "Sorry, can you repeat?" He let out a sigh. "I'm calling a doctor over. You're displaying abnormal symptoms." Your hands began to tremble uncontrollably as you passed him the glass. "Doctor? I feel fine." You waved your hand dismissively. "You're overreacting. I woke up, didn't I? It means I'm getting better." Sylus shook his head. "Right. And that also means it's time for a checkup. Don't resist, sweetie. You're not escaping this one." Although he tried to mask it, you could sense an underlying fear in his tone. You didn't know why. You truly did feel fine.

"He'll be here in a few hours. The snowfall's heavy tonight. It'll take a while." He pulled the covers over you and nuzzled your face. "Until then, rest." With that, he left the room.

A few hours had gone by, and your condition only worsened. Your skin grew colder, and your heart began to beat at a rapid rate. To add to Sylus's concern, your behavior and mental state began to worsen as well. When he'd ask you something, you'd stare at him for a good 30 seconds before smiling, "Sorry, could you repeat that?"

Eventually, your bandages began to bleed once more, and you felt as if you were rendered completely senile, like a sickly old man spending his last moments on his deathbed. You managed to squeeze out your dying voice to ask Sylus to change them. He gently propped you up, pulling off your shirt before carefully unwrapping the bandages around your chest.

"Sylus..." "Didn't I tell you to save your energy?" he scolded softly. "The doctor will be here in an hour." He pressed the back of his palm against your forehead. "Cold. Don't worry, I'll patch you up and tuck you back in." Suddenly, you grasped his hand weakly. He didn't have the heart nor intention to shake you off. "Thank you." Your gaze did not meet his.

Sylus tilted his head back and smirked lightly. "What, are we feeling affectionate now too?" It seemed as if he was trying to swallow the ache of his heart. You shook your head, your eyes glued to your lap. "I'm sorry. I'm so much trouble." Fresh tears began to slip from the corners of your eyes, only to be swept up by Sylus's hand before they could reach your chin. "I was weak. I know I've failed everyone."

"Sweetie..." his hand met your cheek, his thumb flicking off the crystalline beads rolling down your face. "I never saw you as a burden. The strength needed to withstand such a blow... your dodge was incredible, kitten." His other hand shot up to ruffle your hair. "Even I would have a hard time. You did well. I'm proud of you."

You let out a muffled sob. "Will you remember me, Sylus?" His gaze softened. He could reassure you that you wouldn't be leaving his side anytime soon and that there was no reason for him to have to remember you, but he knew that wasn't what you wanted to hear. "You're quite hard to forget, if I'm being honest. Even if we are worlds apart, you will linger in my memories eternally, shining like the most priceless gem not even the God of wealth could lay their eyes on." He gazed upon your face, taking in the sight of your drooping eyelids, inflamed nose, chapped lips, and pale visage with a wince. "We are bound by much more than a simple promise. What we have will never be replaced." His eyes met yours. "I could never forget you, even if I wanted to."

Your shoulders slackened almost as if you'd let go, your soul finally able to rest now that you'd heard him say it with his own lips. "I love you, Sylus," you confirmed. He traced his thumb over your bottom lip. "I love you too." Sylus slipped the shirt back onto your body and pushed you into the covers. "Sleep," he said, picking up the clutter. Before he left, he turned to you and looked at you one last time. "When you're better, I'll take you to a meadow for a nice picnic under the warm sun." His gaze trembled, and he swallowed the melancholy beginning to invade his voice. "I know a place. A vast field of anemones and other flowers. The breeze there is cool and constant. It's a place humanity is yet to reach, untainted by the spoils of mankind." He approached you, slipping his fingers in between your own. "When you're better, I'll take you there." He flashed you the warmest smile he could muster, even in his state of despair.

His heart nearly broke as you so innocently smiled back at him. "I see. Thank you, Sylus. It sounds nice indeed." You brought his hand to your face and nuzzled against it. "May we cross the fields together one day."

"Go now. I'm sleepy." You began pushing him away, ushering him out of your bed. Once he was a good distance away, you sank into your bedsheets and turned your back on him. "Goodnight, Sylus. I love you." And so, you went to sleep.

You did not wake up the next day. So he waited. Although Sylus knew you wouldn't last the moment you'd displayed the symptoms. He'd seen death; he'd known it half his life. He could tell when a man was about to die from a distance. And yet, with you, he couldn't bring himself to accept it.

And so, he waited again. For you to wake up. For you to return to him once more. He would wait until the heat death of the universe, if he must, just to reunite with you, his beloved, his lover. He couldn't stop the tears from flowing. He'd lost you again. And this time, it was his beloved who was gone.

[anantaru]

Sethos and spit kink?

・✶ ｡ synopsis — sethos just loves claiming you with his spit <3

warnings — spit kink, praising, petnames used: good girl, my dear, baby, fem! reader <3

the air surrounding your nostrils was thick and heavy with the scent of desire and the sound of ragged breaths looming above you. in the middle of all of it, you found yourself beneath sethos, his body pressed firmly against yours and moving, the weight of him grounding you in the most delirious way possible.

his eyes roam over your body freely and inspect your every reactions, taking in every inch of your exposed skin with an intensity that made your heart race as his hands clasp around your hips hard, firm and demanding, holding you in place as he moved within you, each thrust rippling through you as your back arched into him.

"you're so beautiful," sethos was quick to jump right into telling you what he's been thinking all night, his voice rough and filled with a rawness he couldn't possibly explain, "every single part of you, my dear."

flickering your stare to his eyes, your fingers dig into his shoulders as you attempt to hold yourself onto him harder, the intensity of his movements filling you completely as it was almost too much to bear for you.

regardless, you relished in it, truly, in the way he made you feel so utterly consumed, starting from your wet cunt getting stuffed full and your nipples getting played with by his digits twisting and brushing over them.

in a trice, sethos slants down until his breath brushes against your ear, his lips quirked up into an amused smirk, "open your mouth for me, yeah?" he whispers, "you know what to do," as his voice alone was almost enough to tip you over the edge.

naturally, you obey without hesitation, parting your lips as he hovers above you— you're cute when you're this obedient, sethos believes, and as his eyes locked onto yours, he slowly, deliberately, let a string of saliva fall from his mouth into yours, the messy drool perfectly hitting your tongue and bottom lip.

"swallow, show how much you like it," he commands, and something about the nerveless confidence in his choice of tone made you clench around his shaft which was completely stilled inside you now, his tip pressing deep into your mushy sweet-spot and coaxing out goosebumps all over your chest.

as always, you do as he asks, the taste of him filling your mouth as you swallowed his spit without hesitation. of course, the act was both degrading and thrilling at the same time, a testament to the trust and passion that existed between the two of you— not only that but it made you feel closer to him, more connected in a way that words could never fully capture, even if you tried.

sethos lips curve into a satisfied smile as he watched you moan after you swallow his saliva, "such a good girl, fuck— baby," he praises you with hearts in his eyes before slowly moving himself in and out of your warm cunt, "you take everything i give you so well, huh?"

your arousal messes him up as he resumed to his thrusts, each one deeper and more forceful than the last, his body moving with a relentless rhythm that left you breathless as his hands roam over the slopes of your body, his fingers tracing the contours of your skin.

each one of his grinds and hard thrusts were like a sting to your beating heart, his hips fucking you relentlessly as his tongue flickers out his mouth to taste the sweat that had gathered on your chest and erected nipples, the messy lap of his muscle sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

"mine," he growls, "all mine," as his teeth graze at one swollen nipple, the point of his nose bumping against your skin as he deliriously inhales your scent;

"every damn inch of you belongs to me."

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[hispg]

Little bunny

Pairings: R4! Leon X Fem! Reader

Summary: You riled him up. It's totally your fault for using this bunny outfit. Now, bear the consequences.

Wc: 2.5k

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, mirror sex, soft!Dom Leon, pet names, light dirty talk.

An: Hi Hi, sorry for the recent absence, I haven't replied to any asks or comments. And sorry for the absence, don't get me wrong.I have to sort out some things in my personal life, and frankly my mental state isn't the best. From yesterday to today I had two terrible mental breakdowns.I don't like to talk too much about my personal problems here, but I don't think it's fair to ghost everyone. Anyway, I just wanted to say that my next posts will be scheduled,(I'll see if I have any ready works to post, and hopefully I do), and I'll probably be back around February 5th or so. If I feel better I'll come back sooner, but I need some time to breathe.Don't worry, I'll reply to each and every one of you as soon as I get back! I apologize for the inconvenience, but I promise I'll come back better and respond to every kind interaction I've received!

Sorry for the long rant, but I kind of needed it. Thanks for your attention so far💕

"Look at me, love." Leon purred in your ear, watching you through the mirror.

Your legs spread, his fingers buried in your wet pussy, your cream dripping down his fists and onto the floor, making a mess where you sat.

Your lips hanging open as you moaned, your head resting on his shoulder as you couldn't even open your eyes without rolling them.

It was all so dirty, the mirror bearing witness to the scene that was unfolding. You in a bunny outfit, all dolled up for a party, it wasn't your intention to make Leon horny.

But what did you expect? Sending him a photo of you in that bodysuit, your ass reflected in the mirror and you making a naughty face. Of course Leon would come running to see you. How could he not?

You wanted to get his attention, since he hadn't been able to talk to you all day, so you had the brilliant idea of sending him these provocative photos. And indeed, you got his attention, and at the same moment he left all his chores and came running to see you.

Now you had to deal with him.

"All that for me, love?" Leon purred in your ear, using his thumb to massage your clit.

You hung your head again, letting the hoarse whimpers escape your throat every time he sank his fingers into you, hitting those weak spots that made you soft in his arms.

His mouth found its way to your neck, sucking and licking at the area, his teeth rubbing against your flesh lightly. His little smile only widened when he felt you tighten around his fingers, you were almost there once again.

You felt that familiar feeling forming in the pit of your stomach, your mind getting messy and unfocused, you just had attention at that moment.

Leon also sensed that you were close, watching your expression through the mirror. It was so exciting that he could stare for hours.

Your wet cunt welcoming his fingers so well, so slippery and warm that he could spend all day fingering you, without a break.

"So beautiful, look at you," Leon says, holding your jaw and making you look in the mirror.

Your face flushed, your cheeks as red as an apple, your glassy eyes that begged for his touches. Leon made a point of fucking you while you were still in that bunny costume you were wearing, just to see how hot and beautiful you looked.

"You only did that for a good fuck, didn't you? You wanted to get my attention, didn't you?" Leon whispers sensuously, using his thumb to tug at your clit viciously.

The way he spoke to you was enough to make you roll your eyes, your pussy clenching painfully tight around his fingers, you could bet that this time you wouldn't hold back.

"N-no, that wasn't it…" You moaned, rolling your eyes once more, feeling his fingers touching that weak spot of yours.

You heard Leon's chuckle, and he once again lifted your face, making you stare into the mirror once more.

"Open your eyes, princess. You look so beautiful when you come." Leon said softly, admiring your reactions.

And that was enough to get you there, you just felt your white cream being oozed out of your body, your eyes rolling back as you held onto his forearms tightly.

It was so dirty, the way you whimpered so slyly, his name sliding out of your mouth as you came. Leon kept holding your face, making you see the mess you'd made of yourself.

Through the mirror you could see him staring at you with those blue eyes, the corners of his curved into a naughty smile as he watched your fluids dripping from you.

And there he went, making you come for the thousandth time that night.And when he kept fingering you even after orgasm, you couldn't help yourself and started whimpering even more.

"Leon, stop, it's too much!" You whispered, pouting as you tried to win his pity.

But no, it wouldn't work this time.

"No, I'm sure you can take it." He says, slapping your clit, watching your every reaction.

You whimpered, keeping your pout while he played with your body. By this time Leon's cock was throbbing, aching as it was trapped in his pants, even he could feel his pre-cum soaking through his underwear.

But even though you were struggling to take it one more time, you cried out when he stopped stroking you, when you felt the emptiness he left when he took his fingers out of you.

He had better plans for you now, he wanted to watch a bit at that moment. He then sat down on his knees, leaning back as he saw your legs spread in that dirty way.

"Touch yourself." He demands, his voice low and husky, causing a chill to run down your spine.

You widened your eyes at his demand, biting your lip as you saw him undo his belt, push his pants down and pull it all out at once, his cock jutting out at the same moment.

Pinky tip, flushed, and swollen. The clear and perfect sign of the effect you had on him. Leon wasted no time in wrapping his hand around his dick, grunting as he lazily stroked his length.

You then began to do as he asked, keeping your legs open while you delicately placed your index finger on your clit, making small circles on the sensitive part.

"Keep going." Leon says, biting his lip as he watched you, he began to jerk off with more speed, keeping his gaze on you.

"But… I'd rather it was you." You say, looking at him with sly little eyes.

"If you do what I ask, I can give you what you want all night long." He says, fisting himself as he watches you rub your fingers over your clit.

So wet, soaking wet just thinking about the possibility of him fucking you, even if only with his fingers.

He noticed every detail, your hips rocking as you touched yourself and searched for more friction, right up to the point where you put a finger inside yourself, arching your back and moaning softly.

In one swift movement he moved behind you once more, wrapping one of his arms around your waist while pressing his chest against your back. And in the same instant you felt his size in your folds, his cock rubbing against you, making you both moan at the same time.

He forced you down, making his cock move back and forth in your pussy lips, making you squirm and try to get away from him.

Your movements on your clit stopped, and he growled in protest at your interrupted act. You felt his fingers sinking into your hips, just as he began to fuck you while maintaining total control.

"Keep going." He murmured, in an authoritative yet heated voice.

You obeyed, pressing your finger back into your clit, moaning even louder as you began to feel his balls slapping against you, he moved back and forth, his length grinding against your folds as he held you tight.

And you couldn't contain the moan you let out when you saw the trail of pre-cum running down his cock, making you salivate even more.

At that point you didn't know who was making more of a mess, you or him. Not least because even he couldn't hold back his grunts when he heard the wet, lubricated sounds that filled both your ears, along with your moans and grunts that mixed and became one.

"I'm close—" You moan, biting your lip as you look at Leon.

The image was what you needed to feel your cunt clenching around nothing, your body heating up as you felt your orgasm building more and more.

Leon fucking you from behind, his nails digging into your hips, to the point of leaving marks the next day. His cock emerging and plunging from your folds, your pussy lips becoming swollen from the repetitive movement that was driving you crazy.

You then began to move along with him, your hips moving back and forth, you couldn't hold back the sound that came from your lips every time you felt his balls slap against you. Heavy and full, slamming so hard against you that you could feel your skin heating up and burning with every thrust.

When you started rubbing your clit more fervently, he noticed, and soon grunted in your ear in a bossy voice:

"Pull out." He says, looking down at your fingers that were massaging your sensitive buddy.

Maybe it was just a way of being mean to you, to hold off your orgasm for as many times as he wanted.

"But… I'm so close!" You whimper, looking at him with the sly little eyes you were an expert at making.

"What a shame." He purrs, taking your arms and stopping you from continuing what you were doing.

He then took both your arms, holding them behind you, his hand firmly wrapped around your wrist while the other went back to holding tightly onto your hip.

Leon couldn't help himself and smiled when he saw the mess you'd made of his cock, to the point where there was an absurd amount of the creams oozing out of you.

So dirty, doing all this fussing while he was just teasing you, what a dirty little girl, but that's what you wanted, wasn't it?

"Mh, didn't you want my attention?" He purred once more, holding you tightly as he moved back and forth, rubbing his cock against you once again.

You could feel his warm breath on your neck, his lips lightly touching your skin, and he made a point of giving you little bites, leaving his mark.

"My pretty little bunny, making a mess on my cock." He whispered, in a sensual and provocative way, almost making you feel ashamed of what you were doing.

But it wasn't that, he was proud. Why was that? Because he knew that he was the only one who could leave you like this, and that you were all his, made just for him.

The way he spoke to you made you whimper, humping against him like a bitch in heat, sweat sticking to your forehead as you looked at him through the mirror.

His blue eyes never stopped looking at you, the way you were soaking wet, that bunny outfit that suited you so well. Or whether it was the way your breasts swayed as he grabbed you from behind, grinning shamelessly as he watched you.

And you heard his laugh as you rolled your eyes, letting a sly noise come out of your mouth in a high-pitched way. You were coming.

His hand that had been on your hip went up to your chin, and he made you look at yourself as you came once more.

"Look, bunny, how hot you are. Look at the mess." He says, forcing you to watch your fluids running down his cock, making a new mess.

Just as you saw more pre-cum coming out of him, he was so turned on watching you that he could cum just like that.

White cream dripping off him, making his cock wet and sticky, you did it the way he liked it. The way you were able to do everything the way he wanted, including not holding back while you came, was just one more success on your part.

But now came the part he was most interested in, he was going to fuck you like he loved. Just the sight of the whimpering mess you'd become was exciting, you couldn't speak more than two sentences, you couldn't do anything but moan. It was all down to him.

"You wanted some attention, didn't you?" Leon asked, putting his hand on your back and making you lie on the floor.

Your chest pressed against the cold floor, your nipples hardening even more from the contact. He was still holding your arms, keeping them pinned behind you.

You just stared at him with a pout, moaning as you watched him play with you, lightly smacking your wet pussy, eventually lightly slapping your ass. He just wanted to tease you.

"Please?" You pleaded, arching your hips towards him, only to receive a harder slap.

"That's what you want, isn't it?" Leon purrs, positioning his tip at your entrance, and taking the opportunity to rub his tip against your clit.

He knew he'd have to stop himself from cumming too quickly, because just seeing you in this position was enough for any of his fantasies, it was what he needed to see to go over the edge.

"So be it, I'm going to fuck you exactly the way you want, bunny." He says, a wicked smile on his lips.

And then without you expecting it, he thrust into you all at once, and you felt the delicious stretch he gave you every time. Your pussy stretching to accommodate him with such mastery.

You just moaned, you were incapable of doing anything else, completely drunk on his dick.

You only had time to close your eyes tightly before he started hammering into you, without the slightest pity, just fucking you hard and deep just the way you liked it.

His grip on your hips was strong, and he handled you as if you were a doll that weighed nothing, thrusting into you as he pulled you back onto his cock. Your bodies slammed together abruptly, making that filthy sound echo throughout the room.

Leon was all sweaty, his muscles flexing with every movement, and you could watch him fucking you from behind as you watched the scene in the mirror.

While Leon had the perfect view of his cock sinking into you, your warm walls engulfing him in a unique way, making him grunt at how tight you were, and how hard you could take him. Your juices leaving a white ring at the base of his cock, honeying all over him, acting as if he was the only cock for you.

It was too much for Leon, watching you moaning like that, whimpering desperately as he fucked you. His response was to pick up the pace, his balls slapping against you as his tip reached points so deep you couldn't even imagine.

It was all so fast, you didn't even have time to think as your orgasm washed over you, your walls squeezing him hard as you wet his cock even more. Your voice loud and sly, your nails gripping the carpet hard.

And that's what he needed, the last little push, the image of you cumming on his cock in such an obscene way was enough for him to grunt loudly and pump his seed into you, withdrawing his cock and sinking back in with a deep thrust, making sure to finish inside.

For a while, the only sound you could hear was your breathing, shallow and heavy, as you tried to catch your breath.

But then you caught Leon looking at you, the bunny ears that were on your head falling slightly below your face, that bodysuit that drew out your every curve.

He squeezed your hips, looking you up and down. Oh no, he wasn't finished with his bunny.

You wanted attention, and he was going to give it to you all night long.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

edit cus tumblr tweaked out n posted the unfinished draft smh.

sitting in the bus with your fifteen minute now ex boyfriend was not something you expected to happen when you’d gotten ready for your date this morning.

you’re sitting as far away from his as possible, or at least as far as he’ll let you go. because of course shouto todoroki just couldn’t let you have one moment without flashing you his sweet little puppy eyes and kissable little pouted lips, three seats away from you.

your face is practically smushed against the window, intently keeping your eyes fixed on the green grass turning dark with rain while you try to keep your eyes dry. you wonder if it’s your fault, if you did something.

more people start coming in, trying to find shelter from the rain. the more people come in the louder it gets, they’re so loud, he’s so loud. he isn’t doing anything but staring at you, but it’s so intense it almost sounds loud. you feel it in the beat of your ears and the beat of your heart, you focus on the rain droplets bouncing off the pavement outside to desperately keep from crying.

you know shouto doesn’t have to take the bus, his dad could probably get someone to pick him up, he’d only made it a habit of taking the bus with you so you could spend more time together. you think maybe he shouldn’t have, it’s his fault, he spent more time with you then he should’ve and somehow that brought him to sit you down on a random park bench, grip on your hand still firm as he told you he thinks it’d be better if you didn’t see each other anymore.

as if you could just stop seeing him, fucking idiot. you’re in the same class, have the same friends, you see him in your favorite manga and the website you read your early leaks on that you shared with him, you see him in your notes because he’d write them down for you when you were sick to bring them to your dorm, you see him in your favorite snacks because you make it a habit of having him guess the flavor of the skittles you’re sharing.

seriously, what a moron. who does he think he is, the love of your life ?!

well, you sure thought he was.

you can’t bear it anymore, this feels like actual torture and you could honestly give less of a shit about how dramatic you sounded. this is unbearable, it’s suffocating feeling those deep colored eyes constantly on you, reaching out and begging and pleading for something you cannot and will not give more of to him.

this isn’t your stop, but it’s close. you can walk the rest of the way. screw the rain and screw him.

you quietly apologize to the people you’re pushing past, though they can barely hear you as you try to keep your wobbly voice even. when you pass by a group of people the start hissing and murmuring behind you and you think you weren’t being loud enough until you realize that of course he’d followed you off as soon as you got off. ever uncaring of the people around him except you know that’s not true. you know shouto cares, he’s kind, but you thought he cared about you and he apparently didn’t, so you trudge forwards with teeth clenched and hands tightened into fists. to desperately keep from crying.

why does he care so much, why did he follow you in the bus and now out of it ? couldn’t he just let you be alone ?? he’s the one who broke it off.

but you’re sure you’re the one who did something, how could he have ? your shouto’s perfect, the sweetest boy in the whole word. teeth clenched tighter and tighter, to keep from crying.

he calls for you, and then again louder over the rain, he won’t let you drown him out. of course he won’t. not when he calls for you again, a cool hand wrapping around your wrist this time. you want to melt despite the chill, but instead you boil ripping your hand out of his grip.

“just go home ! why’d you follow me out here ?!” his eyes are wide and so sad, you’d never raised your voice at him before even during your rare arguments.

“this isn’t your stop..” he tries to reason, voice quietly drifting through the air, the rain hits the pavement and his hair is getting wetter. he’s so handsome, he always is. you want to kiss him and you hate yourself for it.

“yeah, i noticed that too. did that on purpose if you couldn’t tell, which you obviously didn’t.” you’re being mean, you’re spitting everything at him to get him to just fuck off. but of course he won’t, because your shouto is kind. and he reaches out for you again only for you to back away from him.

“i’m sorry.”

“just leave me alone ! why can’t you just leave me alone ?!” you ask him and yourself and anyone who’s listening. you sob when he slowly, ever so softly wraps his arms around you and you push at him and push and push and push him away but he never backs off, he never leaves you alone. not when he’s everywhere. with the smell of his cologne and the softness of his lips on your forehead and the softness of his clothes as he pleads, he’s so sorry he says. but you don’t know why. he’s the one who broke it off right ?

“is it me ?” you whimper, he immediately shushes you but you continue “was it something i did ?”

“no, no it’s not you—it could never be you, love.” his voice is even, or it’s trying to be, you can tell he’s having a hard time with how tightly he’s holding onto you. like you won’t hear him out if he doesn’t keep you close, it’s funny because you’d hear him out even if he was trying to convince you the earth was shaped like a rectangle, hilarious even.

your heart bleeds for him, despite it being his fault your heart is hurting in the first place.

"it's just…better that way" is what he'd managed to spit out. "but listen—look at me." he grabs your cheeks, pulling your face up to look into his unwavering pretty bicolored eyes. he presses the sweetest, gentlest kiss to your lips, you don't think anyone would love you enough to kiss you like this ever again, and the tears keep flowing because you don't think you'd want to be loved like this by anyone other than him. and it makes you press back against him when he kisses you again, and again

" i love you, i do. and it's not you." he reaffirms again, because he knows you're thinking about it

"it isn't you. i love you, angel." he babbles over and over against your lips. "you know i love you, yeah ?" and you want to say you don't, but the shine in his wet eyes tells you everything you already knew, and you kiss him again, and again. his hands, cooling and so invitingly warm still firm against your cheeks.

[azsazz]

Hear Me, See Me, Use Me

A/B/O Cassian x Reader

Summary: Cassian is in heat. He won't fuck anything except for you.

Warnings: Smut, breeding kink, biting kink, PRIMAL Cassian.

Word Count: 2,012

Notes: No idea what came over me but this is the Cassian I've been needing in my life tbh.

_________________________________________

“Cassian?” your voice slips through the incorrigible thoughts cleaving through his mind. It’s soft, sweet, and a little afraid. He fucking likes that. The brush of your voice in his ears makes the hair clinging to the nape of his neck stand, his back curve, and his painfully raging cock spurt precum onto the pillow he’s fucking wildly. 

His chest heaves and his fingers are curled so tightly into the stiff pillow on his bed that it’s torn. It has served him well thus far, but it’s a poor replacement for your soft cunt he wishes he could plunge himself into. His rut courses through his veins like fire. He’s sweating with it, sharp teeth torn through his lips as he’s tried to get himself off—to take any of the suffering away—pretending the pillow is you.

But it’s not your pliant body. It’s not your smooth skin or your drenched cunt wrapped around his aching cock. There’s none of your pleasure-filled noises ringing around the room as he draws orgasm after orgasm from you, fucking into you as if you are no more than a plaything for him; a home to his cock and his cum, to the babe he desperately wants to fuck into you because he’s recessed into nothing more than that. He has one base need and it’s to plant a child in you and raise it to be another strong alpha, just like him. He has succumbed to his most rudimentary, primal needs. And he needs to fuck. And he needs to fuck you. Right now.

He’s fucking hearing things now, he realizes. You’re not really here, as Azriel’s already told him. The shadowsinger walked in on him while he’d been mid-fuck, rutting into his bed like a shameless teenager getting hard for the first time. You were in with another alpha, helping them through their heat, Az had recounted carefully. His stance was braced in the doorway, ready should Cassian leap off of the bed and come at him like the rabid beast he’s acting like at the news.

Cassian had seen red after that, banishing Azriel from his room. He’d all but clawed the paint off of the walls, destroying nearly every piece of furniture in the room. Carnage surrounds him from where he’s curled over the pillow, almost seeming to smother it with that large body of his. The sight of it makes your cunt clench, wetness dampening your panties. For a fleeting moment, you’re frozen, heart racing as you watch the way Cassian’s powerful body moves. You imagine yourself held down to the bed like that as he breeds you, filling you with so much of his seed there’s no way a babe won’t take.

And you wouldn’t want him to be soft with you, not like the last alpha you helped had been. You don’t want kind words and soft kisses, you want to feel Cassian’s sharp teeth gnashing at your neck, marking you, scenting you, filling you for all to see. You want to bear his litter, you want to slide to your knees before him, never part from him or his long, shiny length.

Shit. Maybe your heat has come early. 

Your scent reaches him. You can see it in the way his back spine straightens and his thrusts into the quickly disintegrating pillow halt. Feathers line the bed—the poor piece of fabric has taken quite the beating. You swallow thickly, wondering if your cunt will be able to survive the raw, primal actions of Cassian on his rut.

You clench your thighs at the thought, and Cassian slowly turns around. 

His hazel eyes are all black, pupils so dilated you wonder if he can even see or if you’re just a blur. Most of the faelights did not escape his wrath, except for the one glowing dimly on the floor, surrounded by splinters of wood from the armoire, or was it a weapons rack? His favorite chair?

“Cassian,” you breathe again, and his trance breaks.

He stumbles through the disaster he’s made. Cassian doesn’t care if he steps on debris from his rage, his attention is locked on you and his raging cock that stands stiff from his body, bobbing with each step. He’s so full of need he can hardly stand straight, spine curled as he towers over you, hot breath on your face, you sweetness on his tongue.

“This isn’t real,” he murmurs in disbelief. You’re not here, you can’t be, you’re supposed to be helping someone else. Cassian’s lips part and he takes a heavy inhale. You’re not intimidated by his presence, even this far into his rut, but you might be once he catches a whiff of the last alpha you were helping on your scent. He growls, harsh and low, fingers curling into fists and your body coils on its own accord, but Cassian only snarls. “Mine.”

You squeak as he scoops you into his arms, slamming and turning the lock behind you. His hands are everywhere, holding you with ease as they work your way through your clothes, tearing from your body as he makes his way towards the already destroyed bed, one leg kicked off, but the mattress is still good, and he doesn’t care if he takes you on the fucking floor or against the wall or in the fucking bathing room connected to his space, he needs you desperately.

“You’re here,” Cassian says, palming your exposed breasts. Your clothes are nothing but scraps now, but you don’t have the slightest care in the world as his bare body presses flush to yours, pinning you to the mattress. His cock is heavy and hot against your soaking cunt, and he doesn’t hesitate to push in. He’s hardly in his right mind, this you know, but he feels so good, stretching your tight cunt with a growl that has your body relaxing into the plush bed beneath you, one filled with such protectiveness, the noise is one laying claim to you. 

“Yes, alpha,” you agree, gasping as he presses all the way in. Cassian’s hands are planted on either side of your head and his head is buried in the side of your neck scenting and marking you as he pleases. He’s not gentle as he slips in, nor when he pulls back out and fucks his way back in again. But the noises of encouragement he’s drawing from you fill him with pride anyway. 

Gods, does he want you. He wants to fucking chain you up with the thickest, most warded pieces of ropes of cuffs he can find. If he could detach himself from your writhing body right now he’d go for his belts, strapping each of your limbs to the four posters of his bed until he can find something stronger. 

He wants to fill you up with his cum, eat it out of you and spit it back into that tight cunt while he waits for his cock to grow again. It won’t take much, you touch and taste and smell is fucking intoxicating. He wants to see your stomach swollen with his seed, his litter, his pups. He hooks his hands in the bend of your knees, lifting them so he can fuck himself deeper. 

Cassian’s fingers dig into your skin and you moan loudly. His cock stretches you, fills your body perfectly. You squint your eyes open, but he’s not looking at your face. The blacks of his eyes are setted on your lower stomach, where he watches your body poke with his cock as he jerks into you. Your gaze dips lower, watching the press of his cock inside of you. It sends shivers zipping up your spine and you melt into the bed, growing wetter with need.

He wants to take care of you too. Keep everyone away from you so that you’re all he sees. All you smell and taste. No one is allowed near you. Not after this.

“You’re mine, you hear that?” he growls, using his alpha voice. He knows it’ll make you submit, but you’re well on your way, arching up into him as your cunt chokes his cock, cumming with such pleasure your vision whites out. Cassian doesn’t slow, he speeds his motions, prolonging your orgasm. 

You look ethereal while you cum, fingers clawing into his skin, the marks he’s already left on your neck shining bright. Your mouth is slack with euphoria but your body is tightly wound against him, as if trying to absorb his entire being into your soul. 

“That’s my girl,” Cassian praises, but it still sounds like a threat. In fact, the other side of your neck isn’t looking marked enough. Blood dribbles down onto his sheets and he dives forward, lapping it up. You moan weakly, his tongue rough against your sensitive skin. The noise sharpens into a cry when he sinks his teeth into your flesh, following the same strokes of his cock as he gnaws at your body. “So hungry for my cock, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, alpha,” you pant. You can feel his knot growing, dragging inside your walls. It heightens every feeling coursing through your body. The room is hot with sex and Cassian’s body covers you so thoroughly you can hardly even breathe in the best way. 

“Want my pups, don’t you, you greedy little omega?” he asks, but it’s not really a question. He’s spewing his inner thoughts, too far into his alpha headspace to notice. Maybe you’re not even here in his mind, maybe he would’ve acted this way with any omega he’d cross paths with, with how long he tried to stave off his rut. 

No, you scold yourself, clinging to him. The thundering of his heart against your chest is reassuring. Azriel came to find you himself, said that Cass wouldn’t have an omega if it weren’t you, even if it killed him.

Both Rhysand and Azriel had been on standby, the High Lord and the shadowsinger willing to see Cassian through his rut, even though they’re alphas themselves. The three of them have been through too much not to be able to see one another like this and help if needed. 

But luck was on the shadowsinger’s side, as he found you just as you were to set off into the night, freshly showered from the rut you’d seen another alpha through. He’d told you the predicament, and as tired as you were, the opportunity to not only see but assist Cassian through that torture of his own was a dream come true. Your body had been begging for him ever since you’d laid eyes on him and it made your heat come early back then.

Cassian grunts, knot swelling inside of the warm cavern of your cunt. You are everything he imagined and more, and you feel a million times better than that fucking piss poor pillow he’d had to use in your place. But it was worth it, not having another omega. He doesn’t want anyone but you from here on out. He wants you, and so does the alpha trying to claw its way through his skin and into yours. 

“Gonna fill you full of my pups,” he grunts, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he ruts his knot into you. It’s painfully hard, sticking to the walls of your cunt as it tries to attach to your womb, but he’s not had enough of you yet. “You’re going to give me so many. As many as I want, right?”

“Yes,” you moan, because it’s the only thing you can say, the only thing you’ve ever wanted to hear. “Yes, yes, yes!”

“That’s right,” he agrees, shuddering as his cock locks deep in your cunt. His cock spurts, and his body constricts so tightly Cassian squeezes his eyes shut, hooking onto you tightly and rolling you both over so his arms don’t give out and he crushes you with his weight. “Fucking take all my cum, baby. Going to give you so much more of it tonight too.”

[temiizpalace]

★┊"THANK YOU FOR PLAYING WITH ME.”

SUMMARY: you lose the marbles game, lookig at jamil one final time.

CHARACTERS: jamil viper

GENRE: angst, squid game au

WARNINGS: mentions of death, gunshots and cursing. spoilers for squid game season 1. please read at own risk.

NOTES: my friends wanted to watch squid game together and there is material to work with. please enjoy, this idea was fun, despite not being much. (readers player number was selected randomly).

reader is g/n

★˙∘

you watched as your marble rolls across the field, only falling slightly behind jamil’s. staring at the small ball, you smiled to yourself, turning to jamil who couldn’t bear to look at you.

his head was turned, looking toward the wall. he should’ve known. of course they’d pit allies against each other, making them turn against one another all for the sake of cash, it was inevitable, you could see it from miles away.

..and yet, he still fell for the stupid trap. he clenched his fist, cursing himself. why.. why did he feel so strongly? strongly for someone he had met recently? it’s dumb, idiotic, and foolish.

so why?

“jamil.” you call out, making him flinch. failing to respond, you call out once more. “jamil,” you smile, putting the bag of marbles in his hand. “you win, you’re one game closer to traveling the world!” hearing your voice, there was a certain contempt within it, like you’re satisfied with the outcome.

that tone infuriated him, causing him to grit his teeth. “you..” he mutters, turning abruptly and grabbing your collar. jamil nearly slams you against the wall, eyes holding a certain look of pure fury. “..you tried to lose?” as he raised his voice you flinched, not expecting the outburst.

“you’re fucking serious?! you’re just giving up?!” he shouts, scowling and shaking you back and forth. you hadn’t expected such a reaction from someone as calm and composed as jamil, so seeing him like this was certainly a shock.

during every game, he had kept a straight face. you admired him for this, keeping so collected and straight faced, even in the face of death. yet, here he was.

he shoves the marbles back into your hand, glaring at you with a hardened expression. “..throw it again.” he demands, his hands shaky. you stare at the bag in your hands, void of any look of sadness. “i lost.” you shrug, holding the bag loosely in your hands. “i said throw it again.” he hissed, his grip on your collar tightening.

you chuckle, slipping the marbles into his pockets. “even if i did, id still lose.” he bit his lower lip, trying to bite back his hurl of aggressive pleads. “why..” he grunts, his voice cracking.

“why?” you repeat, moving your hand to hold his. “..you deserve to win. you had ambitions, hopes, dreams, it inspired me.” you state, holding his hand in a tight grip. “i had nothing outside of these games. nothing to win for.”

“don’t say that.. don’t you dare fucking say that,” he quivers, shaking his head. he choked back the tears threatening to spill, shutting his eyes tightly as you pat his back. “..maybe, in another universe, we’ll be able to travel the world together.” you pull him in, feeling his hands move from your collar to wrapping around you.

“we can’t be together in this universe, but perhaps in another, we’ll be able to do so much more.” you eye the guards approaching giving jamil one last squeeze.

they pull him away, his back turned from you. the guards approached you, but before they pulled the trigger, you decide to deliver your final words. “jamil!”

he freezes, as do the guards.

“thank you,” your eyes crinkle, eyes watering as you began.

“thank you, for playing with me.”

taking your final breath, the guards placed the weapon to your head. jamil flinches as he heard the gunshot, wiping his tears as he walked away. he couldn’t turn to face your lifeless body.

ah, he realizes why he liked you so much now.

you were the only person willing to understand him. the only one who saw him, to lookout for him. for once, he actually dreamed. even in these terrible games, you were a beacon of hope he could follow in these dark times.

you taught him how to dream.

PLAYER 298, ELIMINATED.

A/N: guess which death this is based on lol im not coping you are lol (tbh not exactly what i expected but it’s almost 1AM and i am writing this all on memory and caffeine) anyways how do we feel abt the angst fic

date published: 01/11/25

© temiizpalace — do not copy, steal, or put my work into ai. thank you!

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

An Ode To Greed

Nikto x F!Reader || Smut Drabble W. An Utterly Down Bad Man (AKA Nikto)

No Dark Themes - Body worship, praise/dirty talk, p in v, edging, implied overstim, cunnilingus, implied somnophilia (but it's totally up to you), domestic Nikto, implied dom/sub & switch dynamics, etc. Minors interacting will be blocked.

Nikto was nothing less than an attentive lover. 

Many days you found the man already done with the chores before you had the chance to get up—the light spilling through the curtains on his day off from KorTac. He was an early riser, the large Russian, always itching to move and to get his mind going. The mornings were organized, methodical, and always delicately thought out to the last detail: what cup he would use for his tea—black tea, of course, with lemon—to what he would clean first. Even down to the ingredients of the breakfast he would make you, leveled and weighed on the kitchen counter waiting for his experienced hand.

You left the cooking to him, and he never disappointed. 

But…on the very rare days Nikto chose to sleep in, that body as big and as all-consuming as a bear rumbling right next to yours, it was something to greedily latch at like a cat with a toy. Luckily, your influence was the one thing that could always reduce the Russian to a panting dog in heat. 

“Птичка,” Nikto grunts harshly into your ear, his hand grasping your hip as your breasts jerk along the mattress under you. Your mouth is open in a feral example of drunk pleasure, fingers kneading the ruined sheets. “Good girl, yes? Taking it so deep for us, this cunt.”

You whine loudly, eyes clenching shut as the sounds of wet rutting echo in your ringing ears. Your legs shake, backside up and chest stuck to the bed with Nikto’s shadow looming, repeating the action of grinding his cock in and out of your weeping slit one shove of his pelvis at a time. Everything about him was large, down from his appetite to his need for sex—you were always happy to feed him in whatever way possible. 

Nikto’s hand rubs up and down your thigh, pulling himself back to grip the both of them tightly and watch, sweat dripping down his throat. The cold eyes widen at the sight of your pussy taking him down one increasingly fast thrust at a time, the shine of your slick staining his thighs, slipping down where it cools and adds to the dichotomy of temperatures. 

“Speak,” he licks his lips, pushing your sleep shirt higher up your back with a flexing hand. He needs to watch. Nikto flights down a shaky breath, head tilting to the side as your walls tighten. The Russian groans throatily, clenching his teeth and bearing them like a mutt.

He’s been edging you for hours, a near-cruel way to see your eyes go glossy and drool to pool on the sheets. He almost gave in multiple times—particularly when he’d been tongue-deep into you, running his calloused thumb over your clit as your thighs trapped his head at your core. The remnants still drip from the divots of his facial scars, and he licks at the corner of his mouth to taste once more with a grunt of worshiping satisfaction. 

Delicious.

When you can’t utter up more than a writhing whimper, nostrils flaring for air and lungs heaving, you hear his low chuckle before fingers grasp your chin firmly and pull. A tongue finds the side of your angled face as you’re trapped against his bulky chest, his arm strapping your side as the muscle leaves a long stripe of saliva over your jaw.

The angle leaves him thrusting up, and his free hand travels slowly from your waist to your pulsing bundle of nerves, tapping your flesh cunningly as he goes.

You moan brokenly through an agonizing electricity of senses, head snapping back to Nikto’s shoulder as your hips jerk; back arching as the tension in your body grows ever stronger. 

You needed it—you needed to let go, feel the devastating breaking of your release slamming through you. 

“Speak,” Nikto grinds out into your ear as tears slip from the corner of your eyes—teeth bite all along your neck, thighs smashing into the back of yours. All the while, rapid circles run over your clit, and the sounds follow a feral rhythm that would leave no question to anyone else as to what was going on in this bedroom. It was the way you’d been reduced to nothing but a toy for him to ring pleasure out of that made this perfect—starting so greedily that you’d had him all to yourself this morning; letting his eyes roll into the back of his head as you’d rode him, his arms shaking as his spend had filled you, spilling out over his lower body when he’d finally finished his broken thrusting. 

“Nikto,” you stutter, biting your lip and feeling every inch of his cock bringing you closer and closer to an orgasm that you’d been begging for ages to let loose. “Please, fuck, please, I’m so close.”

“Да,” Nikto grunts, holding you closer as you quiver in a deliriously confused arousal, playing with you. He smirks, but you know the tension in his abdomen that builds and builds against your spine. The man pants, cruising out in growled Russian under his breath, heavy and hard. He barks, “Can feel it. We know your little squirms by now, hm? We know that way your eyes roll back—your pretty pussy, Птичка. She is too good for me,” Niko smirks into your skin, taking a deep breath as his fantasies take over, hot breath puffed into your slick flesh. “I can’t help but want to leave her begging one more time, just to watch how she will flutter.”

“Please!” You sob, hands clawing behind to grasp at the man’s head, shoving it further into your neck as your body tightens, legs all but numb. The Russian grumbles in approval, liking the way your nails drag his close-shorn hair. “Fuck, Nikto, please, I need it so bad.”

It was like you’d lost your mind and your dignity all at once. 

“We know,” Nikto’s scars move up and down your back, and you can sense every rub and caress of them intimately. To have him in this way was as addictive as it was the first time. 

Nikto bites more and more at your shoulders, nipping your ear and inhaling your scent—so much like a dog it was pathetic the way he was obsessed with your body; your orgasm. While you had no trouble coaxing one out of him in whichever way you desired, he always made yours a spectacle and a mystery. Rope, toys, blindfolds…there was only a limit if you said there was one, and that was something that only needed to be said once.

But there was something to be worshipped about the raw, animalistic, desperate fucking with Nikto that never seemed to get old. Especially when it was in your bed, especially when you had watched his cold eyes be blown wide by lust as his cock grew hard, especially when you could spend the rest of the day naked in your penthouse; skin on skin, switching dominance like a coin to be tossed. 

Nikto was good at giving you exactly what you wanted, and not an inch less. So different from the standoffish brute that he showed to everyone else. Nonetheless, he was, you suppose, still that same brute—but your brute. And, fuck, if he wasn’t using you like a perfect deadly instrument in his arsenal, making sure you worked properly. 

Your breath is cut off to gasped moans, lower body vibrating and cunt so wet that the sloping suck of Nikto’s stained cock was heard and felt far more violently. 

The man’s gargantuan hand spreads from your flesh to press into your abdomen, and you sob loudly at the sensation of thin skin above the indent of a prodding mound; nails almost drawing blood from where they drag at Nikto’s head.

“Please,” you repeat as if a broken record. “Oh, Nikto, please, fuck—”

“Shh,” Nikto shushes, still abusing your clit before he presses his previously prodding hand above your heart, in the process, groping at your breast; kneading as you place open-mouthed and saliva-dripping kisses to the beast’s chin—a coy attempt to please him into allowing you your nearing release. 

Nikto’s fingers push and pull, and your walls strangle him just right until his balls are betraying him, tensed and near bursting as he grunts and groans, all of his words a garble of gravel and sandpaper. 

The accent, while it lets you know he’s just as desperate as you are when it gets like that, only makes the knot in your stomach flare with friction. You loved it when he was minutes away from breaking.

“Want to feel your heart stutter.” It’s more of a command than a suggestion, and your hips try to meet his rutting as best as they can, arms losing strength as the pressure mounts you as Nikto does. Voice a harsh grind, he accentuates his point by pushing you back down the mattress all the way, getting the angle he needs to pound into the softest part of your cunt as you keen so loud you’re thankful you have the place all to yourselves because you can’t stop making sounds you can’t be described. Your body is bent and pushed to the limit, sweat and the scent of sex potent in your nose. 

Nikto fucks like it’s the last time you’ll ever take his cock. 

“Want to know the exact moment you claw for air again when you gasp it all away, my Птичка. My sweet little Птичка. Drug to my senses, yes? Can never take cunt unless it’s yours,” his voice grows faster, breathier, English words slurring until he divulges into his mother tongue, losing all sense beyond how you suck him in and squeeze him—warm walls inviting and the only place to spill himself. He can’t even jerk off anymore; you’ve ruined it for him. 

He needs to fill you up until he has nothing left to give: the only mission that he’d complete time and time again with no complaints or second guesses. The only mission that mattered. 

Nikto barks and spits, biting your flesh as you plead one last time.

“Tell me,” you all but shout. “Tell me I can—”

“Да!” Is the reverberating answer, and the way your body immediately responds is nothing short of utter devotion. 

Your body seizes, shoving itself into the mattress as the headboard slams into the wall, arching and toes curling—the knot in your core snaps as if cut by a crude knife, sawing you in half as your release gushes to flood out of the ring of Nikto’s plug. 

The Russian’s hand over your breast squeezes as you ride out your high on him, Nikto’s own orgasm rising to meet yours as it always does, only able to get off after he knows he’s done a good job of pleasing you. His scarred face buries itself into your neck, mouth open as his silent release is accented by the small, cut-off, grunt he gives with every slowing thrust. The joining of your flooded womb and his shining cock is a milky frothing of cum, sounding like someone slapping thickened water as the sticky juices are a testament to lustful need. They slip down your thighs, as Nikto licks and sucks on your skin, unable to slip himself out of you and your welcoming walls as they flutter. 

With every tightening surge of your cunt, he instinctively grinds himself further into you again, and you whine as his lips finally find your mouth, tongue pushing inside, still tasting of your cum. Eyes rolling back, you let his tiny thrusts continue if only to hear his canid-like groans and feel the slap of his balls so close to your puffy clit. 

You moan into his mouth as his teeth nip at your lips, sucking at your tongue before the ringing of your ears fades to hear his growls between the wet gasps.

“Get a good taste of us. I’m greedy, yes? Hungry. No worries…you will be our завтрак.”

The rolling over of your body and the spreading of your legs is all but expected, and you lay there with a smirk rising to your sweaty face as the monstrous man slips downward and slots his face right back where it belongs: shoving itself up against your fucked-out cunt, Nikto’s cum slobbering out and mixed with your own.

The first swipe of his greedy, fat tongue has your shaking legs curling around his head as he shudders in arousal, grunting out muffled words as you whine and slam your head back to the pillow.

“Вкусный.”  

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

A/N: Literally idk where this came from but, I guess, take some Nikto smut lmao - still writing my reverse Price AU, but this hit me like a truck out of nowhere. Forgive me if this is literally horrible - I wrote it at 10, and I haven't written smut in a hot minute, lol