#only i'm not even gripping the hardest

[bubaboos]

a tragedy: couldn't fit a nap in my schedule

[meownotgood]

pillars. / viktor x gn!reader, fluff and angst, lots of angst actually, implied childhood friends, confession kisses, mentions of death, one singular czech pet name, kissing viktor's moles, takes place during s1 act 2, so technically no s2 spoilers but some things are implied. word count: 7.9k

read on ao3

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"You look exhausted," You hum, your voice thick with fatigue in unison, "Don't you think you should rest?" 

Viktor takes a breath deep and slow enough to hear, his hands briefly faltering as he twirls a small, bronze magnifying glass with his fingers, but he doesn't reply, nor does he turn away from his notes. 

The lab is cool, quiet — aside from the distant hum of various pressure valves and idle machinery. The Hexcore thrums. Runic engravings litter each complex, geometric surface. Viktor rests his balled-up hand on his face, bony knuckles pressing into his cheek. With his inkpen, he messily scrawls something into his notebook. Low, blue light illuminates the cluttered room and his workspace. Each side of the Hexcore pulses when you approach behind him, twirling to its own complex, ominous rhythm. Acknowledging you, somewhat. 

Viktor inhales sharply, and shakes his head frustratedly, crossing out what he'd just written with jittery, forceful motions. 

It wouldn't be the first time you've found him here, like this, mulling over some sort of invention or idea when most of the city is already asleep. Falling into a focused routine is merely second nature. And normally, you wouldn't protest. 

When you were much, much younger, staying awake as long as you could felt fun. Helping Viktor cram studying for exams in between finishing an invention the night before Progress Day became a yearly occurrence. In the weeks before finalizing blueprints for the Hexgates, you'd almost forgotten when either of you had last seen the sun. It's just that this routine has been far more absorbing, far more taxing — and the repercussions are painted clearly on Viktor's shadowed face. 

He looks drained. Worn. Like if he tried to stand, if he wasn't leaning against his desk and absorbed in his research, the weight of his own exhaustion might make him crumble and collapse. The ends of his hair stick out in messy, curled strands, from where he's anxiously twirled them around his fingers. 

You hate the dark bags that have made their home under his eyes. You feel a knot in your gut as you watch Viktor's hands; shaky, and imprecise. Flipping through the pages of his notebook to search for something. Tracing a sentence with the end of his inkpen, only for his gaze to flicker back to the start when the words failed to register. 

You sigh. Forcing a smile, even though he can't see it, you take another stumbling step forwards. Your arms wrap around his thin figure loosely, and your weight settles gently yet firmly against his hunched back, in something of a tender, evocative hug. 

Viktor shifts, his grip tightens on his pen when it almost slips. You nuzzle into the perfect, head-shaped space at the crook of his neck, breathing him in — flooding your senses with a coffee-warm richness, with the scent of ash and sweat and lingering sparks. 

His gaze softens like melted honey. As if the simple press of your body to his returned pieces to himself he'd thought he lost. Brows unpinching, your heat at his neck spreads across him in waves, contradicting the collected edge kept in his tone. 

"I'm not yet tired," Viktor lies, trying his hardest not to lean into your embrace. "I'd like to analyze this for a few moments longer. This page is," He shakes his head. "Incomplete. If I could find the key to what induces some form of response, then-" 

As if on queue, the Hexcore sparks with energy, twirling faster, glowing with luminous constellations. Viktor swiftly moves to jot something down, but as fast as the Hexcore reacted, it's just as quick to return to normalcy. 

He mutters something under his breath, slightly jostling you from his shoulders when he leans forwards in focus. 

"I swear," You're grumbling; you rest your chin on the hard edge of his shoulder, glancing between the Hexcore and his notes with passive interest. "You've always been like this." 

"Like what?" Viktor flips through his notebook once more. "Stubborn, I'm assuming?" 

"Stubborn, yes. Smart. Terribly ambitious." You reach up, until you're able to place a few taps onto his forehead with the end of your finger. Viktor barely seems to notice. He adds onto an almost-full page by messily writing in the margins. 

"I know how hard it is for you to stop those gears in that brain of yours. Once they're going, it's impossible to get them to stop." 

"Mm. And you know how important this pursuit is in particular, yes?" 

He reaches for a notched turn dial on the opposite side of his desk, connected to the Hexcore by a series of braided wires and support poles. Your gaze follows his hands — gripping carefully, with delicate, calloused fingers. There's a distinct pause. A moment of palpable tension, as you both instinctively hold your breath. 

Viktor twists the dial. Once, twice. 

The Hexcore gives off a few miniscule, pitiful sparks, like a God's first attempt at a lightning storm. And he expels a long, drowsy, disappointed sigh. 

"I do," You murmur, sympathetic. 

Viktor grinds his jaw, hard enough to feel it aching, but even through his fierce familiarity with self-induced destruction, even though he isn't deserving of this, he can't hope to hold onto the ragged bites of stress in his veins. Not when you're so warm, when the feeling you ignite in his chest with your voice alone is so terribly soft. He has missed this. 

"But I also know," You're continuing, "Every time you get close to a breakthrough, once you let yourself rest," Viktor's head nods sleepily, struggling not to fall, and you playfully tap your index finger to the end of his nose. 

"That's when you find it." 

Part of him wishes he could keep himself from listening. Of course, as strongly as he wants to be better and more efficient, because taking a break is like admitting defeat, and defeat is worse than accepting he might've reached the end of his line — he knows you're right. 

Placing the cap on his pen, he leaves it in the middle of his notebook, closes the pages to save his spot before hastily, reluctantly pushing it aside. 

You grin. You slowly shift up, and Viktor feels your arms sliding from his shoulders, your weight leaving his body. For a second, he thinks you might move, believes you'll leave and feels a sharp grind between his ribs at the thought. Instead, you place your palms on his rigid shoulders, and you squeeze. 

His lashes flutter, eyes partially rolling into his skull. His head grows dizzy, like he'd been spun. Frustration melts out of him as warmth and light take its place, shining from your touch like the kiss of stars and the rays of the sun. Bright and lovely; galaxies weaving themselves into his tired muscles. 

Relaxing, he can't help but lean back, dropping his head against your waiting chest. 

"I saw Jayce before I left this morning," You're murmuring. It's in one ear, and out the other at first. You lean in, speaking close to him this time, to make sure you've been heard. Your voice shudders through him, warm like candle wax. "Says he hasn't seen you sleep in days." 

"In one day," Viktor corrects, rather matter-of-fact for someone who's busy melting into you like his limbs are boneless. "Technically, about twenty- no, twenty two hours. More or less. Honestly… hardly worth the over-exaggeration." 

"Vik," You scoff playfully, breath fanning warmly on his skin. "You're doing it again." 

Your palms move. They drift from his shoulders to his arms, fingertips gently toying with his sleeves in a foolish attempt to touch his skin. He tilts his head all the way back, and cracks his weary eyes open to look at you. 

"And what is it I'm doing?" 

"Saying things that make me worry about you. And then expecting me not to." 

"I am not-" 

Right then, before he can speak, your hands return to his now-tensed shoulders; they combat the ache in his chest and the tightness in his throat when they roll his muscles. His chest thrums with a soothing gentleness, rich and saccharine, difficult to swallow down. 

"You are worried about me?" Viktor questions, sighing slightly when your hands work out a particularly old, tightened knot. "I have not seen you in… who knows how many days. I have lost count." 

Your mouth forms a hard line. 

"I- I know," You're answering, hands drifting down smoothly, as if they're carried on waves. They find where his tie is neatly fastened around his collar, grasping the diamond and pulling to loosen it. "I've been trying not to get in your way. Everything is just- Jayce is a counselor now, and you're busy with a thousand different things. I'm not going to interrupt your work with my stupid-" 

"Our work." Viktor's tone is resolute. It holds you, grounds you against the raging winds in your mind that threaten to pull at your pieces. "Hextech was furthered by your contributions. Do not forget that." 

You swallow, but it does little to chase away the dryness in your throat. In a hasty, abrupt motion, your palm grasps Viktor's shoulder, this time twisting his chair to make him face you. He eyes you with surprise for a moment, his tired gaze tender and weak enough to light the shrapnel in your stomach. 

"Viktor." Your head tilts, affectionate. You reach up, and brush away the messy strands of hair that cover his pretty face and tickle his forehead. "This research, this dream of yours, it's-" 

"It is a necessary risk." 

Gaze wide, you freeze up. Viktor exhales sharply, glances away from you to focus on something in the distance instead — messy shelves of discarded machinery, inventions you once worked on together, etched with your signature and his — because the way you're looking at him has an ache prodding at his heart, sharp and thorned.  

"Finalizing this thesis would simply be the beginning," Viktor continues, passionate, gradually starting to talk with his hands. "Think of the lives we could save, of the good we could prosper from this sort of technology. Enough to improve the Undercity for the better, to provide rationale for the potential dangers. I understand you are worried- but this is our life's work we are talking about. If we were to determine the true limits of Hextech, it would make our efforts worth it, in spite of… even if…" 

He stops, trails off. Glances up, and decides he might've said too much. You understand. You have always understood where all of this is going. 

The lives he could change would be worth the price, even if he was to throw away his. 

Tattered threads tear from within you — unspoken, buried deep. You've become well acquainted with the taste of denial. Sharp on your tongue, thick in your throat to meld with the bile. It sits on your lips as words better left unspoken. Eats away at your skin and your flesh and your core, settles in your limbs and at the tips of your useless fingers. Reverberates, until the ringing in your ears begins to sound like him. 

Piltover feels so distant, with the idle noise of the lab filling the room. Miles away, even though you're right in its heart. Nothing has ever been fair. It cast you aside, it was never your home. He was. 

All you've received for ages now are fake sentiments, vague reassurances. Reminders of how terribly futile your ambitions have proven to be. Every sun has to set, every star will burn out — but fuck, you don't want him to burn. 

Your mind is dizzy. Each thought spins, tipped faster and faster. Light pounds from behind your eyelids, and your stomach churns, making you nauseous. The lines blur between Viktor's figure, the floor, and the dull aura of the Hexcore, beginning to overlap everything together. 

You aren't present, or perhaps you're wishing to be anywhere but here. Curled beneath the covers, hiding under your bed like you did when you were a child, running to the furthest, broken edge of the universe so you wouldn't have to imagine him slipping through your fingertips; Viktor draws you back, grasping your chin oh-so gently. He tilts you towards him, puts your focus on him to push the rest of the world into the background. 

"Though, I suppose there is no harm in stopping for the night," Viktor reasons, his tone a soft murmur, devastatingly gentle. "I have missed you. I believe I may have neglected to make myself clear." 

And for a brief reprieve, there isn't anything sweeter. Nothing this fatal. 

His arm braces behind him, elbow resting on the edge of the desk. You follow through when he gently keeps you in place, steady on his direction; you're a compass, and he's Polaris. Your gazes don't separate, magnetized together like a hex crystal to iron. 

For a moment, he forms a small pout, in a way that would have you grinning if the circumstances were different. His expression ripens, becomes soft. Almost guilty. A plea and an apology and some form of a confession, muddled into one dangerous, indecipherable nebula. 

"You sure?" You're muttering, trying to keep your tone upbeat, regardless. "Your project looks like it's itching to fly away." 

"Eh," Viktor shrugs, he allows his thumb to brush over your cheek. "I'm sure it can wait. It understands I have more important things to focus on." 

His touch makes you ache. Guides your sorrow to entwine with his, digs in deep to grasp at your chest with such devastating familiarity. 

It's an excruciating reminder of how much you have craved this. How badly it hurts, to feel Viktor's hand tremble as he touches you, slightly unsure, when you wish he wouldn't be. Exhaustion is wound so deeply into his system, you'd think he was born with it. He brushes his palm from your cheek to your jaw, caressing idly, in an absent, lazy motion. And it frustrates you, because you know you'll soon be lost, wishing you could feel his touch again. 

Every pound of your heart reminds you of everything — of the brushes of fingers, when passing tools and pens at the work table. Hands solidly grabbing one another to steady anxieties, to offer familiar reminders. Nights spent categorizing constellations, while in your eyes, Viktor's radiance burned brighter than any distant galaxy. 

Gentle touches pressed to weary limbs. Tightening machinery, releasing the gears on a brace. An arm offered to help him stand. Instinctually standing beside him, at the side that might need you. Fingertips exploring the notches of a spine, traveling rivers of veins, mapping out star-shaped clusters of freckles. 

Tired moments much like this, but instead of protests and strives against fate, there were lovely brushes of whispers. Twin dips in the same bed, murmurs of, I'm here, you can go back to sleep. Touches that wished for themselves to be something more, something lasting. Though they knew they'd evaporate by morning. 

It's far too late to still rely on daydreams. 

You let the haze die out, tracing the edges of his hard knuckles as an apology before you clumsily push his hand from your cheek. Standing up straight, the lab seeming more cold and quiet and empty than ever, you choose to put distance in between yourself, and your lost love. 

"Sorry. I shouldn't-" Breathe, you've got to remind yourself to breathe. Air catches in your lungs, sharp and dizzy, and you quickly shake your head. "Viktor, I-" 

Gods, Viktor shouldn't have to choose between you and his ambition. He shouldn't need to place his own body in the middle of making a difference, and saving himself. There's still so much you haven't done, haven't said. The life you both dreamed of and fought for is crumbling, he still has so much he was meant to accomplish, and yet — 

A hand grabs your wrist with surprising force, to keep you from taking another step back. 

Viktor's brows pinch. "Do not tell me you're thinking of leaving." 

Oh. Your gaze finally travels up from your feet, and he looks hurt; his voice barely manages to avoid cracking around the edges. His fingers dig into your wrist sharply, desperately. 

Viktor's jaw tightens, his firm grip causing veins to show in his wrist. Your shoulders slump, and you exhale. 

"I'll walk home with you. You shouldn't sleep here, it's bad for your-" 

"No, no you will not," Viktor interrupts, exasperation echoed through his tone, pain and worry laced through the lines of his palms to compel them to shake. "Tell me why you are refusing to stay. It's been weeks without change, why must you run off the moment I attempt to make time for you? I doubt you have any idea how much this torments me." 

Weeks of avoidance, days upon days where he'd watch you disappear too soon. Viktor would turn, he'd say something to the empty air because he expected you to be there, but you would be gone, absent from the lab or the hallways or the dorm you once shared. Bitter sentimentality, the hurt you forgot to take with you, is all that would linger in his bones. 

Just how far are you willing to run — in vain, until your legs might snap — to pretend you won't lose the only thing you have left, your friend, your partner, to imagine you might escape the certainty of his conclusion? 

Your gaze is flighty. It carries raindrops, flutters on soft wings, between him and the intricate, statuette angles of his face. Between the ground and the desk, and the glowing Hexcore. He has rarely seen you so unsettled. When your emotions run high, you hide them from him; unsuccessfully, he might add. Your wrist flexes beneath his palm as he feels your hand clench, and unclench. 

Little by little, you're tugging his heart from between his ribs. Tearing it apart like petals pulled, like the games you used to get lost in when you both were kids; you love him, you love him not —

"I can't stay. I wasn't- I shouldn't have tried to come back to the lab in the first place," You answer, dejected. His grip only tightens on your wrist when you pull. "Viktor, please." 

"Answer me. I need you to say something," Viktor grits out, voice getting louder, his shoulders tensed with frustration. "What is the cause of this- this fracture in between us?" 

Your arm drops. Your bottom lip quivers, and your breath gets caught in your lungs. The expression on your face is more sore than he's ever seen it, painful enough to kill, bordering on bursting into tears. 

And then, your voice quiets. "I don't want to watch you die." 

The Hexcore gives off a low, rumbling sound. The lab becomes quiet enough to hear the individual ticks of machinery gears. 

Viktor's grip loosens on your wrist, only slightly. He doesn't speak, he can't listen to his heart or his head when he's placed between the persistent thrumming of both. You aren't looking at him. Regret dawns on your face, then sadness, then something he can't recognize when you turn your head away. Fatigue curls into his system, and settles amongst everything else: the guilt, the anticipation. The raw, forceful tenderness. 

It's a reminder that you're right. 

The passing of each slow second seems to exist for just the two of you. Dragging on and on. Barely helping him to find any answers. If only there was more time. 

Words could never be enough, burying your emotions like lodging a knife way deep in your chest isn't working. Your partner was made to burn bright, to exist as an act of defiance itself. To dedicate his mind and his body and his bruised hands to progress, no matter the obstacles or limitations, the past grievances or untold emotions. 

So many moments were never adequately spent. Days and weeks across years taunted you, moments spent as friends and colleagues, despite half of you belonging to him. 

You just needed one push, one thrust into the light to stop you from holding back, because you knew you risked ruining everything. But if Viktor continues, if the Hexcore grows more and more dangerous, if the council continues to require more of him, and what you haven't spoken about becomes true — there won't be anything left to ruin.

And as he watches you collapse, firm on the outside but weak on the inside, turning back to him because you have to, not because you want to, Viktor finally understands. 

He knows this body is… wilting. 

Decaying; he can feel every ounce of newfound weakness in his limbs, knows he's a servant to his own existence as it waits for him to waste away. Many from the Undercity are much less fortunate. He is grateful you are stronger than him. 

More pressingly, he is acutely, abruptly aware of how little time he's spent with you — it runs as fierce in his chest as the hourglass-shaped reminders of the short span he has left. You used to be inseparable, you shared the same dreams. Your talks weren't limited to melancholy utterances of, Have you eaten yet? and, Is your leg okay? and, I never see you anymore, will this time be the last? 

How he's chosen to treat himself are small deaths, in a way. Promises to join you later that led to nothing, nights of exhaustion framed by mornings of fading in and out. He's followed his own guide to avoidance, the steps were simply laid out differently. He's grown sick of it, truly. And deep down, or perhaps on the surface, he is so, terribly exhausted. 

Swallowing thickly, you remain frozen in place, waiting for him to give up, for his hand to slip from your wrist. When it does, you continue to linger. Your heart pounds loud in your ears. Little glances at him greet you with his face downcast, his shoulders slumped. 

You sigh — and you decide this can't be it, or perhaps you're just not ready. You draw yourself dangerously close, to trail your knuckles down Viktor's sharp jaw as a weak apology. 

If there's one thing he isn't accustomed to, it's throwing logic to the wind. Viktor tries to think of this like his notes, attempts to categorize and interpret these emotions. He imagines there's diagrams and logs in his own swirly handwriting, outlines that would guide him to precisely what he needs to do. 

None of it works, of course. It's a terribly juvenile line of thinking. And he's rarely one to give into impulsivity, but you make it so difficult to think, to focus. 

His breathing is already quickening and sharpening, creating pockets of light in his weak lungs, even through the reminders of his own mortality's shadow. Nothing is more important than the feeling you cradle in his chest, bright and fate-defying. 

It would not be like him to accept this. To fade out with a hundred contributions unfinished, a thousand words unspoken. Confessions meant to fall from his voice like meteor showers, fears and regrets with no way to form on his tongue. The thought alone leaves him troubled, choked. His jaw tightens in frustration, only relaxing when the ghost of your fingertips guides him to. 

Low light frames you, the features of your face troubled; oh, he can hardly remember the last time he's seen your smile. But he remembers, knows it to be beautiful. The slight softening his gaze undergoes as it flickers across you is utterly familiar — you pointed it out, once. 

Your eyes overfill with warmth, they melt like amber. Your pupils widen like big, lovesick moons. His head can't help but spin; there's so much he never realized, when you did.

His hands like to absently search for something to fiddle with when he needs to think. His fingers have a habit of tapping against something methodically: his desk, the spine of his notebook, his own forehead. The mark above his mouth follows his lips, when they tip into a smile. He's doing it now, surely. Softening in your afterimage. Gaze warm, honeyed, hopeful. 

No, he isn't sure if his fate can be changed; he's treading close, but he isn't dying yet. The Hexcore is unresponsive to every stimulus he's attempted, but his research is far from complete. There are mountains of quandaries he isn't sure he can fix, pitfalls remaining just out of his control. All but one, all but this. This is something he could do, something he can change. 

You almost speak. Almost give some useless, parting words when his tired, gentle eyes drift back to yours, two ships on the same sea. He's inquisitive, hesitant, his brows creased together in thought and with conviction. The mere sight of him — hair a mess, skin pallid, ignites a thousand feelings and worries in your gut; a lighter tossed to a puddle of gasoline. 

It's something Viktor picks up on. 

You look pained. Unsure of yourself, from the way your eyes can't quite meet his own, from how your hand slips away from his cheek, as everything in you threatens to disappear. Weary, as you gaze at him like you've already lost him. 

You've forgotten how to read him, he realizes. Caught up on what you might lose, the both of you have forgotten what you could have. Viktor's heart feels like it might burst, with enough force to make the sun's implosion look weak, and you don't understand, he'd have to show you. 

He takes it as a sign. Grasps the last chance you've extended to him, and runs with it as fast as he can. 

His name dies on your mouth, before you have the chance to speak it. Echoes haunt your soul when his palm finds your cheek, solid, sure; Viktor pulls you in hard, threads of distance easily closed, and he presses his lips to yours with an intensity that feels vividly visceral. 

It won't fix what's already been done. This isn't a promise, falling short between being reassurance and becoming a goodbye. It isn't the way he would want to confess, if fate was kind enough to give him a choice. 

But Gods, logic and reason, worry and mortality are all melting into nothing. Fading and fizzing into the sky, budding and beginning anew in his lungs — because for so long, he has needed this, needed you. As fiercely as dead parchment longs to be burned. 

Your body immediately goes tense in surprise. Your arms awkwardly hover in place, until Viktor's head tilts, following the gentle aria, his palm brushing from your jaw to your cheek to hold you close — as though you're still prone to vanishing, if he were to let go. Like this is the beginning of too many firsts, and even more lasts. This kiss is worthy of savoring. 

So, you do. You let your eyes flutter closed. You shift forwards with a shaky step, practically stumbling into him. 

It's sweeter than you ever could have pictured. The subtle roughness to his chapped lips. The slight tickle of his breath, when you pull apart for long enough to hesitate, but not enough to gain the wisdom to stop. 

Soft kisses draw you further, closer. A hand holds his cheek, a palm braces to his shoulder. Careful to use little force, to avoid any accidental hurt. 

Viktor follows, leans back, has you bending closer as you get caught in his butterfly effect; blue light bathes you, and the Hexcore shifts, utterly radiant. There's a moment of separation, a brief second where your eyes barely get to flutter open. A pause that promises to be your last opportunity for regret. Greedy and urgent, brutally eager, Viktor drags you back in, keeping you caught in his penumbra. Coaxing you to cage him in — to kiss him like you mean it. 

The taste of you is vivid, perfect, intense, rich; you make charged electricity glitter down his spine when your fingers curl into the soft, chestnut tresses of his hair. Grasping, pulling, leaving it even messier than it already was before. 

Your lips part, your breath forms an intoxicating meld with his. And he is only foolishly, stupidly human. Made of flesh and bright dreams, etched with soft skin and fervent desires. Too weak, desperate, and caught in your echo to contemplate anything but the way his own name sounds — the V is a soft vibration, the completion of the consonants makes it sound like reverence — when it's breathed into his mouth. 

Hazily, he feels your palm press, shoving gently to his chest, pushing his back against the desk in a clumsy effort to bring yourself closer. His chair shifts slightly from the movement, rusted wheels grating the tile. Your palm finds its place between his lower back and the desk's firm edge, bracing some of his weight, and acting as a buffer, keeping him from pressing against it. 

Viktor melts underneath you, breathes a soft noise into your mouth that begs you not to stop — as if you could. As if you haven't wanted this in an unquantifiable amount of ways, across an infinitum of discarded daydreams. You're left to steal gasps in between, clinging onto quickened sighs that rival the struggle of keeping your head above water, as wild waves crash over your skull. 

Out of breath, he blindly fumbles to find your shoulder; pushes gently, silently asks you for a moment of reprieve. 

You draw back immediately. You're unable to stop yourself from shuddering when he softly breathes your name. Familiar accent curling around the syllables, giving them life and importance like your name was made for him to say. To whisper, to covet, to plead. 

"Lásko," Viktor coos, as his eyes grow heavy. Glinting, with a spark of zeal that tells you to stop holding back. 

You're well acquainted with the warm, softhearted nickname. You know it to be something Viktor taught you himself, between gentle explorations of the few things you didn't already know about one another, when your late-night curiosity and desire to learn led you to, Oh, and what name would you use for someone special? 

His jaw grits; his next words, murmured in his mother tongue, resemble a sharp, possessive swear. His head tilts with yours when you lean closer — but you shift, falling in to let your lips find his neck. 

The kisses you place there are hurried, desperate; like rays of light, as if you don't have time. Obediently, he stifles a whimper, and allows his head to fall back. It leaves plenty of room for your wandering hands to crinkle and press aside his shirt collar, and you place your lips on the firm, jutting curve of his collarbone. 

You find the twin moles on his neck tendon, blessing a kiss there, near desperate enough to bruise. You follow them like a treasure map, to kiss the perfectly-placed mole above his mouth. Your palms cup his face faintly. Then, you sweetly kiss the mark on his opposite cheek, your lips warm, laced with fervent sparks. 

Viktor shudders, he feels lighting race up his spine and split him open like a scythe. He's been avoiding his own declining reflection for weeks upon months now, but he doesn't need to remember much of himself to still know exactly where you're kissing, like the back of his hand. 

The ghost of your lips just above his mouth, and then to the apple of his cheek send a thick, syrup-sweet realization reeling through him. His moles. It reminds him of fingertips playfully tapping his face. Of soft comments and pretty compliments, portraits of his own image that he'd never forgotten because they were from you. 

When you hear the hitch in his breath, he swears he feels you smile against him. He's certain, once you shift back down to his neck, to repeat the process all over again. Placing messy kisses onto his soft skin, worshiping the intricacies he would've never thought were admirable. Memorizing each placement as though it's deliberate, like making a map of the night sky's constellations. And Viktor swallows, shakes, softens. 

Blindly, you search for where his hand has been kept at your side. You grasp it, and pursue the natural interlacing of fingers: yours fitting perfectly between the gaps of his. 

Trying not to shudder, failing when your breath fans against the right-angle corner of his jaw, he guides his free hand to trace the small of your back. His fingertips are gentle, hesitant. Careful brushes akin to a study, an exploration. 

With a dizzy mind and even more muddled thoughts, he doesn't expect when you support your weight by placing your knee on his stool, between his legs — when you lean in close and fast and hard, crashing your lips against his once more. One kiss isn't enough, so you kiss him again; you let yourself be pulled in on his current, and he forgoes breathing to drink you in instead. 

Your body arches into his touch, curves when his palm presses flat to your back, attempting to feel as much of you as possible. You want to be pliable beneath his warm hands like clay, because at least being molded would leave an imprint. You'd have something to remember what this meant, what his touch felt like. 

Seconds and minutes bleed into one another. You can barely tell where he begins, and you end. Two halves of the same anatomy, you can feel the thrum of his inherent light beneath your breastbone. 

The Hexcore watches. Pulses, hard enough to make pens begin to roll across the desk. To topple a precarious stack of diagrams, which sends a few papers fluttering to the ground, to make the steel marbles of a Newton's cradle clumsily clink together. 

Neither of you notice. The response Viktor's been searching for spikes just beyond his reach. You make him feel weightless, as though the fragility of his own vessel is more of an afterthought, until he could be ripped into fragments and you would be there to put him back together. Viktor's palm holds the back of your neck, his head tilts with yours, and you kiss. Falling into one another, only unfalling to breathe. Your atoms melt into his particles, blossoming a blur between your two shapes. Your heart pounds with his, to a rhythm so exact they could be mistaken for the same singular beat. 

Finally pulling away requires a mountain's worth of strength and effort. You only do so because you've got Viktor's back pressed hard against the desk, and he's practically about to fall off his chair. 

You both needed to breathe. It takes several moments for your head to stop spinning. You can barely focus on anything, but the bruising of your lips and the skip of your heartbeat. Stumbling back, sliding from his chair to offer him more room, you cup his jaw in both palms. Soft and blissfully tender, as though this is what they were made to hold. 

Viktor sighs hard, gasping heavily. His skin is slightly flushed, still warm to the touch. His gaze stays on you, basking in your afterglow. You're used to him flinching away. A slight hesitation always laces through his fingers when you try to grab his hand. His muscles tense on instinct whenever your arm wraps around him, braced to help support his weight. 

But this time, your palms hold his face, your thumbs brush his skin, and he melts into your touch, unburdened. Gaze fluttery, expression relaxed. Giving in at last, after countless ages of starvation. 

The low light of the lab, and the soft glow of the Hexcore's rune matrix — quiet, now — frame his face in outlines of shadow and hues of cerulean. Shades of blue meld with the honeycomb of his eyes, dulling the color. Clouds over a fading sun. 

He hears the slight shake in your breath first, before he feels a tiny droplet hit his cheek; and you're leaning forward, trying to hide. Eyes shut tight, as you rest your forehead against his. 

"Sorry, I-" Viktor murmurs, weak and faint. So quiet, you almost fail to hear. "I know this does not… fix things." 

Oh. He hasn't seen you cry since you were both kids. 

Viktor remembers clumsily trying to comfort you, making a crude somewhat-flower-pinwheel out of scrap metal as a gift, because he thought it wouldn't fix everything, but it might make things a little bit easier. For a time, anyway. 

Reality is often a cold, cruel overseer. Remembering how to breathe again brings sharp pain into his lungs, it returns an ache to his tired shoulders and his strained leg. His vision comes back into focus, his future returns to taunt him but this time, something is different. 

He feels a spark. A newfound wave of ambition. The radiant golden hour, before a bright, final breakthrough. 

"It's fine," You breathe, weak and fragile, with a meager shrug of your shoulders that says you are anything but. "I didn't expect it to." 

Viktor grasps your chin, gently shifting you back to give him space to look at you. His thumb brushes a stray droplet from your cheek. He tuts: a soft, teasing, tch sound. "Ah, but for a time, the world nearly felt miles away. Did it not?" 

His gaze is hopeful, almost nervous. Trying to gauge any slight shift in your reaction. Thankfully, his voice seems to swiftly bring you back to life. You laugh a bit, wiping the remainder of tears away with the back of your hand; there's the smile he's always admired. 

"Like we were melting into each other," You admit, a little shy, tenderly wistful. Your heart unfurls in your chest like a bright, pretty blossom. It's fitting for the both of you to recollect, to try and analyze the intricacies of every situation. "It was…" 

You're pausing, trying to find the right description, as you rest your arms around his shoulders in something of a half-hug. It was lovely? Captivating? Addicting? 

You shake your head. You're glancing away, because even remembering kissing him is enough to make your heart pound, enough to tempt you to pull him in again. Viktor tilts you back towards him, his finger lightly tapping your jaw. 

"Hm- Breathtaking?" He muses, "Better than you could have dreamed?" 

The brief lilt of confidence he embodies, words smooth as they're carried on his accent, pleasantly reminds you of when he was younger. Far too composed, and eager to prove himself. He follows it through, coaxing you forwards with a palm to your side. You're gentle; most of your weight, you support yourself, until Viktor pulls you down, patiently and decidedly guiding you to settle against his lap. 

"You know," You're cooing, head tilted, "That sounds an awful lot like a confession." 

You can see each subtle heave of Viktor's chest, expanding with every long breath he takes in. It's a tight fit. His stool is barely wide enough to accommodate himself, let alone you. His brace presses into the back of your leg just slightly: jutting metal, protruding bolts. The spread of his thighs leaves you with a small amount of space, but still forces your body to press awfully close to his. 

You're in the perfect position to witness every detail of his face. His tired eyes, the curve of his jaw, the slant of his nose. His thick brows pinch slightly, forming a faux pout, and you reach up. You brush your thumb from his temple to his brow, relishing in the instant softening of his expression. 

"Perhaps it is one. Or, actually-" Viktor hums, inquisitive. "It contains the potential to be one, if I decided to elaborate." 

"Oh? Enlighten me." 

A pause. Viktor bites the inside of his cheek as he ruminates, and your fingertips push fluffy strands of hair from his face to tuck behind his ears. 

"For so long, I… ached to be close to you." His tone is calm, temperate. It twists a shiver up your spine, cool and heaven-sent. His palm trails and caresses your face; a lesson in restraint, as he tries to stop himself from pulling you in once more. "It was a pipe dream. I assumed I was… too late." 

"I thought- I was sure you didn't-" Your shoulders grow tense and the bridge of your nose knots up, you twirl a strand of his hair around your finger and pull it away to admire the resounding curl. "Since when?" 

Viktor exhales. "We have been effectively inseparable since the day we met, I am certain you still remember when the Undercity kids would laugh and- and make jabs at my obvious crush. But, you are searching for something specific. In that case, there is one instance." 

This time, you don't have to ask him to elaborate. 

A palm tracing down the column of your neck, idle yet admiring, Viktor takes one more steady, deep breath. "It was the Progress Day after we had finalized the Hexgates. The council's afterparty was… stifling. I was fortunate to have convinced you to attend. You wore such gorgeous attire. Jayce commented, stated I was unable to take my eyes off of you. I denied it. In hindsight, it was more than obvious." 

The party was hardly your usual scene. Viktor was always the one who wound up convincing you to attend every Progress Day. 

He'd mention you should vouch for your contributions, try to mingle. You were fine with dressing up for an hour or two, but all of the drinking and fraternizing — you found the presentations about new technology to be interesting, but everything to happen afterwards was tiring, to put it bluntly. 

The occasion then was more special than most, though. There was a difference in the way Viktor asked you, sounding hopeful and stress-bound. It seemed important to him, and so it was doubly precious to you. 

"I joined you on the balcony, once I was able to shake the flocks of investors." Viktor continues, thinking, thumbing through all of the details, "You'd been saving a cocktail for me all night, if you remember. Something made with rum- apple cider, I believe." 

Viktor recalls overhearing several of your conversations. Your excitement to show off what you invented together was palpable. You made the room shine, he thinks. He watched you go on and on, when you thought he wasn't listening, assuming he was busy with his own consultations. Viktor zoned out of them, truly. Once the day's festivities are over, the rich folk of Piltover are more interested in finances than progress. 

Your words were so kind. Viktor is amazing, have you met him yet? Every sponsor and socialite would know your partner to be intelligent, inventive, incredible. He doesn't compare. It's funny, how Viktor saw the same qualities in you. 

For most of the night, you were separated; Viktor was busy with the swarm of fancy patrons, all of Piltover's finest hoping to get the latest gossip on what the partner to the Man of Progress would come up with next. Luckily, the both of you chose the same hideaway to try and escape the crowd. 

"I had been waiting for such a moment- to speak with you. You offered me your congratulations. Complimented me, on my performance of the short speech you helped me to memorize. And… so clearly, I remember you said, 'I'm so proud, Viktor. But I knew you could do this.'" 

I knew you could. No underestimations, never a doubt in his potential. You believed in him, even when no-one else did. When there weren't eager investors and a fawning council, just you and him, the suffocating smog of the Undercity, and his foolish dreams. Within the gaps in between, your praises sung as loud, unbidden, echoing strums. 

He supposes he's going to have to ask again for your faith, just one more time. 

Viktor's gaze stays focused down, for a moment. Contemplative, emotional. 

"I almost kissed you right then." He glances up to you, finally. "But-" He hums, then sighs, "There were benefactors still lingering just beyond the balcony, some of which already decided to inquire extensively about my personal life. I would have hated for our first kiss to incite such a scene." 

Viktor admires the tender kindling of gentleness on your face. Slightly pained, despite the hints of softness. It's his cue to find your cheek, to hold you close and oh-so softly like he did from the start; the cliff before the waterfall, his first step in to drown with you. 

Nothing will ever return to simplicity. But Viktor refuses to regret this, decides he should face it head on. Every building conflict, these budding emotions, the remnants of how your lips felt on his; tenderly unforgettable, a crucial step that he refuses to forget. 

You can feel the slight tremble to his fingers, the calluses on his palm — 

"Vik-" 

"I need to have your trust." 

Your eyes widen. 

"Viktor," You're starting again, "You already do- you always have. I don't want you to hesitate, you can-" 

"No, no, the Hexcore," Viktor corrects. He takes a quick glance between you, and the shifting runes of his project's surface. Glowing and fluctuating, a marvel even when it is dormant. "There is much I have not yet told the council. Nor Jayce, nor you." 

A newfound flicker of conviction blazes behind his sun-bound eyes. A brightened enthusiasm to solve any puzzle he's presented with, a key twisted into a door that he never thought would open. 

Your gaze is curious, attentive, then clearly conflicted, and he feels his jaw start to tighten. In spite, he continues, speaks with his entire chest, even though his hands tremor at the thought, and his voice is much too soft and broken and he hates the sound it makes when it's breaking — 

"You are the one thing I cannot lose." Viktor holds your face lovingly, captures you in a statue-like state of devotion, as he fights against the gnawing roughness at the back of his throat. "I believe I can solve this, but I need to know that to any end, you will follow. Please." 

It's something he's already sure of, against the faint threads of doubt in his mind. Of course you would, if he was the one to ask. The both of you are knit together as endlessly as the lines that connect the constellations, he just needs to hear you say it. 

You offer him a weakened smile, your touch brushing the curve of his face like fingertips would caress the arch of a flower's petal. "Do what you think is right. I trust you." 

Viktor softens. 

There's bittersweet catharsis in finally admitting the truth, along with an endless chasm threatening to swallow him whole — and for now, for the rest of the night, at least, he wants nothing more than to fall in with you. 

"My love," He murmurs; he draws you close, with the pull of the sea to the moon. He dares to press one more faint kiss to your cheek, despite knowing how infinitely difficult it will be to pull away. "My inspiration," A kiss to the opposite cheek, then. "My little spark." 

The lab remains quiet, dark, save for the low hum, and the glowing orbit of the Hexcore. Viktor leans his head against your chest, relaxes further once you begin gently toying with his hair. And finally, fully, he allows his heavy eyes to close. 

[youryanderedaddy]

Yandere! Eden

tw: nsfw, female reader, non - con, degradation, hinted captivity, obsessive behavior, size difference

You fight him, goddamit, that's the worst part - you always try to fight him with all you've got, with sharp nails and smooth teeth, with your hands, your knees, with the closest pillow (since he rarely lets you touch anything with a proper egde). You give it your best - your hardest, you scratch and bite like a wild animal, getting your tears and saliva everywhere and yet... all your efforts only seem to amuse him.

"This is all you've got, princess?" He taunts as he holds you down with one hand (albeit, probably bigger than your head) while the other strips you bare with ease. "C'mon, you should make it more difficult for me. It's no fun when you just lay there and take it." He chuckles as you squirm in his hold - and the sound fills you with suffocating cold dread. Like a particularly nasty, sticky cough it sinks to your chest, making it hard to breathe through the fury and shame.

You get even more feral, thrashing and kicking without order or direction - desperate to show him that you're not a meek victim, that you are not going down without a fight. But it's all pointless - you barely move an inch as he roughly spreads your naked legs, pushing you to your back with eyes full of malice - induced lust and drunken need for violence.

"It's like you're not even trying." His hot breath tickles your ear, forcing your baby hairs to stand prickly. The overwhelming smell of strong cologne, unmistakenly masculine, makes you even more lightheaded and scared with unevitable anticipation. "It's like you actually want me." He whispers darkly, gripping your waist painfully with both hands. "Is that so, baby? You want the big bad wolf to mount you down and take you?" He bites your neck playfully, but the ache is deep and throbbing within you. "Violate you?"

You shake your head rapidly, holding back scorching hot tears. No, no, you try to scream, but the lump in your throat is so heavy it prevents any sound from coming out.

"I know, baby, I know." Eden caresses your wet cheeks almost tenderly - if not for the scratches his claws leave behind on your soft skin. "I'm just messin' with you." The hunter rasps, fingers entangled deep into your locks. "I know you don't want any of this. Not my touch-" He lets go of your hair. "or my lips-" He kisses along your jawline, hungrily lapping at the salty tear stains. "And certainly not my big, throbbing cock up your tight little pussy." He gloats, lining up his shaft with your entrance. "But you are still going to take it, won't you?"

He stares at you intently, as if waiting for you to say something.

"Won't you, princess?" The man slaps you, voice a tad more irritated now. You quickly nod, terrified to your shaking bones - and only then does he smile again, sweetly. "Of course you will." He goes back to stroking your hair as he starts to slowly force his length into your unwilling, quivering quim.

"Because that's just how the world works, no? Pathetic little sluts get fucked by big, strong men like me. They get fucked over and over again until their poor little brains turn to mush. Don't they?" He chuckles with clear condescension as he finally begins to thrust int you - making sure his cock is all the way in before he pulls out and brutally shoves it again. Sick glee fills his scarred face as he watches your womb strain to accommodate the pulsing force brushing against your lower belly from the inside. This time you nod weakly before he has a reason to strike you.

"Such a good girl, accepting her place underneath me." Eden groans, growing flushed as he feels your walls squeeze against his intrusive thrusts. "You know this is all you're good for anyways. Just a warm hole and a pretty face for me to ruin." He gropes your breasts crudely, pinching your nipples with his fingertips. "Just look at you... what a wet little mess you are. It's like your body is begging for it - even if those treacherous lips deny the truth. You should be thanking me. If I wasn't claiming this sweet-" He makes a point to slam right into your most sensitive spot, making your toes curl despite your protests. "tight heat of yours, you'd be dead meat already. Just a chew toy for the wolves."

You make an uncomprehensible sound as the pain dulls and gives way to damp, humiliating pleasure. You bite your tongue to muffle the moans, but this only stirs him further - taking it as a challenge to make you sing for him. He keeps fucking into you, dragging you up and down like a feather.

"You're lucky I love you so much." The hunter sighs, voice softening to a whisper. "You're lucky I like it when you cry for me." He reaches to wipe away a falling tear. "So you better thank me, princess." He grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. Burning hot flames greet you, but all you feel is ice.

"Thank you, Eden."

[emmyrosee]

Currently in my sakusa phase gimmie what u got girl😭🫶

some soft Kiyoomi for the soul ☹️🫶🏻

Sakusa notices things go missing when you come over.

Nothing out of the ordinary at first- the last of his favorite protein bar, more than a few sips of his soda on the rare occasions he indulges, an extra towel ends up in the wash, but nothing that would make him speak up. You're comfortable, and he's thrilled.

Until-

"Those don't even fit you!"

You leave house the next morning in his sweatshirt, a pair of his sweatpants, two mismatching socks and a pair of slides that dangle off your foot. "Relax," you giggle. "I'm just running out to my car."

"Yeah, next thing i know you're nine miles down the road in my clothes!" He scoffs. "I never see my favorite sweats, or hoodie, or socks again!" He plants himself in front of the door, and you cock a brow at him in challenge.

"Is this how it's going to be?" You snicker. "Blocking the exit? What would 16 year old Kiyoomi think of such foolishness?"

"He'd think 'hey, aren't those my sweats?'"

You offer him a full string of laughter before trying to push past him, only for him to lean to the left, shutting you in. You make a move to the right, but he follows you, a smirk wide on his face.

"Go away!" You laugh. "I need my charger."

"Oh you're so planning on booking with my sweats!" He scoffs, and when you shake your head, he's quick to pick you up and off the floor, ignoring your screams and flailing limbs. "You are not leaving this house in my clothes!"

"You're just mad because I look better in them than you do!" You manage.

Silence.

"Oh, you're going to get it now."

"NAAAAAAOOOO!" You shriek, fighting your hardest in his grip to no avail. He swiftly tosses you on the bed, body immediately chasing yours and pinning you to the bed. Within an instant, playful touches disguised as punches gently press to your torso, the tickly feeling making you fight more, shoving his shoulders and face away.

Only for him to dive face first into your neck, biting and kissing the tender flesh there. You shriek, hiking up your shoulders to try and squish his face away, to no avail.

"Okay!" You whine. "I wanted to take them! I did! Just let me go!" Your words, deep down, have no real desperation to them, this side of kiyoomi is your weakness, and you'd happily be tormented by him if it meant you'd feel his smile against your skin and the playfulness in the air.

"Knew it," he snickers, pulling his face back and smiling hard enough where the dimple on his left cheek is showing. "Brat."

"You're a brat... bullying me." You huff dramatically, "just wanted a pair of sweats so I could always be cuddling you somehow."

He rolls his eyes and leans down to press a kiss to your lips, "I'll show you bully." When he pulls back again, he looks you up and down, adoration in his eyes and a sigh leaving his lips. "You do look better than me in them," he chuckles. "What kind of boyfriend would I be if I took them from you?"

"The worst."

"The worst," he agrees.

[fantasylandloser]

Winner

Pairing: Coach!Tashi x fem!Reader x Coach!Art

Warnings: 18+, smut, too filled with shame to proofread, dom!tashi, sub!art, sub!reader, mentions of spanking, tashi is so mean in this, art is basically a prop with minimal lines, idk

*******

Training with Tashi Duncan and her husband was an honor. You knew that. You did your very best to remember that; which was hard to do when she had days like this. 

“Are you scared of the fucking ball?” You shake your head, but you know better than that at this point. 

“Speak up!” You flinch before you can stop yourself. 

“No, I'm not scared of the ball.” You say.

“I would hope not- considering how long you’ve been doing this. That’d surely be a disappointment to your little fan club that you love so much. “ Tashi watched the way your eyebrows tinge only for a moment, at the mention of the onlookers who follow your career closely. 

It was no secret that you had a great appreciation for the love that they’d shown you, but it was almost like you were completely unaware of how quickly it would be gone if you weren’t up to par at all times. 

From afar Art watched the scene play out. You were the player that Tashi was the hardest on. He was sure it was to do with the fact that you were just like her. Well except for the fact that you lacked confidence in your abilities. Another reason she was hard on you. She wouldn’t see your potential wasted. But you worked hard like her, tennis was the love of your life like her. 

He watched as Tashi served to you, intense and laser focused. Then you, playing back with the same intensity and just as passionate. It’s almost magical to watch until you hesitate and miss the ball. 

Tashi’s on your ass before the ball can even hit the ground. “What’s wrong with you? Why aren’t you in it?” 

You stammer a reply that Art can’t hear. Probably an apology. His feet are moving closer before he can even think of a reason why. 

“No, tell me. What’s got you so off your game lately? Because you’re not going to fucking embarrass me at your next matches because you can’t get your head out your ass.”

“Tash lighten up.” He’s ignored which is to be expected. She stares at you intensely awaiting your answer. 

“How am I supposed to lighten up when she’s playing like she never held a racket before, huh?” Again she sees the twitch in your eyebrows. Good, you’re angry. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know-” Tashi holds up her hand. She doesn’t want your apology. 

“You know what- if you don’t want to tell me what the problem is,” She grabs your phone which has been continuously lighting up since you started. “I’m sure this will.’

You draw in a breath of air in surprise but you make no move to stop her. Your eyes wide at the invasion, but still ever so respectful even when your privacy is being violated. 

Almost immediately her eyebrows sprout up. “I thought we agreed on no boyfriends for this reason?” she shakes her head continuing to scroll through your phone as if it were hers. Art draws closer to her in interest, now intrigued about your phone as well, 

“He’s not my boyfriend.” You’re embarrassed, your grip on your racket tightening as you get angry at the way she’s shaming you.

“Obviously.” She mutters. She pauses a moment, both her and Art sharing a look and you know they’ve gotten to the most mortifying part. 

“Well if something would shake someone’s confidence it would be that.” You cringe, finally going to take your phone back only to be pushed back by Tashi.

“What did we talk about when it came to how you let people talk to you off the court and how it affects your game on the court?” You barely refrain from rolling your eyes.

“I can’t control what other people say” You can’t stop the edge in your voice. 

“But you can control what you say. You didn’t even try to stand up for yourself. This-” She shoves the phone at you with a picture of you half naked with the word unfuckable, in the center of the screen. “Is pathetic. “ You look away when she starts scrolling more like you don’t already know the rest of the verbal assault that had been issued towards you, and then a video of your so-called boyfriend with your next opponent and the lewd graphics that came with it. 

“What the fuck am I supposed to say to that?” You don’t mean for your response to be so angry. Or for the hot tears that started burning your eyes to fall. But the frustrations of your day had started to take a toll on you. So when you finally snatch your phone back from Tashi and get ready to storm off you miss the pleased look on her face. Art doesn’t though, he almost shakes his head knowing it was her intention to rile you up in the first place.

She raises an eyebrow at him, and just as she expects him to, he wraps his arm around you and pulls you close. The perfect good cop. “It’s okay, kid.” You’re tense in his arms, it reminds him of the times he’s tried to comfort Tashi and she wouldn’t allow it, but after a few moments of him rubbing your back you finally relax. .

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-” You start, but Tashi interrupts. 

“Apologize for standing up for yourself and I’ll make you run until you pass out.” You wipe your eyes roughly and nod. Stepping away from Art’s hug and trying your best to put your game face back on. 

“You got that out of your system now?” You nod again, but after a pointed gaze you speak.

“Yes.” 

“Good now let’s talk about how you respond to this kind of bad sportsmanship.” 

******

The outfit Tashi has you in, is just barely appropriate, You look focused, despite the whistles you’ve received on your way in. You look a little angry actually. 

Art glances at Tashi beside him, who looks all too pleased. “What’d you do?” 

“I didn’t have to do anything.” She’s almost bragging. He follows her line of sight to Tashi’s opponent and sees her and your not boyfriend smirking at you. 

He wants to ask Tashi if she thinks this will shake your confidence more, but then he looks back at you laser focused as you stretch and he decides not to question it. 

The match starts off intense with your serve. Your opponent looks surprised and even though she quickly recovers. Art can tell that this will be a win for you even though he knows Tashi despises that kind of over confident thinking. 

As the match continues Tashi is gripping her seat for support. So enthralled in the game and invested in the fearlessness you’re displaying she can barely contain herself. 

At one point during a break you’re caught trash talking your opponent. Tashi is sure to get you for it later. Even though the only thing she hears clearly is “enjoy my sloppy seconds” with a saccharine smile on your face. The deduction you receive is definitely worth it. 

When you win as expected. Tashi is nearly buzzing and Art can’t hold back his excitement either. 

****

“See this is what happens when you’re a winner.” Tashi tells you. She quite literally holding Art’s balls as he fucks into you. 

“Winners are fuckable, tell her Art.” He gasps, feeling her squeeze him. 

“Fuck-” He breathes. “Did so good.” You spasm around him at the praise, pulling a loud groan from him. “Knew you were gonna win, kid.”

Your whines and whimpers are muffled by Tashi’s hand. “Fuck her faster, she’s gonna come.” Art obeys immediately despite the fact that he is much too close himself. Your eyes roll back at the change of pace. 

“There you go.” She squeezes Art’s balls once you start cumming so that he can too. He tries to pull himself out of you before but he can’t and leaves a sticky mess all over your cunt. “Fuck”

Tashi mounts you before you can stop twitching, lining her pussy up with yours, holding your leg over her shoulder. “Now next time I tell you to do something,, you’ll listen to me.” She starts slowly, spreading the mixture of both you and Art’s orgasm on both of you. 

“Isn’t that right?” You nodding makes her speed up, giving you that look of disapproval. 

“Use your words.”

“Yes, yes, yes I’ll listen to you.”

“Yeah I know you will, because now you know what good girls get.” She continues to grind against you skilfully.

“And next time you don’t listen to me-” You feel your core tense up again. “I will spank you until you cry.” Just like that you’re gone again. The masochistic side of you envisioning the picture that will haunt your fantasies until you get it. 

You don’t realize the loud moan you hear is you, until Art is kissing you sloppily to silence your cries. ‘You like that don’t you?” You hear Tashi say. You want to tell her yes but you can’t with Art’s tongue down your throat. You think she knows the answer anyway.

The contrast between the way that Tashi is fucking you so vigorously and the slow kisses Art is giving you puts your head in a spin. On top of that your overstimulated clit is making it hard for you to think at all. 

“Coach please-” You beg. “My pussy can’t;” You’re cut off immediately. 

“Who knows what's best for you? Me or you?”

“You!” By this time tears are flowing down your face, as you feel another orgasm building all too quickly. Art wipes them, then moves his hands down to pinch your nipples. 

“Exactly. Now cum.”

[tan1shere]

HOW EACH BILLIE ERA IS IN BED

A/n: Hey guys ! Got this idea and thought I'd do what I think billie would be like in bed ! I hope you all enjoy, this is definitely a little different but enjoy it while I work on other things for you MUAH - also thank you for allllll the love on her favorite 💖 there's two other billie series in the works 👀 ANYWAYS ENJOY

! This is starting from when she was 18 ofc and she still had the green then so we will begin w that. - this is just for fun please don't take things too literal this is just how I think she would be. !

Not proof read !

GREEN ROOTS

- I feel like this era she is definitely more on the dominant side (like most of these will be except for one. I'm gunna try my hardest since I don't see her as a sub, you're welcome sub billie enthusiasts.) This was on from silver hair billie and she was a menace. So I feel like that menacingness is still within her.

^how I see it^

◇ I feel like she could either be a rough dom during this time or a soft one there's no in between ! One day she could decide she needs that relief and to consensually take it out on you. Other days she'd just need you in a softer way, comforting sex.

◇ she's very protective of you ESPECIALLY during this time and sex. She always makes sure you feel safe no matter the situation. It's her priority. Even if you are both fully new to things you'd provide that for one another.

◇ you'd sometimes not behave for this era, why ? Because she could easily get wound up. But it wad so hot.

"Are you nuts?" She asks, putting her stuff down. You had just been at some party when this girl was flirting with you. You ofcourse had no interest, but you saw how jealous Billie got. It was cute. So you decided to play with fire. "Oh come on, it was no-" Her hand lands on your jaw. "Don't mess with me. You knew good and well." You giggle, making her furrow her brows. "You're just so jealous huh?" The furrow deepens. "I am not." You up the anti with a smirk. "So, hypothetically if I were to let her do more. Touch me. You wouldn't want that to be you? You would want that? To-" But just like before you were cut off. "Just shut up." She says kissing you. Yeah, she was jealous.

◇ with that said she could be incredibly protective, causing jealousy to come easy. You reassured her countless times she was the only one you'd ever want and need.

"You're mine, got it?" She tells you, the thick strap sliding in and out if you. "All mine. Say it." You let a moan slip. "A-all yours Bills. Promise." Her head dips down, kissing your lips. "Yeah, mine."

Kinks: with this one there isn't that many as you both are starting out. But there is one ! She is obsessed with missionary, being close to you as possible, having you secure in the position.

BLONDE

- now this era I can see her being a switch. This era was definitely both, oxytocin and swarm ?? Yeah. Dom. Not much more to say about that. This era she was also experimenting more with her femininity, so I do see her as potentially being just a bit more subby aswel.

^how I see it^

◇ blonde billie is forever in awe of you, at your disposal. Since she is a switch you'd either get obliterated or turned on by her on her knees for you.

◇ (this era, sub) Billie will always beg, she forever craves you. Her wines and moans, send you mental.

"Please please please. Need more." Her voice high pitched. Her hands grabbing ahold of your thighs as she ate you out. You grip her blonde hair, pulling her back but she whines. "Noooo." You giggle. "Naww but why not." She pouts at you, you give into the look. Releasing her head as she dives back in.

^I tried for that one ok, sorry if its blew I just personally don't see her like that so it's harder to execute^

◇ (this era, dom) she incredibly relentless, oxytocin was definitely about you. Keeping with the switch theme she could either be a soft dom or rough one, you never knew what you'd be getting. Rough days, she will not let you move, like a rabid animal she will pin you down and relentlessly rails you. Soft dom billie will be so assuring and sweet, aserting her power over you. Being so gentle while doing so.

"Gunna fuck you so good, you won't remember your own name." She says, pinning your arms above your head as her thrusts become harsher and harsher. "Bil-" Her head shakes. Grabbing your jaw. "Uh uh, speak properly." Her eyes were warning. "Mommy.." You breathe. "Good fucking girl." She growls.

Your body moves all over the bed as she fingers you, watching your face as it contorts, she loves having you like this. Getting reactions out of you like it's nothing. "Talk to me angel. This feel good baby?" You nod. "Words, sweetheart." - "Ye- yes.. feels sooo. Good." You moan as her finger curls, watching your eyes roll back with such pleasure. Biting your lip as the feeling intensifies. "Very good, for me."

Kinks: talking you through it, you being in control. Main two she adores

BLACK W BANGS

- again dominant but sooo cheeky and feral. She was very open and risky

^how I see it^

◇ such a fucking menace and a tease you'd have the most fun with this era. Saying that she'd forever do the simplest touches in public but they were always very affective.

◇ going back to this era being risky she would not care if you were in public. For example she'd always rest a hand on your thigh at the movies, leading it up to your needy cunt. And oh boy the teasing touches made you go mental. Or if you were at a restaurant. This woman simply didn't care she needed her hands on you.

◇ bathrooms are another place, whether it be at a mall or a party she'd always drag you away to have her fun.

"Billie, someone could hear." She smirks. "Best be quiet then huh?" Your eyes full with worry, but that excitement peaks through,as embarrassing as that sounds. But Billie almost wants people to hear you, hear how risky it could be. Hear everything only to walk out of this party letting everyone know it was her doing. Her making you squirm and whimper. Her hands slide up your dress moving it. "B-" Her lips crash onto yours, keeping you quiet for now. But she was sure as hell not helping you later on. And when that time comes she speeds up, having you gasping for air. Someone then comes in, obviously not to pee but to stand around gawking at the mirror no doubt. Your eyes widen in fear. Going to put your hand over your mouth but she grav your wrists, quietly putting them above your head, against the door. Your legs tremble, so close to letting slip a moan. Billies finger raises to her lips, signaling for you to be quiet. The return to your wrists keeping them there. This fucking woman.

Kinks: public affection, Agoraphilia ! She adores to be risky with you, knowing you get shy. It just fuels her.

RED ROOTS

- I feel like in this era she's full dom, more on the rougher side too. Red roots is truly a menace!

^how I see it^

◇ this mf is a teaser, she would gladly edge you until your literally in tears, having such a wicked smirk on her face.

◇ you would never disobey this era. And if you even did it wouldn't end good for you.

Her fingers were deep, then they weren't. "Hmm all this squirming when you asked for this. You knew what I'd do. What I'm capable of baby." You whine, you regret it so much. She's been edging you for three hours straight. You decided to mess with her since you hadn't ever. Now you never, ever will again if this is the outcome. "Told you I wasn't kidding."

◇ this era was very protective, bringing that jealousy out more so. Having an arm around you always at events or parties. She had to make it known you were hers.

She had been pulled aside by people, making you look around aimlessly. A female stood beside you. "Hey gorgeous." She seemed sincere. But as soon as Billie caught sight she excused herself from whatever was keeping her. "Oh hi." You smile sweetly. No. Only she could make you smile like that. She comes up behind you, setting a dominating hand at the base of your neck. You knew those rings. Those cold, rings. You don't even need to turn around. "Hey baby." Her lips meet your jaw, giving it a long kiss. Her hand never moving once. "Oh hi Billie." Billie had no clue who she was. "Mhmm, I'd be on the way now." You grab her hand as the woman leaves. "Play nice." Her brow raises. "Careful mama." Her movements are swift into grabbing your own wrists. "Don't start something you know damn well you can't finish." - "You could've been nicer." You say sweetly. You were just so stupid. According to her. "Nice huh? Sure, but i won't be so nice later." ... fuck.

◇ this era stuck to her words so when you disobeyed even in the slightest she'd immediately put you back in your place.

"Come on baby, thought you said you were done being a bratty little bitch." You nod vigorously. "Was I wrong?" You couldn't speak even if she was after that. "So I should go through with a punishment?" Your head shakes. "Then answer me." You let out a breath. "N-no, I promise I won't do it again." Her head tilts. "That's what you said last time baby. You lied to me." And that's all you remember. It had been nearly two hours, the sheets were ruined from countless orgasms, countless missed orgasms. All in one sitting. "Told you. You just didn't listen huh bub?" - "Just a dumb whore." You whimper, needing to cum. You were so far gone, so down bad for this woman. "Daddy please, please need it so bad." She smirks. "What, to release? Only good girls cum. I don't think you've earned that title." You whine. "B-but.." She shakes her head. "Prove to me youre sorry and you won't do it again." You'd think the tears would prove that but that was certainly not enough. "Won't do it ever again, wanna be goof for you. Please let me cum, please daddy. I'll be the best for you always. And if I don't. Next punishment will be.." You sigh not wanting to even put the idea into her head. "The vibrator that you have full control of." Shes officially satisfied. "Good girl, setting your own punishments. Better stick to your own word huh?" You nod. "Cum."

Kinks: degrading, and being called daddy, orgasm control.

BROWN

- kinda getting back into the greenish era like silver Billie, such a menace but I can SO see this era being a soft dom. Can't change my mind.

^how I see it^

◇ she so talks you through it, words soft and alluring. Her favorite thing to do is tell you how good youre being for her.

"Being suuuuch a good girl, huh baby?" You are a complete mess, moaning. Whimpering. Her choice of words, her voice. How could you not whimper. As she thrusts her fingers in you can't help but want more. "Please Billie." She just smiles down at you. "You want more, hm?" You nod. "Words sweet thing. Use that beautiful voice." Your eyes shut momentarily. "Need the strap, please. Need it deep." You confess. She was proud. As anything, hearing you ask so specifically. "Then thats what my baby shall get."

◇ but even if you weren't being good just one simple look would make you fall to your knees. You try and you do it fairly often but man is it hot to see her putting you in your place with just her eyes.

◇ the way she talks to you, it's so gentle, shes imperious. In the best way. Guiding you all the time. She's grown so much and is so much more mature now. Showing that.

◇ this era would never be rough with you, she's just too obsessed with you, always making you feel secure in the bedroom.

"Too much." You sigh, but who were you kidding it made you spiral more. The strap hitting angles you didn't know was possible. "Never too much, I know you baby." - "You take me sooo well. So good." Her kisses linger on your neck as shes nestled in the crook. "F-fuck! Feels so good." You moan into her ear as her thrusts never stop being powerful. "Exactly my point babygirl."

◇ having a kink in wanting to get you pregnant. She curses the fact that she can't do it automatically.

"Wanna fill you up." She says softly, feeding both of your secret desires. "Gunna have a mini us running around." She snaps her hips forward forcefully. "N-need to feel it. Please Billie." She smirks, loving how desperate you sound. "Yeah ? Wanna feel how deep I can shoot it into you. Maybe even make you have twins, fuck!" She says as you squeeze around the strap. Almost as if it was actually hers. You back arches, gushing within and instant on her. The squirting dildo doing the exact same.

Kinks: praising, breeding.

Tags: @trulyy-yourzz @eilishslut @brat-at-the-disco @iluvapplesxh @chrissv4mp @n0vabug @dollyvuu

[demonic0angel]

(Danny got a little trouble with the Box Ghost)

"Hey Master Danny, today looks like the perfect time for a little house cleaning," Alfred smiled while handing the boy a feather duster. "And since the attic is getting a little musky, you will be doing that first."

"Why not you?" Danny questioned.

"Because I have some errands to do in town." Alfred said.

He sighed as Alfred turned and headed out.

"Looks like I've to take care the manor, then..." Danny sighed.

(Later)

Danny coughed while walking up the stairs to the attic, finding LOTS of dust and spider webs including some boxes in the pitch black area.

He was trying his hardest not to cough up a lung and keep his eyes from watering constantly as he opened the window to try and air it out. "Disgusting."

As he coughed, he pulled out a flashlight and turned it on.

Click.

The Box Ghost was here too.

Danny stared at him. He stared back.

They both stared at each other.

Without warning, Danny immediately threw himself at the Box Ghost in order to contain him. He tried to close the flaps of a cardboard box with the Box Ghost inside as he shrieked and cried, "I am the Box Ghost! How dare you try to contain me in boxes!"

"Shut up! My grandpa is in the house!" Danny hissed. "How did you even get here?! I'm not in Amity Park anymore!"

The Box Ghost moved away from his grip, darting out of reach as he then said guiltily, "We got lonely, so we're taking turns to see you."

"Are you kidding me?!"

The door to the attic opened and Alfred popped his head in. The Box Ghost disappeared in a puff.

"Is something the matter, young master Danny?"

"No, nothing! I'm okay! Just attacked by..." he looked down at his dusty, messy self, "Uh, dust bunnies."

Alfred seemed deadpan and exasperated but he wasn't going to push. He just nodded slowly. "Well, thank you for cleaning the attic for this poor old man. It's been causing me much difficulty."

Danny could only nod in guilt.

Alfred was unfortunately only going to have even more difficulties if Danny's rogues were going to come to Gotham to see him.

[tyunniez]

doggy

x bttm m reader // smut

 his dick shoved its way into your hole, repeating its motion of going in and out of it. " awh, look at the scary gangster. reduced to nothing but a puppy in my hands~ ", the president mocked you.

 you hung your head down in shame and arousal, his degrading words making you want to cry from embarrassment and pleasure. the president slapped your cheek, making you jolt up.

 " hey doggy, tell me is it good? am i making you feel good? " the president asked you while caressing your red ass. you nodded quickly, afraid of angering him.

 he however was not satisfied with your response and grabbed you by the hair, forcing you to his level and causing you to arch your back. " i asked you a question, doggy. ", his hot breath fanned itself on your cheek.

 his commanding voice sent shivers up your spine, the degrading nickname only making you more excited. " y-yes sir, you make me feel so good.. " you pathetically replied.

 he scoffed and let go of your hair, making you slam back onto his table. " look at you, bent over the president's desk. i wonder how people would react to seeing you like this. "

 he leaned back and thrust himself back in, " the oh-so-scary delinquent is actually just a cum dump for the president. how cute! ", he continued degrading you while ruining your insides.

 your drool seeped out of your mouth as a lewd smile plastered on your face. you gripped the desk below you in an attempt to hold yourself up. you knew even if you fell down he would manhandle you anyway.

 a soft moan escaped your mouth as your eyes rolled back in pleasure. " mmh.. i'm so close! please, please let me cum! pleasee!" you begged him, the knot inside you almost bursting.

 he laughed on top of you and held the back of your neck, lightly choking you from above. " you think you deserve to cum, doggy? ". you nodded, spewing about how good you've been and how many fights you've avoided lately.

 " hmm, then cum. go on, puppy~ ". as soon as he said that, you couldn't contain yourself any longer and came. white ropes shot out of your dick as he continuously rammed into you.

 " fuck so good.. thank you thank you..." You mumbled out. you tried your hardest to keep your eyes open but failed, your tiredness soon consumed you.

 a harsh slap to your ass jolted you up, and a whine came out of your mouth as you looked back at him. " hey now, i still haven't cum yet. you're going to stay awake until i'm done with you, okay doggy? " 

[woso-dreamzzz]

Leaving VII

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: Olympic chaos with your sister

Y/NPutellas.S has started a live video. Click to join!

"-Got two backpacks," You're saying as Alexia clicks on your video," I think one of them might become my racket bag because the one I'm using right now is falling apart."

You shove the bags away, glancing around the space as you drag more towards you.

"There's a toiletry bag as well which is full of stuff I probably won't even use."

You pause as you scroll through the comments.

"What sport am I competing in? Oh, I'm doing tennis...Who will be the hardest to play against? Iga, always. I train with her most of the time and I think I've only beaten her a few matches this year. She's scary. Coco always gives me a good competition too. I think she text me a few hours ago but I haven't answered just yet."

You go back to showing off your haul.

You're very complimentary of all of the shoes but you seem confused as to why you've been given so many socks.

Alexia takes a screenshot of a weird face you make while trying on the bucket hat and hastily makes it her profile picture.

"I'm not a fan of the opening skirt," You tell your followers," It's not really my style. I'll wear it because I have to but...What's that? My sister's here?"

You crowd a bit closer to your phone, brows furrowed as you scroll up looking for Alexia's comments.

She feels triumphant at the look of horror on your face when you see her profile picture.

"Alexia!" You shriek," Change it back! My eyes aren't even open! Ale, please!"

Alexia does not change it back and you swear under your breath at her.

"I'm telling Mama!"

Alexia Putellas: Go ahead, you little snitch

"I'm not a snitch!"

Alexia Putellas: Yes, you are

"Don't listen to her guys! She's such a liar!"

You've always been more active on social media than Alexia and fans eat up any content you post on your TikTok. Most of your fans are just people that watch tennis but you've gone viral overnight when you posted a video of you and Iga reuniting at the Olympic Village.

Suddenly, everyone wants content from you and you're posting more than you ever have before.

A lot of it still centres around your tennis, out on the practice courts with the rest of team Spain but there's more domestic things like you retaping your racket grip and showing off everything in the Olympic Village.

Something in Alexia snaps when you make a video complaining about how uncomfortable your cardboard bed is. Suddenly, she's stitching your video.

Her camera pans across her normal hotel bed and ends with her giving a thumbs up to the camera with a smug grin on her face.

Her own fans go crazy over her posting something outside of sponsorships and it's strange to see that some people don't even know who you are.

woso.alexia.engen: Who was the first person in the video???? -> captainklittle: Alexia's little sister! She's representing Spain for tennis!

A second stitch appears hours later, piggybacking off a video of you complaining about your lack of AC. There's no sound apart from the very deliberate flick of Alexia's own AC switch.

It seems every complaint you post, Alexia finds a way to show off how much better she has it in a hotel outside of Paris.

You decide, perhaps a little pettily, to show off what she's missing.

"Hi, guys!" You say," I know a lot of people were wondering about pin trading so I thought I would bring you along for the ride! I've already got a Poland one from Iga and a US one from Coco but I've been wanting a Team GB one and I'm also meeting up with Paolini so she can give me an Italy one."

It's another live video and thank god there's a break in training, so Alexia can jump onto it again.

Jenni and Misa crowd around her at the same time, curious as to what's going on with you.

"I was talking to Carlos at breakfast and he was telling me that the coaches have ordered us all mattress toppers because the beds have started to affect how we're performing."

Alexia Putellas: Sucks to be you, doesn't it?

"Alexia, I swear to god if you keep bullying me then I'm telling Mama and she'll fly out to whoop your ass!"

Alexia Putellas: 🤪

"And Jenni I knew that it's you that just sent that because Alexia doesn't understand emojis."

"Fuck," Jenni mutters.

"Wait, give me the phone. I'll fix it," Misa says.

Alexia Putellas: Who's Jenni?

"Misa, I know that's you as well. Stop trying to cover for each other and I'll tell Mama and she'll whoop all of you."

Alexia doesn't get her phone back for the rest of your live but she does get a strongly worded text from Eli after it's over to grow up and not let her friends bully you.

Alexia calls you a snitch.

You remind her that she should stop bullying you.

"Look who it is!" Jenni cajoles as you come running out of the village to crash into Alexia," Baby Putellas!"

But you're not really listening to her as Alexia presses her forehead against yours, whispering fast Catalan to you as you giggle.

"Aw..." Misa continues where Jenni left off," Look at them! Two sisters! Reunited!"

You and Alexia push each other away, turning your back and pretending that you weren't hugging just a few moments ago.

You turn back to her quickly, hand out. "Can I have your pins?"

"What? No! They're mine!"

"You're not even in the Village! You can't use them!"

"Yes I can!" Alexia splutters out," I've been trading them!"

"Yeah? With who?"

"Jenni!"

"Liar! You've got the same pins! Come on, Ale. Give them over!"

"I will...for a price."

As Alexia lays out her terms, you bring everyone up to your room.

Jenni and Misa split off briefly to check out the dining hall but Alexia comes straight up with you.

"It's actually cardboard," She says, poking at your bed frame.

"Yeah? Do you think we were all lying about that? It's proper cardboard. You can draw on it if you want."

A smile splits your sister's face open.

"Never mind. I don't want you drawing on my bed."

Alexia pokes it. "Do you think it's true? That two people can't get on it at the same time?"

You shrug, rummaging through your bedside table. "I don't know. Why?"

You never get your answer though.

Arms are around your waist suddenly and you're being hauled backwards as Alexia slams herself onto your bed, dragging you back with her.

You may not get an answer but Alexia certainly does because the moment the two of you land, there's an almighty ripping noise and your bed goes to ground very quickly.

"Oops," You sister says.

"Alexia!"

"Sorry?"

"You don't sound very sorry at all."

"Yeah...You're right. I'm not sorry in the slightest. Hey! Stop hitting me!"

"You're lucky I'm not beating you with my rackets!"

"Hey. Hey! It's fine! You can get a new bed."

"Jenni and Misa are going to take the piss out of me! How could you do this, Ale?"

As annoying as your sister is, she at least has the decency to push the blame off onto her friends as you both hastily raise your bed up again and wait for Jenni and Misa to arrive.

They seem to have the same idea as Alexia, jumping onto your bed without so much of a greeting.

But, as planned, the bed collapses under them and the shock of their faces is enough for Alexia breaking your bed to be worth it. Their faces are even funnier as they head downstairs to ask for a new one for you.

Behind your back, Alexia passes you a handful of pins.

JenniHermoso10 has started a live video. Click to join!

"Forward! Forward!"

"I am going forward!"

"More forward! When I say forward, it doesn't mean shuffle! It means walk forward! You're a person not a pigeon!"

"And here we have Olympic football player Alexia Putellas and Olympic tennis player y/n Putellas, attempting to climb onto the rings," Jenni narrates from behind the camera.

"It's not going well," Misa says, as Alexia nearly throws you from your spot on her shoulders," Alexia is clearly struggling."

"I'm not struggling!" Alexia insists, yelping as you twist her hair in your hands.

"Forward!

"This is as forward as I can get!"

"That's such bullshit! Move closer!"

"I can't!"

"You can!"

"I don't think they're ever going to make it," Jenni says," It's like they can't-"

"Stop! Ale, stop! Left a bit. No! Too left. Right again. Left! Right! Left!"

"Left, right, forward, back," Alexia mutters," Make up your mind."

"Left and...got it...Wait! Don't let go!"

You haul yourself from your sister's shoulders onto the centre ring, positioning yourself perched on the sliver of the yellow ring that enters the black one.

"Alright," Alexia says," Give me a hand."

"What? No! You'll pull me off!"

"Give me your hand!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

She braces herself on the lower rings and grabs your hand, pulling herself into the centre ring before you can even shove her off.

"Oh," She says," That was pretty easy." Alexia grins at you but the smile drops from her face when she notices the pensive look you're wearing. "What is it?"

"I've just realised," You laugh in disbelief," When Mama said she wanted a picture of us and the rings. I think she meant in front of them. Not in them."

"Oh."

[k3n-dyll]

Warnings...18+, wlw, not proofread, vampire!Ellie, talks of blood, oral

Notes☆ Nothing I just need y'all to know this came to me as I was listening to this

Vampire!Ellie positioned on her knees in front of you, her flushed face pressed snugly between your plush thighs, tongue gently swirling against your swollen clit. Her eyes seem to glow in the dim light as she looks up at you, savoring each and every sinful reaction she manages to pull from you.

It's everything she can do to not feed right now in this moment, the sound of your heartbeat and the blood rushing through your veins fighting to overpower the sound of your voice, making her head spin. It was rare that she fed off of you - off of humans in general, really. As gross as pigs' blood is, it's better than murder - so on the rare occasion that you let her taste you, she'd take her sweet time, often to her own frustration.

She spends a while teasing both you and herself, occasionally moving her mouth away from your aching heat and sinking her teeth into the skin of your inner thighs, allowing her venom to enter your bloodstream. Each bite leaves your mind foggy, the venom acting as an aphrodisiac, making every graze of her hands, every swipe of her tongue, feel almost euphoric. For Ellie, though, each nip at your skin is torturous. The bit of red, metallic-tasting liquid that drips onto her tongue with each bite feeling like a taunt, making her all the more desperate. More feral.

"Ellie I'm - fuck" Your voice comes out as little more than a mewl, brows knit together as you watch her move on from your thighs again, latching her pink puffed lips around your clit and sucking on it.

Ellie only groans - growls really, into your cunt in response, refusing to let up for even a moment now. She knows you're close, she can practically smell it on you, her bright green eyes boring into you as she does her best to concentrate and find that perfect moment. That sweet spot right at the height of your release where she'll finally taste you in full, her breathing becoming more labored and sharp the more she thinks about it.

Your thighs shake and tense suddenly on either side of her head, breath hitching in your throat as your jaw slacks and your head lulls back against the wall, gripping onto her short auburn locks in a futile attempt to ground yourself. Increasingly high-pitched moans and chants of her name spill from your throat, hips bucking and twitching against her as your orgasm overtakes your senses.

There it is.

That split second where you're completely out of it. Distracted and in a state of complete bliss. Ellie takes the chance the moment it comes, digging her fangs hard and deep into your thigh as you cum, eyes rolling back in ecstasy as she gulps down her fix. The pain itself would be unbearable if not for the enchanting effect of the venom coursing through your veins, the slick mess between your thighs only becoming worse as she consumes your very essence.

The hardest part is always pulling herself off of you, her instincts pushing her to drain you of every last bit of it, but of course, she doesn't. She'd take a steak to her own heart if she did anything that wasn't holding you in her arms and taking care of you until the dizziness and pain goes away.

Reblogs are Appreciated || Divider creds ☆ Donations 4 Palestine

Taglist ☆ @half-of-a-gay, @porcelainmystery , @tohoko

[bunny-jpeg]

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ i'm runnin' on something - charles l. ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

your beloved charlie got dumped off at your front door at around three in the morning. you stood there half asleep at the front door, thankful that leo stayed in bed. your arms were crossed as you watched an apologetic carlos sainz bring charles leclerc up the stairs and into your apartment.

you felt hands on your hips and something solid against you. you leaned forward a little more from the weight against you. it was times like these you remembered how much of a sleeper build that charles had. his hands on your hips turned in those strong arms around you middle. you turned off the tap and put the glass to the side. you said his name once, then twice, then three times before his face was in the crook of your neck. he whined against you, his stance was weak and he was swaying a little. his hot voice in your ear. your boyfriend wanted you, he wanted you really badly. through hiccups he said to you, "girls kept talking to me and i kept laughing. they weren't pretty like you. they didn't get me hard like you." you pushed his face away and turned around in his arms. before you could respond he pressed his lips against you. his hands inched up under your shirt and he groaned against your lips. charles wanted you, it was a thrill in his chest as he managed to get the t-shirt off. he know logistically that he needed water, but right now he needed his head between your legs. he whined like a puppy when you tried to give him the glass of water, instead trying to go in for kisses. he rubbed up against you. you felt trapped between his solid frame and the kitchen counter.

you ended up on the couch with your sweatpants thrown to the corner of the living room and charles between your legs. with shaky, drunken hands he took your cotton panties off, almost yanking them too hard to rip them off of you. then he pressed those large hands into your soft thighs and dove in. he shifted your hips up a little so your legs were on his shoulders as devoured your sweet cunt. his licks were sloppy, he was making a total mess of him face. he didn't care if he had to shave all his facial hair off tomorrow because your wetness is just stuck so deeply on the hair. you knew that charles ate pussy well, he was more than happy to go down on a partner before he got his own sexual pleasure. he was so eager to lap at your cunt, his teeth grazing your clit with a drunken laziness and it made him groan. he gripped your thighs tighter, pressing them against his ears like earmuffs. he wanted to be suffocated by you. engulfed by you like a flame. his heart raced which only made the alcohol flood his brain more. which only made him more driven to tongue fuck you. he groaned into your pussy, his teeth against your clit once more which made you tense up. charles loved this, even with the alcohol making his brain short circuit. your pretty pussy in front of him had him panting, it was a siren's call. to pleasure you until you came. and he knew that you were on the knife's edge. he groaned against you, his nose right in there. he tasted you for everything you were worth. it was a throb in his chest and between his legs.

no amount of hard liquor could taste as good as your slick cunt.

you came on his tongue, your mind raced with thoughts of him. you squirmed and whimpered, but those strong hands kept you from going to too far. even that drunk, he had enough coordination to eat you out like the more decadent meal he could buy. you were breakfast, lunch and dinner put together, even with a bit of dessert. it sucked that he had whiskey dick at that moment as he pulled away and looked at you with flushed cheeks and a dazed look in his eyes. you chuckled slightly before you got up to get him that water. he was going to need it now. but you found yourself bent over the counter with the glass nearby and charles rutting into you. even if he couldn't get himself to finish, he was going to try his hardest to do so. as you cheek got familiar with the marble counter top, you reminded yourself to tell carlos to keep a closer eye on your sweet charles next time. <3

[genshin-obsessed]

Could I request Diluc, Kaeya, and Zhongli trying their hardest -and failing- not to cry after their wife, due to being tired and frustrated during an argument, wonders if they should get divorced because she thinks she's tying them down?

Ooh, ok, I need to sleep BUT the chance to write angst? sleep can wait! I wasn't entirely sure how to end it so I just left it like this. I'm sure this could be much, much longer but I didn't wanna make it too long, yanno? meant as a fem!reader but I don't mentions pronouns, just the term 'wife'.

▻ Kaeya

He didn't really know when the argument started. He didn't know what it was about anymore either. It was one of those arguments where the points end up getting lost and you're just yelling at one another about something completely unrelated. Honestly, you two were basically screaming at one another. But then he heard that one, awful sentence he never wanted to hear in his life.

"Why don't we just get a divorce and I won't be ruining your life anymore!?" Suddenly, the room's so eerily quiet that you finally realized what you said. Your gaze held Kaeya's and you watched as his usual cocky exterior just melt and tears fill his beautiful eyes. He slapped the back of his hand against his lips to stop but he couldn't. Your words shook him to his core and every thought in his mind was wiped away.

At some point, he didn't even register you trying to calm him down as he fell to his knees, tears flooding down his face. He didn't even register as he wrapped his arms around you in a near death grip, begging for you to stay.

He loved you, adored you, cherished you, worshipped you basically. So... wherever did you get this idea that you were tying him down? That you were ruining his life? Just where did he end up going wrong for you to have such awful thoughts?

▻ Diluc

Often talking to Diluc was something that was a little touch and go. He didn't talk much and when he did, he usually only talked enough to get the point across and that was it. Even during arguments, Diluc only spoke when he felt it was necessary. To avoid pointless yelling matches, he kept quiet until you were done.

But tonight was... different. Maybe it was a hard day for him, maybe it was something you said, maybe it was that he had a frustrating spat with Kaeya, or maybe that he was dealing with issues at the tavern... but tonight, Diluc was just as angry as you. You two were yelling so much that even the maids heard you outside of the manor. There was no end in sight.

"Then leave, Diluc! Leave me and you can be happy doing whatever you want! I won't be here to tie you down anymore and you can be a free fucking bird!" Diluc opened his mouth to retaliate but nothing came out. It was like the world stopped moving for a second. This uncomfortable pit grew in his stomach and he just knew it was bad. You thought you were tying him down? Never once did such an atrocious thought ever cross his mind. Never during an argument, never during a bad day, not once in his life.

So... why did you? Diluc didn't realize just how much he hated the silence until that moment. He hated it so much, that the tears he attempted to bury just burst out in a loud cry. Anything to stop that deafening silence.

▻ Zhongli

Zhongli was by far, the worst person to argue with. Why? He just sat there silently until you were done. Zhongli didn't argue, no. He waited, listened, then just explained his side. If it didn't work, he'd step away. But even an archon such as himself had limits. Your arguments never turned into screaming matches, at least not on his end, but sometimes they dragged on.

Today was just one such day. Even with his near impeccable memory, the man couldn't recall what happened to lead you two here. You were so upset and angry and no matter what he did, he made it worse. Truth be told, he was angry and frustrated too. It was like neither of you were listening to each other anymore.

"Well, if it's all pointless then why don't we just quit now?! Let's just get a divorce and you can go on happily without a wife to just drag you down!" That's when everything just stopped. Zhongli slowly looked away as he registered the words, feeling his chest begin to constrict.

Why... did you say that? Why would you think that? Was that his fault? You figure began to blur and he fell to his knees, desperately grabbing the dining table for support. You were at his side and tried to calm him down, desperately trying to wipe his tears but anything you said after just... didn't touch him. The awful reality of his life had his heart in a death grip and he could only listen if he got away from it.

[animatedrapture]

— bet on stones. / suna rintarou x f!reader.

— fluff. all fluff. (a lot of flirting and teasing.) established relationship. some cursing. pro-player!suna. post timeskip suna.

— teasing sunarin for his short hair. ggez btw.

"rin," your voice is barely above a whisper, but the corners of your lips are twitching, trying your hardest not to laugh.

and listen, while suna has the softest spot for you, the glare he gives you is well-deserved.

"don't start," he says—all warning and frowning.

"what'd—" the giggle escapes you, it can't be helped, "what'd you do to your—your hair, oh god," you almost whimper, trying to reign it in.

suna groans, reaching a hand to his hair and running over it in a ruffle. his hair—so short and barely framing his face—and he's still pretty, but it's a sight to see.

especially when he just walked in your apartment this way, avoiding your gaze the moment he stepped foot inside because he just knew; he knew that you'd be there on the couch waiting for him and for the life of you, you won't be holding back your laugh or any quick-witted comment on his hairstyle.

but then, you're standing from where you were, walking towards him by the door.

a grin decorating your face, the urge to laugh still evident by the crinkle of your eyes, and your hands reaching to cup his face. "hi, pretty boy," you greet him, thumbs over his cheeks.

he sighs. narrow, green eyes looking back at you with some exasperation, some hint of softness, all at once. he leans in, pressing a fleeting kiss to your lips, before he speaks, "learn to shut up more often, yeah?"

you immediately pout, "what?" you sound offended. "i'm flirting with you, rin," you tell him cheekily, "short hair, weird-looking you—"

"ooookay," he cuts you off. it's all monotone, the way he says it. and you can't tell if you've truly annoyed him yet but with a pinch to your waist and a hand over your mouth, he's moving you, turning you over and backing you up against the door.

your eyes widen as he leans in—all six foot three and broad body over you, still in his ejp jersey—he levels his gaze with yours, watching your reaction.

he licks his lips before speaking, "y'got somethin' more to say, babe?"

you shake your head slowly. truthfully, if your weakened knees and your hands now on his arms on a tight grip is any indication; suna, even in his weird short hair, is still the prettiest person you know.

he hums in thought, like he doesn't buy your answer, but he keeps a straight face as he removes his hand from your mouth, only raising an eyebrow at you with some sort of challenge.

"who did your hair, babe?" you opt to ask instead, biting your lip to prevent a giggle.

suna's responding glare is quick, but sighs in defeat at his answer, "fuckin' atsumu miya."

the snort you let out is enough for suna to tease you for, but he lets you have it instead. besides, you let him tease you more often and let him get away with it more than you should.

you reach up to his cheeks again. with his hands still on your waist, it's a picture right out of a romcom, were anyone else to see you two.

"you lost a bet, didn't you?" you ask, already knowing the answer, "but why would you trust atsumu with your hair, rin?"

"cause," suna answers you, "he would've turned his hair rainbow—that's funnier."

"how did you lose the bet, anyway?" you tilt your head, cause you know that despite how careless your boyfriend could be, he rarely loses these.

this time though, instead of answering you, he shakes his head and picks you up—it's effortless, the way he does it, bringing you back to the couch.

"is it that bad?" he mutters while he's peppering kisses all over your neck. it's overwhelming, the sensation of his lips and his larger body over you, the clean smell of his shampoo and his skin against yours because he likes taking a shower before coming home to you.

he takes your breath away, really.

"no," you sigh, because he's lingering a kiss right against the pulse on your neck.

"actually," you start, moving to try and meet his gaze, your hands finding his soft, dark hair, massaging against his scalp. "i have a boyfriend but maybe you can tell me your name and we could go on a date?"

suna's chuckle vibrates against you, his lips tugging with a small smile. "mm, 'm not sure you're worth gettin' a fight over."

you gasp dramatically, faking offense, "i'm asking you out on a date!"

"don't you have an athlete boyfriend, though? suna, yeah? pretty sure he can fight."

you shake your head, "hmm, he likes making me happy, though. i think we can just break up if it makes me happy, right?"

he hums in thought, not too worried about his too-short hair and your teasing anymore, "don't know if you'd be a good girlfriend, though."

it's your turn to make it physical this time, tugging playfully at his hair, "that's offensive, rin. i bring a lot to the table!"

suna smirks, trying not to laugh at you, "yeah? like what?"

"well, i can cook out of love for you. i'll wear your jersey proudly for your games. i'll wait for you to come home every day. in bed—"

the list goes on. this, suna knows the best. on his end, it's the only reason why he lost the bet anyway, because there's a ring hidden in the box in his training bag he thought he would've given to you by now.

atsumu, six months ago, told him he's too chicken.

no one can really blame suna for being nervous about it, though. so nervous that now, six months later, with a bet lost and a ring he's got for you still hidden, his hair is cut short.

it's because he loves you like this.

but with the list still going on, he thinks you're right: he should take you on a date, then maybe, if you say yes, make you his wife.

[changetyre]

Oh my god please I need more landoscar content 🙌🏻

Three can play this game || Landoscar x Reader (P2) Ⓗ

SUMMARY: The boys aren’t shy to let their friends know how much they enjoy you in every aspect of the word. And despite it being 2 against 1 sometimes it's not that hard to get the upper hand on the boys.

WARNINGS: Mostly suggestive content, no smut this time sorry ;(

A/N: I had so many requests for a part 2 but I got a huge block and it just sat in my drafts for the longest time. I'm not sure I like it but I can't think of anything else ;( I'd be up for a Part 3 if you'd like though.

The dinner was…a lot. The boys were right, it was a very booby choice of attire that you’d picked for tonight and the fact that they’d both happily left a big mark on each of your girls did nothing to help the “discrete” glances the boys around the table took at your chest.

You could tell Lando and Oscar were both highly enjoying the attention their girl was getting and they loved even more the fact that this was only making matters worse for the wet ache that they’d left between your legs a few hours ago.

"You like her dress, Pierre?" You almost choked on your food as your daring boyfriend confronted the man who was having the hardest time keeping his eyes off (your body) you .

Pierre cleared his throat but by his unshakable smirk, you could see he felt no shame in being caught. "I do, very...good fit."

You hoped the rush of heat to your cheeks wasn't visible to the rest of the table as you tried to focus on your food. You hated your boyfriends right now, so much for making this dinner one of the hardest nights of your life.

Oscar had kept his hand on your thigh all dinner letting it move up and down throughout the dinner occasionally inching higher than necessary.

Lando on the other hand was having the time of his life whispering dirty things into your ears, letting his hands roam your waist and his fingers occasionally grazing your breasts as well as planting kisses on your shoulder and neck not caring your PDA distracted the boys from their meals.

You might've as well started fucking in front of all of the boys at this rate you thought to yourself as it was clear you three tonight were the center of attention.

"Darling you alright?" Oscar cheekily asked you as you fanned yourself trying to keep the heat at bay.

You glared at your boyfriend and he simply smiled innocently. "You both are insufferable." You whispered to him.

"And why would that be my love?" Lando asked holding that mischief in his tone as usual.

"Hmm...fine." You huffed, earning your own sly smirk. "Three can play this game."

"What game?" Oscar asked with the same innocent tone.

"Boys, will you excuse me I need to use the restroom?" You asked, your tone suddenly confident to the surprise of those around the table.

Lando moved out of the way allowing you to leave. You were quick in the bathroom knowing the boys would probably want to join you which wasn't part of your plan.

You walked back to the table making sure the sway in your hips was a little more marked than necessary before scooting your way across your boyfriend's lap not letting him stand up to let you through this time.

The way Lando's hand gripped your waist as you scooted across his lap was a good indicator that your plan had set off excellently.

"Everything alright?" Oscar asked you.

"Everything's perfect." You smiled as you sucked your middle finger into your mouth watching the way Oscar looked closely at the motion. You knew the thoughts that would invade his mind and he'd obviously assume you'd taken care of yourself already.

"Baby, will you put this away for me? It was starting to bother me." You spoke clearly as well not caring as the rest of the boys heard and watched you hand something to Lando.

Lando opened his hand ready to receive it and his heart almost lept out of his chest as he saw the coated string you placed in his hand. He gasped before closing his fist tightly and stuffing the clothing in his pocket.

You heard a couple sniggers from the boys as you proudly managed to reverse this game.

"By the way Pierre I forgot to thank you for the compliment. I also think this dress is a good fit." You smiled at the man as you adjusted the dress from your chest.

"Uh...y..yeah." Pierre cleared his throat nervously this time. "Yeah of course."

"I know the boys liked it a lot as well...should've seen them before leaving." You joked unashamedly. "I mean I'm sure you can tell anyway." You laughed to yourself loving the effect you were having on the men across the table.

"Uh baby would you like some dessert?" Lando asked you clearly trying to get you to stop your games.

"Hmmm." You turned to your boyfriend, your hands coming down to rest high on his thigh which made him tense at the action. "I would love some dessert." you bit your lip "innocently".

"Oh, you're too funny my darling." Oscar pulled you back now panicking at the way the rest of the boys were left speechless.

"And why is that Ozzie?" You leaned to him this time.

"Well I think you might've had too much to drink tonight darling." Oscar tried laughing it off. "If you're full then I think we can go."

"Hmm I'm not exactly full but I'm sure I'll be stuffed later hmm-" you wiggled your eyebrows suggestively.

"OKAY we're gonna go. Good night." Lando interrupted you and took your hand pulling you up and away with him.

You giggled to yourself proud that you'd gotten your desired reaction, leaving the boys with mouths wide open and your boyfriends beyond flustered.

The drive home was definitely going to be interesting.

[zephyrchama]

Do you ever wonder if the Devildom has silly celebrity TV competitions like The Masked Singer?

A bright green peacock costume graced the TV's screen. The costumed celebrity gripped a microphone and swayed as he sang, commanding all attention from the audience.

"This guy's got a great set of pipes." Mammon was on the edge of his seat humming along to the classic tune. "Twenty grimm says he wins the whole season. And another twenty grimm says that it's Chort."

Satan raised an eyebrow. "I don't think that's Chort. Could he even sing? Plus, didn't he disappear because of his massive debts?"

Belphegor nodded. "I heard he's been trying to dig a river for the last six hundred years. The show's hints made this guy seem pretty great. I think it's Vapula.

"You think?" Satan rested his head on his hand and listened. "He's really good."

Hundreds of long feathers splayed out gracefully from the back of the perforner's costume, as if hypnotizing the viewers.

"I'm tellin' ya, it's Chort. He's probably on here to sweep the competition and pay off his debts. Not a bad plan." A scheme began to take shape in Mammon's brain. "If I call these production guys, they'll be beggin' to have someone like me on next season."

Asmodeus laughed, "you? Maybe in a few seasons after me. I know they're waiting to bring me on as a special guest."

"Wait, really?" Leviathan was only watching in case somebody sang an anime or game cover. Most of the time, he was boredly scrolling his phone and making technical remarks about the costumes. "C-can you take song requests?"

"It's not official yet " Asmodeus clarified, "but I know they'll want me on the show in due time. I'm just worried the mask will hide my true beauty."

The singer finished his performance with a dab and a bow. After racous applause began an excessively long commercial break. Interest in the room dwindled. Nobody cared much about curse insurance.

You hugged a cushion to your chest. Being unfamiliar with Devildom celebrities meant you couldn't play along, but listening to everyone's guesses was still enjoyable.

"That guy reminds me of Lucifer."

Belphegor and Satan made faces like they had just swallowed a frog. There was a beat of silence, then everyone in the room collectively went, "Nah."

"Where is he, anyway?" you asked.

"He said something about a favor for Lord Diavolo," Beelzebub replied through a fistful of buttered popcorn. "Won't be back until late."

"Ah."

When commercials ended, the show began to wrap up. The peacock costume reappeared as the judges tried their hardest to guess his identity. Despite its flat plastic eyes, the costume had a majestic air to it. The masked man still drew eyes even when standing still.

"Last chance for betting," Mammon said. He shook his coin purse. Nobody took up his offer.

With plenty of suspense, the emcee began to remove the contestant's mask. There was a solid minute of the camera panning between the stage, the audience, and the judges.

"Hurry up already." Belphegor tossed a piece of popcorn at the TV.

"I can't believe this!" the emcee shouted.

Asmodeus impatiently squeezed his hands together. "Well? Who is it!?"

"It's...!"

Confetti cannons and bright lights obscured the mystery man's face, yet the audience was going wild.

"I can't believe it!" The emcee screamed.

"If they cut to commercials again, I'm leaving," Satan sighed.

Thankfully, there were no more commercials. There were no more pans to the audience or the judges. There was only one person in the camera's focus.

"Your ruler of hell, the Avatar of Pride himself, the great Morning Star! It's... Lucifer!"

There was a sudden chorus of exclamations. "What!?"

Aside from the television, the House of Lamentation became dead silent. Beelzebub stopped, slowly lowering his hand of food while transfixed on the screen. Asmodeus looked like he was about to cry, having his position on the show stolen first by Lucifer. Mammon looked confused and swiveled his head around, stunned, as though his brothers were pranking him. Belphegor narrowed his eyes with displeasure.

You cautiously eyed Satan, ready to command him to stay if things got out of hand. He just stared at the screen coldly.

Leviathan was first to break the silence. "Wait, really? Lucifer's the peacock?"

"I knew it sounded like Lucifer," you bragged. You raised your arms victoriously. Your cushion flopped onto the floor.

Beelzebub was the only one to commend you. "Good job, I had no idea."

"So it wasn't Chort or Vapula." Belphegor began to drag himself off the couch. "Well, that was unexpected. I'm going to bed."

"What's the prize for this show? How much's he winnin'?" Mammon asked.

"Probably nothing. It's a small appearance fee and the rest is just exposure," Asmodeus explained. Him and Mammon both hung their heads.

Satan got up to grab the remote, mashing the power button until it clicked off. "This show sucks. Let's find something else to watch next week."

[yzashaven]

𝐁𝐄𝐓 !

꒰ 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ꒱ billionaire!scaramouche x reader

꒰ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 ꒱ nsfw content. reader gambling in a casino. rough sex. creampie. squirting. literally not proofread at all </3

꒰ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ꒱ betting dollars upon dollars with a billionaire. surely a good idea! ...right?

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄— i'm gonna need you all to forgive me for being away for a whole month and coming back with a half-assed fic </3 it's been really tiring but i'm doing okay! (for now)... i really do hope that you all enjoy this even though my writing is honestly a bit rusty now that i haven't written a single sentence in the month's long "break" i took. i love you all, thank you so so much for 1.5k !! 🤍 + thoughts on this new layout? :3

he was just another run-of-the-mill billionaire hanging out at casinos, local and private, for the ordinary people and the rich. you just so happen to be a regular at a specific casino and bar called the 'devil's temptation'. you spend a few hours of your day there every week or so, taking home stacks of your winnings home each time you go.

you were quite well known by the other regulars as a money magnet of sorts due to your high win rate whichever game you play, especially poker. your night was going on normally as per usual, well, until a man approached you.

"care for a game or two, pretty lady?"

☆★

"royal flush." yet another easy win on your part. you smiled at the man softly as you layed down your hand. he simply chuckles and looks at you lustfully, "huh, well played, indeed. though, why don't you say we make a... different type of bet this time?" he's being quite vague, you raise an eyebrow at him, "do you mind elaborating?"

a smirk from him as a reply, "accompany me to my mansion for the night, then you'll see." hesitant yet curious, you agreed. but how in hell would you have thought the said bet would end up with you getting fucked by the man named scaramouche?

★☆

"fuck...!" a loud whimper rips through your throat at the way he thrusted in and out of your sensitive cunt, you tried your hardest not to cum. after all, that was your deal, if he came first, he'd give up over a million dollars to you in the form of a cheque. but if you were to cum first, you'd be his, body, heart, and soul.

your upper body had already surrendered to him as your face was buried in a pillow, your torso flat on the fine silk sheets of his bed. your elbows failed in keeping you held up as he fucked you relentlessly—hard, deep, and fast.

"c'me on, don't you wanna cum around my cock, baby?" he insists and brings his hand over to grope at one of your breasts, squeezing at its' softness and using his fingers to tease your nipples. you nod, to answer his question. but of course you didn't, you wanted to win the bet. who would refuse a large amount of money?

...but maybe you'll have another chance at such an offer.

your body couldn't take any more. you bit the soft pillow in front of you to muffle out the lewd moan you mewled out as your body shivered intensely at the euphoric feeling that hit you hard like a truck.

a dark chuckle from behind, "guess you're mine now, yeah?" he whispers before pulling out all the way, only to slam back inside to earn yet another symphony of moans straight from your drooling lips. his own mouth latches onto your neck to kiss, lick, and even bite at the flesh, leaving marks all over from the area of your neck to your shoulder.

his hand trails further down to pinch at your clit, causing you to scream out his name in extreme ecstasy, squirting as you completely dampen the sheets—all the while he began to shoot ropes and ropes of his cum deep inside of your pussy, reaching your womb.

not even a minute to calm down from your highs, he was already repositioning the two of you. firm grips from his hands laying you on your back and manhandling you right where he wanted you to be. a delicious mating press. it didn't take long for him to slide back into your warmth.