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comatosebunny09 · 2 months ago

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carpe noctem [ falling action ] | sylus

— summary: he kissed you. you pretend it didn’t mean anything. sylus tries to show you it meant everything. — cw: reader is not mc, language, sexual tension, self-loathing, mutual pining, jealousy, blood & violence, self-deprecating thoughts, profanity, misunderstandings, romance, self-indulgent, wild caleb sighting, mdni — notes: thank you @subliminalwish for inspiring this part! and thank you all for reading! [ pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5 | pt. 7 ] — now playing: fuel to fire - agnes obel btbt - b.i

Their timing couldn’t be more impeccable—the twins. Your saving grace.

Sylus is a tempest. A storm ravaging the rickety foundation of your boat. He kisses greedy. Commanding, sipping from you like a fountain amid a desert. Swallowing the gruff little keens you make. You burn hot wherever he touches. His hands are like branding irons on your skin, amplified by the thin taffeta of your dress as they smooth up and down the curvature of your waist.

You’re dizzy when he snatches away, a growl in his throat. His lips are kiss-swollen. Burn a pretty red, stained by your lipstick. His eyes smolder like embers through the living room’s haze. Catch in the moonlight, gleaming a potent shade of scarlet. He reminds you of something beastly. Predatory.

You did this to him?

In contrast, you’re sludge in his hands, swimming, blinking, drunk, and trying to remember how to breathe. For a moment, he appears hesitant. Gaze flits between your eyes and mouth as he holds you by your hips. Rubs reassuring circles into your hip bones with his thumbs. He’s so pretty like this. Inebriated by passion, silken white hair mussed from your greedy fingers. Expensive, pleated shirt all rumpled, bow tie loosened, composure thrown to hell.

But his phone keeps ringing. An obnoxious chime that makes your lips quirk despite the vertigo sweeping over you. It cuts through the wispy film of the night. Cleaves through the nebulous cloud of desire hanging between you, and with a bitten-off sound, he finally tugs his cell free of his pocket.

He watches you as he brings it to his ear. Cups your cheek, brushing over your bottom lip with the worn pad of his thumb. Tugs it down, entranced by its elasticity. Its fullness. Your fingers clasp around his wrist. You nuzzle into the safety of his palm. Turn your mouth inward, blistering it with a kiss. Affection intermingled with amusement colors your eyes. He’s like a spoiled child, snatched off the playground before he was ready to leave.

“What,” he clips into the mic.

A hesitant voice peers through the low static. Luke. “Mission accomplished, bossman.” You imagine Kieran peeking over his brother’s shoulder in the background, wariness hidden behind that gaudy bird mask. “All cleaned up over here.”

Sylus sighs something weighted. Shaky. Relieved. His shoulders drop with it, then tense again. The agitation doesn’t leave his face. Something’s on his mind. Something more pressing than a few ornery goons trying to hunt you down. You nip at his fingertips to assuage the divot forming between his brows. The taut pull of his lips.

He hangs up without another word, shoving his phone back into his pocket. Draws you close, preparing to kiss you breathless once more.

But it seems fate is a cruel, mischievous mistress, intervening when she deems it fit.

Because, this time, your phone rings.

You stiffen. Sylus glowers at your—his—coat pocket. Studies you. He’s conflicted. Looks as if the world is descending into hell around him. Like he wants to take your phone and shatter it on the wall. You offer him a placating smile. Smooth a hand over his cheek before tugging your cell out. It’s only fair you leave him as on edge as he left you.

He doesn’t let it deter him, pulling you impossibly closer. Peppers your neck with kisses, drawing a soft huff of laughter from your chest. Your head falls back, and he cradles it with his fingers, baring your throat to him. Groans something appreciative, writing the most beautiful compliments of all against your skin with his lips.

You’re not thinking when you answer, too swept up in the moment. Dizzy from the needy drag of his lips over your carotid. Don’t think until a familiar lilt touches your ear, and a cold thrill shoots down your spine.

Little. Ms. Hunter.

Fuck.

Reality trickles in like the slow creep of a rainstorm, mooring you to the spot. You shove against Sylus’ chest. He ingests you with pinched brows, heavy lids, an open mouth. ‘What’s wrong?’ his expression reads. He’s desperate. Needy. Like you’re his lifeline, an IV drip.

You push against him again, chest so very hard and so wonderfully defined against the heel of your palm. You need space. You can’t breathe, but for an entirely different reason now.

His hands reluctantly drop from your waist, falling listlessly at his sides. He turns away, rubbing the scruff of his neck with a sigh.

“What’s up?” you bite. Try to mask the waver of your voice, your quivering tendons.

“Hey, how ya doin’?” She’s infuriatingly chipper. Happy for someone halfway across the world, as if she knows you’re up to no good.

You don’t bother with pleasantries. You’re caught between wanting to laugh and cry. Damn the universe for spoiling your fun. “What do you need?”

The hunter’s hesitant for a beat. You envision her shifting her weight between her feet. Fiddling with her nails, her gaze cast to the floor. It’s not often you’re terse with her, at least not these days. You worked through those kinks of your relationship months back. But forgive you for being a little impatient. A little snippy when you finally satiated the ache between your teeth.

“Sooo, I’m back earlier than expected. My ride cancelled on me. Would you mind picking me up from the airport? I’ll pay you back! Promise!”

“You can’t catch a cab?” You push back your hair. Peer over your shoulder, hand cupped around the mic as if you’re whispering a secret. Sylus is behind you a little ways off, hand on hip; silhouette suffused in amber as he examines some picture frames on the sofa table, pretending not to eavesdrop.

“Yeah, but it’s late! I don’t wanna get kidnapped, ya know?”

You suppress a frustrated sound, disbelieving. Not just of her, but the timing of everything. The reminder of what you’ve done and what you still want to do. One day, you’ll learn not to answer your phone. And one day, you’ll learn to tell your conscience to fuck right the hell off.

“Fine. Yeah, sure. Just…gimme a minute.”

“You’re the best! I don’t care what the twins say about you!”

The call ends, and you sigh, leaning into your palm, propped against the frost-bitten windowpane. It grounds you in a way, its crispness a welcome contrast to your fevered skin.

You jolt when Sylus emerges behind you in the form of artful hands melding to your waist. In the form of warm breath kissing the sensitive space behind your ear. His lips graze the shell of it. You snatch away as if scorched by fire, turning, spine acquainting itself with the window. Space. You need space.

He gives you no time to breathe, spilling over you like liquid fire. Cages you in with his arms. Angles closer, swaddling you in the dangerous warmth of his body. Bathes you in the bewitching scent he carries, in the lazy, lust-laden stir of his eyes. You shirk away from his touch when his fingertips graze your cheek. He bristles.

Your heart pinches at the wounded look on his face. At how his fingers twitch before curling into a loose fist and falling back to his side. You duck away from him, a nervous smile dragging itself across your face.

“She’s back,” you state plainly. It tastes bitter, acknowledging it aloud. Your belly swoops. You think you might be sick. “Asked if I could pick her up.”

His expression slackens. Gaze descends to the floor. “This late?”

You nod solemnly.

Shouldn’t he be happy his Aphrodite has returned?

It’s unnervingly quiet between you now, making way for the whisper of the wind threading through the leaves outside where the sticky click of your lips and labored breaths once lived.

Your throat clicks when you swallow. You want nothing more than to pull him against you again, to be wrapped in the possessive circle of his arms. To pick up where you left off before morality leaked in. But that call served as your reality check, and you’re both grateful and resentful it came when it did.

Sylus beholds you with beseeching eyes. Looks as if he might protest, lips quivering around an excuse to draw you back in. But he drops it. Instead, he opts for, “I’ll bring the car around,” sounding so uncharacteristically somber that you wince.

He brushes past you through the front door, swallowed by the dust-speckled night. Leaves you to nurse the violent thrum of your heart and battle the maelstrom in your head.

She’s back. Things will return to normal. This moment never happened. This night never happened.

Still, your lips burn with the remnants of the kiss. You unconsciously touch the trembling, distended things, deciding to tuck the memory into the furthest hulls of your mind.

He’s not yours, remember? Never will be. Never could be.

—

The ride to the airport was uncomfortably tense.

Sylus tried vainly to reignite the flames sparked by the night—little displays of affection, possession. Spindly fingers curling around your thigh, a peek at you through the corner of his vision, knuckles deftly brushing your cheek to bring you back to the present.

You inched away from his touch despite every synapse in your brain screaming for you to let it happen. He gave up after the third try. Gripped the gear stick, white-knuckled and radiating a silent dejectedness.

You forced out a shaky breath when the overwhelmingly bright, fluorescent airport signs panned into view.

“Heya!” chirped Ms. Hunter, pulling you into a tight hug once you dismounted the car. “You look all fancy. What have you been up to?”

You were stiff in her embrace, a tight smile pulling at your lips. She smelled of stale perfume and wet earth. Long hair tickled your neck. She radiated a warmth you envied as you rigidly returned the hug.

“Oh, you know. Nefarious things and all that.”

Ms. Hunter drew back, hands roosted on your shoulders. Her smile faltered when she got a good look at you. When the driver’s door slammed shut, and Sylus rounded the car to stand behind you, hands stuffed in his pockets. Her honey-dipped eyes flit over your face. She sensed something was up. Of course, she did. Anyone within a 50-mile radius could see the tension dangling off your shoulders. She looked like she wanted to interrogate you, but—

“Welcome back,” said Sylus, his tone easy. You were thankful for the save. Didn’t have to look back to know he was wearing that familiar cant to his lips. A look he, until tonight, only wore for her. “I take it your mission went well, given how early you returned.”

You would've tasted the faint notes of indignation there had you not been so swept up in your head.

“You have no idea,” she laughed, exhaustion lancing through her words. You pat her head, fondly ruffling her hair.

He helped her put her suitcase in the trunk as she animatedly regaled the details of her mission. He smirked and nodded, listening intently. You tuned everything out in favor of listening to your pulse drum beneath your skin.

Sylus held the passenger door open, watching you expectantly. Signaled for you to get in with his eyes as Ms. Hunter stood awkwardly behind you. The tension was tangible. Obvious. It made you sick.

He frowned when you forwent the passenger seat, sliding into the back. The front seat was always her place. You were merely squatting there, keeping the leather warm in her absence. You caught sight of the tense set of his jaw when he shut the door behind her. Your heart sank to your feet.

As Sylus eased the car onto the highway, they filled the stiff, blue-light-tinged air with small talk. Their conversation was seamless as if no time had lapsed between them. You propped an elbow on the door, watching the scenery fly by in a blur beyond your window.

And you shut your eyes against those scarlet irises occasionally observing you in the rearview mirror, a silent question brewing beneath bowed lashes.

‘Have I done something wrong?’

No. Never. It’s you who’s royally fucked up.

—

“Listen, sweetheart. You both seem like nice girls. But I ain’t budgin’.”

You roll your eyes for the umpteenth time. Scoff, a rigid set between your teeth. You’ve been like this for what feels like hours, propped against a wall, arms crossed, mind tumultuous.

A few days after the hunter returned, Sylus sent his two gems to reclaim some of his property. Thelma and Louis at it again.

You should be thrilled. You’ve been itching for a distraction since that night. When you let your emotions overwhelm you, and you gave into your selfish little whims. You can’t focus on much else, the pressure of Sylus’ lips still ingrained in your mind. The texture of his shirt sleeves between your fingers, the sound of his voice as he rasped his satisfaction into your skin. It replays like torn film reels in your mind, refusing to release you from its flimsy clutches.

Since that night, he’s been uncharacteristically attentive. Filling the space with errant touches and lingering gazes. Rare quirks of his lips, an affectionate, secretive undernote to his timbre whenever he speaks to you. And his eyes. They bear more emotion than what you’re accustomed to seeing.

It’s all been so very confusing, this new attitude of his. You don’t like it when things aren’t clear-cut and dry. Hate to beat around the bush.

You figured his attention would shift with the center of his universe back in rotation.

To your chagrin and surprise, you’re wrong. You assume he’s only being so disarming because he needs you. Not just as his pretty little violent marionette. His honeypot. When Ms. Hunter inevitably leaves again—the life of a hunter must be so taxing—he’ll need someone to fall back on. A failsafe to keep his loneliness at bay. You just so happen to fit the bill.

The notion makes you scowl. The butcher’s voice isn’t helping curb your vexation, his laughter obnoxious and filled with phlegm. His fat ass isn’t taking either of you seriously. Of course, if you were him, you wouldn’t, either.

Ms. Hunter’s been at this for a while, playing good cop to your bad. Trying to nice her way into getting him to sign the deed to his property back to Sylus. Really, it belongs to the latter man. He was just allowing the butcher to squat here while he carried out his work for Onychinus, slaughtering its opposition and packaging up their remains like fresh meat, shipping them off to anyone who dared utter the organization’s name in vain.

His use has run its course. He’s grown sloppy. Complacent. Disloyal. Been letting other faction leads buy him off, selling his knack of butchering to the highest bidder. He should be so lucky you’re not here to slit his throat.

Inwardly, you wonder if someday, you’ll suffer the same fate. If Ms. Hunter will be sent to snuff you out—your successor wiping you off the map like a blip on the radar.

Until then, you’ll make yourself as indispensable as possible. Prove your worth.

You push off the wall with a huff, face set with determination as adrenaline spumes through you. You close the distance between you and the hunter in four brisk strides. Snatch her pistol from the holster at her waist, barring her sentence in her throat. It’s weighted. Loaded. Good.

You rack a round. Release the safety. The butcher barely has time to register anything before you aim. Inhale. Exhale. Pull the trigger at the lowest lull of your breath. And it’s so gratifying, the sound of a bullet whizzing past his ear and embedding itself in the plaster behind him.

He’s petrified with fright behind his desk, mouth hinged open. Ms. Hunter blurs into focus beyond the front sight, turning incredulous eyes on you before narrowing them. The barrel’s still smoking, a satisfying, wispy cloud furling skyward. The leather grip squeaks in your hand, you’re holding it so tight.

“Was that really necessary?” she berates. She’s doing that whisper-yelling thing. You’re in for an earful later.

You shrug half-heartedly, reholstering her weapon. Push past, tugging the sleeves of your blazer up. “I’ve had enough of this,” you grate, snatching your leather gloves from your pocket and slipping them on with practiced precision.

Neither of them knows what’s coming until you step behind the butcher. Until you’ve taken a fistful of sweaty, grease-slicked hair and acquainted his face with the bubbling finish of his desk with a loud thwack!

Ms. Hunter watches the scene unfold with horror twisting up her features. She’s rooted to the spot. Something plops on the desk. Evolves into a steady, sticky drip. Blood. Corrupted speckles of red staining the deed you’re meant to get signed.

You lock eyes with your partner, bending at the waist over the butcher’s shoulder, grip unyielding on his hair. A show of power. Dominance, meant to convey, ‘This is how it’s done.’

A smirk twitches onto your lips. Your mouth brushes the outer shell of his ear, voice coming out deceptively doting. “Sign the fucking paper, or I’ll string you up like one of your little pigs and turn you into dog shit.”

His voice is wet. Strained, unflattering streaks of crimson leaking from his nose to puddle on the desk. “But—”

The hunter winces when you slam his face down again. He’s disoriented now. Swaying. If not for your iron grip on his hair, he’d fall into the arms of unconsciousness.

“Okay, okay!” he relents, garbled and wet.

You release his hair, shoving at his head none-too-gently, a facsimile of a smile rounding your lips. Perch a hand on his shoulder, squeezing with enough coercion to remind him of your potency. “Pleasure doing business with you, old man.”

The air thickens with fear. It’s quiet, save for the scratch of the butcher’s pen, as he shakily scrawls his signature on the deed, relinquishing his shop back to Sylus. You scrutinize the blood-flecked paper, satisfied.

“I’ll give you until midnight to get the fuck out of here,” you casually say, snatching off your gloves to smooth out the lapels of your blazer. “Otherwise, I can’t guarantee your safety after.”

You leave the butcher to nurse a broken nose and a nasty headache, pushing past Ms. Hunter with a cocksure grin.

“What the hell was that?!” she squeaks, rushing to keep pace with you as you step into the warm atmosphere outside, walking towards the sleek outline of your SUV.

“Business.”

“Yeah, but…did you have to threaten him like that? I mean, you could’ve killed the guy!”

With a scowl, you snatch the passenger door open for her to get in. “If you have a problem with how I do things, maybe you’re not cut out for this life, sweetheart.”

She scoffs disbelievingly. Haughty as she plops down on the passenger seat, crossing her arms. You’re being more venomous than usual. More pushy. You’re too far gone. You’ll apologize for making her your punching bag later.

“What’s up with you?” she pressures once you’ve settled on the driver's side, discarding your gloves in the center console. Leans closer, squinting. You ease back. “You’ve been more bitchy than usual. You and Sylus have been acting weird.”

She’s closer now, bursting your metaphorical bubble. Dangerously perceptive. You avoid eye contact as if doing so will reveal all the contents of your mind. Not that you have to. She’s alarmingly observant for someone who acts so naive.

“Did something happen between you?”

You side-eye her as you start the engine, unknowingly confirming her suspicions. She quirks a brow, catching onto your game. Falls back against the leather of her seat to sulk over folded arms. “I knew it. Unbelievable. Didn’t I tell you to play nice while I was gone?!”

“I’m always nice,” you counter under your breath, glaring at the console screen as you back up the SUV.

The steering wheel scrubs between your hands after you shift to Drive, and as you slide the vehicle into the steady stream of traffic, you catch sight of the blood mottling the cuff of your sleeve, begging to differ.

Maybe you’re being more ornery than you think.

—

The base is a network of paneled walls and glittering floors. Had you not been well-versed with its layout, you would surely get lost. But you’ve been here too many times. Once slept between these walls, laughed with the twins, and shared a glass of wine or two with your boss.

Sometimes, he’d let you lie in his bed when your head was too fuzzy, and you couldn’t stop smiling after the wine left you tenuous and dazed. Nothing ever happened, much to your dismay. He was a gentleman through and through. And you never questioned him on why it was always his bed.

Things changed once Ms. Hunter entered the scene.

This place used to be your asylum. Your respite from a world so vapid. For a moment, you could pretend the blood caked beneath your nails didn’t exist. And you could pretend you weren’t a weapon to be used at your employer’s disposal. But these days, you’ve avoided his mansion like a sickness, instead retreating to your own place in the city. You’re impeding. These walls no longer welcome you.

You feel like a specter with unresolved conflict as you round the hall where Sylus’ study sits at its center. Your heart hurls itself against your rib cage. You’ve been distant since that night, shying away from his attempts to disarm you. All half-hearted ventures to keep you dangling on a frayed string until he next needs you to fill the void the hunter inevitably leaves.

You tamp down your anxiety when the cool steel of the door handle bites into your palm. The voice inside is muffled. Deep. Resonant. Sylus is talking business. Orchestrating things that don’t concern you until he makes them your problem. You’ll be quick. Don’t want to stick around longer than necessary.

Pushing open the heavy mahogany wood, you’re greeted by a shock of white nestled behind his desk. He’s on the phone. Looks up upon your entry, scarlet eyes narrowing, then softening with recognition. Your throat thickens.

You try to ignore how his look makes your stomach somersault. How every crevice of his office smells like him—bourbon, raw energy, and all things safe. You’re thrown back into the memory of that dusky night. The seal of his lips to yours, his fingers easing over the contours of your body like points on a star map.

Ignoring your thoughts, you conquer the distance between the door and his desk in measured strides, looking everywhere but at him. It’s too risky to maintain eye contact. He has a hold on you without trying. Without the straggly pull of his Evol, without the smoky compulsion of his voice.

You plant the deed on the desk’s center with a muted thunk. His fingertips brush your knuckles, over the clutch of your hand. Static radiates between you. You reel back quicker than you mean to, bereft of the roughened slide of his fingers. Clear your throat, straighten your jacket. There’s a pinch between his brows, but it’s gone as quickly as it came.

Sylus peers down at the paper, an inquisitive brow lifting at the oxidized brown dappling it. You give him a half-hearted shrug. You did your part. How you got there is a story for another day.

You don’t wait for him to dismiss you, wordlessly stepping away with a curt nod. He continues his conversation over your shoulder, and your body swells with relief. It’s short-lived when Ms. Hunter brushes past you on your way out of the door, tight-lipped and side-eyeing you with all the vexation of the world.

Before you leave, you wait for the door to click shut behind you, catching wind of the hunter’s ire before thick layers of wood distort it.

“Hang up the phone. We need to talk. Now.”

—

It’s a pleasure to dance. To forget yourself.

Lux is lively tonight. Colored with mirth and strobing lights. Pounding music. You feel it in your chest as you move, a seductive, rehearsed smile crooking your lips. You rake your fingers through your hair. Drag your hands down the sweep of your waist, swiveling your hips, playing up your allure. You don’t have to do much to garner attention—it’s your job, remember?

You peacock about in the white metal birdcage you're housed in. Grab the bars, grinning down at the writhing crowd. It was your idea to give Lux a little umph, sweet-talking Sylus into having massive bird cages mounted from the ceiling. Fitting, given his obsession with pretty caged things.

Lux’s theme is ever-changing, courtesy of your eccentric mind. It keeps people coming in droves. Forces his enemies to rear their hideous mugs, lured to the nightclub by the promise of pretty women.

The air between you was still dense. Rife with pheromones and unbidden feelings. But you were back donning your playful, arrogant mask as if the night you shared never existed. Back to flirting and giving Sylus the piss.

The large faux wings you wear are surprisingly light. Stark, like the beautiful white tiger lounging on one side of the cage. The Bengal tiger yawns wide, giving you a show of pointed teeth. Teeth that could easily rip you asunder, yet he’s as docile as a house cat when you bend to pet through soft tufts of white.

He slow-blinks at you, his gorgeous eyes shining like emeralds uncovered in a cave. You smile as you smooth your thumb over his nose. A pink tongue darts out to lick your palm. He reminds you of yourself—capable of extreme violence, yet docile in patient hands.

Your skin prickles. You notice you’re being watched, but not in a way you’re used to. A way that typically exudes desire.

You turn to ingest a set of galaxy-infused eyes watching you intently through the throng of people. Youthful pockets of fat hang beneath his lower lids. A dark sweep of hair, thick brows. He towers over the crowd, a distinct cutout of virility and shrouded intentions. You don’t recall ever seeing him before.

When your gazes intermingle, he smiles something corrupted. It doesn’t reach his eyes. You’re all too familiar with that look—one of a predator scoping out its next meal. Prey it intends to take its time eviscerating, licking its bones clean.

You smile all the more wider, and you smooth your hands over your body, maintaining eye contact as you play up the theatrics. It’s ritualistic in a way, how you move. Like you’re provoking him. You don’t know who this man is, but he’s ballsy, stepping into your den, challenging you.

You tear your eyes away when the door to your cage swings open behind you, rocking it slightly on its hinges. A sizable hand peers in. You glance out, met with a riotous mop of white. Sylus. Gaze half-slit, relaxed.

“Take five,” he says above the thumping music.

You peer over your shoulder while taking his hand. The stranger you earlier locked eyes with has vanished, almost as if he were never there. You don’t pursue it. Not now at least. You allow Sylus to coax you down from the cage via hands at your waist. Stumble into him once on the ground, the air siphoned from your lungs. You're dizzy and breathless, being so close. He’s warm, smells divine, and you feel safe. Your palms press against his chest, his fingers wrapped about the crooks of your elbows to steady you.

He studies you with a reverent gleam to his irises as if he intends to kiss you, uncaring of any witnesses. Any questions. You shake away the thought, remembering yourself—your stance in his life. You offer him half a smile before retreating past him to the private bar for a drink. Something to ease your nerves, to cool your fevered skin.

Sylus’ expression hardens behind you as he scrutinizes the space you once stared at yourself. You don’t see the tenebrous threads of his Evol pouring from his body, licking the air. Don’t feel his aura bleeding a quieted malice, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

— tags: @unknown-ends, @viqlume, @nicohii, @beewilko, @lunebulous, @subliminalwish, @emneedshelp, @inkonparchment, @snowfall-jess, @bingbongchu, @greeenbeean, @shiorihoshino, @sillyfreakfanparty, @glamouroki, @midiplier, @kiri-tuk, @delulusimps, @moonlight-inthe-sea

climax 2.0 | masterlist | resolution

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #qin che #sylus love and deepspace #sylus qin #sylus angst #carpe noctem series #limerence series #divider: adornedwithlight

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cthulhus-curse · 2 months ago

Text

Camera

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 2,537

Warnings: Bottom!Wanda Maximoff, Top!Reader, Breeding, Camgirl!Wanda, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Non/Dubious Consent, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Exhibitionism, Masturbation, Smut, Somnophilia, Strap-Ons, Voyeurism, Slight Degradation | 18+ Minors DNI

Summary: Finding out that your neighbor runs your favorite show is a pleasant and delicious surprise.

Three days out of the week you positioned your laptop on the coffee table of your living room, sat on the couch, and watched on with amazement as your favorite show began.

It started as an accident. An unfortunate scrolling through social media led you to find her page. Enticed by the amount of skin she showed along with very enthralling captions you took meant for yourself, you didn’t hesitate to click on a link to follow her shows alongside subscribing to extra weekly content – various scandalous videos, images, and audios – for you to enjoy.

“Hmmm hi MyStr4ngeAdd1ction. Long time no see, baby.” She pouted slightly, tilting her head just for you in a room full of fans drooling over her in the chat. “Did you miss me?”

Staring at your screen, you hummed. “Yeah.”

Wanda, otherwise known as the Scarlet Witch, a self-proclaimed mistress of chaos, was your favored performer. You had attempted to watch other creators, but not one person made you feel in the same special way as she did. Her way with words, the calmness within her as she stared down at the camera, eyes boring into your soul, caused an immense exhilaration within you. She put on her shows for you .

The redhead on the screen was nothing if not a tease. She began all her shows the same way by undressing herself, welcoming most of the people who joined, primarily her biggest tippers. You being at the top only got the most special treatment, pampered with better content only for your eyes to see.

She began tugging at the red, lacy robe that prevented you from staring at her body you had ingrained into your mind. Little by little, you got to see more of her creamy skin, drooling as you noticed how it was covered with a dark material, a clip-on tail over her backside, that accented the white ears on top of her head.

“I have a surprise for my little babies today. Someone very special got me this cute outfit and even toys to go along with it,” Wanda said. She kneeled before you, sitting atop a pillow of a carrot you remembered having bought for her. “Your little bunny is so desperate to be fucked right. I’m just aching to have you in me… daddy .”

It all began with insistent foreplay which you were far too desperate to sit through. Wanda humped the carrot, her bright viridescent eyes never leaving the camera. The black, strapless teddy on her slim body was thin enough to allow her to feel the delicious friction of the pillow against her throbbing cunt.

Her face scrunched up, contorting into an image of unabashed arousal which you feasted upon. Wanda allowed herself to go as though no one watched. She teased herself, hand sliding between her legs to push aside her outfit as a means to easily find her clit.

“It feels so good. My pussy is so wet just for you, daddy,” she spoke to her audience. “Don’t you want to fuck your good baby bunny? Come on, I’m so empty without your cock.”

When Wanda brought out the bigger, better toy you bought for her, you nearly lost it. She allowed it to attach itself to the floorboards, the suction cup making it difficult to move around. The dildo, so carefully and beautifully crafted, also resembled that of a carrot.

“So big,” she breathed out. Upon lining herself over it, her glistening cunt in full view for you to enjoy, Wanda swirled the fake cock up and down her slit. She managed to garner copious amounts of her juices over it as a means to easily ease down. “Keep your eyes open for me, baby. I want you to watch as your bunny fucks herself all for her owner.”

Wanda sank down on the dildo slowly. She spread her folds, licking her own lips as she took the girthy toy inch by inch. You had seen her previously stretch herself out with lengthier toys, loving every second of it as a little bulge appeared on her covered tummy that she showed off. Although she took it slow, allowing her viewers to enjoy the sight of a bunny sitting on their cock, eventually nothing could keep her giddiness at bay.

“I can be a good girl for you,” she tilted her head. “Would you like me to be good or bad?”

Staring at your screen, you barely took in the way your hand casually and involuntarily slipped past the waistline of both your pants and underwear. Touching yourself, you made sure to follow a similar rhythm which she too carried.

“Look at me. I’m such a good bunny bouncing on your cock. And you’re so big, daddy,” she exasperated, her cheeks tinted in an adorable red hue. “The biggest I’ve ever had.”

You didn’t tear your eyes away from the woman who began groping herself, freeing her breasts from the confines of her outfit to show them off to you. The nipple piercings she had upon her hardened, perky buds were ones you’d absolutely love teasing her for after forcing her to bounce over you instead.

“There’s a good girl,” you groaned, fingers skillfully curling up within you. “My good girl.”

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Although difficult to live without having Wanda, it was even more torturous to live beside her and not do anything about it.

Staring across the street, you hummed. Long ago she had moved to the house adjacent to your own, even before you had feasted your eyes upon her glorious gift to the world. It was rather humorous how innocent your neighbor was in comparison to her sessions. The poor thing could barely chat with you without boring her eyes to the floor and stumbling over her words.

She was even more corruptible than you had imagined.

Each passing day you found yourself carefully looking into her home. Guilt would overcome you whenever you were blessed with Wanda undressing herself before getting in the shower. You weren’t sure why she dared keep the curtains open as she did her shows and took better care of herself afterwards, her bed facing the window for you to get a better view. And yet you were unable to complain as time and time again you watched without saying a word, a hand urging you to bring yourself to the brink of an orgasm.

Another day which passed, you found yourself positioned over your bed, the blinds of your window open as you looked through them. The straps around your waist were tightly done as you lined the tip of your faux cock against a fleshlight drenched with lubricant you had rubbed over it.

“That’s it,” you mumbled as your eyes found Wanda, the redhead beginning to tear off her clothes for the day. “I bet you’re so wet just for me. My pretty princess is all needy for her daddy.”

You pushed yourself into the fleshlight in one swift movement, moaning as you feasted upon the sloshing sound it made. Even if you couldn’t feel it, you knew Wanda would be just as warm and tight for you – desperate to have daddy stretch her out.

Closing your eyes, you imagined yourself positioned between Wanda’s legs, prying them open as you gently stuffed her with your dick. She’d be begging for more, to have all of daddy pushing her to her limit until she could no longer take more as a babbling mess. One day you’d have her for yourself. For now you’d settle on watching her nude beauty from far away while imagining the fleshlight on your hands to be her puffy cunt.

Whether she liked it or not, Wanda was already yours to own. It was only a matter of time before you took matters into your own hands and made it official.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

There was ease in sneaking across her home in the middle of the night. It was wrong, so wrong, and yet you didn’t find yourself hesitating when cracking a window open, sliding inside as though no one could see you.

It’s what Wanda would’ve wanted, you told yourself. Anything for her biggest supporter, for her daddy.

Keeping your excitement at bay was a nearly impossible task, especially when you found yourself staring down at the object of your affections. Seeing her coated by innocence, her body entirely covered with just a blanket and nothing beneath, loving to sleep in the nude as you ahd found, forced you to destroy it. Wanda was not aware of it yet, but as laid back with her messy hair covering her soft, delicate features, she craved you.

“Hi, honey. I missed you too,” you whispered to the silent air. “Wanna have some fun?”

Gently you pulled the covers off Wanda’s body. Her naked skin was nothing alien to you, and yet you grunted at the sight of it. Having difficulty keeping your hands off your property, you allowed a hand to run across her stomach, drifting it down until you were able to cup her surprisingly wet pussy.

“Looks like someone is ready for me.”

Upon having pulled your pants down slightly, ridding yourself off the confines of your shirt, you began claiming her for once.

“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping. Is this all for daddy?” You questioned with amusement pleasantly making its way to your voice. Settling between her pried apart legs, you took a deep breath at the sight of her pussy in such close proximity. “My cute bunny was begging me to be fucked. This is what you want, huh? How many times do you fuck yourself for the camera and think about me?”

Running the tip of your cock against her folds, your eyes widened. You made sure to bring one of the biggest toys you owned knowing your angel had prepared herself for long enough to take you. Seeing her videos and images wasn’t enough. Unlike the rest of her viewership, you had the opportunity to take Wanda for yourself.

Although she slurred in her sleep, adorably whining at your ministrations, you didn’t dare stop.

Coating yourself with her juices, slapping your fat cock against her at times, you fully gave yourself into the moment. Seeing Wanda all sprawled over the bed for you, her cunt begging you to enter her immediately, only fueled the fire laying deep within you.

Only when she opened her eyes slightly to mumble a drowsy “Y/N?” did you properly have her.

A strangled moan broke through the four walls. It elicited you to grunt as a delicious response. Your strap-on had been buried inside Wanda, a finger sloppily thumbing at her clit to further arouse her cunt that already oozed lovely amounts of her yummy juices.

“Feels good,” she quietly let you know.

“You like it baby?” You were surprised to earn such a positive response as you carefully moved your hips, allowing the woman to grow used to the feeling of having you inside. “You’ve been waiting for this. I can tell, you naughty little whore.”

“Yours,” came her choked sob. “Hmm it’s so big. ‘M full.”

“Right to the fucking brim.”

The noises of need Wanda let out motivated you to keep going. She clung to your back, nails digging into your skin as she adjusted herself to being fully stuffed. You didn’t care how many markings or love-bites she left over your body. If anything you wished for more. Only that way the world would know who you belonged to, just how she was yours to take.

“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping. Just look at how good your pussy takes me. I bet you’ve been craving my cock, huh? How good daddy’s cock would stretch your pussy out? Naughty little slut,” you husked out. Hands drifted across her body to find Wanda’s breasts, them being full enough for you to easily squeeze until she yelped. “Take it like that, Wanda. Like the fucking bitch you are.”

“Yours,” she was quick to reply.

The tips of your fingers ghosted over her pierced nipples for only a second, and yet it was enough for her to scream her lungs out, already so sensitive for you. Days upon days had been spent craving for the minimum, for crumbs of admiration from Wanda who absentmindedly treated you as though you were another typical neighbor.

Each day you had worked to better the plan of having Wanda. Tainting her was only the last and more delicious part of the process.

Her pussy swallowed your cock with amour, legs wrapped around your waist as you pumped yourself deep inside. You didn’t dare let her go for a second, your mouth trailing across her responsive breasts to her neck and jaw, leaving little markings for her to forever remember.

Pulling out slightly, your cock dripping with her essence, caused Wanda to groan in response. In her exhausted and hazy mind she babbled to have more, but all you did was keep the tip of your dick in her gaping pussy as you went to squeeze the heavy length.

When blissful drops of white began squirting themselves in Wanda, she breathed a sigh of relief, tongue stuck out with eyes rolled to the back of her head.

“That’s it, princess. Take it all, every last fucking drop. ‘M gonna stuff you with my pups,” you urged her. She merely nodded as her mind lay elsewhere, her cunt being filled with the copious amounts of fake cum you gave her. “Fuck, you’ll look so carrying them, huh? A nicely bred bitch.”

No longer did any of the views or even money she earned mattered. All Wanda focused on, her mere desires, all lay within you. She pressed her head against your chest as you fucked the cum back into her pussy, never letting the bunny fall apart without you by her side, her orgasm a mirror of her spent persona.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this,” she muttered through shaky lips, her hand finding the area between her legs to feel the ruined mess you had left her as. “

“Yeah?”

Wanda’s hums were adorable, nodding against your body only slightly. “Yes, baby. Why do you think I leave the curtains open when I change? I like giving my favorite neighbor and little voyeur a treat here and there. Don’t you like it?” She feigned innocence when staring up with twinkling wide eyes. A hand moved to your hips, guiding them forth as she quietly begged for more. “I thought you’d want a breeding bunny all to yourself.” She stuck her tongue out, wet fingers being plopped into her mouth as she tasted herself. “My highest tipper and my daddy. What a lucky girl I am.”

Thrusting into Wanda once again, you forced her to moan for you, attacking her neck with a flurry of love-bites she’d proudly wear for her next show. “I fucking love it. Now be a good girl and clean up daddy’s cock with that slutty mouth of yours.”

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