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tellmeallaboutit · 5 months ago

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knock knock (Raphael x F!Player)

Chapter 6, In Which You Try To Look Away (It's Harder Than You Thought)

AO3

by the way, I saw today an art on twitter which is extremely Raul-coded

I am not a murderer, you thought as you ordered the ATM to give you another two hundred euros.

Even if I am, that guy deserved it, you thought as you re-inserted the card to give you two hundred more (damn those limits per withdrawal).

Even if he didn’t (and he did), nobody is going to miss him, and his fiancee will move on to the next lawyer in Oliver Peoples glasses soon enough, and besides, people die in freak accidents all the time.

Even if they don’t, well, if every death wish resulted in an actual death, humanity would be long extinct and that wouldn't be your fault, would it now?

With that comforting thought, you pocketed the last of your ten thousand euro goal, tired from having to repeat the same task for almost an entire hour. Anything can happen, Raphael could cut off access to his account on a whim, but cold hard cash was something you could hold onto even if you fell from his grace.

"Ms. Berger," came a voice on your phone with a strong French accent the moment you picked up. It was Raphael’s banker, Francois-something, who gave you the PIN in the first place. “Would it be easier if we delivered cash directly to you? Your withdrawals keep triggering our petty theft alerts."

"Oh no, thank you," you replied, trying your best not to sound like a petty thief. "I have enough for now... I think."

“As you wish,” came his slow reply.

"But uh... could you help me make two bank transfers?" You asked after a pause. "One to my mother, Franziska Berger… (how much how much how much?) ten thousand euro, I’ll send you the details… and one for the stray cats shelter... (how much how much how much?)… five thousand euro?"

Too much? How do you quantify the cost of accidentally-on-purpose getting some useless yuppie run over by a bus in terms of absolving your sins?

Five thousand felt somewhat stingy.

“The stray cats?” The banker repeated back at you as though questioning whether this was some sort of coded drug deal.

“Yes,” You replied firmly. “They do incredible work. Ah! The kids cancer foundation, too. Five thousand. No, ten".

That seemed about right for the guy’s life.

"Ah, you meant charity. Of course," Francois replied, relief and amusement in his tone. "Lovely, great for the ESG rating. Make sure to get an invoice for the tax refund."

It didn’t quite sit well with you to use stray cats and kids for tax refunds, but you still said yes and stashed the money deep down the rucksack. You got a bit of cash for now (soon you will go for more, because who knows), but it’s still not an income source.

What could be? Should you ask Raphael to buy an apartment in your name, or two? You could rent it. Or a company? Tenebris, for instance. Just imagine their gobsmacked faces - especially after they gave you the boot without even a severance package.

That was a delicious thought.

You let it simmer as you sat down in an tourist-trappy Italian restaurant in the city centre, just about to order an Aperol Spritz when your phone began to ring again. You are in high demand these days.

"Anya!" Your mum gasped on the other end of the line. “I saw you on TV!"

Sure, the accident was all over the news channels. Some blurred out the dead body better than others did. You would bet your last cent that the unedited version got more views.

"Yeah, gruesome," you grimaced.

"Gruesome? Why? Ah, you mean the guy. Well, that happens all the time; they really give driving licences to anyone these days. I do hope the driver rots in prison for what he did to this poor young man. Anyway, no. I called to say, I saw you and Raul on the news”.

She managed to infuse an uncanny amount of innuendo into the last sentence.

“Raul is such a handsome man, Anya”, she sighed wistfully. “Quite the catch you got there, huh?”

There we go again.

“What, way out of my league?”, you joked dryly. “I’ve been told that”.

“Oh, no, what nonsense! You are such a pretty girl!” Your mother protested. “More importantly, a good-hearted girl raised right; I am glad there still are decent men who still appreciate that. Did you meet Raul for a lunch?”

“Oh no,” You replied nonchalantly. "We actually… ah, we actually went to a church. He introduced me to his pastor."

Your mother sucked in an audible gasp like she'd won some kind of maternal lottery.

“His pastor, already? I am so happy for you, sweetie.”, she finally managed to say. “This is like a fairy tale come true”.

Yeah, a Grimm one.

“Sort of”, you chuckled. '“By the way, you will receive a bank transfer soon, ten thousand euro, don’t be afraid. It’s… well, take care of your health, okay? Get a decent dentist this time, a private one”.

“Where do you have the money from? Is it his?”, your mum suddenly sobered up. “Anya, what on earth is he paying you money for? I hope you are not doing anything… anything…”

"No," you cut her off and licked your lips, recalling the last thing that passed between them. “Mom, please! It's not his money, it's my company’s – long story.”

One that you haven't come up with yet.

Besides, if Raphael was giving you ten thousand dollars (thirty-five thousand in total with your other expenses for the day) for one blowjob, then you definitely had a successful career, just not in the field you had planned on.

“Okay,” your mum replied. “But still...you don’t need to...why don’t you buy some nice dresses instead? What on earth was that t-shirt you were wearing to a church?"

“I am hanging up”, You threatened half-heartedly.

You didn’t. You listened in the background to the story of how your mum’s school friend called her to say she saw “her Anya” with a very handsome man on the TV, nonplussed by the fact there was a scattered corpse in the background.

In the meanwhile, you opened Google on your phone.

You didn’t fancy doing that before - annoyed by that fake persona Raphael had created. But since he obviously put that much effort in it, it’s worth looking up what he had been up to and for how long.

Nothing good, for sure.

"…Raul D'Avergni, managing partner of an international law firm, inherited the private equity conglomerate, Avernus Capital. This transition was precipitated by the unexpected and tragic passing of his father..."

"…By December 2024, D'Avergni's high-profile liaison with Isabelle Arnaud, actress and socialite, had unceremoniously ended..."

No. Who? No. You didn’t need any ex-girlfriends.

"…Ms. Arnaud levied abuse accusations against Mr. D'Avergni…”

Oh, no…

“…she retracted her claims within a mere twenty hours and ensued a public apology for any harm inflicted upon D’Avergni’s reputation..."

Hmm.

"…her psychiatrist intervened on her behalf. Evidently, Arnaud was grappling with severe mental health issues that led her to make unfounded allegations..."

Raul likes them crazy, they said? Or makes them crazy?

"…Ms. Arnaud now resides in a high-end medical institution in Monaco, focusing on her mental health issues..."

What did Isabelle look like, you wondered, as your mum finished her talk and wished you a good day. You typed her name into the search bar, holding your breath in anticipation as you half-expected to see Hope's face staring back at you.

The woman clinging to Raphael's arm at some fancy film premiere bore no resemblance.

Your stomach sank as if it had plunged into the depths of hell.

She was exactly the type of woman Raphael should have on his elbow; a timeless beauty, but something more Renaissance like, the kind of faces humankind seemed to have stopped producing. She was in her mid-twenties, as well, but… hell, you could not hold a candle to that. Few could.

Not even the Tavs. She resembled her namesake, Isabelle Adjani, in her youth, maybe even better.

The pictures showed her laughing and looking deeply in love while gazing up at Raphael, while he offered only a very formal smile to the camera. So not Hope then. Nothing like their story. She was in love, he wasn’t.

Good.

Later snaps by paparazzi painted a different picture: a gaunt woman hidden behind oversized sunglasses and swallowed up by her hoodie, clutching to her coffee cup.

With a swift click, you banished Isabelle from your screen and plunged further into Raphael's (Raul’s) life story.

You found a photo of Raphael in his twenties (yes, just like the Tumblr post you hated, and no, you wouldn't have fucked him at that age), caught up in a minor scandal in Sankt Moritz (apparently his fraternity brother had pissed on the Swiss flag), more gossip, his philanthropic affairs for local theatres and art galleries, numerous articles praising his professional achievements, and interviews with Lawyer and WSJ and the like. There was mention of a brief marriage and divorce in his early thirties, but when you tried to Google the woman's name, nothing came up.

The whole thing left a sour taste in your mouth. This was someone's real life story, not a fictional character. Raphael wasn't just some wealthy corporate jerk; he was a half-devil from Avernus, which was infinitely better and more sympathetic.

You were well aware that Raphael wasn't exactly a good guy. But he had his rules; he had to have his rules. As for the whole thing with Hope though... What exactly was she? An idea? A person? The fandom barely discussed her, and what little they did, you didn't like; all horrible takes, every single one.

The whole plot felt half-baked.

Anyway, what seeing Isabelle did motivate you to do was to take a real stroll down the city's most expensive boutique street.

Now, the first thing you bought was not because you wanted or needed anything, but because Raphael expected you to. You were not much of a materialist anyway; you were ideologically opposed to consumerism. These things were overpriced, generally not worth it and, on a larger scale, represented everything that was wrong with society.

You decided to enter a Valentino store out of curiosity, as you had never been inside one before. The saleswoman's disdainful look at your T-shirt motivates you to buy a black dress with a white collar, not necessarily because you liked it, but because you want to prove that you can afford it, despite the price tag of two thousand euros.

Well, you liked it a little. The wool and silk blend was great to touch.

The details of the rest of the shopping trip became a bit hazy. You had your reasons; the consort of an Archdevil Supreme had to look really nice. If you couldn't be as pretty as Isabelle, you could at least dress as well as she did. So you started with some nice blouses and trousers, and a (just one) jacket. With that, you needed shoes. With shoes, of course, you needed a bag. Now that you had a bag (you closed your eyes as the price flashed at the till), you needed some jewellery (you needed to see what all the fuss about Tiffany's was about). And, of course, you needed make-up.

At each shop, the sales assistants smiled wider and wider as you piled more and more bags onto your arms. By the seventh stop, it felt like their smiles were entering uncanny valley territory.

Eventually, the banker would call you, right? But when exactly would that be? You tried to find out, but failed. It had to be over forty thousand.

The thought made you dizzy. In one day you had spent your entire year's salary. Now all you could do was hope that Raphael wouldn't make you work off the debt somehow. Unless it was the kind of work your mother suspected you were already doing for him.

You came out of the last shop with five bags and the feeling that you were a very shitty socialist. Since you couldn't carry any more, the shopping concierge (apparently it's a real job) offered to store the bags until your driver picked you up, and just as you were about to say which bloody driver, whom do you take me for, you remembered that you actually had one.

"Mrs Berger," the receptionist said cheerfully the moment she saw you in the door. "Nice to see you again! How can I help you? Oh, yes. The driver, of course. Yes, of course, let me put you through to Mr D'Avergni's personal assistant".

Oh, it's Mrs Berger and my pleasure? They were wondering if the rumours about you wanting the guy to be run over by a bus were already out there. The personal assistant's name was Camilla, her voice was the embodiment of professionalism, and she was the one who could take you to the driver, who was there in no time.

His name was Yuri and he was more talkative than you would have liked. Gruff, huge, way too big for the car he was driving (any vehicle known to man would be too small for him), with a deep booming voice and the face of someone who had spent half his life behind bars.

"Have you seen that poor bastard? All over the main road," he remarked as he passed the street cleaners. "Probably too busy fiddling with his phone to keep an eye out."

"Mghgm," you offered.

"So, are we stopping by your place first, Miss Berger? Boss said you wanted to get some things first. Are you moving in?"

"Am I?" You ask, surprised by the news yourself, and then think to yourself: "Why not?”

Why the hell not.

****

You didn't waste any time. With a tidy suitcase in tow, you were out the door of your apartment before Yuri could get too bored. You packed the essentials - toothbrush, laptop, documents - and a few other things that suddenly felt crucial to your life.

Out the car window you watched the cityscape change from urban jungle to manicured suburbia and finally to a small gated community. The driver talked politics (he had exactly the kind of convictions you'd expect), then about how amazing Raul was (and how extremely open-minded he was to give an ex-con a job), before returning to politics.

You didn't ask what crime Yuri did his time for.

You knew it was Raphael's house the moment you saw it through the car window. Who else would live in such a place? Not a house, that's too boring a term; a villa, all intricate stonework, marble and terracotta, such a flamboyant display of wealth that it should have been taxed just to exist.

Only a devil or a mafia don would call such grandeur home. So much, too much, theatrical to the point of grotesqueness; no real person could possibly live like this. You couldn't help but wonder if Raphael had been influenced by the films he had seen - perhaps he had developed a taste for modern cinema.

He must have liked The Godfather.

This place. The fountains, the statues (classical, Roman, as if sculpted by the ghost of Michelangelo), the gardens. You wondered how many souls it took to keep this whole thing running.

The gates opened and the car drove you into an underground car park that was already very busy and very Italian: Ferraris, Maseratis, Lamborghinis. You counted; eight. Who needed eight cars? Not even one for each day of the week.

The lift took you up; Yuri left your shopping bags and suitcase in the foyer and said goodbye.

You'd never set foot in such a house before; the closest you'd ever come was drooling over Sotheby's property listings.

Why would anyone need all this space? For just one person? It was at least six hundred square metres; and the guest and service house looked like another two hundred. The kitchen and dining area was three times the size of your apartment.

You could play golf here.

For what it's worth, the villa didn't remind you of the House of Hope. Firstly, it was completely empty; the servants, if they were in there, managed to make themselves invisible. Second, it lacked the baroque, replaced by the dolce vita and flair of a Lake Como residence. Thirdly, there were no self-portraits, not even pictures, nothing to suggest that the man who lived here had a face, a history, let alone a family.

The first floor was devoted to entertaining guests: the kitchen, the dining room, the library, the ballroom (you guessed this kind of rooms used to be called ballrooms, he even had a piano in it). The second floor was half-locked, except for the master bedroom (the bed easily could accommodate two orthons and a cambion sandwiched between them) and the dressing room.

There was also a basement - the entrance blocked by a number lock. You considered trying the PIN combination, but decided you didn't want to snoop down there... well, you wanted to snoop very badly, but you didn't want to face the possible consequences. Unless they resembled those in his private club.

So you roamed both floors twice before staking claim to your new sleeping quarters in the master bedroom by putting your suitcase down there. You checked everything else in the room: Raphael's bedside glasses, his choice of books (predictably, Machiavelli, but not The Prince, another book you had never heard of called Mandragola), even his dark silk pyjamas, which lay on the chaise awaiting their owner's return. You open his drawer: hand lotion, velvet sleeping mask, lubricant, two opera tickets (Götterdammerung) from about a month ago...

Then curiosity led you to look under his bed, where he indeed had something stored: a large black storage box.

Oh, you just had to have a look.

Just to get an idea of what’s on the evening programme.

Handcuffs, the real kind, the police kind, metal ones. The thought of all the women (and men) who might have been bound with them, as jealous as it made you feel, was titillating. A whip and a crop. Yes, that works for you. And what's this? Butt plugs? Only if they were still sealed in their original packaging (you were not into that kind of hand-me-downs) and way smaller. A chastity belt? Well, that's... intriguing, but probably not in your first month together. A hook? That can stay where it is.

At least nothing too extreme like needles or enemas or any of the other disgusting things you sometimes saw on weird porn sites.

Underneath all that, toys and accessories, lay another plain black box. Oh, a box in a box. Something was written on it..

GOOD EVENING CURIOUS LITTLE MOUSE

"Good evening," you said as you opened the lid.

Then promptly closed it again.

"No," you said. "No, no, no. It was just a fic I read and liked, I was very horny, but it's not really my thing. No, thank you. Just because I didn't have a father doesn't mean I have daddy issues. I don't care about the guy, he never cared about me, end of story".

You took a deep breath before opening the box again, hoping that the items inside had disappeared.

But to your dismay, they were still there: a velvet collar adorned with "Daddy's Little Mouse" in shimmering gold thread, a headband with mouse ears, red lace cobweb-thin lingerie and a tail-butt plug (thankfully still in its original packaging and on the smaller side). The tail was furry and tipped with white, so you must have been a dormouse.

All of the toys were top quality, handmade, and incredibly vulgar. Well, no surprise, having seen what Haarlep was wearing in his house.

You closed the box shut again.

"I'd rather cook us something to eat," you suggested, getting up. "Some pasta. I bet you like pasta?"

You definitely liked pasta and hoped that Raul (Raphael, Raphael) would not have you hanged on the hooks and tortured for your very non-Italian interpretation. You hoped in vain, because he chimed in and tried to stop you from committing a crime:

"Working late. Don't bother with dinner. Take some time to relax and enjoy yourself. R".

As you descended the stairs, ignoring his text, you wondered - did he ever cook? Or was his kitchen just for show, with the real work done in the servants' quarters (do they still call them quarters?).

You forgot that question the moment you saw what was lying on the marble kitchen counter.

The same box you had left upstairs, still with

GOOD EVENING DISOBEDIENT LITTLE MOUSE

on it.

You blinked and took two large steps back.

The box seemed to crawl forward in response.

You shrieked; this was a bit too much. Raphael's presence, the supernaturality of it, had been subtle before; now it was becoming a bit performative.

"I got your hint," you said, your voice a shaky laugh. "Don't scare me, please. Please."

The box stayed where it was, but it radiated an energy of impatience, as if it might jump at you if you neglected it any longer.

“Fine,” you conceded, coming a bit closer. “A little romance would’ve been nice but…”

"Setting romantic atmosphere," a cheerful female voice said.

who the fuck who the fuck who the fuck

Alexa.

Fucking smart home systems. The lights dimmed to a soft orange glow, the heavy curtains closed with a soft whoosh and a familiar tune echoed off the walls, the ballroom piano playing in the distance:

I put a spell on you

Because you're mine

The melody was familiar and so was the voice behind it - smooth, silky and oh so captivating (the adjectives you would use to describe it could fill many romance novels). A deep, rich baritone. You chuckled - had Raphael discovered blues? It suited him.

You know I cannot stand it

You running around

You loved his interpretation of the song. It felt so intimate, him singing to you, so... very, very special. Your fear vanished in an instant; you poured yourself a glass of wine and took a luxurious sip.

"I'll put these on for you," you laughed, putting all the flirt you ever had in this laugh. "But don't expect me to call you 'Daddy'."

There was no protest; Raphael was too busy singing, pouring his entire soul into it. You made yourself busy too; stripping. You weren't very skilled (any skilled), but the thrill of being watched by him awakened something in you. You caught your reflection in the mirror and damn, you were hot.

Shrugging off your shirt and sliding down your plain black briefs, you swayed your hips at your reflection as the wine worked its magic on your mind. For once in your life, you felt genuinely attractive; he made you feel genuinely attractive. The sexiest you'd ever been.

Slipping into the silky red lace lingerie he had chosen for you (splurged on, because it was a La Perla) - you fastened the collar around your neck. A long golden chain dangled from it, wrapped twice around the hook and cascaded down your back. Then you put the mouse ears - not cartoonish, not Minnie Mouse ones, but real fur and incredibly lifelike - on your head like a headband.

You looked like...well, precisely what your mother suspected you were doing to pay the bills. But at least high-end. Very high-end. The only thing worse than being an escort is being a cheap one.

But there was one more item left in the box.

"Ehh," you said at the sight of the mouse tail, especially the part that was meant to be inserted. "I'm going to need... I'm going to the bedroom."

It had been ages since your last foray into such play; back when you were with that boyfriend who constantly pestered you about anal and found it somehow arousing to "accidentally" (sure, mate) poke you and mumble an insincere "oops, wrong hole".

You didn't stick around much longer after that.

Stretched out on Raphael's sumptuous bed, you slicked up everything - the plug, your pussy, your arse - with copious amounts of lube. First, some warming. So you began to rub yourself, two fingers finding their familiar way to your clit. You couldn't shake the crawling feeling of being watched, every inch of your body scrutinised by unseen eyes.

"Raphael," you called out into the empty room, desperate for some form of interaction or response. "I would love it if you would join me... or say something pleasant”.

Now would be the perfect time to call me a good girl.

But there was no response, just an eerie silence in the room. Feeling too naked and too slutty, you pulled the blanket over you, a makeshift barrier between you and his eyes. Under the fortification, tucking the tail in seemed less daunting.

Before you could get down to business, there was a jerk at the blanket, which fell to the cold floor, leaving you bare again. Then another tug on the chain attached to your collar, pulling you closer to the bedpost.

"I'm sorry," you gasped breathlessly, both hands instinctively reaching for your collar. "I won't hide."

The chain didn’t let go, making a point out of a slight pressure around your neck. Taking a deep breath, you focused on the task at hand, stroking your clit as you guided the plug inside you.

You told yourself to relax and take it slow; just imagine it's Haarlep. How many times had you dreamed of being squeezed and stretched between the two of them? It was always Haarlep who took you from behind; it just seemed more their style.

The plug slid in deeper. It didn't hurt, and the little discomfort it caused added to the excitement.

Damn, this is so dirty.

"It's in," you said as the plug settled inside you. "All the way in. What's next?"

The words were barely out of your mouth when the golden chain, suddenly a snake-like lasso, wrapped tightly around your wrists.

Pulled them towards the bedpost, stretched out and bound tightly to either side. Fear gripped you and you clenched around the plug, pulling your knees tight together.

Tightly. Very tight. A little too tight. You tried to wriggle, the metal biting your skin; you could move your hips a little, but no more.

You couldn't get out yourself, which was not good news when you were alone (well, almost) in a very big house. Your mind immediately thought of that girl in Gerald's Game.

"Raphael?" you asked. “It’s not that kind of game, is it? It’s a nice game? Can we play a nice game?”

He did not answer, but you heard footsteps. Footsteps coming down the long corridor. Confident, quick and very purposeful.

Stay calm, stay calm, it's him, it's him, who else could it be? Haarlep? The orthon? The driver?

The door swung open.

It was Raphael, and he was visibly surprised to see you in this state, which was absolute bullshit considering he was responsible for tying you to this very bed.

"Well, I'll be damned," he said, covering the distance to the bed in two strides. "What a welcome home surprise, piccola."

Raphael gave you a lecherous, wet-lipped smile and knelt on the bed between your legs. There was something boyish about it, an expression you'd never seen in the game, as if he'd just found his first bike under the Christmas tree.

You searched for “piccola” earlier today: “baby” or “little girl” in Italian.

"I'm not going to call you Daddy," you repeated, and Raphael shook his head and laughed, not seeming at all horrified at the thought (and he should be).

"I have some compelling evidence to the contrary, Daddy's little mouse," he teased, his fingers playing with your collar.

"Anything but Daddy," you pleaded. "That's just... demeaning."

Weirdly incestual, too. You haven’t even seen the guy, not a photo, not a… (don’t think of him why the fuck would you think of the old bastard now).

“This is the whole appeal of it, is it not?”, he said. “How would you prefer to address me then?"

Raphael? Something told you that telling him that would make him very angry, and you weren't exactly in a position to want an angry man on top of you. Raul? No, that name just felt completely wrong and made you feel like you were in a Spanish soap opera.

Raphael began to unbutton his shirt one button at a time, revealing a white undershirt, which he then took off.

His physique was impressive for a man of his age; not those bodybuilder abs from bg3 but a well-toned body shaped by workouts and diets, which seemed to be very much at odds with his indulgent ways. Rough brown hair spread across his chest and lower abdomen against honey-tanned skin. Every inch of him seemed so put together, so perfectly groomed.

"Master," you finally decided (there was this one fanfic…) as you spread your legs wider in an invitation.

"Master?" Raphael seemed amused, his fingers tracing the lace of your bra, teasing your hardened nipples through the fabric. "Such flattery. So this makes you my slave girl? Tied up and ready for me to use as I please?"

Reading Raphael say such things was one thing, but hearing him actually say them in real life made you feel embarrassed. It was a bit, ugh...

“You get flustered easily for someone who waited for me dressed like this, little mouse,” Raphael raised an eyebrow at your see-through lace. “Topolina."

He wrinkled his nose and laughed, as if the word was funnier in Italian, and poked the tips of your mouse ears. You wanted him so badly that your lips caught his as he came closer and you pushed your tongue into his mouth. He kissed your back, his hands moving up and down your body.

"How the hell did you manage..." he mused aloud as he studied your bound wrists.

His fingers ventured between your legs, and the moment he stumbled upon your tail, his whole body twitched with excitement, his breath catching in his throat as he traced the soft fur to reach the base of the plug.

The playful gleam in his eyes was replaced by an intense, wild desire.

"Merda," he breathed out. "Look at that. Aren't you a dirty little girl?"

You cringed at how pornographic the line sounded (his suddenly much thicker Italian accent didn't help), but Raphael seemed to find it excruciatingly erotic.

In one swift motion, he lunged forward and forced your legs apart, his hands pulling your knees towards your chest, folding you in until your muscles screamed in protest at the stretch.

Without warning, he thrust deep inside of you. You gasped in surprise; no preliminaries, no foreplay, no taking it slowly, just raging, explosive lust.

Fortunately, your own fingers had done their job earlier, so despite the brutal force of his first thrust, pleasure surged through you, along with a sharp twinge of friction as his cock rubbed against the toy lodged inside you.

He seemed to relish the sensation and so did you.

Your eyes fluttered shut as your body arched beneath him; stretched and pinned by his weight, trapped, surrendering to the relentless pounding that followed - raw and invasive and yet so fulfilling.

You were so looking forward to coming again from his penetration alone. The mere thought made you pull harder on your restraints, craving the delicious pain of being bound. The furry tail must have tickled his balls because he tucked it under you so that it would tease you instead.

"Cross your ankles behind my back," Raphael rasped into your shoulder as he grazed it with his stubbled chin. "Yes, just like that... now tilt your hips."

You responded with your most submissive “yes, master”, making his cock twitch inside you, and then sifted your hips to better accommodate his pleasure. Wrapped your legs tightly around him, pulling him in deeper, pain-pleasure soaring through you. You sniffed his hair.

His cologne (worn leather, cherry liqueur, bitter almonds) smelled so good oh so good.

He slid his arms underneath your arse, lifting you towards him at every thrust.

Raphael said few words after that, grunting and thrusting and thrusting. Something about him was different this time - something very human - from how his sweat-soaked hair stuck to his forehead to his expressions of sheer lust that bordered on comical at times.

One thing remained the same - the pleasure his pounding brought you, the familiar hooks of approaching orgasm - not any orgasm, the orgasm of being with him, his sharp talons - sinking inches deep into your flesh again.

fuck does he feel good

rough or tender it just feels so good

his cock his tongue his breath on your neck

You screamed "fuck me", then once again, louder, not caring how obscene you sounded, and bit his shoulder without a second thought.

The scream that escaped you was higher pitched than you had intended.

do whatever whatever you want whatever you want with me

Raphael's face creased with annoyance as his strong finger pressed into your cheek. "Easy…easy… piccola... I appreciate…. a good performance… not …overacting," he scolded as he went at you harder, pushing you to the point of pain.

hurt me

fuck me fuck me harder

You would have protested at the implication that you were pretending, but you were too busy coming under him, his hand clamped over your mouth before your temporal insanity could drive you to actually call him ‘daddy’.

If he wanted you to why wouldn’t you he is so sweet to you oh so sweet to you

The scream was swallowed by his palm as an orgasm, brutal in its intensity and lightning-fast, ripped through you, whip-snaked it. You greeted your release with a wail, biting into his hand. Raphael paused mid-thrust, apprehensive of how your pussy convulsed around him and your leg spasmed uncontrollably - if this was a performance, you deserved an award.

"You weren't pretending," he panted, awe-struck. "My apologies. You were not".

The realisation frenzied him; he spilled within a minute after, rutting into you with intensity belying his age. Utterly spent, he collapsed on top of you, his breath, cherries and tobacco, warming your throat as his cock softened within you.

"I may have gotten a little carried away," he said, sounding embarrassed and slightly apologetic as he lay down beside you. "But it seems you're more than content."

You eagerly and quickly nodded.

"Are you that... passionate with every man?" He asked as he helped you free your wrists - jealousy creeping into his voice at the mention of that mysterious 'every man'.

You couldn't help but laugh at the question. "No," you replied. "Far from it. You are not just any man. You are anything but."

Raphael let out a sigh of relief and kissed you, making no effort to hide how much your compliment pleased him.

When you parted, you hopped awkwardly off the bed - the odd gait one adopts when they have a plug in them (no way were you going to remove it in his presence, no way) and cum was trickling down your thighs.

Shit, the condom. Now you forgot to ask him to wear it.

Would he have?..

Ah, screw it. Google says Plan B is effective for up to 72 hours after unprotected sex, so you'll take it tomorrow - for tonight and last night. You'd never been this careless before, but hell, you'd never murdered people with a mere thought or slept with an Archdevil of Hell.

Raphael was still lying there, basking in the afterglow, when you returned.

"I have to admit, Anya... I'm seriously thinking of proposing," he murmured with such tenderness as you snuggled against him that you wondered if Raphael really was incapable of love.

"That would be quick," you replied, but made it sound like you wouldn't mind at all.

"Quick?" he scoffed. "A man knows what he wants in a woman the moment he sets eyes on her. Unfortunately, there are very few left in your generation."

You smiled, already dreaming of being the Archduchess of Hell, and half-dreaming in general from sheer exhaustion and satisfaction.

"They lied about you being bad in bed," you murmured as sleep began to take over. "I knew it was all bullshit."

"They?" He asked, his face contorting into a scowl at your sentence. "Who are they? Anya, for God's sake, stop reading those trashy tabloids."

You closed your eyes for a moment. When you half-opened them, you saw him on the balcony outside, in a black silk robe, AirPods in his ears and a cigarette in his mouth. Behind him you could see the smoke and fire of the Avernus mountain ridge, the fireballs cascading down from the sky. Beautiful.

Raphael gestured with his free hand, aggressively, and you listened a little closer; fortunately he was more than loud.

"...we will bleed them dry if they dare to break our agreement..."

"...they knowingly and willingly accepted our terms, they will choke on the consequences..."

"...all must pay their dues, sooner or later..."

"...an army? We have our own army..."

A yawn escaped your lips as you snuggled deeper into the plush pillows of the massive bed. Everything, except the AirPods, fit perfectly into the image of Archdevil Supreme.

You felt so chosen, so alive, so gloriously alive, and your life had just begun.

"Are you coming soon?" you called out as you tried to think of an appropriate nickname for him - something intimate, but not too cheesy. Darling? Baby? Sweetheart? Love? My favourite devil?

But he beat you to it before you could decide.

"Soon, my love. Rest," he blew you a kiss. With a loud click, he shut the glass door and cut you off from hearing the rest of their conversation. You let out a contented sigh and rolled over onto your side, drifting into a peaceful slumber.

"My love," you said in your sleep. "Raphael called me his love”.

****

The urgent need to go to pee woke you. The time was a mystery, but it must have been late enough for Raphael to have gone to bed too.

He was pressed close to you, his hand cupping your breast. You looked over your shoulder; asleep, peaceful, in buttoned pyjamas, and it was the one moment when he did not look threatening at all; vulnerable, if anything. You kissed him on the cheek and he smiled in his sleep and held you close.

When you came back from your short (not really, a good thirty metres to the toilet) trip to the bathroom, you snuggled closer to him, preparing to doze off again, and then you heard something.

You listened closer, thinking you had dreamed it first.

Soft, gentle whimpers. You recognised the voice. You didn't know how, but you did. Something childishly cheerful and slightly mad about it.

Oh, no. No. You were happy, spooning with Raphael, and you didn't need this shit right now, especially when things were finally going so well.

Hope, please, you begged.

You got all your happy endings, so many of them, wonderful endings where Raphael was killed by the player and you got to live and your revenge and whatnot. Can I have one too, please? Without you whining and making me feel guilty for something I didn't even do?

"My love," you asked Raphael softly, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his side. "Can you let her go?"

"Mmm," Raphael murmured in his sleep, "Sure, piccola. Whatever you wish for."

You waited for him to act, but he only tightened his grip on the blanket and shifted slightly.

"You have all the hells and the crown and everything (and me). You don't need her anymore," you tried again.

"Anya, let me sleep," Raphael mumbled into his pillow, away from your voice. You tried to hide from her voice under your pillow as well, but you could still hear the soft, painful moans.

Ugh.

They were very, very far away, but still there.

"She's still wailing," you complained, taking him by the shoulder and shaking him a little. "Raphael? Raphael?"

"Who is wailing?” he groaned in pure frustration, and then made a half-hearted attempt at listening. “Ah, merda, not that bloody bitch again! I swear, I will plug that hole myself!"

You tried to make sense of that sentence and couldn't, but what you did get was that it promised Hope nothing good and sounded vaguely vulgar, which was even worse.

"Don't hurt Hope," you begged, appalled by his threat. "She doesn't deserve it!"

"I don't deserve it either," Raphael retorted before turning away from you. "Please be quiet."

He should direct this request to his prisoner.

What had really happened between them? You didn't think his obsession with Hope was sexual because, well, because, for example, he fucked you and you both enjoyed it, so he was definitely into consent, and Hope was more like a metaphor, a concept, a point to be made, and some shitty fucking rushed Act 3 writing.

"You... you didn't hurt her like that, did you? There was some talk... With that boudoir line... It was misinterpreted... right?"

Right. He may be evil, but he is lawful evil. He believed in consent and seduction, not violence.

"I haven't hurt anyone, what in damnation are you talking about?" he growled through gritted teeth, and you let out a small sigh of relief. "But if I don't get some rest, I might."

He hadn't hurt Hope. He wouldn't lie. He cannot; devils can deceive, but not outright lie. You read it somewhere.

Okay, he's not going to let her go and he's not going to help you and Hope was certainly not going to shut up. You have to go to her. And say what? Say what? Sorry for your predicament and the centuries of torture, Hope, but could you please be a bit quieter, me and Raphael just had sex and are trying to sleep?

Let her go? And lose his favour, his credit card and the place next to him in his bed?

Yes, come on. It would be the right thing to do and you would do it.

Where was she anyway, you wondered as you walked down the stairs. In the cellar? Hanging from the ceiling? You still don't have the key to the cellar. When you reached the ground floor, the kitchen, you realised that the noises were not coming from the cellar - they were coming from outside.

Outside? Did he hang her on a tree on this cold April night?

You put on his trench coat and slipped into your sneakers. This was so unnecessarily evil, you thought, suddenly feeling much less happy about everything, especially as the pained whimpering got closer. Hardly human, you thought, more like a creature trapped and desperately trying to free itself.

Yes, definitely more of a creature.

In fact, it reminded you of a dog. You searched the darkness of the night, determined to find it, and there it was: a dachshund wedged between the ground and a large, weathered fence, whimpering into the still night.

The poor thing must have thought it was quite the burglar, trying to burrow under a hole in the fence to pull through. But it only managed to get itself stuck.

"Oh, poor baby," you said as you approached the dog. "Let's see if we can get you out."

You pulled on the fence to widen the opening and the cub was free.

It licked your hand in gratitude. Dogs love you. All animals do, and it's quite mutual. You had a harder time with people.

There were distant, panicked cries for Steffie somewhere in the distance; the owner was out on a rescue mission. You took the dachshund in your lap and went to meet her.

The woman was in her sixties, dark brown hair, a very aged beauty, and she looked a bit funny in her fur coat and slippers. She had tears in her eyes. Steffie ran to her as soon as she saw her.

"You silly little girl," she scolded the whining, complaining dog in her arms. She had a thick American drawl. "Why do you keep going back to his house? What's so special about him? I told you he was bad news!"

"Is he?" You asked the question when you knew the answer.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she stammered, forcing a smile to her lips. "I didn't mean it like that. You're Raul's new girl, aren't you? Samantha. I live down the road. Sorry about Steffie, she's very... adventurous."

There were exactly three houses on the street, a mile apart each.

"You meant it like that," you said. "If it's about Isabelle, she's apologised and withdrawn her accusations".

There was a pause, and Samantha's perfectly friendly smile cracked a little.

"Well, in that case," she said, before adding with forced cheerfulness, "thank you for looking after Steffie, sweetheart! You take care now."

She tried to walk away, but turned back; she was as curious as her little dog.

"I was walking Steffie when that French girl ran out of his house," she said, unable to resist the urge to gossip. "She was naked and babbling like a lunatic. She had blood on her, too".

"Did she scream something about the devil?" you asked after a pause.

"Devil? No. Not that I speak French," said the woman, making a last attempt to walk away, but failing. "Listen, I have a daughter about your age. And if some guy - ANY guy - tried to put that kind of crap around her neck, I would chop his arms off".

What did she mean?

The collar.

She meant the "Daddy's little mouse" collar you still have around your neck.

Oh, don't kink shame me, you were going to say, but that kind of talk sounds ridiculous in real life. She managed to shame you very badly, so you hid the collar under your trench coat and mumbled, "I put it on myself".

That actually made her look at you again. Steffie looked at you with the same expression.

Everybody's out to guilt trip you - Hope, the dog (the dog you saved!), the neighbour, the guy who got thrown under the bus, and you've done nothing but enjoy some devil sex.

The woman finally decided it was time to go, muttering "You need Jesus, sweetheart" before she left.

That's your God who kept women in collars and on leashes for centuries, not the Devil, you thought bitterly, and unlike the Devil, he didn't even fuck them.

Well, only once.

***

You were back in the en-suite bathroom, washing your face in the marble sink.

Who the fuck was this man, really? What the fuck was happening?

Your hand shot out, yanking open a cabinet door. An array of men's grooming products stared back at you - cologne, razor, facial moisturiser and scrub, deodorant, shaving gel, sleek, expensive bottles. A man took care of his looks.

Another cabinet creaked open under your touch.

Your eyes darted to the label on the bottle - Risperidon. You had no idea what it was, but you memorised it for a future Google search, repeating it under your breath like a mantra.

"Are you rummaging through my belongings, nosy little mouse?”

He was dead asleep last time you checked!

You jerked, closing the cupboard and stumbling back to the bathroom sink, gasping for breath. "No," you stammered, turning to find him standing in the doorway. "I mean... yes. I can't sleep. I thought you might have some pills."

His eyes were canny; he didn't swallow your lie and made no pretence of doing so. He bridged the gap and hugged you from behind - frighteningly strong and wanting every ounce of that power to seep into your bones. His strength made you realise just how much of a level 1 human NPC you were.

"You don't have to violate my privacy when I'm not around, Anya," he whispered against your skin as he began to trail soft kisses down your neck. "If there's anything that's bothering you, just ask me directly. I want us to be honest with each other."

What was in the cellar? What kind of work does he do for you? Did he rape Hope? Or was it Haarlep? Where is Haarlep, by the way? Why does Raphael want to play Raul?

"What happened to Isabelle?" you asked.

"Ah, I see. Is that why you asked me if I had hurt anyone?" he said. "Is that what the tabloids told you?"

You nodded.

"Isabelle had an addiction," he admitted, the crow’s feet showing themselves. "It spiralled out of control. She had… a bout of psychosis, a mental breakdown. Made false accusations to the press. She's now getting the help she needs, poor girl”.

"Why was she covered in blood?" you pressed, looking at his reflection in the mirror as an infernal light danced in his orange eyes.

For all the fire in them, they seemed icy, impossibly cold for a man who had called you my love less than an hour ago. "How did you come by this information? You seem to know more than one would expect of you, Anya. There are things about you that make me... wonder. I have been giving you the benefit of the doubt, perhaps foolishly."

Your breath caught in your throat. “The neighbour”, you said. “Your neighbour told me”.

The truth you’d spilled slaked him, but only a little. He looked at you, jaw hardened.

"Samantha? I’ll have a word with her. Very well, we were making love when Isabelle had a psychotic episode."

Making love? Really? He did not make love to you.

"She lashed out at me," he continued. "It was my blood, Anya. I would never hurt her or any other woman. Without their consent, that is."

But that couldn't be true, because there was Hope - and many others who owed him, and Raphael might have been many things, but not a liar, and yet here he was, lying right to your face.

He did hurt people. Whether they deserved it, whether they brought onto themselves, that was a different matter, but he did hurt them.

"If you need proof, you can take a look at the psychiatrist's report," he offered coldly. "The authorities got involved... unfortunately."

"I believe you," came your shaky reply.

You desperately wanted to.

Raphael’s eyes flickered.

"Trust goes both ways, Anya," he whispered in your ear, running a finger along your collar. "If you do not trust me, then I will be forced to ask some very unpleasant questions myself. Do we understand each other?"

Which questions? He knows everything there is to know about you. He knows your browser history.

“We do”, you said, still looking in the mirror. “Of course we do, my love”.

"Is that so?” he smiled. "I suggest we go to our bed and put that theory to the test."

#knock knock #raphael x reader #raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #raphael x tav #raphael x player

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triplesilverstar · 9 months ago

Text

A Birthday with a show, and you're dinner

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Pairing: Knives X F!Reader

CW: Dom/Sub undertones, strip show, sex toys, vibrator, P in V Sex

Word count: Roughly 2.7K

A/N: Chapter fourteen of the series, this time it’s Knives birthday and you’ve been found on the menu.

If working at Flux had taught you one thing, underworld influence or not, the ultra rich like to celebrate like it’s the last party they’ll ever have. You’ve seen enough of the rich waltzing into Flux when celebrating their birthdays like it is their last one, throwing more money around then you’d seen in your life and you had never gone without anything in the time you’d been alive.

While he isn’t at the club tonight you know it’s Nai’s birthday, having heard some of the plans discussed when coming down from your highs after him having fucked your brains out. A rather larger fancy party from what you had overheard, and were teased over from Legato. The blue haired bastard had been more than happy to point out how you weren’t important enough to have been invited. “Just a wet hole my master is currently interested in using.”

His words had and still burn. The fact his birthday fell on a Saturday meant even if you had been invited by the stern man, you wouldn’t have been able to attend. Calla required you those nights no matter what other plans came up, your nights at Flux far too important for such dalliances. At least according to Calla and seeing as she was the employer that paid well over half your yearly income, you weren’t going to argue with her.

Closer to ten, your delivery for the night made but still swamped behind the bar and late for your break you groan internally. Three of the waitresses gossiping in front of you at the bar while you mix and pour drinks, gossiping about Nai. “Looks like Mr. Millions isn’t here tonight, that seems strange.” The waitress Michelle that normally covered Nai’s table frowned. No doubt missing the tips that often came with making sure the nosey girl disappeared quickly after delivering their drinks.

“You’re right. The other regulars are here though, I wonder what’s going on?” Anya, another of the waitresses whispers, one you know has tried hitting on the blond businessman only to fail at every attempt. Maybe if she didn’t gossip so much about everyone she might have stood a chance. “I checked his social media earlier. He didn’t post anything but it’s his birthday, but there’s like a hundred posts wishing him a happy birthday.” Popping one of the cocktail cherries her mouth you snap at Vickie. “Don’t eat the garnishes!” You have enough work to do without throwing out some of the cherries, and opening a new bottle. “Wow. Don’t need to bite my head off!” Vickie grabs her now drink filled tray, rolling her eyes at you as she saunters off but not without throwing a parting shot at you. “You really need to get laid.”

Taking a deep breath you count to ten in your head and keep mixing drinks, Franie sliding up beside you his voice low. “You alright?” “Yea.” Whispered back as you fill Anya’s tray and send her on her way. “Just tired of Vickie eating the cherries and olives. She doesn’t wash her hands as often as we do, or use spoons or tongs to grab them.” Back to finishing the drinks you finally get your break, heading for the back room and grabbing your phone to check it. Two text messages, both from Nai. 2115: I would have preferred your company to the fawning those invited have provided2155: Are you able to see me tomorrow evening?Without any hesitation you type out a response, knowing you have nothing planned and asking him if he wants to come to your place or go to his. You don’t expect the answer to come before the end of your break but you’re pleasantly surprised. 2211: Mine. 7 PM. Sharp.

You grin, aware of the fact you’re going to spend most of tomorrow on your back or stomach one way or another while Knives uses you like he owns you. He’s yet to disappoint you in bed and you don’t expect him to tomorrow either. Back at the bar you grumble internally, drinks have slowed down while on break and Anya is on her phone giggling about something. That something turns out to be a tweet with an image of Knives attached, while you try to look at it discreetly and keep your face bland internally you’re screaming.

It’s Knives looking at his phone, one side of his lips lifted in a grin and based on the time stamp you see of the image, it would have been after you sent your reply and before he texted you back. Part of you hoping that grin was because of you, but you’re smart enough to temper your heart. Knives could tell you your agreement is done tomorrow if he wants, and you’d just have to walk away.

The next day, dressed in a cute sundress with heels to put you just under Knives height, a recommended bottle of red wine in a bag for him you make your way to his apartment. Meeting the doorman and advising him you’re there to see Mr. Saverem and give your own name, knowing his building is far more exclusive than your own.

Once inside you take the elevator, knocking on his door at 6:55 a little early but you know it’s within Knives margin of error and you aren’t late. Being late even by a minute is not acceptable to the stern man.

Opening the door you smile up at him. “Good evening Nai.” Voice whisper soft as you quickly run your eyes over him, dressed in a pair of cream slacks and a dark blue dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up revealing his built forearms. “Happy Birthday” his sharp eyes watching you as he steps inside, holding the door open for you to slip inside.

The door closing with a click and his hand is on your throat, forcing your chin up so he can press his lips against yours, tongue running along your lower lips you open your mouth to let him have what he wants. Smashing his mouth against yours as he takes his fill of your moans and whimpers while he kisses you fiercely enough to steal your breath. Your lungs are burning when he pulls away, just enough that your lips are a hair’s breadth apart. “Good evening Pet.” Chest heaving and your breathless “I have something for you” barely lifting the bag which Knives looks at, raising an eyebrow at you for. “Just a little something to say. I appreciate our time together.” That seems to appease him, stepping away from you and running his fingers up the side of your neck before taking the handle of the bag from you.

Opening the bag and removing the bottle he looks at the label before back to you. “I know it’s not your usual brand, but I picked something with a similar flavor profile.” A brief nod as he heads for the kitchen, you stop to undo your heels.

“Leave them.” Licking his lips while taking in your figure “I’ve had a change of heart for what the events of this evening will be.” Standing back up again, watching as he effortlessly opens the bottle and pouring himself a glass. Motioning for you to follow him into the living room, placing the bottle and glass on the side table before approaching you.

Tilting your jaw upwards once more far more gentle than when you first stepped into his apartment, gliding his lips across yours. “Tonight. I want you to follow my directions, can you do that Pet? The usual rules apply.”

“Am I allowed to talk? Ask for clarification?” Whispering back before you start, wanting to know your limits for tonight before agreeing.

“You may.” Turning his head and running his nose along the shell of your ear before blowing into it, and nipping the skin while waiting for your answer.

“Yes.” Nodding at you give him your answer, his hands on your hips as he moves you where he wants you. With a whisper to remain there while he moves the light switches, dimming everything around you and an overhead pot light coming on to illuminate you.

Taking his seat on the couch and taking a sip of the wine you brought him, feeling nervous since Knives is far more into wine then you are. A hum of satisfaction and you watch him look at you like he’s a predator eyeing his prey, pressing a button and the low tones of a recording of his favorite orchestra starts to play.

“You’re” his voice having dropped an octave as he addresses you “going to put on a show for me Pet. Now” one more licking his lips, eyes narrowing as he leaning back with his glass of wine taking a sip. “Remove your dress. Slowly.” Licking your lips you turn slow, making a show of lifting your arms over your head as you do, bending one over and pushing your hair to the side be dragging your fingers through the loose locks.

A low growl reaching your ears, running those same fingers down your neck sensually before undoing the fastener with a quick snap, turning your head at an angle and slowly pulling the zipper down as slowly as you can while watching him. Even if you’re the one doing the work, the way his sharp eyes follow your movement makes your core throb. Once your hand is as far down as you can push it from above you slide the other hand down your neck, turning your body so he can watch as you drag your palm against your covered breast giving it a squeeze just hard enough to make you gasp before moving along. Returning to unzipping your dress slowly, letting a low whine pass your lips, the fire in your lower belly starting to build, Knives taking another sip from his wine glass watching you through the clear bowl.

Once you know the zipper is low enough you turn to face him, giving the fabric a light pull and letting it slide down your body to pool around your feet. Left in your undergarments and thigh high stockings held up by your garter belt. Sliding one hand along the skin of your stomach upwards towards your breasts waiting for his next command.

“Undo the straps keeping your stockings up.” Running your hands back down your stomach, letting one of them trail over your covered pussy. Moaning and pressing the fabric against yourself before moving on to the straps. “Naughty thing you are” a soft growl echoing around the room, even in the dim lighting you can’t miss the bulge in his pants as he leans back against the couch. “Of course I am. Otherwise how are you going to teach me to be a good girl?” Teasing as you finish undoing the strap, staying bent over and pushing your breasts together. “Plus, you did say to give you a show~”

Laughing darkly as he licks his lips once more before taking another drink “I did. Now let me see those breasts of yours.” Standing up you arch your back using both hands to undo the clasp so your chest is sticking out into the air, once done moving one hand to the center of the fabric to keep it in place. The other hand moving to slowly lower the straps down your shoulder, letting it fall away all at once. Cupping them in your hands and pushing them together, playing with your nipples as he watched you, his teal eyes swimming with desire. “Now you’re underwear.” Bending forward you slowly remove the fabric from your hips letting them fall to the floor as well before rubbing your thighs together, the lips of your pussy coated in your juices. “Now” another quick swallow of wine “redo the straps of your garter belt.” Raising your eyebrow at him, but you do as he’s said. Standing straight once more as you finish, Knives taking his attention off you to refill his wine glass before approaching you the glass left on the counter.

Dragging his knuckle from your hip bone up to the center of your chest and then to your chin, moving closer to you and you remain still as his mouth presses against your ear. “I was going to ram my thick cock into that pretty pussy of yours. But after that little display, you need to be teased yourself. Stay right here and don’t touch yourself.”

Watching him walk to his bedroom, returning in the span of a few minutes with a box tucked under his arm. Seeing you standing there he nods once. “Sit on the floor and spread those legs, Pet.” Once more you do as he says, Sitting down and spreading your legs so if he stays standing he’ll be able to see everything he wants too. “What a nice, slick, little pussy waiting for me. If only you hadn’t been greedy I would have filled you up already. I’m going to fill you with something else, and” lowering down to one knee over you and running his fingers between your folds making you moan, core clenching around nothing as he pulls them away and licks at his fingers. “You’re not allowed to cum” hissing into your skin as he powers up the vibrating dildo and pushes it into your pussy, gasping at being filled even if the toy is nowhere as large as Knives.

Knives stood, moving back to the couch and showing you a remote as he sat down and picked up his wine glass. “Now remember. No cuming my Pet. Now play with yourself and make sure I can see those pretty lips.” Feeling a blush across your cheeks you lean back on your arm, using your free hand to play with your clit. Moaning as you finger yourself, panting and watching Knives.

Moaning as you keep going, watching his eyes intently feeling your heart rate rising, gasping when the toy inside you suddenly comes to life making you throw your head back. Biting your lip and thinking of some of the ugly men that had hit on you last night to try and hold your orgasm off. “Look at me Pet” growling once more as you look at him, the toys intensity being upped again. Taking a sip of his wine and you feel the sweat starting to form on your forehead in your hairline, fingers still working your clit. The vibrations of the toy stimulating the nerves just behind your clit as well, making you pant loudly, mouth parted wide open. The fire in your belly growing to the point when you feel tears forming in the corner of your eyes knowing you have to hold off your orgasm.

The toy is turned up once more and you almost scream at how intense it is, core clenching hard around it, you’re so close to cumming and it is making your sweat like Knives has been pounding into your core for hours instead of a few minutes the toy hitting all the right places inside of you and making the nerves pulse. “Nai!” Screaming as you stare into his eyes, blinking as the sweat drips down into your eyes, and the town suddenly turning off.

Knives drinks the rest of the wine down, standing and moving towards you. “Undo my pants Pet. I’m tired of waiting to enjoy my preferred gift.” Sitting up your hands are scrambling for his belt and pants quickly undoing them, and feeling him lower his body down, his hand pulling the toy from you before lining his cock up with your slit. “I’m going to enjoy this birthday present Pet.”

His pants are just low enough to let his cock hang out, and he’s pushing into you, making you almost cream around him right away. Adjusting your hips and pushing the rest of your body to the floor, Knives sets a brutal place, slamming more and more into your core. You scream his name as you cum, clenching around him hard as your walls try to milk him with their spasms. A hand coming to wipe the sweat from your forehead as your heart pounds in your chest, watching Knives looking down at your body before chuckling darkly. Head lowering and biting harshly around your nipple making your spasm around him even harder, neck arching backwards from the duel pleasure and pain. “Oh my sweet Pet. I didn’t tell you, you could cum yet.”

Eyes popping open as you look at him with a hint of fear and licking your lips, “you’re not leaving my bed until the morning after that little show of disobedience.” Well. You’re fucked, in every sense of the word.

Back to masterlist

#millions knives smut #millions knives x reader #millions knives x reader smut #modern au #trigun #trigun stampede #tristamp #trigun smut #twink writes #knives smut #millions knives #knives x reader

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fullscoreshenanigans · 10 months ago

Note

I had the funny idea (not for a fanfic but just a idea) of a Spy x Family AU where Yuugo (secretly a spy) adopted Little Emma (with telepathic powers) with Lucas (secret hitman) BUT Yuugo and Lucas adopting Emma but NOT OLIVER? SCANDALOUS! and no Oliver can't have the role of the little brother Yuri even if he could XD

Also it would mean that little Emma has to befriend Norman Ratri and would PUNCH HIM at very first meeting while becoming friend with Ray, the son of a very famous teacher and a very famous musician. (in the manga, Betty's dad loves her very very deeply so it would fit Isabella's role)

Or the reverse, she would have to become friend with Ray and would PUNCH him at first meeting. But no because in Spy x Family, Damian's family seems to not be the very best and i refuse to imagine Isabella (and Leslie) being harsh with Ray when she can love him normally. (ok for Norman it's because "Ratri Family")

So let's try again.

I have no idea to how use Norman at Anya's place because i can't imagine who would be his parents. XD Smee is too old i think.

So let's go with Ray

Isabella is a very famous spy who has never been caught in all her life. she has a mission and has not need to adopt a child since she HAS a child. And a child with telepathic powers. For some reasons? Tragic past? Escape some exprimental stuff? Anyway Ray is her tresor and nobody has never discovered that the most famous spy EVER has a child and who is this child.

So Ray has to befriend Emma, the adoptive daugther of two mens (Yuugo/Lucas) because her fathers (or one of them) is/are a spy for the other side and that anything could start a war. (not that Yuugo or Lucas WANTS it anyways but still, spies don't always have control of the situation)

[I said that i don't want Ray to play Damian's role because his family is shitty and that i didn't want to give a bad parents role to Isabella but i change the story to fit Emma and her two loving dads (+ older brother Oliver) XD]

But Isabella has to pretend to be married. Guess who return in her life at this moment. Childhood friend Leslie. Who accept to play the role of the father.

[Leslie is secretly a hitman behind his musician carrer]

With a spy mother and a hitman father, Ray is super sarcastic. But decide to help his mum as much that he can.

(Will he punch Emma at first meeting?) (who would be Leslie's OVERPROTECTIVE little brother/sister then? Krone? XD) (at a point Leslie befriends Lucas too)

Who would be the teacher who go always impressed by Isabella//Yuugo and Ray//Emma (according of which family is chosen)? Human!Leuvis of course. (Or Human!Sonju)

Like The kids are taken hostage and Ray/Emma has telephatic powers so knows that there are no real danger and are like "meh" H!Leuvis: this kid has nerves of steels :O

a Spy x Family AU where Yuugo (secretly a spy) adopted Little Emma (with telepathic powers) with Lucas (secret hitman)

Shoutout to @yuucaslovebot for the flipped Yuucas take on this AU. (the woke version to the broke NE or RE version).

Also it would mean that little Emma has to befriend Norman Ratri and would PUNCH HIM at very first meeting while becoming friend with Ray

It is wild to think of Norman ever being tsundere toward Emma since that sort of bristling fits more with Grace Field-era Ray (Tsunde-Ray and whatnot), but on the family side of things his dysfunctional and antagonistic relationship with the Ratris lends itself well to the dysfunction among the Desmonds.

I have no idea to how use Norman at Anya's place because i can't imagine who would be his parents. XD Smee is too old i think.

Sleeping on the comedic gold of JameSmee with James as Yor so Peter is Yuri, for shame.

We were never given a definite age for James or Smee, but I think James being dead for 14 years throws people off because we always see him as he was when he died.

(The Promised Neverland Art Book World)

Meanwhile Smee has had 14 more years of aging when we see him in the present.

(Season 2 Episode 8)

But he (and James) look around Andrew's age in the voiceover visuals from chapter 160 and in the side scene where James dies at the end of chapter 173.

Granted, with the way Demizu plays around with audience perception in how she draws the characters in a given scene based on their own perception of themselves and the strife they carry in their hearts to how they view other characters around them based on their relationship with them (e.g.‚ Isabella towering over the children as an ever-looming threat in various low-angle frames, Sonju appearing behind Emma and Ray at the end of chapter 45 as an imposing figure and then becoming drastically smaller and more human than any of the wild demons the kids encounter before the reveal of the evil blood when he's revealed as an ally, Norman looking like he's a mid-thirties corporate lawyer throughout all of chapter 125 as he forms the alliance of liars with Geelan, etc.), these portrayals could be inaccurate. James could be anywhere from his mid-teens to his mid-twenties during Peter's flashback in chapter 173.

But this late in the story with more truths known to the main cast, I'm inclined to believe the aforementioned panels from 160 and 173 are reflective of their actual ages.

Who would be the teacher who go always impressed by Isabella//Yuugo and Ray//Emma (according of which family is chosen)? Human!Leuvis of course. (Or Human!Sonju)

I can't really see Sonju in an overly fawning role or getting wrapped up in all the pomp and pretense of Eden without the hidden motive of eventually being able to hunt the most dangerous game, which would be kind of a nifty spin on Henderson's character, but even then it doesn't really vibe with his overall calm and reserved personality which seems more aligned with Mr. Green during his debut in chapter 39. He's not nearly as excitable as Leuvis, who would 110% give into the throes of obsession with elegance and decorum, either on the straight-and-narrow if you don't have him entirely breaking with Eden's code, or if whomever is filling the Loid and Anya roles isn't meshing seamlessly with Eden culture and their presence is seen as a nuisance by the faculty and/or parents for trying to eek their way into upper Ostania society. The latter allows him to delight in the loopholes and subversions of the current system for his own entertainment that can align more with his canon counterpart if the elegance they display fits with his own personal and potentially convoluted code of conduct.

#me when I'm finally going through asks that have been sitting in my drafts for months #I fell off S×F during the Red Circus arc so idk if Mr. Green has been featured more #but out of all the Eden staff he seems to be the closest to Sonju personality-wise and the vibes of the wisdom he dishes out #also me going on a tangent about a throwaway sentence largely irrelevant to the main focus of this AU post? more likely than you think #I do lowkey champion JameSmee just for funsies and the potential #Peter really is a deadlock for Yuri tho lol I think a JameSmee spin on Tw!Yor is valid for that alone #naehja #Long Post #The Promised Neverland #TPN AU #FSS Asks #FSS Chatter #Yuucas #JameSmee #Leuvis #Sonju #James Ratri #Smee #TPN Smee #The Promised Neverland Art Book World #Return to Grace Field Arc #TPN 160 #TPN 173 #TPN S2 #TPN S2e08 #Norman Ratri #S×F AU #I default to James being early 30s when he died‚ specifically 33 #because isn't that just the way for the major named adult characters that are involved with these kids in some capacity #Smee breaking the mold and living into his 40s or 50s heyyo

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