#steps on how to draw anime eyes

[sysig]

Wake up somewhere better, maybe (Patreon)

[enyaliuswrites]

➽ Just for Practice

Caleb x fem!reader Thank you @erensfeed for the idea and all the help she gave me!! Tysm nunnie! Hope this is a nice surprise for when you wake up <3 warnings: suggestive topics, mature, kissing (of course)

"Kissing? That’s what got you so worked up? Kissing is why you haven’t been eating my braised pork?" Caleb's lilac eyes fix on you like you’re crazy, a hint of something darker lurking beneath as he frowns.

"Ugh, I told you you wouldn’t get it." you groan, flopping onto your bed in frustration and avoiding his gaze, you didn’t want to see Caleb judging you.

Your high school graduation is just a few months away, but so far, every girl in your class won’t stop talking about the people they’ve kissed this year. Some have only had one kiss, others have had plenty, but out of all of them, you’re the only one who hasn’t had a single one yet. It’s not your fault—you’ve just never found yourself even a little bit attracted to anyone at school.

You didn’t even notice your appetite waning, your mind preoccupied with this. With graduation nearing, the last thing you wanted was to feel left out—missing out on bonding with your friends was the last thing you wanted.

“What’s so special about kissing?? It barely means anything.” his face twists into confusion and disgust, as if really trying to grasp why you’re making such a big deal out of this. Caleb silent mouths ‘kissing?’ before shifting his gaze back to you—just in time for you to throw a pillow straight at his face. But the pillow stops mid-air in front of his face, before dropping onto his lap as he leans back against the chair at your study desk.

“All of my friends have already had their first kiss. That’s like the only thing they’re talking about these days.” Your lips push up into a pout as you grab one of the stuffed animals nearest to you and hug it, allowing your head to rest on the plushie.

“And you’re jealous?” You choke on your saliva, coughing and hacking as your wide eyes meet his—one eyebrow raised and eyes heavy with disbelief. Caleb would’ve never guessed that his girl would grow up to be worried over something as minuscule as a kiss, especially a kiss with someone else.

“I’m not jealous! I mean like… It’s not like… Okay, maybe just a little?” your hands flail wildly all over as you try to defend yourself, but to no avail. Feeling a blush creeping onto your cheeks, you take a quick glance and see that Caleb's gaze has darkened.

“Do you even know how to kiss?”

“Caleb… That’s a stupid question,” you murmur, already knowing the answer. Caleb knew that too. “Why would I be so worked up if I—”

With his lilac eyes fixed on you, he tilts his head slightly, then leans forward. “Would you like to know how?” His words cut through your sentence, leaving your lips parted in shock as you prop yourself back up, still clutching the plushie to your chest.

“What? What do you mean?” your brain struggles to process his words, unable to fully make sense of them as you frown and watch him get up. Caleb's tall figure towers over yours as he steps closer, leaning casually against the wall, making you tilt your head up to meet his gaze.

“I can teach you then, Pip-squeak.” His body lowers, closing the gap between you two as your grip on the plushie loosens. You try to back away, only to find your back pressing against the headboard just inches away.

“I… I mean… does this count as my first kiss?” His right hand reaches out, gently caressing your cheek before softly holding your chin, guiding it towards him.

“Hmm. Think of this as practice.” Caleb's grip on your chin is soft and gentle, completely opposite from his hazy, clouded gaze.

“Oh. Oh…kay then-” you draw the ‘o’ out but as soon as the confirmation leaves your mouth, his lips brush softly against yours. With your eyes closed shut and brows furrowed, he slowly moves, capturing your bottom lip between his own with a delicate pull.

Your body sinks further into the mattress, plush pillows pressing against your back. The bed groans under Caleb's weight as he closes the distance between you, one large palm placed on your hips while the other rests on the headboard. You kiss him back, or at least you try to. You move your lips in the same motion of waves as he does, but everything feels so awkward and off.

Feeling quite embarrassed, and out of air, your intended gently nudges on Caleb's tank top quickly turns into desperate grasps before the kiss finally breaks. You felt like you’ve just ran a marathon—body burning up and your lungs out of breath as you pant, trying to inhale as much oxygen as you could while avoiding eye contact. Though it was harder than you thought, because Caleb was now on top of you, his smirk haunting you as your cheeks flush.

“H-hey! Don’t look at me like that. I told you I don’t know how to kiss…” Your voice grows quieter each passing second as it somehow ends up as a tiny squeak. The sound of Caleb's laughter fills your ears as you turn back to him, his knee now finds itself between your legs as his face hovers just above yours.

“You’re overthinking this, Pip-squeak. Just follow what I do.” Though his words are reassuring, that husky tone in his voice throws you off as he quickly captures your lips into a kiss for the second time. Caleb's lips move against yours in a soft, sensual way as you try your best to mimic him. Remembering what he did to you, you trap the soft fullness of his lower lip and gently apply suction to it. His hums of approval catch you off guard as you feel a subtle rumble of his chest—Caleb's hand snaking down to the small of your back, before pulling your body flush against his.

As if a flip has just been switched, Caleb's lips move frantically against yours, biting your lower lips then soothing the sting with his tongue. Your lips part at the sudden pain, allowing his tongue to delve into your mouth. Soft whimpers escape from your throat as Caleb explores you, tracing every corner and leaving an odd-yet-pleasurable feeling as he does so. Surprised, and a little scared, you push his body off of yours as you cover your mouth in shock, the faint apple taste still lingering in your mouth.

“Your tongue… Do you still use that apple flavored toothpaste or something? Because that’s all I’m feeling? Tasting?” Caleb grabs your hands, lowering it as a light chuckle leaves his lips.

“You’re a natural, Pip-squeak.” Completely ignoring what you just said as his thumb caresses your cheek and he stares at your lips, as if capturing them in a kiss with his eyes, “But I think you need a little bit more practice. What do you say?”

“Oh….Um…” Your voice comes out as uncertain mumbles and murmurs while his face only inches closer to yours. That’s when you realize how Caleb's body is pressed against yours, radiating heat—how heat crept up his neck and spreaded to his ears. How his lilac eyes were still clouded with a hazy and clouded look.

“I think you need more practice.” Caleb already had a taste of you and now he can’t get enough. Your scent seeps into his senses, impossible to ignore—like an addict chasing his next fix. He took your first kiss and now he’s going to take your every first. He was going to make sure of it.

A/N: Ughhh, this was quite hard to write considering I’ve never kissed anyone before. BUT. I have read many writings about kissing so I hope that’ll make up for this. Stay delusional ya’lls! (*´∀`*) Dividers by @omi-resources

[littlepuppers]

i really want to go camping. just a nice, solo camping trip to relax and have time to myself :)

I’d wake up and make breakfast, hike up to a different spot, start a fire and forage for a bit, draw or carve something, and setup camp for the night.

i have one pair of pjs with me and my sleeping bag for the night because i don’t have to worry about anyone judging what i wear or asking me for a spare blanket. So i packed just a pair of booty shorts and a smallish tank top. it’s just basic undergarments, nothing fancy, and i would be pretty embarrassed if anyone knew i wore these drabby clothes to sleep.

after i make a cup of sleepytime tea and wait for the fire to die out, i snuggle up in my sleeping bag. it’s a bit chillier tonight but i don’t have any other clothes to wear on top of this since i only brought my pjs and my stinky hiking clothes.

whatever. i drift off to sleep and dream of watching shooting stars falling around me, so pretty. as they crash onto the ground around me i feel the heat from them on my skin. it’s getting warmer, but i also really feel it on my cheeks. like i’m flushed or blushing. i watch the stars spark into flames and die out into embers.

animals start to surround me. deer, rabbits, foxes, and coyotes. they all come up around me and start sniffing my face and body. they start licking my face and neck, i giggle trying to push them away, it tickles. one of the coyotes that’s licking my stomach starts traveling down toward the hem of my shorts. woahhh haha, watch out buddy, i tell him.

Obviously not understanding english, he nudges his snout under the hem and takes a lick on my parts. i push his head away harshly and sit up. Immediately im pushed back down by the other animals and a huge buck comes and steps on my hair and arms so i can’t move.

i know this is a dream but how am i not waking up already???

a rabbit comes and starts pulling my shorts down, the coyote comes back and nudges his snout between my legs, i scream and try to close them but he turns and bites one. fuck, that felt real.

He goes back and starts licking, hesitant at first, just seeing how it tastes i guess. since foraging and meal prepping the smart and healthy way, ive only packed like fruit and stuff so obviously it probably tastes like really fucking good. at least that’s all i can assume from him diving in, licking deeper and deeper. fuck her tongue is fucking huge. it goes in and out fluidly. the slick sounds filling the air along with my whimpers and the other animals breathing and chirping and whining.

i feel it building up in my tummy, something molten. fuck, this is the weirdest wet dream i’ve ever had.

all of the sudden, his tongue dives insanely deep and curls into one of my spots. I wake up with a gasp and shaking through an orgasm. letting out a loud screaming moan, my eyes shoot open as i feel it curl inside me again.

WHAT THE FUCK

a tall dark figure is above me, my sleeping bag is unzipped and this persons hand is between my legs, his fingers curl inside me again. i scream, grabbing his arm and trying to push him away and get his fingers out. he plunges them deeper and uses his other hand to wrap around my neck and push it to the ground, holding it there.

i try to scream but can’t with my minimal airway, so i struggle and whimper, squeezing and trying to tear his arm away from my neck but it won’t budge. his fingers are still thrusting in and out of me, sometimes slowing down to explore and prod at my spots. i really cant help but shiver from the stimulation and orgasm from earlier. but who the fuck is the guy and how did he get in here and find me?!?

he finally speaks, moving his fingers to slip out a bit. “you weren’t this wet the whole time darlin’, my friend had to help you out to start, could barely get him off’a you. but i can’t blame him…” the dark figure takes his fingers out slowly with a shhlickkk sound, putting them up to his mouth, “…because you sure do taste fucking heavenly.” he leans to the side so i can see behind him something moves, a fucking dog. what the fuck. i thrash and whimper. “don’t fucking move. he bit you once, he’ll do it again.” I freeze, the bite, the dream, fuck it was all real.

the dog starts whining and tries to come up to me but the man pushes him back. he pushes his fingers back into me and starts moving them again, fuck i’m so overstimulated it almost hurts. “fuck, he’s eager. do u mind if he goes for a second course?” “fuck you,” i strain out. he opens my legs barely and the dog jumps over me sniffing and licking as deep inside as he was in the dream. fuckkk this is horrible i could get a disease or something, he needs to stop licking at my fucking spots it’s really too much.

the pressure starts building again. oh no, no no no no. please god i can fucking cum on a dogs tongue. opposing to my thoughts, my body gets closer and closer and- he stops. i freeze and tears start flowing from my eyes. from relief his contact from me is gone and because my body is so worn out now.

SHITT, something scrapes at my hips, the dogs paws, what the fuck is going on?? “sorry darling, he needs a little help, do you mind?” the man takes the pillow out from under my head and harshly lifts my hips, placing it underneath. he takes his hand off my throat finally, i gasp for air and can barely speak through my damaged vocal chords, “fuck you asshole.” “uhh yeahhhh i won’t, but he’s about to.” he nudges the dog forward. the man stuffs my shorts into my mouth so i can’t scream. how the fuck is this happening.

the dog immediately scratches at my hips again and starts rutting his hips toward me. FUCK NO. i thrash around but feel something poke my neck. it’s the man holding my wood carving knife i. his hand against my neck. “move, and I’ll fucking slit your throat.” tear start flowing from my eyes. how did i ever get in this position. i feel something scortching start to poke at my entrance, fuck please no please please please no…

the dog edges toward me more and suddenly plowing himself so deep inside me, how the fuck did i think doggy dicks were small??? this feels fucking huge, it fucking hurts. he’s thrusting in and out and an inhumane pace. his huge red doggy part pushes every single one of my spots and i can’t think anymore, i can’t even move. it’s like he’s going through me i can almost feel it in my stomach. he starts growling and i feel it get bigger. no way, this dog is not gonna knot me. please god. he can’t fit it in thank god.

“aw cmon buster, you can do better than that,” the mysterious man says before pushing the dogs backside against me and i feel it force inside me FUCK.

fuck that’s huge, i can’t fucking move because i think im gonna break. help please someone help me god…

i feel it. the flooding of molten liquid filling me. all i can do is whine through this soaked through fabric. i’m such an idiot for getting myself in this stupid situation, for not bringing a gun, im so stupid. there’s nothing i can do now except stay still while this dogs huge knot presses on my spot and his cum dumps into my cervix. i feel it dripping out. all over my sleeping bag and the floor of the tent. “how’d that feel hun? seems buster loved it, did you?” he takes his finger and wipes from the base of the dogs cock, bringing the liquid up to my mouth and smearing it all over my lips. i feel it leak down into my mouth and i’m utterly repulsed.

the dog breaks away with a POP and my legs and hips and whole body goes lax. the man chuckles and puts his hand down there again. oh no please don’t, and he doesn’t. instead, he scoops up the dogs cum and pushes it back into me. “good girl keep it in ok? the scent of it will help him track you down again.” i groan weakly and my vision begins to go blurry. the last thing i see is him throwing a stick outside the tent and the stupid dog running off after it to fetch.

fuck camping.

[apiptosis]

First post so please have mercy.

The Waynes do attend galas and the like at other places than Gotham. It's rare, happens once in a blue moon and they hate it.

Now imagine Cass drawing the short straw as the dedicated child shapperone for Bruce and she takes out her frustration by either refusing to dance with said partner or humiliating them by outdancing them to make fools of them by using difficult dance moves and tricks depending on the dance and song. If she can discreetly make them trip she rewarded herself with some extra desert. Her favorite was to take over as the lead and forcing her dance partners to scramble as they suddenly had to learn how to follow.

Cue her finding adoption bait tm Danny Fenton who got dragged along by Vlad when he announced that he was hosting the biggest gala Illinois had seen in years and wanted to help his "dear godson" make some connections to help him for when he graduates at the end of the year.

It was some honest fun at the humiliation of the sons of the Uber rich but the 6'8 wall of muscle genuinely looked like out of place. It took her a few seconds to place why. It was as though someone dressed a lion in a suit and expected it to act like an upperclass citizen.

Curiosity bid her to ask the man to dance with her. To give her the chance to get a true feel of this curiosity. A challengeing light ignited within his eyes at the third time she suddenly pulled a twirl or intentionally miss stepped and he instantly corrected it.

By the fourth song both of them were giving the other challging smiles as they now took turns leading the other on the most complicated combos they could pull off. Neither of them aware that they drew the attention of everyone around.

By the time the night ended Danny 'Ghost King' Fenton left for Fentonworks with a small scrap of paper containg a number and name silently thanking the lessons dance lessons he was forced to learn by Sam at first and then the bevy of ghost who learned that their king 'wanted' to learn how to dance. The beautiful girl had spoken to him in a way he rarely had a chance to speak.

Cass dragged a faux grumbling Bruce to their hotel room feeling like she was in the most animated conversation of all time despite not a single word being exchanged. Her dance partner had truly seen her and reacted to all of the words she didn't and or couldn't say yet and spoke to her in the same way. For the first time in a long time she felt truly seen and understood by this stranger.

The entire ride home Bruce was typing into his phone and for some reason when they got home Damian was raving about purple gorillas?

[mattnott]

𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄

mattheo riddle x fem reader

SUMMARY. in which you and mattheo were constantly at each other's throats, and this time was no different. WORDS. +6.1K, english is not my first language.

WARNINGS. ‘whipped’ mattheo (he’s obsessed), porn w// plot, reader and mattheo are both 18, making out, smoking , alcohol (mentions), hair pulling, oral sex!f receiving, marking, face sitting, nipple sucking, biting, dirty talk, blood kink.

masterlist

The loud music spread through the dungeon corridors, pulsing like a frantic heartbeat and bouncing off the stone walls of the grand common room of the serpent house. It caught the attention of passersby, drawing curious glances, as if the noise were an invitation to peek in and see what was happening—or to get involved in whatever was going on behind the closed door.

Inside the crowded room, dark green lights pulsed to the beat of the music, almost as if they were dancing along. They lit up the faces of students who looked like they’d already had a bit too much to drink, escaping from their dorms in search of some much-needed fun after a long and draining semester.

In the shadows at the back of the loud room, Mattheo stayed leaned against the cold wall, with a cigarette dangling from his fingers with an enviable ease. His expression appeared relaxed, yet the messy curls still damp from the shower after a brutal Quidditch practice told a different story about his calm demeanor.

Though he would never admit just how tough the practice had been.

Beside him, Enzo and Theodore were bickering as usual, this time over the recent Potions exam that had been harder than they expected, making their voices louder. Yet their discussion faded into the background of Mattheo’s mind, barely registering in his ears, and he was certain they didn’t even notice his indifferent demeanor towards the childish conversation. His gaze drifted across the room, almost desperate to find something—or someone—to shatter the monotony that had settled over his life in the past few days.

From his spot, he could see drunk students nearly collapsing to the floor—acting like animals, he could swear—others laughing loudly, moving their bodies to the beat of the music, too entertained to notice anything else around them, and couples craving each other’s touch as if they didn’t care about their surroundings. Yet his gaze remained devoid of emotion; nothing stood out—nothing that could break the heavy boredom clinging to him like a second skin.

Taking another look around the room, Mattheo couldn’t help but scoff at his ridiculous state. He felt almost pathetic, surrounded by the chaos he usually appreciated, yet weary of being caught in the middle of it. Everything felt so common and dull that he figured the only adrenaline he might get would come from being lucky enough to vomit the alcohol swirling in his system. He chuckled dryly at the thought, taking a slow drag from his cigarette and letting the smoke curl lazily around his lips before releasing it into the air, watching it dissipate in the dim light around him.

Somehow, that was far more interesting than the party itself.

He leaned back against the wall, a small, irritated sigh escaping his lips as the weight of boredom settled heavily on his shoulders like a coat. His eyes landed on Berkshire and Nott, still bickering with each other—this time about Quidditch—their voices growing sharper by the second. Once again, his attention drifted away, their words fading into a dull roar in the background as he tuned out completely.

His eyes scanned the room once more, this time more attentively. Just as he was about to release one of the last tendrils of smoke from his cigarette, his gaze locked onto the door swinging open again, revealing a sight he hadn't expected at all—you. Stepping out from the shadows of the entrance, you looked around with a blend of curiosity and caution. In that instant, he could swear that everything around him seemed to slow—the music faded, the crowd blurred, as if the entire room were paying reverence to your presence.

Mattheo shook his head quickly, cringing at what his mind—and maybe even his heart—wanted to say. Curiosity sparked in his gaze as he looked up, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers, completely caught up in your presence. You definitely weren’t the type for gatherings like this; “party material” was the last thing he’d call you—quite the opposite. Yet there you were, looking as out of place as you were striking, like a prey wandering into 'enemy' territory. A playful smirk appeared on his face as the boredom began to lift from his shoulders.

There it was—the distraction he needed to keep him on his feet.

His smirk deepened as he watched you weave through the crowded party, letting his gaze drop to your thighs for a moment longer than he should. If anyone had been watching, they might have thought Mattheo’s gaze darkened with something far from innocent, and in fact it did. Glancing back at his friends, he checked for any sign they’d noticed his interest in you—but luckily, they were still too absorbed in their heated discussion, now with Blaise joining in. A glimmer of relief crept over him.

As you moved carefully through the crowd, he pushed himself off the wall, almost instinctively flicking the last embers from his cigarette before tossing it aside without a second thought and striding toward the crowd. His gaze never wavered, following you with an unbothered intensity, watching you like a hawk. He stopped in the middle of the room, surrounded by the drunken bodies, waiting for the moment you’d feel his eyes on you—only then would he make a move. 

Maybe this was just another game for him, but if he was being honest, he didn’t care. He thrived on getting under your skin, relishing the power to rip apart the perfect image you projected to everyone. You were too polite, too nice, too good—yet with him, you turned cruel, acidic, and downright mean. He loved it. The fact that he could be the one to destroy you and expose the flaws beneath that polished exterior was intoxicating.

Loving your good side was easy, but he was the only one who craved your darker nature, despising your sweetness with a intensity that almost consumed his soul. 

It was no surprise to anyone that you and Mattheo were always at each other’s throats. Since your first year at school, every interaction was filled with cold words and insults, your clashing personalities entertaining everyone around you.

But only Mattheo knew the truth: you were almost a reflection of his own twisted nature, and every stolen kiss only deepened his conviction. Maybe that was why his relentless, penetrating gaze tracked your every move, waiting for the faintest flicker of recognition, longing for the moment you'd finally break and turn to him.

As you continued moving through the room, a familiar shiver ran up your spine, and you gripped your wrists tightly, muttering under your breath—you knew exactly whose gaze was piercing enough to unsettle you like this. Riddle. Turning around, your eyes locked onto his, and when he noticed the angry look on your face, his cruel smirk widened, as if your discomfort amused him. He gave you a mocking wave; his gaze remained fixed on you, heavy and almost suffocating, daring you to get closer to him to show just how much he could get under your skin.

For a moment, you felt trapped by his intensity, the chaos around you fading into the background as his gaze bore into you like teeth. But when you noticed the way he lifted his eyebrows in mockery, you quickly regained your composure, ignoring the heat rising to your cheeks.

Looking away, you steeled yourself, refusing to fall for his game like you always did.

But unlucky—or lucky—for you, Mattheo noticed your reaction, and your defiance only seemed to excite him more. He moved toward you slowly, each step amplifying your discomfort, and when he finally loomed close enough, the air thickened between you, heavy with a fervor capable enough to put you down. It was an overwhelming feeling that made your heart race like crazy, and you could see he was enjoying the way you would react to him.

“Lost, are we?” he asked not really waiting for a response, his gaze fixed on you with a knowing predatory glare that sent a shiver down your spine. His low voice dripped with mockery, and despite your desperate attempt to remain composed, every part of you wanted to break before him. Your heart raced wildly, and you wondered if you were on the edge of a heart attack.

You narrowed your eyebrows, your eyes filled with a hint of disgust as you finally faced Mattheo completely. His smirk only grew wider, but you raised your chin with every ounce of defiance you could muster in that moment. “Lost? Hardly,” you replied sharply, your gaze assessing him with disgust.

As you continued to stare at him, a memory of his clumsy fumbling during Quidditch practice flashed in your mind, causing a disdainful chuckle to escape your lips. You could see the way that mockery threw him, noticing that he was likely the cause behind that nearly insufferable mockery.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?” He spat through clenched teeth, his anger barely contained, which only made your grin widen and his scowl deepen. He should have been the one to rile you up, not the other way around.

“Nothing much,” you hum, the false sweetness dripping from your words. He glared at you, clearly itching to hurl an insult, but he held back, aware that you were just getting started. “Just about how you humiliated yourself tripping over your massive ego during today’s practice,” you said, savoring the way his expression soured. “Honestly, it was the highlight of my day.” You teased.

Mattheo’s expression darkened as he let out a dry chuckle, forcing himself to meet your gaze. How he wished you weren’t so beautiful; he hated the way your presence twisted in his gut, making him crave what he knew he shouldn’t. Yet there you were, effortlessly making him feel less of the person he was.

Your beauty almost consuming his whole.

“Maybe if you spent less time criticizing me and more time focusing on yourself...” he began, his voice dripping with bitterness yet with mocking amusement, making you frown. “You wouldn’t be so fucking bitter.” He shot back, taking an unconscious step closer, invading more your space. The fever radiating from his body was almost intoxicating, and you fought the urge to step back.

Swallowing hard, you raised your chin even more, your eyes locking onto his almost hypnotic brown orbs. You couldn’t deny the idiot was handsome, and it was obvious that he was aware of his own beauty, appreciating the effect it had on you as he used it to overpower you, pushing the boundaries of your composure. 

“Bitter?” You forced a laugh, attempting to sound unaffected by his words, even though the truth was that Mattheo’s proximity was rattling you to your core. “I just enjoy your suffering. Watching you nearly fall from your broom was... truly entertaining.” You grinned, convinced you’d won the argument, but when his smirk returned, you realized you were the one being toyed with.

“Oh, really?” he began, a smug grin spreading across his face as he caught sight of your flustered expression. “So, not only were you watching my practice, but you were watching me, too.” He drawled, clearly savoring every moment as he enjoyed your discomfort. “Couldn’t resist, could you?” he taunted, blinking slowly in mockery, fully aware of the pull he had over you.

The boredom was definitely gone at this point.

Unlike Mattheo, you blinked rapidly, his words almost suffocating your brain, heat flooding your cheeks as you realized how easily you had exposed yourself. It was infuriating how much he observed the information you unwittingly gave him, and the more he had, the more he used it to make you nervous.

“As if I’d waste my time watching your stupid ass flounder around on a broom like a fucking idiot.” You scoffed, refusing to let your guard down, even if the proof of the embarrassment burned on your cheeks. “You’re not that interesting, Riddle.” You shot back with venom, but his smirk only widened, augmenting your irritation.

You were getting mad, and he loved it. Watching you unravel gave him satisfaction, you were finally losing your composure, almost revealing the side he was eager to see again.

“I’m not that interesting?” Mattheo drawled mockingly, his lips twisting into a fake pout that almost made you cringe. “Yet here you are, practically begging for my attention. Quite the contradiction, isn’t it?” He hummed, amused.

He was infuriating.

You looked at him, almost incredulous, torn between his audacity and his stupidity. “Are you fucking kidding me?” you hissed, but he remained unfazed, clearly enjoying the negative attention you were throwing at him. “You’re the one who came to ‘talk’ to me, so get a grip,” you shot back, and for a brief moment, his smile almost faltered.

Mattheo’s gaze dragged over you slowly, every detail taken in with a lazy, shameless boldness that refused to let you feel any sense of power. The smirk was back, curling at the edge of his mouth as though your insult had already slipped his mind. With another step forward, he closed the space between you, close enough for you to catch the sharp edge of his cologne mixed with the lingering scent of the cigarette he was smoking before.

“You talk big for someone who’s practically shaking in my presence,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerously soft, each word daring you to react. “Maybe you should get a grip, princess.” You nearly cringed at the nickname, but his words hit, and though you’d never admit it, a part of you knew he wasn’t entirely wrong.

Mattheo's presence was suffocating, so suffocating; each step he took left you feeling like a part of your logic had slipped away. You hated it, you hated how each encounter left you feeling a part of yourself was missing. Yet, no matter how many times this twisted game played out, you found yourself drawn back, absorbed by the chaos he ignited in you.

But you weren’t the only one unraveling—Mattheo was drowning too, trapped in the same game, and the only thing that changed was the reason behind it.

If your chin wasn't raised enough, you would have lifted it one more time, but unfortunately, you couldn't; instead, you had to cling to the last shred of self-respect you had. “Shaking?” you scoffed, your voice dripping with sarcasm, though he could easily detect the tremor beneath it. “Trust me, if my body's shaking, it's only because I'm holding myself back from shoving you off this wall and breaking your damn nose.” You hissed, taking another step closer to him, forcing him to suppress a satisfied sigh at your defiance.

Yet Mattheo didn’t hold back his smirk; it only widened further, with a subtle glint of satisfaction appearing in his eyes. If you had the courage to look closer, you might have noticed it. But his proximity left you oblivious to anything else—your attention was fixed only on how close his body was to yours, how his face lingered near yours without closing the distance.

It was torture.

“Is that right?” he asked, taunt dripping from his tone as his eyebrow arched, his gaze bearing down on you. Maybe he wanted you to feel less of yourself, or maybe he was just savoring the way your body reacted to him—either way, his eyes held a single intent: make you feel small. “For someone so eager to break my nose, you seem to love getting close enough to do it,” he taunted.

Your stomach twisted; he wasn’t just hungry for your skin—he was tearing at it, and you couldn’t help but feel infuriated. You hated being played with, especially by him. But Mattheo? He was enjoying this moment, enjoying how you kept his boredom at bay.

The way you were practically forced to look at him, how his body towered over you, and how you constantly challenged him—it thrilled him. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the hotness radiating off his body. It was maddening how he turned every interaction into a twisted game, and worse, how you always fell for it.

He was the only one who could ruin your good image, and you hated it. You hated that you found it exciting, and you despised how he made you crave these sick competitions for power more and more. You wanted to hurt him so badly that it almost burned your insides.

“I just want a clear shot,” you hissed, clutching what little dignity you had left. But Mattheo didn’t seem affected at all; in fact, he was just waiting for the chance to turn the tables once more. “So don’t flatter yourself, idiot.” He lowered his head slightly, challenging you, it seemed.

Mattheo chuckled dryly, and you felt his breath even closer to your face than before. “Funny, I don’t see you making a move,” he remarked, his gaze fixed on your clenched fists, satisfaction evident as he noticed how tightly you were gripping them. “Maybe you’re not as angry as you want me to think,” he whispered provocatively, his tongue sliding over his own lips as he did so.

You wanted to punch him; you wanted to see him lose so badly, and he could see it. He could see your facade falling, and he was eager to expose your darker side—the side that could put him in his place with just a word. He just needed one more push, one more slip, and he knew he could get it out of you.

He was almost there. Almost.

You closed your eyes for a moment, desperately trying to ignore the rapid beat of your heart, feeling as if you were teetering on the edge of a heart attack. Still, you managed to respond. “Or maybe I’m just debating which would be more satisfying—breaking your nose or shattering your ego.” You practically spat the words, logic having abandoned your body two minutes ago. You felt heavy, so heavy.

You just didn’t know that Mattheo’s heart was beating in sync with yours. Apreciating your unlogical comportment and the way his mind was getting a bit of logic because of you, because he knew, he knew that he wanted you, he knew that he needed to break you. He knew he could put him on lines, but him? He took pleasure in keeping you off balance, and he knew that you both craved the same thing; you just lacked the guts to admit it.

Unlucky for you, he was more than ready to push you to do it.

Mattheo lowered his head until his lips were barely a whisper away from yours, his breath warm and steady against your skin. For a fleeting second, you were almost thankful for the boldness that kept your chin raised. “Go on, try,” he murmured, his voice a dare that left your legs feeling dangerously uneven. “You’re welcome to try either.”

A flash of hesitation crossed your mind, but his gaze trapped you, daring you to make a move. The air between you felt stifling, the noise around you melting away under the weight of his words, and the tension sparkling between both of you. Your pulse pounded as his face lingered close to yours, his mouth barely an inch away, eyes flickering to your lips—close enough to make every nerve burn.

You could feel control slipping right through your fingers.

“What’s the matter?” He whispered, his voice low, rough with mockery, that insufferable smirk deepening in a way that practically begged you to knock it off his face. “Losing your nerve?”

And then you lost it—you lost it completely.

You didn’t answer him with words. Instead, your hands shot up to his neck, and you crashed your lips against his, pouring all your anger and frustration into the kiss. It was fierce, almost desperate, and somehow, it felt painfully right. Mattheo responded instantly, not even a little surprised, just the dark satisfaction of someone who’d been waiting for this.

He chuckled against your mouth, triumphant; you were exactly where he’d wanted you all along.

You could feel the way Mattheo's grip tightened, pulling you flush against him, his chest pressing into yours as the kiss deepened into something raw and almost primal. His hand held you firmly in place, no room to pull away, letting your tongue clash with his in a battle for dominance neither of you wanted to lose. It was pure hunger, teeth and tongues colliding, each of you refusing to back down.

Your bodies pressed together, as if you and him were desperate to merge into one, the intensity between you both fueling an insatiable hunger. It wasn't enough—nothing could satisfy the craving consuming both of you. You needed more, and so did he. Without a second thought, you sank your teeth into his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. The metallic taste flooded both of your mouths, sending a primal thrill through you both that made you gasp and moan with the flavor.

It was maddening.

Maybe that's why Mattheo craved kissing you and touching you—because it felt like suffocation, like drowning as your tongue slipped into his mouth, stealing the very air from his lungs. And he needed it more than he cared to admit. Mattheo loved how you made him lose and gain control at the same time, how you made him forget himself completely.

His life could be boring, even wild most of the times, but nothing made him feel more alive than when you were tearing him apart, lips and bodies pressed together, suffocating him with your poison in a way he could never resist—as if he were addicted to the pain of being ruined by you.

Mattheo couldn't take it anymore and kissed you again as the first one broke, his body pressing even harder against yours, your hips grinding against him, making him groan into your mouth.

The blood from the first bite only intensified his need for you, pushing him to the edge where he had to sink his teeth into your lower lip as well, taking another moan from you. He longed for the metallic tang lingering on your lips, desperate to mix with his as your tongues clashed again and again with an intensity that left both of you eager for more.

You wanted more; he needed to give him more.

You and Mattheo seemed oblivious to the fact that you were still at the party, too consumed by each other's lips and bodies to notice the pounding music or the crowded room around you, and compared to anyone else here, the two of you were on another level. After a few moments, Mattheo broke the kiss, lowering his mouth to your neck, biting and sucking at your skin with such hunger that you couldn't be sure who was enjoying it more.

“You smell so good, so damn good,” he whispered like a prayer against your skin, his tongue tracing over the mark he'd just left, almost like he was savoring it. His words jolted you, snapping you back to your senses as you glanced around, suddenly aware that you weren't alone. Reluctantly, you pushed his head back, biting back a groan as you felt the ache of stopping.

“Why did you push me?” Mattheo asked, his lips swollen and tempting like yours, and unlike you, he couldn't suppress the groan that escaped at the loss of contact. His hungry gaze locked onto yours. "Do you want to stop?" he asked, clearly waiting for you to say no.

“Not here.” You managed to say. “Let’s go to somewhere private.” You said quickly, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

Mattheo’s smirk widened with those words, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he seized your hand without warning, dragging you toward the dorms. You let out a soft, surprised whimper, but he didn’t pause, continuing walking and ignoring the stunned—and amused—looks from his friends. He barely glanced back, his grip firm and unyielding, as if nothing in the room mattered except getting you alone.

Neither of you noticed the dim hallways as you hurried along, too consumed by the need to be alone together. Neither of you registered when the music faded into the background or when his door creaked open and shut behind you. And neither of you realized when the clothes that once covered your bodies ended up scattered across the floor, tangled together just like the two of you.

You were both too lost in ecstasy.

Mattheo's hands roamed over your body, exploring every inch with excitement that was visible from miles away. His fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, leaving marks with each squeeze, and if you didn't know him, you might've thought it was unintentional. But the smirk pressed against your skin proved he knew exactly what he was doing—a knowledge that made you moan, and made him grip your ass even harder.

“I could bite you for hours, taste you for hours,” he purred against your skin, his nose brushing against you with a softness that contrasted sharply with his mouth, which was focused on marking your neck fiercely.

His teeth sank into your flesh, drawing blood as he savored the metallic taste, and each lick sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, blurring the lines between pain and ecstasy. “Your skin is so damn soft,” he murmured, the obsession in his voice sending shivers down your spine.

Mattheo squeezed your ass a little harder before pulling his hand away, leaving you moaning at the loss of contact and shooting him an angry glare. “What's wrong, love?” he smirked, his voice dripping with mockery as his lips stained a deep red from the blood you two had shared during the kiss and the blood he was still taking from you, curled into a cruel grin against your skin.

“You know what's wrong, don't stop touching me!” you snapped, frustration lacing your voice. The moment the words left your mouth, you let out a breathy moan as he clamped his teeth onto your skin again, this time a little harder in response to your defiant tone.

He chuckled slightly. “Don't be so fucking impatient, love.” He pressed soft kisses against your skin, purring against it. “I will touch you again...” he teased, and before you could respond, his hand possessively cupped your breast, a low moan escaping him as your hardened nipple pressed into his palm. You let out a satisfied sigh, your lips parting slightly, and Mattheo couldn't resist; almost instinctively, he pulled you in for another heated kiss.

As soon as his mouth met yours, you couldn't help but reciprocate his fervor with equal intensity. Mattheo squeezed your chest a little harder, forcing you to part your lips, and he wasted no time plunging his tongue into your mouth, flooding you with the metallic taste of blood that was almost tattooed on his tongue.

The sloppy and open mouthed kisses were enough to send shivers down both your bodies, and you were sure you had never been more wet than you were in that moment.

“Look at you.” Mattheo murmured as he broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your chin while guiding you to one of the beds in the dorm, his hands never leaving your chest, and his mouth staying on your skin, moving lower and lower. “You're just all talk, aren't you?” he purred, sitting down on the bed and pulling you onto his lap, your legs straddling him, as his lips moved down, almost grazing your hardened left nipple.

You flushed almost violently, but before you could respond, his mouth was on your breast, tongue flicking and teasing your nipple as he sucked, drawing a shiver from you that only widened his grin. His gaze fixated on the marks and faint traces of blood on your neck, an look of satisfaction in his eyes as his tongue continued its relentless, obscene play on your skin, savoring every reaction he wrung from you.

The bastard knew exactly how to use his tongue, and you could already feel yourself losing control.

One of his hands was now tangled softly in your hair, while the other still cupped your chest with a possessiveness that only Mattheo could make feel strangely delicate. It was a balance that would seem odd to anyone else—but not to him. His version of delicacy always came paired with roughness, and as much as you hated to admit it, you loved every bit of it.

"Are you ready to admit that you're just talking?" He murmured, his mouth still toying with your breast as you looked down at him, locked in a mix of pleasure and anger.

“Go to hell, Riddle,” you spat, anger lacing your words, only to moan as his teeth sank into your nipple.

“Oh, love, I'm already in hell.” He suckled your hardened nipple, lingering on the sensitive flesh before pulling away, his hand that had been tangled in your hair sliding down to your neck, giving it a teasing squeeze as he drew you closer, his lips brushing tantalizingly against your ear. “And I'm loving every second of it,” he whispered, sending a surge of heat through your body and making his grin widen even more.

Mattheo pushed you for another kiss, this time a softer one, leaning back against the bed and dragging you with him until the back of his head hit the headboard. In one swift motion, he bit your lip, breaking the kiss and abruptly flipping you onto your back, pressing you against his neck with a strength that made your eyes widen in surprise. You looked up at him, breathless, taking in the mix of dominance and desire radiating from him. You looked at him breathless.

“What—what are you doing?” you asked, your cheeks burning with the sudden action. You could feel his skin against your bare wetness.

Mattheo only grinned, feeling your pussy so close to him, and looked at you almost defiantly, but you were sure that you saw primal hunger in his gaze as he squeezed your thighs.

“You didn't want to break my nose?” Mattheo purred provocatively, a wicked smile curling his lips as he looked at the marks he made on your body. “Do it then.” He gripped your thighs tighter, his voice low and enticing. “Prove that you're not all talk, and sit on my face.” He said it without a shred of shame, and your eyes widened as you looked down at him.

Every inch of you was screaming at you to do it.

“Come on, love, are you scared?” he provoked, his mouth salivating with anticipation as he looked at your pussy nestled against his neck. Something in you snapped, and before you could even think about it, you positioned yourself over his face, sinking down and moaning at the sensation, feeling his grin against your wet cunt as he gripped your thighs even tighter.

“Just like that,” Mattheo murmured into your pussy, his tongue dancing and swirling in his mouth like a prelude to what he was about to do against your folds, and he couldn't help but let out a satisfied chuckle as he watched your impatient eyes.

You were already gasping, staring into Mattheo’s eyes with the same hunger and anger you had before, and he couldn’t help but feel a twisted satisfaction at that. He loved that you cared enough to be furious with him and relished the way you claimed his face as your throne.

For a brief moment, he craved you to break his nose, just so his blood could mingle with your pussy, marking you as his prey. That thought made Mattheo whisper inaudible words against your pussy like a prayer before he pressed your thighs against his cheeks and delivered the first lick.

Slow, painfully slow, almost like torture.

But as much as he craved to torture you, he couldn't, it was simply too much for him. The way your pleading eyes begged for more, the intoxicating scent of your arousal, and the initial taste of your cunt had him crazy. Without a second thought, he buried his face deeper into you, eating you out like a starved man desperate for his last taste of ecstasy.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you cried out, pushing his hair, which made him groan and moan against your folds. His tongue licked every inch of your core with fervor, ignoring any precision that could exist, too hungry to care. And you didn't mind how messy it got, not when he was licking and sucking your essence as if he wanted to drown in your wetness.

That was good—so good that you could already feel the tears streaming down your face. Your moans turned into screams as his muscle pushed deeper inside you. You were on the brink of breaking.

Mattheo didn't cared about that, though.

Since there was no technique or precision in the way he devoured you, there was only animalistic hunger and fervent hatred as his tongue flicked against your sex and his nose rubbed against your clit, leaving you so drunk with pleasure that the next thing to make you squeal was the feeling of his fingers massaging your thighs while his mouth sucked the spot where his nose had just been.

He wanted to be suffocated by you, to die between your legs consumed by your body, and that only fueled his obsession, driving him to push you further against him. He diverted his gaze from your cunt to your face, his stomach twisting with the precious sound of your moans.

“You look so pretty from here,” he moaned against your pussy, his eyes devouring every inch of you. You looked at him as your body started to weaken, and when you noticed the intensity in his dark brown eyes, you had to close yours quickly to escape his obsessive gaze. That only made him grip your legs even tighter, the veins in his arms bulging as he continued to suck on your clit, lost in your flavor.

“So fucking pretty,” Mattheo purred softly, almost hypnotized by the way your body reacted to him. He continued with fierce determination, his movements growing even more frenzied as his tongue and nose worked together to prolong your pleasure.

You were completely at his mercy, each wave of pleasure crashing over you more intensely than the last. He showed no signs of tiring, fully intent on pushing you to your limits, eager to watch you break over and over against his mouth.

He was utterly addicted to your taste, desperate for you to come into his mouth, determined to savor every last drop.

“Mattheo,” you choked out. “I can't—please, I need to cum!” You moaned repeatedly, your voice and legs trembling in sync.

“You can cum, love,” he said softly, his voice a stark contrast to the brutal way he feasted on you. “I will take it, I promise.” At his words, your body shattered as the first orgasm of the night swept over you, leaving you breathless, weak, and completely undone. But he didn't relent; instead, he buried his face deeper into your wetness, greedily lapping up every drop of your essence, driving you to scream even louder as you pressed into his face like a fucking masochist.

“I need another drop,” he murmured against your pussycat. “Just one, just one.” A lie. He didn't stop after the second drop. He didn't stop after the third, and each time he seemed to grow hungrier, as if he wanted to explode with your taste. But when your fourth orgasm hit, you couldn't take it anymore; you fell apart, collapsing beside him and dragging him down with you.

He had cum.

He came with your taste, and you had never felt more fulfilled, completely proud by the fact that you were the one who drove him to the edge without even touching him.

You looked at him, his chin still glistening with your essence, his chest rising and falling erratically, mirroring your own breath. But when your eyes met his, there was no hint of regret or shame—only a potent mix of hunger and satisfaction, as if he were on the verge of saying something else or maybe pushing your limits again.

“Next time, break my nose.” He said, putting your body against his almost like an embrace.

Next time. You nodded, that sounded like a plan.

© 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚝₂₀₂₄ — 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎.

likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated. 🫶🏻

this is my first one-shot about slytherin boys, so please be kind and respectful!

thanks for being my fav beta readers: @diiwata & @earth4angels ! love you both <3. also, thank you @nottsangel ! you were the first person i read regarding slytherin boys. thanks for putting me on to it! (my gallery is grateful as well) <3

[syoddeye]

cygnet, plucked | price x reader | part two part two cw: dubcon/noncon, blood, mild injury, manhandling, forced orgasm, referenced animal death/butchering forthcoming cw: more dubcon, forced marriage, breeding kink, body horror a/n: vibes. part one | masterlist 🦢

The knife is small, but the task feels impossible. You are unaccustomed to such labor. Meals once came easily, just a bend of your neck to pull up pondweed and milfoil—tadpoles, the occasional fish.

Not this. Not the lump in your hand with its rough, textured skin. Pulling a blade across it, releasing that musty, earthy scent that makes your nose wrinkle.

Your fingers inevitably slip.

Pain flares, sharp and foreign. You flinch hard, watching in mute horror as the first bead of blood wells up, then another, crimson blooming across the underside of your finger. The sound escapes unbidden—jarring, ugly—growing louder as the sting takes hold.

Heavy footsteps thump against the earth outside, and the door flies open, rattling on its hinges. John steps inside, shoulders heaving, mitts already stained from the doe hanging outside.

The sight of him shrinks the scream in your throat to a wordless, panicked whine.

The smell of iron clings to him. Fur, fat, something that once had a heartbeat. His hands crease as they flex at his sides. 

His eyes flick to your trembling hand, then to the knife still clutched in the other. He wipes his palms on his trousers, messily and imperfectly scrubbing away the gore of your eventual supper. As if he needs clean hands to touch you.

(You doubt they ever were.)

He exhales hard through his nose. His words tinged with exasperation.

"Gave you one job…"

Then he's on you.

The change is swift, inborn. The pendulum of your emotions swings violently from panic to rage. Fear, the constant.

You hiss, teeth snapping as he crowds you against the table, your spine meeting his chest. A half-peeled potato rolls off the edge, thudding to the floor while blood drips from your finger, a bright spot on the wood.

You twist, raising the little knife in your good hand, but he is faster—a solid grip clamps around your wrist, squeezing until your fingers betray you and the blade clatters. You squeal at the sharp twist of your arm, but his mouth is already at your ear, hot, shushing.

"Quit strugglin'," he says, pressing closer, draping his weight over your back. The wall of him, unrelenting. The force alone stills you, allowing him to bend and pin you over the table. Your cheek presses into it, a curl of potato skin sticking damp to your face.

You turn your head, teeth gritted, and glare, eyes full of fury you have no way to unleash.

"That's better," he lifts your hand, smearing blood. "Now, let's see what you've done to yourself."

John takes his time assessing the small cut. Long enough that the anger inside you fizzles into an embarrassed frustration. You told him. You told him you did not know how to do this. Any of this. To which he'd calmly replied he'd teach you every little thing you needed to know.

But now, here you are, cringing as he inspects the wound, dripping onto him, and it's shameful. Tears well and threaten to fall, held at bay by sheer will. Then he shifts, and your concentration breaks.

You realize how treacherously high your plain dress bunches on your hips at this angle. And through the fabric, there's a warmth. A steady heat that passes from him into you, inescapable. It seeps through where his body pins yours, through the calloused hand wrapped firmly around your wrist.

Then, as if he's arrived at the same realization in that instant, John moves.

He grinds his pelvis into the small of your back. Subtly. Or as subtly as he cares to try. The length between his legs fattening.

"See now?" he murmurs, almost gentle. "Ain't so bad if you just hold still."

He releases your injured hand, planting his own on the table to steady himself. Then, apparently indulging an impulse, he hooks his chin over your shoulder, drawing closer, whiskers scraping your cheek. The bulk of him snug at your back. "It'll be alright. We have enough for dinner, anyway."

John cleans your cut with you seated unnecessarily on his thigh. Too close to the bulge you are intent on ignoring. You don't protest, the rage building inside too deep for words. Instead, you fix your gaze on the window, seething at the sun as it pours in.

When he finishes, he kisses your palm, thumb grazing over the fine, downy feathers on your wrist. You flinch at the contact, but he only lifts your hand higher, inhaling deeply, dragging his nose along the tiny feathers.

"Said I'd take care of you."

That night, John insists you share the bed. That there's no harm in it if he intends to make good on his promise and make you his missus.

He gives you no quarter, wrangling you to bed, ignoring your squawking. Against every bit of resistance in your body, your muscles betray you the moment you land. After weeks of sleeping curled on the floor out of your own volition, the bed is a reprieve. Even if it feels wrong.

You fold inward, facing the wall, determined to keep the distance.

In the dark, the room grows silent, save for the rhythm of his breathing. You keep your body tense, refusing to give in, but his warmth bridges the small gap between you and, with it, an insidious pull. 

Your stubbornness abates. Muscles loosening, mind drifting. Before you know it, it's dawn.

You wake, disoriented by slivers of sunlight, a hairy chest pressed to your back, a thick arm banded around your waist. Breath tickling your neck. A hand low on your belly.

The second you try to move, it glides south.

You gasp as it curls under the hem of your dress, slowly hoisting it up.

"John—" His name slips from your lips, strained, a barely audible squeak. 

It's the first time you've said it. The shift behind you is unmistakable—he likes it. His arm tightens around you, possessive, and your breath catches in spite of yourself. 

The length of him twitches against your backside.

"Hush, Shy, don't fight me today," he rasps, voice heavy with sleep and tenderness. He kisses your nape, his lips sending a shiver down your spine. "Let me be nice to you."

His calloused fingers find the swath of feathers between your legs, and he hums. He ventures further, dragging over your seam, a sleepy chuckle rumbling from his chest and through your back at the sound you make. The finger strokes again, and your hips jerk.

"That feel good? So soft here."

John doesn't wait for a response to cup your sex and wedge a knee into the crux of your thighs.

He pries you open, petting at your clit, and prodding at your folds. The pads of his fingers burn hot, like coals, the cherries of his cigars. His touch sears your mind clean. Burns the frayed edges of your senses, fusing them like waxed thread. Everything slows, each sensation doubling in intensity.

With some persistence, he coaxes some bitterly forfeited arousal and teases a thick finger at your hole. You shudder, breath hiccuping, one hand digging into the muscle of his forearm, the other cramming into your mouth to stifle a whimper.

You gnaw at your bandaged finger, teeth worrying the cloth until it gives. The wound opens, blood welling up fresh and hot. Iron coats your tongue, rising through your nose as if a fire's been lit in your mouth.

It's no use after minutes of him toying with you, rubbing at your clit in small, gentle circles—you become silt. Soft and wet, warm and perfect for him to sink into.

He tucks two fingers into your sex and groans, loosing a string of curses that make your cheeks scorch. Borderline hellish when he grinds his palm against your clit, scattering stars across your vision just to yank them down when he leisurely pumps his fingers in once, twice. Deep as they'll go into your cunt—and keeps going.

You clench around him helplessly, hatefully. Plugged up tight and choking, muscles contracting without permission as he crushes your notions of keeping something, anything from him under the heel of his hand. Better than his boot, but you might've preferred it.

Your attention is torn between the blood you're sucking into your mouth and the mess gushing over his fingers, and hardly notice when he starts rutting against your bottom. It knocks a pitchy noise out of your throat, realizing how thin the flannel is between you and him. He must like it, because his mouth suctions to your neck and breaks a moan.

"C'mon, darling. Give it."

It feels as though you're a young cygnet again, caught in a summer storm and hurtled far and away from everything you know. 

The room thick and crackling with heat and electricity. John wrapped around you, his intent heavy and aching, pulsing short of where it wants to strike. Every nerve buzzes under his touch, alive and restless as if the very air he puffs over your shoulder pulls at your core and twists it. A force that batters and uproots, tearing at you with each crook of his fingers. Caught in the whirl of him. Wild, lost, and undone.

It hurts when you come, drawing up so tight and shattering into pieces.

It hurts more when John drags it out with his digits sunk to the hilt and thumb resting on your clit. 

When he pulls them out, his fingers glisten. He holds them in front of your face for you to see, his smile apparent when hums. Pleased.

You don't realize you're crying until he rolls you onto your back, his face a hazy blur.

John sighs, long and slow, like a man well-versed in this ritual. He shifts, pulling you close as if you aren't unraveling in his arms.

"You're wearin' yourself out," he whispers with tired amusement, smoothing up and down your back. "Ain't got enough in you to be cryin' this hard."

You hiccup against his chest, breath shuddering, hands mindlessly grabbing at his shoulder and bicep like you hate him, like you need him. Maybe both.

He sighs again, presses a kiss into your hairline, lingers there. "There, now. You're alright. Just tired, huh?" His voice softens. "You'll feel better after a nap."

He slips away as sleep pulls you back under, the bed creaking, door hinges groaning as he steps outside to himself in hand.

[pathologicalreid]

too heavy to hold | s.r.

in which you and Spencer grieve the loss of the most important person in your life, your son

who: spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: grief, childhood cancer, funerals, medical care, death, dry heaving word count: 1.42k a/n: i sense a notes app apology in my future

Spencer Reid had perfected his chicken noodle soup recipe.

It’s the only thing you could think of when you crossed the threshold of your house, your heels clicking against the hardwood before you stopped in the entryway. There were still servings in the freezer, ready to be made for a toddler who was never coming home.

It was a recipe that needed to be precariously made; Spencer would pull the strings out of celery stalks and overcook the vegetables so they weren’t tough on Cooper. It was a meal that didn’t take a lot of energy to eat, perfect for your three-year-old, especially after the last time you brought him home from the hospital.

Your husband went around you, placing the bag that the funeral home had given you on the kitchen counter and returning to you. Your eyes focused on the bag, a nondescript tote bag that held copies of the obituary, the funeral handout, and Cooper’s death certificate. You weren’t sure what you wanted from the bag; maybe part of you was hoping that you could set it on fire with your gaze.

The house smelled like a flower shop. Since Monday morning, arrangements had been arriving on your porch in a steady stream. People sent flowers, sandwiches, bread baskets, and one fruit arrangement you had let rot for no reason other than you couldn’t get yourself out of bed.

There were more plants at the funeral home; Luke had offered to bring them to your house tonight so you wouldn’t have to worry about them.

Spencer tried to reach out for you, nothing more than setting a hand on your waist, but you stepped away from him, stumbling over your heeled shoes as you did so. You held your breath while you waited for a response, but he just sighed and went to the kitchen.

You deserved that, you supposed, after your breakdown at the wake that ended with you lashing out at JJ. She just caught you at a bad time; you’d just buried your son, and she came up to you telling you she knew how you felt. You’d desperately wanted to draw the connections between her loss and yours, but you were the one who had to spend a thousand dollars on a much too small casket and surround yourself with a group of people telling you just how sorry they were. It ended with Emily bringing you outside, dry heaving off of the edge of the balcony while you begged yourself to wake up from the horrible nightmare you were having.

They shouldn’t even make caskets that small. You shouldn’t have had to buy a cemetery plot for your three-year-old. You’d never understood why people buy plots of land so far in advance of their deaths, but you and Spencer had purchased a plot large enough to reunite you with your son someday.

Parents shouldn’t have to bury their children. You shouldn’t have had to write an obituary for your three-year-old. An obituary should be filled with the life and legacy that someone is passing on to the next generation; it shouldn’t include a description of a baby’s favorite stuffed animal. You’d buried him with it. Cooper and Blue were destined to be together for eternity.

Toys still scattered the family room, train tracks set up all over the floor that you didn’t have the heart to take down. There were blocks on the stairs, but tripping over them would’ve been welcome. At least that way you’d be reminded that he had been here. A reminder of him while memories were still too painful.

Your chest ached while you walked away from Spencer, making your way up the stairs and walking into your room. The blankets on your bed were awry, evidence of five days of restless sleep, and as you kicked your shoes off in the closet, you noticed a faint glow coming from the room across the hall.

You and Spencer had disagreed on how to keep the door to Coop’s room; every time you closed it, Spencer would open it back up again.

Gently, you pushed the door open and sighed. Sunlight was beaming in through the blinds, illuminating everything in the room with an orange glow. It smelled faintly of antiseptic; the cart next to his bed was packed with every medical supply he had ever needed. New boxes were in the closet, gauze and disinfecting wipes provided by your insurance that you’d donate to a new family now that yours didn’t have any use for them.

The smell was oddly comforting, memories of singing to Cooper while you’d administer his medication and dancing around his room to stop him from crying. For every good memory, there were ten unpleasant ones. There had been countless sleepless nights where you and Spencer stayed up with him, cooing and comforting him while he wailed in pain and had already maxed out on pain medication.

He'd never had to feel that kind of pain again, the trade-off was living every day of your life feeling like your heart was being torn out of your chest.

Penelope had stenciled butterflies on his wall; his fascination started during his first remission when one had landed on his finger. When his cancer recurred and you were in the hospital with him, Penelope had taken it upon herself to revamp his bedroom.

He’d died in this room. When the doctors came to you and said there was nothing else they could do for him, you and Spencer knew you had to bring him home. You sang to him, smoothing your hand over his chemo fuzz when he stopped breathing, and you continued to sing until you were choking on your own tears. There were no more words for you to say to him, and your baby was gone.

Standing in it now, you looked around, the stuffed animals piled in the corner, and you missed him. No matter how many people told you he was in a better place or that he wasn’t hurting anymore, you’d always miss him. You’d never get over this kind of loss.

On his dresser, you spotted a folded cloth. It was familiar, but it wasn’t until you took it off of the dresser that you knew exactly what it was. The blanket that you had been given at the hospital when Cooper was born. It smelled faintly of baby shampoo; you held it to your nose as you sat down on his bed.

You hadn’t spent any time in here since the night he died, but with the blanket in hand, you found yourself lying on the bed, his Thomas the Train Engine bedding a welcoming sight beneath you while you begged yourself to never forget the sound of his voice.

“Thanks, JJ,” Spencer’s tired voice carried from down the hall. “Yeah, I’ll let her know.” He walked into your bedroom first, thinking you were in there getting changed, before he peeked into Cooper’s room.

Your eyes met, and the only thing you felt was shame. Shame that you couldn’t do something to help your son, shame that you had pushed everyone away when all they wanted to do was help, and shame that you were denying Spencer the comfort of you because you didn’t think you deserved it.

The two of you were quiet, with you still in your funeral dress and him still in his suit; there was a silent acknowledgment of grief between you. Swallowing thickly, you backed up so that you were against the wall, leaving space for Spencer to lie down with you.

Spencer shut his eyes, and your chest deflated, thinking he didn’t want to be near you. Punishing you for pushing him away.

You closed your eyes, listening to a faint rustle of fabric before you felt the mattress dip down in front of you. Spencer pulled you into him, and in a battle of broken wills, you were the first to hold up a white flag. Wrapping your arms around him, you let yourself be comforted by him while you comforted him.

For a moment, you were too lost in your own sobs to notice that Spencer was crying to you, holding each other for the first time since that night, but instead of your son between you, his blanket took his place. “I’m so sorry,” you blubbered in between sobs, “I love you.”

His arms tightened around you, a silent acknowledgment of your apology, before he sniffled and responded, “I love you too.”

[bblairxe]

If it’s ok to rq, melvika x reader hcs? If no then Sevika nsfw hcs?

Ty, I love your writing ^^🫶

— 🦢

melvika x reader headcanons

sfw

৻ꪆ mel doesn’t let her jealousy get the best of her whenever she sees someone flirting with you or sevika. she’ll step in using her sharp wit to subtly put the other person in place, leaving the other person dumbfounded and frustrated.

৻ꪆ sevika on the other hand, will send someone running the other way if they even glanced at her girls for a second too long. her ‘scary’ figure could have anybody crumbling at her feet.

৻ꪆ mel usually has a hard time with opening up to others, so it took her some time for her to vulnerable with her feelings. eventually you and sevika become her safe space, she’ll start to confide in you both about her ambitions, family, and worries.

৻ꪆ mel isn’t too big on pda, but won’t hesitate to take your hand in hers or give you a small peck on the cheek when the two of you are out.

৻ꪆ sevika loves have you perched on her lap whenever she’s out gambling, as if she’s showing off her most prized possession. she’ll check in on you every once in a while always offering to take you home or come call mel to keep you company.

৻ꪆ you love bringing your girls little gifts or trinkets. it could be flowers, figurines, or even a cool rock. they’ll always accept it with a big smile on their face, and cherish it forever.

nsfw

৻ꪆ mel loves having you put on a show for her, ordering sevika to pound into you relentlessly. barking orders at sev, telling her how to touch you and where. she adores seeing her two girls fuck like wild animals !

৻ꪆ they’re favorite thing in the world is overstimulating you. sevika could eat you out for hours on end, her tongue lapping and sucking at your achy cunt. you look at mel with big doe eyes, hoping from some sympathy from her and telling sevika to let up. instead, she just assures you, repeating another, “just one more, darling.” even though she said that two orgasms ago.

৻ꪆ mel is extremely patient, so patient to the point it’s cruel. she’ll bring you to the edge, and just as she notices your orgasm about to wash over you, she’ll stop. yet, she does apologizes with little pecks, swearing it’ll be over soon.

৻ꪆ sevika goes crazy when she hears you whines or moans, especially if she’s the one causing it. she’ll groan in your ear, “keep makin’ those fucking noises baby.” sometimes she gets so lost in your sounds, she’ll start speeding up just to draw more out of you.

৻ꪆ mel is all for being in charge, having you and sevika at her feet in a second. if you or sev piss her off, she’ll tie the both of you up, hands over your head, with a vibrator latched onto your clits. making apologies spew out of your mouths, sadly mel won’t let up, not until she’s satisfied.

short but yea !

[cozycottagetarot]

The Little Things That Drive Them Wild

Notes: I've been working on this all week, I'm depressed and on top of that burnt out and exhausted soooo sorry if I missed any mistakes!

💄 Reading Contents:

How Do You Unintentionally Captivate Them?

The Personality Traits They Find Magnetic

Your Everyday Charm

💋 Patreon Extended:

Moments When They Feel Weak for You

Their Favorite “Caught in the Act” Moments

How They Fantasize About Responding

This reading is for entertainment purposes only! Take only what resonates be it all, some or none! ✨

LINKS: Reading Masterlist | Dividers | Ko-Fi | Patreon | Patreon Masterlist | Paid Readings | Paid Readings - $10 and Under - PLEASE DM ME ABOUT READINGS

PILE 1

How Do You Unintentionally Captivate Them?

Cards: Page of Cups, Two of Wands, Sun,

For some reason, the first thing that comes to mind is someone caught mid-thought, their eyes kind of distant but soft, lost in a dream or musing about something exciting. There’s something so captivating about when you slip into those moments. It’s like you radiate this quiet, hopeful energy that makes your person wonder what’s going on in that mind of yours. To them, it's irresistible.

You also have this undeniable joy exuding from you. The kind that can infects others without them even noticing. When you’re fully in the moment, letting this joy pour out of you, it’s like the world around you disappears for your person. They’re completely pulled in without you even trying.

I also keep getting this image of you smiling—a genuine, effortless kind of smile—and your person being absolutely smitten. You seem to have this way of lighting up when you’re excited or happy, and it’s almost like they can’t help but feel it, too.

The Personality Traits They Find Magnetic

Cards: Knight of Swords, Death, Seven of Wands

The first thing that stands out is your ambition and drive—you don’t hesitate to charge forward when you’ve set your sights on something, and your person finds that magnetic. And it’s not just that you��re ambitious; it’s the way you act on it. You seek out transformation and change with a sense of confidence and purpose. There’s something so inspiring to your person about the way you embrace growth, even when it means taking risks or stepping into the unknown.

I also get that your fierceness is a big part of what draws them in. I feel like you don’t back down when it comes to defending what you believe in. Even in moments where you might not be 100% correct, the passion you bring when it comes to standing your ground is something your person finds strangely endearing. Part of what draws your person to you is that spitfire energy and the way you throw your whole heart into what you care about.

But you also have a softer energy that balances everything out. You’re someone who's generous and compassionate, maybe even without a second thought. You're the type of person who would stop everything to help an injured animal or lend a hand to someone in need without a second thought. It’s that blend of intensity and gentleness that makes keeps the hooked. Your person loves how multi-dimensional you are—someone who can fight for their beliefs one moment and show deep compassion the next.

Your Everyday Charm

Cards: Five of Cups, Five of Wands, Wheel of Fortune, Ace of Cups

There’s something about you that comes across as a bit mysterious... I feel like in quieter moments when you’re lost in thought or just keeping to yourself, your person may feel like they take the time to really see you. What I mean by this is the little details about you such as the way your features soften when you’re deep in your own world.

I don’t know if you’re someone who fidgets or has a habit of touching things, but it feels like they notice those small quirks. Maybe it’s the way you twirl your hair, tap your fingers, or run your hand over a textured surface— but whatever it is, it’s something they can’t help but find endearing. I'm also getting that in moments where you’re being challenged by others, you may observe before reacting. If they're with you, it’s like they can see the gears turning in your head. They love watching you process things, almost like they’re trying to understand your inner workings of your mind.

There’s also this magical quality about you, like you have this ability to make life feel filled with magic in the simplest of ways. You might not even realize it, but somehow you make them feel like they’re living in a dream. There’s a sweetness to the way you show care, whether it’s through small, everyday gestures or moments where you’re pouring into your person or your relationship. Even mundane things—like making them a cup of coffee, fixing their hair, or just sitting next to them—feel enchanted for your person.

💋 Discover what makes them weak for you, their favorite “Caught in the Act” moments, and how they fantasize about responding (not a spicy reading). Plus, unlock exclusive extended readings for all my other PACs when you join The Cozy Corner for just $1.50 USD (and up). Check it out here.✨

PILE 2

How Do You Unintentionally Captivate Them?

Cards: Five of Wands, Three of Cups, Death

The first thing that comes to mind is your ability to adapt effortlessly to different environments and social circles. It’s like you could seamlessly blend into one group today and an entirely opposite group tomorrow, without missing a beat. This could stem from a survival mechanism you developed throughout your life, but it’s become second nature—a part of who you are. Your ability to navigate these social dynamics with ease is likely something your person finds captivating.

There’s also a strong sense of resilience about you. The way you handle conflict or challenging situations seems graceful, almost effortless, even when the odds are stacked against you. Your person might be struck by how you manage to remain composed under pressure and spin difficult moments into opportunities for growth. They might admire the way you emerge from the other side of hardship renewed, stronger, and ready to embrace what’s next.

Beyond that, there’s a warm, supportive energy radiating from you. Whether you’re celebrating with others or offering comfort, you seem to have a knack for making people feel at ease. I also get a sense of enchantment from these cards, almost as if there’s a spark of magic in how you carry yourself. For some reason, Tinker Bell comes to mind—maybe it’s a reminder of your playful, whimsical side or your ability to light up a room in unexpected ways. Maybe it's a confirmation for something you've been pondering on for a bit.

The Personality Traits They Find Magnetic Cards: Seven of Cups (Reversed), Page of Pentacles, The Emperor

You give off an energy of someone who is grounded, decisive, and incredibly self-assured. You have an ability to cut through the noise (of life really). While others might get lost in daydreams or overwhelmed by choices, you’re someone who sees clearly and knows exactly what you want. Your person could likely find this decisiveness magnetic, as it exudes a quiet confidence that feels stable and dependable.

I think you also bring a unique blend of practicality and creativity to the table. You’re someone who can take even the smallest spark of an idea and nurture it into something tangible. You have the focus and drive to bring dreams to life, and that’s an inspiring quality. It’s like you’re the one people look to when they need a plan or want to see something through. You come across as someone who knows how to take charge and create stability, whether in your own life or for those around you. Your person might admire how dependable you are, someone they (and others) can rely on for solid advice or a calm presence in chaotic times. I also feel like you're someone who puts the time and effort in and that's something that just does it for your person.

Your Everyday Charm Cards: Wheel of Fortune, The World, Five of Pentacles

There’s something charming about how you carry yourself through life’s ups and downs and not just the significant moments but the little ones too. Like missing a bus, running late for work, running out of something when you need it (I hope you get the gist lol). I also feel like your person sees beauty not just in your appearance (although that's emphasized as well) but in the way you quietly navigate the dull moments and short term disappointments we experience. You have a way of picking yourself up and boosting your spirit that is endearing. On a daily level, it might be the little things you do to create beauty in your life, no matter the circumstances. Think how you decorate your spaces, plate your food, cultivate a cozy moment.

Your person really admire how you’re able to turn the simplest things into something special, creating a life that feels fulfilling and intentional even when resources are limited. You don’t need the latest trends or expensive items—you can take something as humble as a few old books or scraps and turn them into something that feels genuinely valuable.

Your person notices the way you focus on making things better, no matter the circumstances, and finds it charming and hard to ignore.

💋 Discover what makes them weak for you, their favorite “Caught in the Act” moments, and how they fantasize about responding (not a spicy reading). Plus, unlock exclusive extended readings for all my other PACs when you join The Cozy Corner for just $1.50 USD (and up). Check it out here.✨

Pile 3

How You Unintentionally Captivate Them

Cards: Death, Judgement. The Emperor, The Hierophant 

It’s not just one thing—it’s everything about you that pulls them in without you even realizing it. There’s this grounded, unshakeable energy you carry, but it’s wrapped in a quiet elegance that feels so effortless. It’s not about trying to stand out; you just do. The way you move through life—intentional, steady, and composed—creates a presence that people can’t help but notice. Even in chaos, you somehow stay calm, like you’re the eye of the storm.

What really gets them is how deeply you focus on what’s in front of you. It’s like the world blurs around you, and you’re completely in your element. Whether it’s the way your hands move when you’re busy, the calm in your voice when you’re speaking, or the determination in your eyes when you’re locked into something—it’s magnetic. They can’t look away.

It’s in the small, subtle things, too. The way you pay attention to details, how you seem to elevate even the simplest moments, or that quiet confidence you have without even trying. Maybe it’s the way you smile, how kind you are in little ways, or the natural grace you bring into every interaction. It feels like you make life more beautiful just by being in it.

There’s this perfect balance between your strength and your calmness that they can’t get enough of. You’re firm but approachable, confident but kind, and it’s just captivating. They admire how you move through life and how you make them feel just by being yourself.

The Personality Traits They Find Magnetic

Cards: Four of Cups, Eight of Wands, Queen of Wands, Strength

Your person is attracted to how intentional you are about what you let into your world. You don’t say “yes” just to go along with things or settle for something that doesn’t feel right. Your discerning nature makes you stand out and pulls them in.

There’s also the way you move through life with an air of purpose, momentum, and confidence. You don’t linger too long in “what ifs” or overthinking; you simply trust yourself to make the right call and go for it. It makes watching you in action thrilling for your person as you bring this bright, unstoppable energy wherever you go. You’re bold, and you own it, but it never feels forced. It’s just you, shining naturally.

I do think that what makes you really magnetic to your person is how you balance your boldness with gentleness. Beneath all you passion and creativity, there’s a softness that makes people feel safe and seen. It’s in the way you treat others with kindness and show care without making a big deal about it. Even when you’re chasing your passions, you always seem to carry this warmth and thoughtfulness.

Your Everyday Charm 

Cards: Wheel of Fortune, Justice, Nine of Pentacles

Somehow, you manage to make the simplest moments feel special, like everything you touch has a hint of magic to it. Even the way you go about your routine feels intentional, like you’re crafting a life that’s all your own.

I know I keep saying it, but the balance you keep on a daily basis charms your person. You’ve got this knack for keeping things in harmony, be it work, downtime, or fun, and on top of that you make it look so natural. It’s not about chasing perfection either, you just do what works for you. I think your person admires this so much.

I think you also manage to genuinely enjoy your everyday life and your person loves that about you. You don’t wait for big moments to feel happy—you find joy in the small stuff. Whether it’s sipping your favorite tea, throwing on an outfit that makes you feel amazing, or stopping to notice something beautiful, you have this way of savoring life that’s so refreshing.

💋 Discover what makes them weak for you, their favorite “Caught in the Act” moments, and how they fantasize about responding (not a spicy reading). Plus, unlock exclusive extended readings for all my other PACs when you join The Cozy Corner for just $1.50 USD (and up). Check it out here.✨

[p0orbaby]

All I Want for Christmas

summary: your daughter didn’t get the one present she really wanted

warnings: none !

a/n: thank you for the request, i hope you like it !

word count: 2.9k

-

You notice something’s off with Eliana two days after Christmas. At first, it’s subtle—an anomaly so slight it could almost be chalked up to post-holiday fatigue. Normally, mornings with Eliana are chaotic in a way that feels both exhausting and oddly necessary, as though the house depends on her noise to keep it from crumbling into silence. She bursts into the day like a firework: her small feet slapping against the wood floors, her hair a wild halo of dark curls, her voice ricocheting between pitches as she narrates her life in real time or belts out whatever song has recently embedded itself in her psyche.

Today, there’s none of that. She lingers in her pyjamas—a pair with faded unicorns that she refuses to let you throw away despite the fraying cuffs—long after breakfast. When you remind her to brush her teeth, she drags her feet, her movements lethargic in a way that feels rehearsed, like she’s trying to stretch each step into eternity. It’s the absence of urgency that unsettles you. Eliana thrives on urgency. She once cried because Alexia beat her to the front door when the postman rang.

But this morning, there’s no competition. No noise. No off-key rendition of Vampire by Olivia Rodrigo echoing from the bathroom as she “forgets” to spit out her toothpaste. You’re struck by how quiet the house feels. Not peaceful—just wrong.

By lunch, the feeling hardens into certainty. Eliana picks at her sandwich with the detached precision of someone performing a task they’ve been paid to complete. She peels the crust away slowly, meticulously, her small fingers working like a jeweller inspecting a flawed diamond. The crust sits in a neat pile beside her plate, untouched. So do the carrot sticks you’ve artfully arranged into a star shape—an attempt to disguise healthy food as something fun. Usually, she’d at least nibble on the points before declaring them “too crunchy.” Today, she doesn’t even bother with the charade.

And then there’s the Coke. You could write a thesis on Eliana’s Coke-stealing habits. How she waits, biding her time like a cat stalking prey, until you’re sufficiently distracted—mid-sentence, mid-bite, mid-thought. The moment your guard drops, she strikes: clutching the can with both hands, her face breaking into a grin so triumphant it’s impossible to be mad. You always let her have one sip, though you draw the line at more. She doesn’t push her luck; she knows where the boundary is and takes satisfaction in skirting it.

But today, the Coke sits untouched. You leave it on the table deliberately, watching her from the corner of your eye, waiting for the familiar rustle of movement. It doesn’t come. She doesn’t even glance at it.

Alexia notices it too. She’s standing at the kitchen sink, rinsing the cutting board she insists on hand-washing because the dishwasher “ruins the wood” (a claim you’ve never verified but don’t argue against). “She’s been quiet today,” Alexia murmurs, glancing towards the living room. Her tone is casual, but there’s an edge of concern beneath it.

You follow her gaze. Eliana is curled up on the sofa, her knees drawn to her chest, her chin resting on top of them. The TV plays some saccharine animated film about magical snowmen and plucky penguins—one of those films where everything sparkles unnaturally, and the characters blink too often. Normally, Eliana would be transfixed, laughing at all the wrong parts and narrating the plot aloud despite everyone already watching. But today, she’s motionless. Her eyes are glassy, unfocused, as though the screen is a window to a world she can’t quite enter.

“Maybe she’s tired,” you say, though you don’t believe it. Eliana doesn’t do tired. Even as a baby, she fought sleep like it was a personal enemy, crying herself hoarse rather than admit defeat. Sleep was a battle you rarely won outright; most nights, you settled for a stalemate.

Alexia doesn’t look convinced either. She dries her hands on a dishtowel, her brow furrowed. “I don’t know,” she says. “This isn’t like her”

It isn’t. And that terrifies you in a way you can’t fully articulate. You watch her from the kitchen doorway, your hand resting lightly on the frame, as though bracing yourself against an invisible weight. She looks small. Fragile. The kind of fragile that makes you want to wrap her in bubble wrap and keep her from the world.

But it’s not her size that unnerves you—it’s the silence. Eliana’s silence feels like an absence, like something crucial has been taken away without your permission. You can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong, though you don’t know what.

And that, more than anything, is what scares you.

-

You get your answer that evening, during bedtime. Eliana’s room is a testament to her devotion to pink—a monochromatic sanctuary where even the air seems tinged with a rosy hue. The walls are painted a soft blush, a decision you regretted halfway through applying the third coat but one you could never take back once she saw the finished product and declared it “princess perfect.” Her duvet cover is a riot of pastel stars, most faded from repeated wash cycles and the occasional chocolate milk spill. On her bedside table sits a lamp with a shade adorned with tiny ballerinas, their poses forever frozen mid-pirouette.

The bookshelves, crammed to the edges, are an organised chaos of her literary life. Picture books dominate the lower shelves—familiar titles with tattered spines that you could recite in your sleep (Guess How Much I Love You has practically become your mantra). Higher up, a collection of chapter books gathers dust, ambitious purchases she insisted on during a trip to the bookstore, her eyes wide with determination. She struggles with the longer words but refuses to ask for help, insisting on piecing together syllables with the kind of stubborn grit that feels both infuriating and endearing. She gets that from you.

You tuck her in with the practised efficiency of someone who has made a ritual out of bedtime. She clutches Mr Snuggles, a stuffed rabbit so battered it looks like it’s survived a war zone. He’s missing an eye, his fur matted beyond recognition, but to Eliana, he’s irreplaceable. You know this because you’ve tried to replace him—multiple times, in fact. You’ve scoured boutique toy stores, online shops, and even eBay, searching for a plush rabbit with vaguely similar dimensions. Each attempt has been met with disdain. “It’s not him,” she always says, clutching Mr Snuggles tighter as though you’d threatened to take him away permanently.

“You’ve been quiet today,” you say, brushing a strand of dark hair away from her face. Her hair has reached that awkward in-between length where it’s too long to leave unchecked but too short to do anything meaningful with. She hates the hairdressers, the stiff capes they drape over her, and the stylist’s endless chatter about her favourite Disney princess. You’ll have to bribe her with ice cream to get her there.

She doesn’t respond immediately. Her gaze drifts upwards, her eyes fixed on the ceiling as though it holds the answer to some unspoken question. Her fingers tighten around Mr Snuggles, her thumb absently stroking the spot where his eye used to be. Finally, she speaks.

“Santa didn’t bring me what I wanted”

Your stomach twists in the way it does when you know something is wrong, but you can’t yet identify what. “What do you mean?” you ask, keeping your tone light. “He brought you loads of things. That dollhouse you’ve been asking for since May, the colouring set with the glitter pens—”

“No,” she interrupts, her voice soft but resolute. “I wanted a sister”

You blink. “You wanted what?”

“A sister,” she repeats, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And he didn’t bring me one”

For a moment, you’re too stunned to respond. Your brain cycles through a series of fragmented thoughts: What? When? How? You glance over your shoulder, half-expecting Alexia to materialise in the doorway, her presence offering a lifeline. But the hallway is empty, save for the faint hum of the washing machine on its spin cycle. You’re on your own.

“When… when did you ask Santa for a sister?” you manage, your voice strained with the effort of keeping a straight face.

“At school,” she says matter-of-factly. “We wrote letters. Miss García said we could ask for anything we wanted”

“And you asked for a sister?”

She nods, her expression solemn in the way only a six-year-old can manage when they think they’ve been wronged.

“And you didn’t think to mention this to me? Or Mamá?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise”

You press your fingers to your temples, as if physically holding your head together will help you process what you’re hearing. A surprise. Of course. Eliana watches you with wide eyes, her expression expectant. It dawns on you that she’s waiting for an explanation.

“Well,” you begin, your words slow and deliberate, as though carefully navigating a minefield, “Santa doesn’t… bring people as presents”

“Why not?”

Because it’s illegal. Because Santa isn’t real. Because your wife and I can barely handle the one child we already have.

“Because,” you say instead, stalling, “that’s not how it works. Sisters are… different. You don’t get them from Santa”

Her brow furrows, and for a moment, she looks startlingly like Alexia—her small face drawn into a frown of concentration, as though dissecting your words for hidden meaning. “Then where do they come from?”

You pause, the weight of the question settling over you like a heavy blanket. There are a dozen ways you could answer this, most of them wildly inappropriate for a six-year-old. You settle on, “From Parents, sweetheart”

She considers this for a moment, her head tilting slightly to the side. “So can you and Mamá make me one?”

The question hangs in the air, absurd and sincere in equal measure. You feel a sudden, overwhelming urge to laugh. Or cry. Or both. “It’s not that simple, Eliana”

“Why not?”

Before you can answer, Alexia appears in the doorway, her hair pulled into a loose bun, her face flushed from the effort of folding laundry. She takes one look at your face, at the strained expression and the faint sheen of panic in your eyes, and bursts out laughing.

-

Later that night, after Eliana is finally asleep, you and Alexia sit in the living room, letting the weight of the day settle over you. The room is dim except for the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights, blinking lazily in alternating patterns. The air smells faintly of pine needles and the remnants of the vanilla candle Alexia lit hours ago but forgot to blow out. There’s an almost sacred stillness in the house, the kind that feels rare and precious when you have a six-year-old.

Alexia hands you a glass of wine, her fingers brushing yours for a moment longer than necessary. She sits beside you on the sofa, curling her legs beneath her and pulling a blanket over both of your laps. She’s wearing an oversized hoodie—yours, you think, judging by the way the sleeves swallow her hands—and a pair of faded joggers. Her hair is loose, falling in soft waves around her face, and there’s a faint smudge of mascara beneath one eye that she hasn’t bothered to wipe off.

She looks tired but beautiful, the kind of beauty that feels effortless and intimate, like a secret only you’re privy to. It makes your chest ache in a way you don’t entirely understand.

“So,” she says, breaking the silence, “our daughter asked Santa for a sister”

You exhale, shaking your head as you take a sip of wine. It’s red, something bold and expensive that Alexia brought home last week. She has a knack for choosing good wine, even though she always claims it’s pure luck. “She did”

“And she’s heartbroken Santa didn’t deliver,” Alexia adds, her tone half-amused, half-disbelieving.

“She is,” you say, setting your glass on the coffee table. The table itself is covered in the detritus of Christmas: an abandoned roll of wrapping paper, a pair of scissors, and the instructions for the dollhouse you spent three hours assembling on Christmas Eve while Alexia supervised with a glass of champagne in hand.

Alexia leans back, stretching her legs across your lap. Her socked feet are warm against your thigh, and she wiggles her toes absently as she looks at you. “What do you think?” she asks, her voice light, as if she’s testing the waters.

“About Eliana asking for a sister?”

“No,” she says, her lips twitching into a small smile. “About giving her one”

You laugh, a short, sharp sound that feels more defensive than amused. “You can’t be serious”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” you repeat, incredulous. “Because we barely survived the first time around. Do you not remember the colic? The sleepless nights? The time she screamed for three hours straight because she didn’t like the colour of her bib?”

Alexia tilts her head, as if genuinely considering your words. “She was a baby. That’s what babies do”

“Exactly. And you want to do it all over again?”

Her smile widens, and there’s a mischievous glint in her eyes now. “Maybe”

You groan, leaning your head back against the sofa. “You’re insane”

“I’m not,” she insists, nudging your thigh with her foot. “Think about it. Eliana’s older now. She’s more independent. She’s in school most of the day. We’re not in the trenches anymore”

“The trenches,” you mutter, reaching for your wine again.

Alexia shifts closer, her foot still resting against your thigh. “I loved it, you know. All of it. Even the hard parts”

“You loved it?”

“Yes,” she says firmly. “I loved being a mum to a newborn. Watching her grow, seeing all the little things she learned every day. It was… magical”

You glance at her, and the soft, wistful expression on her face makes something inside you twist.

“And you,” she continues, her voice lowering slightly, “you were amazing”

“Alexia,” you say, a hint of warning in your tone.

“I’m serious,” she says, her hand finding yours beneath the blanket. Her fingers are warm, her grip gentle but insistent. “You were. You still are. And when you were pregnant…”

You raise an eyebrow. “What?”

She grins, her teeth catching the light. “You were insatiable”

“Oh, for God’s sake”

“It’s true,” she says, laughing now. “I could barely keep up with you”

“You managed,” you mutter, taking another sip of wine.

Her laughter fades into a softer, more thoughtful smile. “I’m just saying,” she says, her thumb brushing over the back of your hand, “I wouldn’t mind doing it all over again”

You study her, trying to discern if she’s really serious or just testing the waters. But there’s something in her eyes, a quiet certainty that unnerves you.

“You really want another baby,” you say, not quite a question.

She nods. “I do”

“And when were you planning on telling me this?”

She shrugs, looking faintly sheepish. “I don’t know. I guess I was waiting for the right moment”

“Like now? After our daughter guilt-tripped us with her Santa request?”

Alexia laughs, and the sound is warm and infectious. “Exactly”

You shake your head, but a small smile tugs at your lips despite yourself. “You’re unbelievable”

“I’m practical,” she counters. “Think about it. We can afford it. We have the space. The time. A great support system. Mami would love to help us out again”

You raise an eyebrow. “You want to tell her we’re thinking about having another baby? You know she’ll start knitting booties the second the words leave your mouth”

Alexia shrugs, unbothered. “Let her. Eliana would love matching booties for her and her sibling”

The image of Eliana holding a tiny, wriggling baby flashes in your mind, unbidden. It’s too cute, too perfect, and you push it away before it can take root.

“It’s not just about logistics,” you say quietly.

“I know,” Alexia says, her voice softening. “But we’ve done this before. We know what to expect now. And we’re not the same people we were back then. We’re stronger. Better”

You glance at her, at the quiet confidence in her expression, and feel a pang of guilt for doubting her. She’s right, of course. You’ve come so far since those early days with Eliana. But still, the thought of starting over feels overwhelming.

“I don’t know,” you say finally. “It’s a lot to think about”

Alexia nods, her thumb still tracing slow circles on the back of your hand. “I’m not asking for a decision tonight. Just… think about it”

You nod, letting your head rest against her shoulder. The wineglass dangles from your fingers, forgotten. The weight of her hand on yours, the steady rise and fall of her breath, grounds you.

For a moment, the two of you sit in silence, the only sound the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Then Alexia speaks again, her voice so soft you almost don’t hear her.

“She’d be a great big sister,” she says. “Don’t you think?”

You close your eyes, letting the words settle over you. In your mind’s eye, you see Eliana again, her wide, hopeful eyes as she clutched Mr Snuggles to her chest. You see her laughing, running through the park with a smaller version of herself trailing behind her.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “She would”

[sysig]

She’s only a little thing! (Patreon)

[gokyrts]

Patrón!Carlos | C.S. 55

18+ | warnings: mentions of drugs, cartel politics, mentions of kidnapping, d/s dynamics, finger sucking, dom!carlos, unprotected p in v, spanking, oral (m receiving), slight degradation and humiliation, light ass play, dirty talk

Summary: you needed a favour, a favour only the leader of the local drug cartel could grant you, so you went to beg for it and you bit more than you could chew

Author’s note: MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM YOURS TRULY!! This is a gift for all my lovely supporters. if you’ve liked Mafia AU, you’re definitely gonna like this 🤭 welcome to Narcos AU with Carlos Sainz !

wc: 4.3k

Check out part two here and part three here !

In case you’re unfamiliar with the plot and terms of Narcos, here’s a little vocabulary with terms that are used throughout the story:

el patrón — (noun) boss of a drug cartel

sicarios — (noun, pl.) high ranking members of a cartel, armed, usually on motorcycles

DEA — (noun) drug enforcement administration; U.S. federal office tasked with combatting drug trafficking

The air outside the compound was still, heavy with the heat of late afternoon. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of laughter echoed, mingling with the crackle of a lit cigar. You sat alone, staring at the rim of your glass, swirling the amber liquid inside. The burn of it no longer registered—it had stopped doing that weeks ago. You hated this place. Hated the velvet couches, the chandeliers, the lingering stench of power and fear. But it had become your world.

Your sister was safe. That was what mattered. That was what you kept telling yourself.

Still, the memory of the first step you’d taken into this life clung to you like smoke, no matter how many times you tried to shove it away. And, as always, it returned unbidden:

The air was just as oppressive that day, tightening around your throat, pressing against your chest. But not nearly as oppressive as the gazes and words of the sicarios you encountered when you came to beg for a favor. Their eyes on you like you were a piece of meat delivered to their door.

“Move along, sweetheart,” one of them said, making your stomach churn.

“I need to speak with señor Sainz.” your assertiveness was a joke to them, seeing nothing more than a defenseless animal.

“Did you hear that?” he’d said, turning to the other guard with exaggerated mockery. “Little mama here wants to speak to el patrón.”

Their laughter had stung, but you’d swallowed your pride. This wasn’t about you. It was about your sister. It was about survival.

“Please,” you’d whispered, your voice cracking just enough to reveal the desperation in your chest. “It’s important.”

The sicarios had exchanged amused glances before one stepped forward, his expression darkening with a hint of suspicion. “Es importante, ah?” he’d asked, the firearm in his hands a reminder of who had control. “How so?”

Your fists had tightened, your body screaming to run, but you had stood your ground. “I need his help. My… my sister has been kidnapped.”

The two men exchanged a glance, this one colder, heavier. Without another word, they had stepped aside, opening the door to the building with a mockingly polite gesture. “Muy bien, let’s see what the boss has to say to this… little request.”

They had flanked you as you walked down the dim corridor, the echo of their heavy boots swallowing your lighter steps. The long hallway felt like a gauntlet, and each step seemed to draw you further into a cage you wouldn’t be able to escape. They led you to an unassuming door, another guard stationed outside. A brief knock sounded, a whisper you hadn’t caught, and then you were ushered inside.

Carlos Sainz’s office had been every bit as ostentatious as you’d imagined. The room reeked of wealth: leather chairs, imported bourbon, and a portrait of the man himself staring down from the wall. But none of it had held your attention for long. Your gaze had locked onto Carlos the moment you saw him.

He’d been seated behind his desk, looking as though he owned not just the room but the air you were breathing. His expression had been unreadable, save for the faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

Before you could speak, one of the guards shoved you forward. “I’m not armed!” you’d snapped, your voice sharp with indignation.

The guard’s rough hands searched you anyway, brushing over your clothes with no effort to hide his smugness. Carlos, meanwhile, had leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, watching the scene like it was some form of theater staged for his amusement.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he’d said, his smirk widening as his gaze swept over you. “You seem to have a sharp tongue on you, señorita.”

You’d forced yourself to endure and once the guard was satisfied, you had been given the space to speak.

“I—I need your help, señor. They… they took my little sister. I don’t know who else to turn to.”

He hadn’t reacted at first. Instead, he’d reached for a glass, pouring himself a measure of whiskey with deliberate slowness. The sound of the liquid hitting the glass filled the room like a mocking echo.

“You came to ask for a favor?” he’d said finally, his tone light, as though you were discussing the weather. He hadn’t given you a chance to respond. “I remember you owing a favor to me, little one.”

Your throat had tightened. Of course, he remembered. A debt passed down from your father, inherited like a curse. You’d known the weight of it would crush you someday. You just hadn’t expected it to be this soon.

“Sí, señor,” you’d said, voice cracking, fighting the urge to wipe your sweaty palms on your skirt. “I still owe you. But I need this, please. She was taken by men from the other side. I-I don’t want them to hurt her or worse…”

Carlos had tilted his head, studying you as though you were some strange creature that had wandered into his den.

“So… you expect me to solve more of your family’s problems, sí?” His words were light, almost teasing, but the sharp edge in his gaze had made your stomach twist.

Your knees had felt weak, but you’d pressed on. “Please,” you’d said again, the word tasting like ash on your tongue. “I—I will do anything.”

At that, his amusement had deepened. The room had gone still.

“Anything…?” he’d repeated, his voice dropping just enough to make you shiver. One of the guards had snickered, but Carlos had silenced him with a click of his tongue. Then he’d mentioned for the guards to exit, leaving only the two of you in the room.

With deliberate slowness, he’d risen from his chair, rounding the desk until he stood in front of you. He’d been taller than you remembered, his presence overwhelming.

“Do you know what that word means, little one?” he’d asked, his voice low and dangerous. “Do you know what it costs to ask me for a favor?”

You’d lowered your gaze, the weight of his stare crushing you.

“I… I will pay the price,” you’d whispered.

Carlos had tilted his head, lifting your chin upward with surprising gentleness, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Careful,” he’d murmured, his tone soft but laced with warning. “There are men who would take this as an invitation...”

You’d stiffened, your skin crawling under his touch.

“But I’m not one of them…not today.” he’d stepped back with a smirk, allowing you to breathe again.

“Muy bien,” he’d said, returning to his desk. “I’ll deal with these men and bring your sister back. But… from this moment on, you’re mine. Your time, your life. When I call, you answer. No questions. No hesitation. Understood?”

You’d hesitated, just for a moment, but Carlos didn’t let you. His voice had turned sharp, cutting through your resistance like a blade.

“Understood?”

“Yes,” you’d said, voice shaking. “Yes… I understand.”

He’d smirked, satisfied. “Good. Go home, little one. Get some rest. You’ll need it.”

…

You closed your eyes as the memory finished replaying, pressing the glass back to your lips, its contents dwindling fast. Anticipation brewed in your gut mingling with the expensive imported whiskey. He has called again and you answered, per agreement.

Over time you learned to ignore the hungry stares from his wolves, their sleazy whispers, and dirty hands adjusting their pants when you passed them in the halls of the safehouse. It made you sick. But this was part of the price you had to pay. The price you agreed to pay for the safety of your sister’s life, and the doom of your own.

“Princesita,”

Your eyes snapped open at his voice — smooth, silky, like the liquor you just downed. The familiar burning sensation returned, your body starting to smolder again. You swallowed the bitterness and turned on your hell, the dress you were told to wear flowing around your form.

Carlos regarded you with a long gaze, from the shoes you picked to wear, across your hips and waist, where the dress tightly hugged your soft curves, to your face, lingering on your painted lips.

He nodded in approval, beckoning you closer with a finger.

Teaching you obedience was his favorite, along with making you regret every life decision you ever made, but especially the deal you made with him.

His thumb found your bottom lip as you stepped closer, the red on your lips pulling him in like a bull following its toreador. The rough surface of his finger swiped over the carefully applied lipstick, smudging it and dragging it down your chin. A flicker of amusement appeared in his eyes at your ruined look, his favorite look on you. His thumb slid off your chin, leaving a light red stain.

Beautiful, he thought, before retracting his hand only to notice the smudge on his finger.

He pressed the thumb back against your mouth.

“Clean it.”

And your body burned, the whiskey in your gut the fuse and his command the spark. The finger was thrust into your mouth with zero patience, the taste of ash and metal hitting your tongue along the unmistakable sweetness of your cherry red lipstick. As much as the taste made you retch, it was addicting.

First lesson in obedience — do as you’re told.

Your tongue wrapped around the digit, swirling to catch the pad of his thumb and sucking it clean. Carlos rewarded you with a hum of approval, pressing down harder on your tongue, forcing your mouth to open up further.

Your jaw gave way, letting Carlos in on the sight of his saliva-covered thumb in your mouth, your tongue playing around with it. He pulled back, dragging his finger out of your mouth but not without wiping it slightly against your lip, enhancing the redness of it with a top coat.

“Good girl… good ruined girl.”

Heat pooled between your legs, forcing an involuntary hum from your throat. Weeks ago you would resist, deny, and deflect — you didn’t want him to notice, because he noticed everything — but his praise was like a switch flipped in your brain.

However, as fast as he praised, he also did the exact opposite.

“Go clean your face, I’m not letting you accompany me looking like that.” he spat, stepping aside so you could go wipe the mess he made on your face. The oval mirror in his office was nearly as familiar as the face you saw in it. The flashbacks were instant when you looked into it, images of him, of you, in positions he forced you into. Carlos liked making you watch, it etched itself in your memory better, he said.

You squeezed your thighs together as you wiped the ruined lipstick off of your chin, similar redness blooming on your cheeks. Carlos smirked knowingly, standing a few feet behind you. He could be in the background, not even touching you but your body was aflame for him, your mind playing tricks on you, triggers he put in your head setting off. You reapplied the lipstick, the phantom feeling of his finger on them almost making you miss the intimacy.

There was a knock on the door, signaling your ride was there. Armed guards escorted you to an awaiting car. A small convoy left the compound to ensure the patrón’s safety. A meeting with the other Narcos wasn’t something to underestimate. Light chatter took part in the car you were not part of. They didn’t need your opinion. You were there as a pretty face, nothing more, nothing less.

As you approached the hotel where the meeting would be held, the oppressive air started clawing at your lungs again. The delicate power balance you felt in the atmosphere was unnerving, ready to tip over in any direction. You and Carlos were patted down before entering. It was agreed that this meeting would be weapon-free. If anything was to go down, you’d be fighting with your bare hands.

The hotel was grand, smelling of the same filthy richness that Carlos’ office did. Your presence caught eyes. A woman, a pretty woman, here? Just as you learned to ignore the stares and comments of Carlos’ sicarios*, you avoided those of the other men, asking if you were lost or looking for a good time. The tension only heightened as you neared the entered the conference room and Carlos felt the need to remind you of your place. He caught you by the elbow, pulling you back against him, his lips against your ear. “You’re here to keep me company, not to speak. Understood?”

Your breath hitched, his voice, so close, sent shivers down your back. “Sí, señor.”

Carlos was satisfied enough with your response and let you go, stepping around you and opening the door. Your smaller form was hidden behind Carlos’ broad back as you entered, the other Narcos only catching sight of you as you walked along the enormous glass table.

Without looking up, you uttered a quiet ‘Buenos dias, señores.’ That was the only time you were allowed to speak.

Behind the clouds of smoke from cigars and cigarettes, the Narcos recognized a woman. They exchanged glances, whispers, scoffs but nothing you wouldn’t be used to already. Despite their visible disapproval, no one dared speak up.

Carlos sat at the head of the table, as he was the organizer of the meeting, leaving you a small seat behind him, just to further emphasize you were not part of the negotiations.

The meeting started but not much has reached your ears throughout, selectively more than not. The Narcos discussed new routes, skirmishes with the DEA, feuds over territory, nothing you could be a part of anyway.

You were picking on your nails when one of the older gentlemen mentioned the neighborhood you grew up in.

“…a possible lab location, routes go out here and through this way,”

His fat finger was pointing to a map, showing what in his mind was a new business idea the others would approve of. For a moment you were taken into your childhood home, playing with your sister on the front porch. It was nice, safe but you always saw men linger around, men who had DEA badges on their belts. Still thinking you were in your mind, you murmured. “Yeah, right into the DEA’s hands…”

Silence.

Feeling a full body chill, you looked up, slowly, each tilt of your head further revealed more shocked and angry expressions of the Narcos.

The man whose idea you challenged leaned back and looked at Carlos in disbelief.

“Carlos, who is this? Did you bring a secretary? Are you into females advising you now?”

Your heart nearly stopped, eyes widening as the weight of your little comment hit you.

“Why did you bring a woman into the meeting anyway? Now she’s thinking she’s one of us.” Another man sneered as all gazes turned to Carlos to watch his reaction.

Whatever he was thinking, one could not tell. His eyes flit briefly to you and then back, but you did notice his jaw clenching, a subtle show of his anger. But he masked it well, leaning back in his seat.

“She’s not one of us, but she’s right. Think about it.”

Carlos’ response had the Narcos stunned a second time that night. They turned to one another, murmuring amongst themselves, considering the situation. But no one was stunned more than you. He saved you…he acknowledged your opinion, among those he trusted the least but had to respect the most and vice versa.

You shifted in your seat, suddenly on alert and aware of what was being discussed. With bated breath, you watch the meeting conclude and the drug lords pour out of the conference room. Some regarded you with disgust, others with interest, some with caution but you would be in the meeting minutes of everyone who attended.

When the last of the traffickers left, the atmosphere of the room shifted. Carlos was quiet, too quiet for your liking. His fingers drummed against the glass table, the echo loud in the empty room. His head tilted to the side and you saw his jaw lock in place before he spoke.

“Are you the expert on routes now?” His tone was calm and cold, the kind that makes you want to huddle for warmth. It wasn’t a question for you to answer. A loud warning despite the pitch in his voice, but you knew this was more dangerous than if he’d yelled. “What did I tell you about speaking up?” his words had bite now.

“I-I didn’t mean to… I was just— you said I was right though! I grew up in that neighborhood! If you let them set up a lab there, the DEA would be onto them and you’d be the one cleaning up the mess.”

“Oh? You think you saved me?” he chuckled but there was no humor in it. “Do not think this is how you repay favors, little princess.”

You averted his gaze, the taste of forced submission bitter on your tongue. Your palms were sweating again and you had to wipe them on your dress this time. Carlos watched you, the intensity in his eyes threatening to light the fire inside you again and he knew.

The sound of the snapping of his fingers was loud in the room, making you look up at him again.

“Come here.”

First lesson in obedience — do as you’re told.

You got up on shaky legs, taking a few short strides to Carlos’ side. Your tongue swiped over your bottom lip in anticipation, catching the cherry red lipstick he had given you a taste of before.

“Over the table, princesa…”

The glass table felt cold over your thighs and stomach, the dress you wore riding up as you bent over in front of him. You heard him sigh, the sound filling you with more delicious uncertainty. You felt his large hand on the back of your thigh, the rough callouses contrasting against the gentle caresses he gave you.

“This room was full of men who would shoot you for even looking at them wrong…” He spoke with softness that made you almost comfortable against the table like this was a fatherly scolding. Except it was.

Smack.

His palm landed against the back of your thigh, forcing air out of your lungs.

“And you thought you could just come in and play queen?” Carlos continued, his voice dropping an octave as he pulled your dress up, revealing your bare ass.

Smack.

The handprint on your ass cheek stung, its red outline hot to the touch as he rubbed his fingers over it. You cried out as he delivered the next smack to your other cheek.

Your eyes squeezed shut with the force he used, an involuntary moan slipping from your lips. He fisted his other hand in your hair, pulling your head back. His lips were against your ear again.

“I have every right to throw you to them… to let them devour you till there’s nothing but bones… but,” he trailed off, a strange occurrence, stretching the moment and breathing fire to your insides.

“You’re mine.”

Your head landed against the glass table as he let go of your hair, the thud making you groan. His hands trailed back down, catching against the waistband of your underwear and pulling it down. You gasped as the cold air hit your soaked pussy, the undergarment landing around your ankles. Carlos grabbed at your ass cheek, squeezing and spreading you to him.

“Ah… I’m beginning to think you like this, princesa.” His tone was mocking as his index finger slid through the wetness making your hips jerk. Your neediness amused him, almost as much as your fear.

The clinking sound of his belt undoing only made you squeeze your thighs together, searching for friction despite how wrong it felt. But the smoldering need in your gut was stronger than your moral code. Your thighs spread slightly, welcoming him. You could hear a faint chuckle behind you, your willingness nothing short of amusement to Carlos.

He nudged the tip of his cock against your slit, coating himself in the slickness he was the cause of. Just like all those times before, Carlos didn’t wait, he took what he wanted. Always.

The first thrust pushed you hard against the glass table and stole air from your lungs. You never got used to his size, the stretch always stung a little, the force of his thrusts always left your hips aching the next day and you knew you’d be feeling the same later.

He hissed, forcing himself to the hilt before pulling back and in again, setting a steady pace. His large hands gripped your hips, keeping you pinned between him and the table. You knew there would be bruises, bruises you’d hide, bruises he’d expose. Regrets you’d have to face one way or another.

Carlos pressed one hand against the small of your back, making you arch, your ass pushing back against his hips.

“That’s it…that’s it,” he murmured, looking down, your ass bouncing off his hips a mesmerizing sight. As your cheeks spread further apart, his eyes fell to your tight hole, and Carlos felt an itch he could not help but scratch. His hand slid down, his thumb pressing against it, feeling you clench around him.

He growled, pressing a little harder, testing your reaction. When you whined and clenched again, he knew he found a sweet spot.

“Fuck, you like it, princesa? You like when I play with your tight little ass?”

Your insides were molten, your resolve and pride burned to a crisp. Even your unspoken protests evaporated right on your tongue from the heat. “Yes…fuck, yes!” you panted out, feeling the knot in your stomach coil.

Carlos grinned, his thumb staying where it was, relishing in your walls fluttering even tighter around him, pushing him closer to the edge. He picked up the pace, his hips snapping against yours with bruising force.

“Such a dirty little thing… you want it? Tell me you want it, princesa.” You knew he was getting close when his mouth spewed the filthiest words, looking to get off on your reactions.

Your tongue nearly lolled out of your mouth, the pleasure overwhelming your senses. You knew what he wanted to hear and you gave in.

“Please,”

Carlos bit his lip, groaning as you begged for him, the act alone making his cock twitch. “Again, let me hear you.” You felt his chest press against your back, pushing you impossibly closer to the table to the point you thought it would break.

“P-Please…” your voice was louder this time, enough to the man above you. He grunted in satisfaction, his pace faltering before he spilled himself inside you. His hips stilled, but the weight of him continued to bruise your smaller body.

Carlos took a moment before he pulled out, panting, the grip on your hip easing. Your knees bucked slightly with exhaustion and Carlos, thinking himself merciful, grabbed at your elbow, pulling you up. You looked up at him but the sight of the cunning smile on his face told you that this was far from over. He yanked you in his direction and you ungracefully landed on your knees, the impact making you whine. Carlos snorted with laughter, adoring the sight of your pathetic self beneath him. He stepped closer to you and you lifted your head to meet his gaze, instead, you were met with the sight of his still-hard cock, now glistening with your mixed juices.

“Clean it…” His bottom lip twitched slightly, along with his eyebrow, taunting you as he breathed deeply. He pushed your limits, used you to his heart’s content, all because he could. Each little request a test to see if you’d break and disobey. But the moment your lips wrapped around him, his hands were back in your hair.

“Fuck— good girl,” the overstimulation made him groan, tightening his hold on your hair. You licked at him obediently, the taste salty on your tongue. He revered in the skill of your mouth, praising it as you worked. Every gag made him coo in a mocking tone and when you pulled off, he didn’t hesitate to take the reins. He took hold of his cock, his other hand in your hair, and dragged it over your cheek, across your face, a sick grin spreading across his lips as he watched you squeeze your eyes tightly so none of the mess would get there. He knew the smell would cling to your sweet skin, that was why he did it. He pulled back to look at his work.

The sight of your makeup ruined, cheeks stained, now with the added smell of him on you. Perfect. Carlos grinned, moving to tuck himself back in his suit pants.

“Now, that’s a pretty slut. Come on, let’s go…”

…

want more patrón!Carlos? lemme know in my askbox!! I plan on writing more for this AU and would love to know your thoughts on it<3

2024 @ gokyrts . Do not distribute or translate my work on other sites.

[anticipatedexhale]

Come on! Get ready!! they're taking you on a date <3

♡ ◞ includes: caitlyn, vander, jayce, jinx, mel, viktor, vi.

☆ ◞ summary: how cute ! They decide to take you on a date(character)!

△ ◞ warnings: gn! reader. Pure fluff, and yeah that's it!!.

Mel Medarda.

Date Spot: A high-end art gallery followed by an exclusive rooftop dinner.

Mel enjoys sophistication and luxury, so she’d choose an art gallery showcasing Piltover’s finest works, followed by a private, candlelit dinner overlooking the city.

---------------------------------------------------

Mel’s hand rests lightly on your arm as you step into the gallery, the warm glow of chandeliers casting a golden light over the polished floors. The air smells faintly of expensive perfumes and freshly polished wood. As you approach a painting, Mel pauses, tilting her head thoughtfully. “This one,” she murmurs, gesturing to a striking abstract piece, “is about the illusion of control. It’s fascinating how it challenges our need for order.”

You can’t help but watch her as she speaks, the passion in her voice drawing you in more than the painting itself. She notices your gaze and arches a brow. “What? Do I have paint on my face?”

You laugh and shake your head. “No, I just like listening to you.”

Her lips curve into a soft smile. “Careful, darling. Flattery like that might make me keep you out all night.”

Later, as the two of you settle into a cozy corner of a rooftop restaurant, the city’s lights twinkling below, she raises her glass to you.

“To beauty,” she says, her voice low and warm, “both the kind we can see, and the kind we feel.” The candlelight dances in her golden eyes, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the world has faded away.

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Jayce Talis.

Date Spot: A lively Piltover festival.

Jayce loves excitement and fun, so he’d take you to a bustling festival filled with games, food stalls, and music, making sure it’s a night full of laughter.

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The sound of laughter and cheerful music fills the air as Jayce leads you through the vibrant streets of Piltover’s annual festival. The scent of roasted nuts and sweet pastries wafts by, and colorful lanterns hang above, casting a warm glow.

“Alright, pick a game,” Jayce says, grinning down at you. “I’m winning you a prize.”

You point to a ring-toss booth, and he confidently strides up, paying for a few tries. His first attempt misses completely, and you can’t hold back a laugh. “Hey, that was a warm-up!” he protests, grabbing another ring.

After a few more tries (and some playful banter about his aim), he finally lands one, earning a stuffed animal for you. He hands it over with a triumphant smile. “See? Told you I’d win something.”

As the night goes on, the two of you share sugary treats and dance to live music under the lanterns.

When the fireworks start, Jayce pulls you close, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “This is nice,” he says softly, his usual confident demeanor giving way to something more tender. “I should take nights off with you more often.”

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Viktor.

Date Spot: A quiet observatory on the outskirts of Piltover.

Viktor values intimate and meaningful experiences, so he’d take you to an observatory where you could stargaze and talk without distractions.

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The observatory is quiet, perched on a hill overlooking Piltover. Viktor leads you inside, his hand brushing yours briefly before pulling away. “I thought you might like this,” he says, his voice soft. “It’s one of the few places where you can actually see the stars clearly.”

As you step onto the balcony, the night sky stretches out above you, a canvas of glittering stars. Viktor adjusts a telescope, his movements careful and precise. “Come here,” he says, motioning for you to look.

You lean over, and he places a hand on your back, steadying you. Through the lens, you see a cluster of stars glowing brightly. “It’s beautiful,” you whisper, straightening up to look at him.

He smiles faintly, his golden eyes reflecting the starlight. “It reminds me of you,” he says after a pause, his voice quieter now. “Brilliant, even in the darkest places.”

For a moment, you’re both silent, the world around you fading into the stillness of the night. Then, Viktor hesitates before reaching for your hand, his touch tentative but warm. “Thank you for being here,” he murmurs. “It means more than I can put into words.”

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Vi.

Date Spot: A rooftop boxing ring overlooking the Undercity.

Vi would take you somewhere personal to her—a rooftop she knows where you can spar, laugh, and share a moment under the stars.

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“Trust me,” Vi says, a teasing grin on her face as she leads you up a narrow staircase. “You’re gonna love this.”

When you reach the top, you’re greeted by a makeshift boxing ring set up on a rooftop. The view of the Undercity sprawls out below, the dim glow of streetlights casting long shadows.

“You brought me to fight?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

She laughs, tossing you a pair of gloves. “Not fight. Spar. Big difference.”

The two of you step into the ring, and she takes it easy on you at first, showing you how to throw punches and block. But soon, the playful competition begins, and before long, you’re both laughing too hard to keep going.

As you sit on the edge of the ring, catching your breath, Vi nudges you with her shoulder. “You’re tougher than you look,” she teases, her eyes softening.

“And you’re not as intimidating as you pretend to be,” you shoot back, grinning.

She leans in, her expression turning serious for a moment. “This was nice,” she says quietly. “I don’t let a lot of people in, but... I’m glad I let you.”

The vulnerability in her voice catches you off guard, and you reach over to take her hand. The two of you sit there for a while, the sounds of the Undercity fading into the background as the stars twinkle above.

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Caitlyn Kiramman.

Date Spot: A picnic in the countryside.

Caitlyn prefers thoughtful, intimate moments. She’d plan a private picnic on a grassy hill outside of Piltover, where the two of you could enjoy some quiet time together surrounded by nature.

---------------------------------------------------

The sun is warm, and the breeze carries the faint scent of wildflowers as Caitlyn sets the picnic basket down on the blanket she’s laid out. You watch as she carefully arranges everything—fresh bread, fruit, cheese, and a bottle of wine.

“I know it’s not as exciting as a big event,” she says, glancing at you as she unpacks, “but I thought we could use a little escape from the noise.”

“It’s perfect,” you assure her, settling down beside her.

She smiles, the tension in her shoulders easing as she pours you both a glass of wine. The two of you spend the afternoon sharing stories, laughing, and enjoying the food. At one point, Caitlyn leans back, her hat shading her face from the sun, and looks at you with a rare, relaxed expression.

“You’re good for me, you know,” she says softly. “I spend so much time chasing leads and solving problems... I forget how nice it is to just be.”

You reach over, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You deserve it, Cait. You work so hard for everyone else.”

Her cheeks flush slightly, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she takes your hand in hers, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice almost a whisper. “For reminding me what’s really important.”

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Jinx.

Date Spot: An abandoned fairground in the Undercity.

Jinx would take you to a forgotten fairground she’s decorated herself with colorful lights and strange contraptions. It’s chaotic, but it’s her way of showing you a piece of her world.

---------------------------------------------------

“Ta-da!” Jinx shouts, throwing her arms wide as you step into the abandoned fairground. Strings of mismatched lights are strung haphazardly between rusting rides, and strange, homemade decorations dangle from the stalls.

“You... did all this?” you ask, looking around in awe.

“Of course!” she says, bouncing on her toes. “You’re always saying I don’t do normal dates, so here it is. Jinx-style.”

She drags you toward an old dart booth, where she’s set up bottles and targets. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got!” she says, handing you a handful of darts.

After a few rounds of chaotic (and hilarious) attempts at hitting the targets, Jinx pulls you toward the Ferris wheel. It creaks ominously as she climbs inside, patting the seat beside her.

“Don’t worry, it won’t fall,” she says with a mischievous grin. “Probably.”

As the wheel lurches to life, you can’t help but laugh, holding onto the metal bar as the two of you rise above the fairground. The view is a mix of the Undercity’s flickering lights and her makeshift decorations below.

“See?” Jinx says, her voice softer now as she looks out over the scene. “It’s not fancy or perfect, but... it’s ours.”

You glance at her, her usual manic energy replaced with something quieter, almost vulnerable. “I love it,” you say, reaching over to take her hand.

Her cheeks flush slightly, and she looks away, a nervous laugh escaping her. “Good,” she mutters, squeezing your hand tightly. “’Cause you’re stuck with me now.”

---------------------------------------------------

Vander.

Date Spot: A cozy dinner at The Last Drop after hours.

Vander would want to keep things simple and meaningful, opting to cook you dinner in his bar after closing. He’d light a few candles and make sure it’s just the two of you.

---------------------------------------------------

The Last Drop is unusually quiet, the usual crowd of rowdy patrons gone for the night. Vander moves around the bar with practiced ease, a worn apron tied around his waist as he stirs a pot on the stove in the back.

“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” you say, leaning on the counter and watching him.

He glances over his shoulder, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “It’s no trouble. You deserve a good meal, and I figured it’s about time I cooked for you.”

The table he’s set up in the corner is simple but thoughtful, with a few candles flickering softly and two plates waiting. When he finally brings the food over—a hearty stew and fresh bread—you can’t help but smile at how much care he’s put into everything.

As you eat, Vander leans back in his chair, watching you with a content expression. “It’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to just sit down and enjoy a meal like this,” he admits.

“Well, you should do it more often,” you say, nudging his foot under the table. “You’re always looking out for everyone else. Let someone look out for you for a change.”

He chuckles, reaching across the table to take your hand. “You’re already doing that,” he says quietly. “Just by being here.”

The warmth in his voice makes your chest tighten, and as the two of you sit there, the world outside the bar fades away.

[demonic0angel]

:33 Can. Can... Cough. DCXDP PROMPT

Dan is the crowned Ghost King, Dani and Danny are like his kids and Jazz his sister ofcourse. Dan tries to be peaceful and shit for his siblingskids' sake but the GIW has other plans and kidnaps/Ambushes the two and boom. Chaos. Dan loosing his shit and the JL having to be involved (I wanna see a rare pair for Dan <33)

-A.E. 👻

Ps. I'm drawing an animation for this prompt <33

Pps/pass(??). I'm still drawing the cutting Wit ship, never forgot that <33

Part 2

Superman froze.

There was a monster in the middle of the room. It had a humanoid shape, but its general form was incomprehensible, unable to be understood even by Superman. Something white resembling clothes covered its body, but it was stained crimson. Rivers of blood dripped onto the floor in puddles.

The creature was clutching at two smaller beings, who were desperately clawing at its back and cape, whimpering. The creature made noises alongside them, a strange sort of wheezy noise.

Superman looked around at the torn apart corpses on the floor. Limbs laid askew and organs were separated from bodies. Everything smelled like blood and fear.

The creature made another soft sound and Superman finally realized what it was doing.

It was crying.

“… excuse me?” Superman asked, because he wanted to know everything, “are you alright?”

“… disgust me,” the creature mumbled.

“I’m sorry?”

The being turned and its glowing red eyes struck Superman and froze him in his place in fear. The color was unlike anything he had ever seen, like fire and death and glowing ashes from complete and utter annihilation. The creature was crying brightly colored, acidic tears that trailed down a green face, with each droplet rolling down its cheek and burning holes onto the ground.

“You humans disgust me!” The creature roared, flashing sharp fangs that could break through bone. “I held myself back! I tried to be a good person! A better person! I tried so hard to make good decisions and be a good king and a good family! And this is how you repay me?! By hurting the ones I love?!”

Superman’s gaze involuntarily darted downwards, to the two other beings. They whimpered, and Superman suddenly realized that they were this creature’s family. They were sluggishly bleeding and they were also crying softly, the same tears flowing down their faces as they sobbed.

Superman’s heart simultaneously broke in two and dropped to his feet from fear as the creature snarled.

“I was too kind. I should’ve eradicated all of your worlds! Every single one of you will die for hurting them!”

Superman floated an inch back and the creature bristled like it was an offense, wispy hair flaring like a roaring flame before it prepared itself to lunge forward, and just as Superman readied himself to fight, a woman stepped in front of him and a whip immediately wrapped itself around the creature’s throat, holding him still.

“Danny! Calm yourself! We’re fine!” The woman said, and Superman immediately snapped back to attention.

“What do you need for me to do?” He asked, and the woman, who was bravely defending herself against the creature, waved a hand for him to leave.

Superman blinked. And then he stayed, watching. The creature calmed, still crying, but now it— he just looked sad, brows furrowing as he then reached for the woman with another sob, not dissimilar to the children in his lap, “Jazz!”

The woman stepped forward, dropping the whip without a second thought, and enveloped him in a hug. “Shhhh,” she said. “You did so well. You protected the kids. You did well.”

She calmed the creature with a few more words, stroking the creature’s hair, and after a few long moments, where Superman started to feel like a fifth wheel, there was a bright flash, and the creature that once had white fiery hair and luminescent skin, turned into a normal man with pale skin and long, raven locks.

Superman’s eyes widened. The woman finally turned back to address him and said, “I’m sorry, can you take Dan, please? I’ll take Danny and Ellie.”

Superman nodded, drifting down to carefully handle the now unconscious man. He was surprisingly light, despite his bulky frame, and he was also undoubtedly beautiful. His eyes were closed, but he had a shadow of fear over his face. Superman gingerly held him close, a mixture of worried for the man, afraid of him, and also very confused at the entire situation. The man stirred, causing Superman to tense, but then he only buried his head into Superman’s shoulder.

A shiver ran down Superman’s spine. He felt irrationally conflicted within himself with how close the man was to tearing his throat out.

“I’m sorry, but can you please explain to me what happened? Who are these people? What is this place? What happened, and who is this person? Who are you?”

The woman nodded, picking up the two children. One of them tucked his head into her shoulder, but the other hissed at Superman, bright blue eyes flashing as she bared tiny little fangs. Oddly enough, Superman felt extremely endeared.

“I’ll tell you everything. Just take us out of here first.”

Superman nodded, and off they went.

(Side note: I have a hc that the name ‘Danny’ is very important to Dan and Dani, since it is a name that they chose for themselves. However, since Danny is considered more important, they ‘surrendered’ the name to him, but only Jazz really knows how much they like being called “Danny,” which is why she uses it to calm the two down or address them, and then uses “Dan” and “Ellie” anytime else.)

[thewickedjazzy]

Level 2: Senses [mirror sex] for Kinktober.

ᡣ𐭩soft dom! osamu dazai x afab! reader.

ᡣ𐭩Synopsis: an argument with dazai boils over, as he pushes you to your limits, proving with every touch that the café girl has nothing on you—or your trembling legs.

ᡣ𐭩Warnings: nsfw, 18+ mdni, smut with plot, soft dom! dazai, praise kink, mirror sex, power dynamics, mention of cum, rough sex, sweaty sex, slight bondage, aftercare...etc.

ᡣ𐭩Word count: 2.1k. animated dividers by @/toastray.

ᡣ𐭩-check Kink Coin to unlock bonus fics´-

“why do you let her hang all over you?” the words spill out before you can stop them, harsher than you intended. but you can't swallow them back. not when the frustration has been building for days.

you stand in the low-lit corner of dazai's bedroom, arms crossed tightly over your chest, staring him down. does he know? does he care? every time you see her at the café—fingers tracing the edge of his sleeve, her gaze shameless and sticky, like she’s entitled to every sliver of his attention—it sets something off inside you. something you hate to admit.

dazai stands a few paces away, his hands shoved into his pockets, staring at you like you’ve just accused him of something absurd. maybe you have. maybe you haven’t. “are you really this upset about her?” his voice is calm, too calm, and the restraint in his tone makes your stomach knot.

“shouldn’t i be?” you counter, feeling the heat rise to your face. your pulse pounds in your ears, “why do you let her act that way? why don’t you stop her?”

silence again. does he even have an answer? maybe he’s not bothered by it because it doesn’t mean anything to him. or maybe—maybe it means everything, and you’re the fool standing here, questioning him like it’s not eating you alive.

dazai tilts his head, his chocolate eyes studying you, and for a moment you wonder what’s going through his mind. is he amused? bored? does he think you’re being ridiculous? after all, neither of you has ever voiced your feelings for one another.

“and why does it bother you so much?” his voice lowers as he steps closer, the calmness giving way to exasperated disbelief. “do you really believe i’d choose her over you?”

his question stings. why is he turning this on you? isn't he the one who’s been too indifferent, too careless, always letting other women linger too close? you draw in a shaky breath, your heart tight in your chest. “you don’t push her away,” you say, voice wavering even though you try to steady it. “that’s why i think...” your words falter, caught in the knot of your throat. “It’s like... she has something i don’t. something you want.”

his laugh is soft, but it feels more like a sigh, like he’s disappointed you even think that. “what could she possibly have that you don’t?” he’s closer now, his fingers ghosting over your wrist, tugging you gently toward him. “no one else gets this close to me. not like you do.”

and there it is—proximity, his words, slipping through your defences like water through cracks in stone. you hate how easily he pulls you in, how effortlessly he makes your doubts feel small. but still, the question remains, the doubt stubborn.

“then why don’t you push her away?”

“because,” his grip tightens slightly, his thumb brushing across your pulse point. “you look so pretty when you're mad”

before you can respond, his hands move lower, tracing the outline of your waist slowly. he doesn’t smile, doesn’t smirk like you’d expect. instead, he leans in close, his breath ghosting over your ear as he speaks.

“you want me to prove it?” he murmurs, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of your neck, making your heartbeat quickens with every carefully chosen word. “you want me to show you why you never have to be jealous?”

you hate how easily he can always dissolve your anger with his touch, how your body betrays you, melting against his as he begins to undo the buttons of your shirt. the soft rustle of fabric is the only sound between you, each button undone pulling you further into the moment, despite the storm raging in your chest.

your shirt falls to the floor, leaving your bare breasts exposed to the cool air. his hands linger on your shoulders for a moment before sliding down your arms, his touch featherlight and you can’t help but shiver under his gaze, feeling his now dark chocolate eyes drink in every inch of you.

“look at me,” he says softly, though his tone is still soft enough to feel intimate. “god, look at how beautiful you are.”

he steps behind you now, guiding you toward the full-length mirror standing across from the bed, its antique frame intricately carved, reflecting both of you in the low amber light—his tall frame towering behind you, hands moving with a slow, possessive ease over your skin.

you swallow hard as his fingers trail over your bare shoulders, down the curve of your spine, before hooking into the waistband of your pants. his breath makes your skin tingle as he slowly pulls them down, leaving you completely exposed.

“do you think i’d touch her like this?”

why does this feel so good when you're still mad at him? the question echoes in your mind as you bite your lip, your eyes wandering to your reflection, seeking answers in your own gaze.

“you’ve always been mine,” he murmurs against your ear, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below it. “no one else gets this close. no one else even gets a chance.”

his fingers trail down your arms, wrapping loosely around your wrists before letting go. you watch him through the mirror, your breath hitching as he pulls a strip of his familiar white bandages from his pocket.

you open your mouth to say something, but he’s already wrapping the bandage around your wrist, securing it with a tenderness that feels almost too intimate. his eyes meet yours in the reflection, his voice a soft hum. “this is what you don’t understand,” he whispers. “no woman in the world would ever get to see me like this. no one but you.”

he finishes wrapping one wrist and moves to the other, his touch is a soft, golden warmth, like the sun’s first rays after a cold night. “you’re the only one who gets to wear these,” he continues, his tone deeper now, more affectionate. “the only one who gets to see the parts of me that no one else does.”

once your wrists are bound, he slips them behind his neck, pulling you closer to him, your back pressed against his chest, the heat of his body seeping into yours. he holds you there, his fingers exploring the curves of your body, tracing the lines of your stomach, your breasts, teasingly moving lower and with a swift move, he slips off his pants and dress shirt, pressing his hard cock against your ass through his boxers.

“you feel that?” his voice is thick now, his lips brushing against the back of your neck. “that’s yours. i’m yours.”

you tilt your head back, gasping as his breath caresses your skin, mingling with the intoxicating scent of him. “mine?” you whisper, the word tasting unfamiliar yet invigorating on your tongue.

“every inch of me.” his fingers glide across your skin until it rests between your thighs, where you want him the most. you feel your breath catch in your throat, a jolt of ecstasy shooting straight to your core, fueling an overwhelming desire that wraps around your lower stomach.

his tongue teases your bottom lip while grinding his clothed, hard cock against your ass, lifting you slightly with one arm to press your back firmly against his chest, and he devours your mouth, hot soft tongue slipping in to tangle with yours, groaning deeply, utterly intoxicated by your taste.

“ ’sam—ahh-” your sentence got cut by his middle and ring finger dipping between your folds and leaving in an instant.

“fuh-kk” he hisses, “look at you so beautiful.” he tilts your gaze until it locks on the mirror. “never met anyone who’s as beautiful as you, look at your pretty face,” the brunet continues to rasp as his lips drag across your flesh, placing small kisses into the crook of your neck while pumping into your folds gently curling his long slender finger before pushing another one just to slightly brush them against your sweet spot, watching you with half-lidded lust drunk eyes in the mirror as you whimper in pleasure.

dazai groans, fumbling behind you as he hastily shoves down his boxers only to nudge his tip through your slick folds, fingers slip from your cunt to circle around slit to smudging both your juices with his precum, before he pushes deep inside you drawing a broken gasp from you in which he quickly silence pressing his slick-coated fingers between your pretty lips, knowing exactly what you're supposed to do. your tongue swirls around his digits, gladly tasting of both your arousals as you suck on his fingers, mind short-circuiting savouring your combined slick essence.

dazai keeps placing wet kisses along your neck and collarbone keeping your toes off the ground with both his arms placed under your breasts as he juts his cock deep inside you almost reaching your womb.

“umph—fuck..i love your tits,” he coos, catching your reflected gaze and watching how beautiful you look getting fucked by him, with both your arms tied behind his neck as he bounces you on his cock. his eyes lockes on your delicious breasts admiring how they jiggle with each thrust of his hips, “love how soft they are, how they bounce when i fuck you,”

“nngh—hah please- k-keep going fuck—yes mngh,” your eyes roll back, body is all numb by now, completely ignoring the sting in your arms, as all you can focus on is his brutal pace, feeling your slick run down your thighs.

“look at your pretty pussy yeah?—uh fuck-look how it sucks me in, so eager for my cock hmm? i could fuck you—ungh..all the time.” he growls between words, losing his mind, as you struggle to take him at this punishing fast speed.

“fuh-ck yes ’samu nghh, feels so good ahh right there—goddamnit ’m gonna cum gonna cum aah-” you're particularly screaming by now, legs trembling as he holds you tight against his chest and you can feel the droplets of his sweat sliding down your back, your breasts bouncing, eyes crossing in a blissed-out haze.

“yeah? you're gonna cum hmm? my pretty sweet girl is gonna cum? fuuck fuck..yes yes—squeeze me like that—ngh cum on my cock baby...c’mon give it to me.” he keeps chanting in your ears as his tip keeps assaulting your g-spot.

“y-yess—fuck ’samfff” your cry got muffled by his hungry kiss, tasting all of him, too brainless and fucked out to focus on the constant twitching of his cock between your spongy slick walls, hips snapping faster and faster, filling his bedroom with the filthy lewd noises of his balls slamming against your folds as he rides out his orgasm filling you with his thick ropes of white seeds.

your lips barely manage to form a muffled squeal against dazai's wet lips before pleasure shoots through your veins, toes curling from the intensity of your full body orgasm, body trembling and writhing, gushing all over his cock.

dazai finally pulls back slightly, breath unsteady only connected to you by a string of your swapped spit.

one of his hands presses against the mirror trying to steady himself as he catches his breath. he then pulls out of you letting your mixed arousal drool down your thighs and soak the wooden floor. he places a soft, wet kiss on your lips before releasing your wrists from behind his neck, allowing them to fall to your sides.

he gently lets your feet touch the floor, loosening his firm hold around your waist. but just as he's about to let go, you stumble instantly, your legs trembling as you nearly fall. “hey hey baby, you okay?” he quickly catches you again, pulling you close to him with a reassuring grip.

“y-yes just t-ired” you manage to breathe out.

in one smooth motion, he spins you around so you're facing him. “sorry, i might've overdone it a bit,” he teases, brushing a strand of hair away from your flushed face. his hands linger on your waist, keeping you close as your legs slowly regain strength.

“so,” he tilts his head as he leans down a bit, “do you still think I want that girl from the café?” he raises an eyebrow, watching for your reaction, clearly amused by the idea.

his fingers trail lightly up your sides, pulling you closer again as if to remind you exactly where his attention lies. “because, sweetheart,” he adds with a smirk, “if this hasn’t convinced you yet, i can still go for another round.”

TAGS: @a-smol-bean @violetbutterflix @amanoava @falloutjuli @embersweapons @warriordemigosworld @cathias @v15aexe @vasarii @pe4rl-diver @sukidenks @dazaifavbandage @chuuminn @fyodorsprettynun @ace-0fspades69 @irasamu @trippyserval @alyszuha @bittysuguro @writingandmusing @corruptedwrathkitsune @thedamselzelda

[dollfacefantasy]

Kiss It Better

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!bunny-hybrid!reader

summary: on a day planned to be just for just you and leon, he gets called into work. it dredges up some old memories, and upon returning home, he wants to make it better by taking extra care of his baby bunny.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, cockwarming, daddy kink, size kink, breeding kink, hurt/comfort, reader copes with her past at the shelter

word count: 6.1k

a/n: yay leon and his baby bunny finally return. i hope this lives up to the first part lol which can be found here. i have another part planned as well if people are interested. as always reblogs and comments mean the world <3

“I could never say no to my sweet baby bunny.”

A statement Leon had said off-hand in the heat of the moment. Something he’d told you as a comfort, a way of warming you up for your first intimate moments together. He hadn’t put much thought into it before it rolled out of his mouth. 

But damn, if only he’d known how true it would prove to be.

The words were ringing through his head right now as you dragged him through the mall on another Saturday he dedicated entirely to spending time with you. He’d already bought you a fair amount of stuff from cute frilly socks to pretty pink panties to some tiny t-shirts he knew he’d regret as soon as you used one to get your way. And now you were heading towards a shop tucked away in the farthest corner of the shopping center. His only hope was that the location meant it was the end of the line, the last stop on your trip.

From what he could see, it sold stuffed animals amongst other items that could clutter up his house. Luckily, the small plush toys seemed to be the only things drawing your attention. Your eyes scanned the rows before fixating on a specific one that sat on the bottom shelf. You crouched down to get and pulled it to your chest, standing up again so Leon could see your selection. His eyes soften as he notices your little cottontail twitching with excitement.

He can’t help the smile that spreads on his face at the sight. His sweet girl standing there with a small plush cow in her arms. The tufts of black and white fur jutted out the top of its head near a set of foamy horns. You looked up at him with puppy eyes, which he’d come to view as unfair since he’d chosen a bunny for a reason. But they worked on him all the same.

“Baby-” he starts, but you interject, predicting his argument.

“I don’t have a cow yet,” you plead, “It’s just one more.”

“Yeah, this one is just one more. And so is the next one, and the one after that, and the one after fifty more of these things,” he teases.

“C’mon, please,” you beg, stepping close to him to lean against his chest.

“Is this your way of telling me you want your own bed again? You’re just gonna fill the one we share with more and more of these until there’s no room and I’m pushed to the floor,” he jokes.

“No,” you deny, “Plus I put them away at night anyways.”

“Most of them,” he corrects.

“Cause I need my bear to sleep,” you say with a little pout.

He swears he almost swoons. You’re too fucking cute. He knows he’s spoiled you rotten. You’re treated better than the average hybrid to put it lightly, but he was past the point of paying that any mind. That shelter he’d picked you up from never let you have stuff like this. In his mind, he was righting their wrongs, burying those sad memories with as much cute shit as he could afford. And if other people didn’t approve, if they thought he should keep you silent and on a leash, he couldn’t care less.

Looking down at you now, playfully pleading with him for that stuffed animal, he knew he could never treat you like that. He rolls his eyes and messes with your hair, gently scratching the base of your floppy ears.

“Fine,” he says, “One more.”

You all but cheer with your excitement, bouncing up to give him a fat kiss on the cheek. He takes the stuffie from you and walks to the register to pay for it. You walk, lacing your hand with his and swinging your arms back and forth.

He looks over at you and instantly remembers why he always ends up giving in. Why he can never say no. Now that you had opened up, he couldn’t get enough of you. He’d loved you before that day a few months ago, the day when he’d caught you during your attempt at self-soothing with his pillow between your legs. But since that day, a whole new layer of you had been revealed to him. The sweet and shy bunny he’d met at the shelter touched his heart first, but the affectionate and needy girl you’d allowed him to see owned it now.

He pays for your little cow, adding another bag to the collection hanging from his arm, and leads you out of the store. You tuck yourself under his arm, clinging to his abdomen.

“Thank you, daddy,” you say quietly and press a kiss to his chest.

His heart throbs at the sound of the sweet name you’d attributed to him months ago. He has to remind himself that you’re in public before any other part of his body reacts.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he says and strokes one of your ears with his free hand.

Once the pair of you reach his car, he loads your stuff in before giving you a pat on the ass as you climb in the front seat. You’re all smiles, and he couldn’t feel better. He gets in the driver’s seat and switches the car on. Your hand goes for the controls to the music right away. He always let you pick when you were with him. Each song acted as a little glimpse into you and what you liked.

As you’re selecting one you like, he feels a buzz in his pocket. He fishes his phone out as you share some of the stuff you like about the song you put on. You then start asking him where you’re going next, but the plans slowly begin to unravel as he reads the message displayed over the picture of you he had as his screensaver.

“Shit…” he mutters to himself before looking back up at you. Your ears droop in tandem with his face dropping. “Baby, I gotta drop you back at the house. I gotta take care of some stuff at work for a bit.”

He sees the disappointment in your eyes, and it kills him.

“But… I thought you took the day off,” you say. Your mood rapidly depletes. It wasn’t his fault, but it wasn’t fair. This was supposed to be a day where he was all yours. Twenty four hours where the D.S.O. laid no claim on him.

“I did, but I’ve told you how it is sometimes. I can’t get out of it some days,” he says.

“But you already stayed late all week. What else do they even need you for?” you ask. It may be irrational, but you can’t help how your mind floods with a sense of abandonment in the moment. You knew Leon would never do that, but the years you spent in that shelter had done a good job of convincing you otherwise.

“Just some formality stuff. I’ll be as quick as I can. You know I wouldn’t choose working over being with you,” he says.

Now he’s the one pleading. Your ears are flat on your head, and your eyes are fixed on your seat below you. He knows you feel wounded now even though you’re holding it in.

“If you’re mad it’s ok,” he whispers and reaches out to stroke your jawline, “You can be upset, honey. I won’t get mad at you. I know you were excited about today.”

As much as you had opened up, he could tell you still shied away from showing too much negative emotion. He knew you’d gone through some punishments at the shelter you were still too scared to talk about.

“It’s not your fault,” you say and shrug, dejection all over your features.

He sighs and starts the car, pulling out of the parking space, and heading towards the house. “I know it’s not, but you can still let out some frustration. I wouldn't think you’re ungrateful if that’s what you’re worried about. You wouldn’t get in trouble,” he says, keeping his tone gentle.

You bring your feet up onto the seat and retreat into yourself a bit. With a simple shake of your head, he knows the topic has closed.

He lets out a quiet sigh as he drives down the road.  It drips with the frustration that he’s letting you down. He can’t reach inside your head and pull out the negative effects of the shelter. He can’t tell the D.S.O. to fuck off and let him spend as many hours as he wants with his precious girl. All he can do is pull into the driveway and watch you get out of the car, your posture slightly slumped with the encroaching feelings of loneliness. You pull your shopping bags from the car. At least you give him a little parting kiss so he doesn’t feel completely emaciated.

He watches your sad trudge into the house before taking the car back out of the driveway and down the same road in the opposite direction.

Inside the house, the silence dominates you. You pad down the hallway to the bedroom that had once belonged solely to Leon. Dropping the bags of clothes near the door, you then hop on the bed and toss your new little cow up near your other pillows. Your eyes linger on the ceiling. You’d become familiar with the insignificant bumps and ridges above that provided a distraction on sleepless nights. Nights where you just needed to tune everything out and count them to avoid being haunted by the past.

Before Leon had taken you in, you always imagined you’d enjoy the quiet of a real home. The shelter always echoed with loud cries of sorrow, screams of anger, and whimpers of hopelessness. You’d lie on the thin mattress tucked in the corner of your area and try to dream of the days your bed would be lush with pillows and blankets, decorated how you liked and  surrounded by the peace of you and whoever had chosen to love you.

And now those days have come. They’re real. You didn’t have to deal with the constant atmosphere of despair or the looming threat of punishment for acting like a human being. So why was it so easy for you to tumble into sadness like this? Why did the quiet no longer mean sanctuary but rather the absence of the person you loved most in this world? You could never work it out. It was too hard. Any time you tried you ended up spiraling into even more self loathing. Because there’s nothing to be sad about anymore. There’s no reason to feel like this. That stuff shouldn’t bother you; it’s nothing more than a collection of ugly memories at this point. Why couldn’t you be grateful for the life Leon had given you? The man gave you just about anything under the sun you could want, so why did one minor inconvenience have to throw you off this badly?

The bags by the door didn’t make you smile anymore. They only brought guilt. You didn’t deserve them. All the gifts and love he lavished upon you would never make you into what you were supposed to be.

Your thoughts consume you for longer than you notice. The sky darkens outside, tinting the room with a violet haze. You lie on the bed under your self-made cloud of gloom for hours, not noticing how much time has passed until you hear the garage door closing and footsteps getting closer. You glance at the bedroom door as it opens silently.

Of course, it’s Leon. His eyes fill with concern at the sight of you. He’d seen you down before but never so deflated. His face now resembles how he looked when he caught you humping his pillow all those months ago, but it’s also distinctly different. He still has curiosity in his gaze, not able to pin down what exactly is the reason for the present circumstances. Though the reaction this time is more worried than surprised. Your present state doesn’t shock him; instead he feels a protective instinct flare within him.

He approaches the bed and sits next to your limp form. His palm rubs up and down your arm slowly. “Hey baby,” he says softly, “You doing ok?”

You look up at him and nod. Sitting up, you scoot to him and align your side with his. Your legs extend out in the opposite direction of him as your head rests on the curve of his shoulder. “I just missed you,” you say softly, your arms encircling the circumference of his bicep.

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and starts rubbing your back. “You do anything fun while I was gone?” he asks.

“Nothing special,” you respond, “Think shopping made me sleepy.”

You speak with a soft tone of voice, attempting to further the idea that this was merely a bout of tiredness. His eyebrows rise with suspicion. As cute as you look with your cheek squished against his shoulder, he pulls your body around and seats you on his lap. His fingers sweep down your jaw and guide you to look up at him.

“You sure you’re just tired? Nothing else? We weren’t out for that long. I just wanna make sure you’re alright,” he says, trying to show you with how he speaks that it’s not an accusation.

But you remain firm in your convictions and nod. “Mhm, I’m already feeling better. I just needed a little rest,” you assure him and tuck your face against his neck.

It’s not a lie. You were feeling better now that he had returned, each passing moment had little improvement for your mood. But he knew something still wasn’t right. He strokes down the silky expanse of your ears while his other hand massages the base of your tail.

“Well, I missed you too, y’know? Couldn’t stop thinking about my sweet baby bunny the whole time I was at work,” he says.

You were already melting against his chest from the physical contact, but now a smile graces your features. “Really?” you ask, looking up at him again.

“Really,” he confirms, “I felt pretty bad leaving you all alone when it was supposed to be our day.”

“Oh, you don’t have to fe-” you start before he interrupts.

“No, I told you the day was gonna be for us. So how about this?” he asks, rubbing his thumb back and forth over your chin, “How about instead we make it a night for us? I’ll give you a nice bath, put you in some of the new stuff I got you.”

He kisses your head again, then your temple, then your cheek.

“Maybe daddy’ll even give you a special treat before you fall asleep,” he murmurs before kissing your lips.

Taking in a deep breath, you nod. You’re helpless when he treats you like this, disagreeing doesn’t even seem like an option.

“Will you get in the bath with me though?” you ask.

He grins and rises off the bed with you in his arms. “Of course. Anything for my baby bunny.”

The two of you head to the attached bathroom. He sits you on the counter while drawing the bath. Steam drifts up into the hair from the hot water pooling in the tub. He lights some candles, dims the lights, and lets you pick out the scent of bubbles you want.

You sit on the laminate countertop, lazily swinging your dangling legs as you watch him. He checks the temperature of the water multiple times and stares at the clear liquid coming from the bottle of bubble bath. Once that’s taken care of, it’s your turn. He slips your shirt over your head and your bottoms down your legs like you’re the most delicate thing on the face of the earth. Kisses land on your jaw as he pulls your panties off too and drops them in the hamper with the other articles of clothing. So meticulous about everything, at least when it came to you.

He scoops you up again and brings you to the bath, setting you down in the water before twisting the faucet off and discarding his own clothing. Then he climbs in behind you, slotting his body between yours and the cool marble.

“C’mere, baby. Nice and close to daddy,” he murmurs as he pulls you onto his thighs.

You sink into his chest. The feeling of his skin against yours is almost enough to make it all better, enough to make you forget about earlier. You nuzzle into his muscular front, making him smile. He strokes your face and takes care to avoid getting your ears wet.

Both baths and showers used to make you anxious, and he knew that. One of the details you had shared with him about your life at the shelter was having to share the space with all the other hybrids, including the bathrooms. You’d told him how much you hated it, and he could only imagine. He tried extra hard now to make both as comfortable for you as possible, pampering you like an absolute princess.

Thinking about all this, him going above and beyond for you like he always did, makes you turn more into his body. Your arms loop around him, and you place your head beside his, obscuring your downtrodden expression from his vision. Your chin rests on his shoulder as he returns the embrace and holds you closer.

“My perfect girl,” he whispers.

The words are complimentary, but right now, the second in particular stings like a blade. You nestle your face against the warmth of his throat and tighten your limbs around him, trying to drown out the bad swirling inside of you with the feeling of his flesh on yours.

He knows you’re still acting a little unusual. Maybe your heat was right around the corner and it had you feeling extra needy. Maybe you were just still a bit sad about missing out on a day with him. He wasn’t totally sure, but he just wanted to make it better. And the way you were starting to press against him, breasts flush against his chest and the warmth of your thighs pressing against either side of him had his cock starting to stiffen up.

“Sweet thing… you wanna feel a little closer, hm?” he murmurs, fingertips rubbing tiny circles into the small of your back.

You weakly nod.

“Is this close enough? Or should daddy get even closer? I think being inside would feel even better,” he whispers.

You nod again, this time with more motivation. “Please daddy,” you mumble.

“Of course. All you had to do was ask,” he says. He lazily strokes himself a few times beneath the water, getting himself a little harder before he lifts you slightly and slides in.

A soft moan drifts out of you as he lowers you again. You put your head back down on him and sit with the comfort of being full.

“There’s my baby bunny,” he coos in a low voice.

He also takes in the feeling of your tight walls sucking him in. The feeling of your warm, wet embrace wrapped around him.

The two of you sit quietly for a while more, the bathroom silent except for the occasional trickle of water when one of you shifts. Flickering lights from the candles paint the walls in dim orange as the scent of the bubble bath takes over the air completely.

But to Leon’s dismay, your mood doesn’t seem to be brightening up. You don’t start squirming with the need to ride him like you normally would. You don’t get extra sappy with him and start going for more kisses or longing looks. 

He reaches for the wash cloth resting on the brim of the tub and soaks it in the water. He squirts some soap onto it and gently rubs it up and down your back. He can feel your muscles losing some of their tension, but you’re still withdrawn. He continues tenderly cleaning you off while you sit with him inside you.

After a few moments more, not knowing becomes unbearable. “Honey, what’s wrong?” he asks softly.

“Nothing, I’m-”

“You’re not just sleepy,” he interjects. His voice is still loving despite the confrontational manner of the conversation. 

He gently guides you away from his body so you’re kneeling straight up in the bath. His eyes scan you over, trying to make this easier by figuring out what it is, but he can’t. He brings the wash cloth up to your chest and starts brushing it against your chest, between your breasts, and down your belly.

“I know something’s wrong, and I know you’re scared of talking about things like this. But I would honestly prefer you telling me what it is, even if it comes out harsh, to sitting here and trying to figure out what’s bothering you,” he says as he rubs your skin with the soft cloth.

“I don’t know,” you say timidly.

“I’m only asking because I care. I can’t help you if I don’t know what the problem is. Seeing you hurting hurts me too, baby,” he responds.

“I’m not lying. I don’t know,” you say again, some defensiveness seeping into your words, “I don’t know why I feel bad. I don’t know how to tell you what’s wrong. I just- I felt sad earlier, and I know I shouldn’t feel sad which makes me more sad.”

He sees the panic rising in your eyes and hears your words becoming more rushed. In an effort to keep the situation controlled, he pulls you back to his chest, hushing your worries by engulfing you with his arms. You reciprocate the motion, eager to retreat from your emotions. He takes a pause to grapple with what you had just said.

“What do you mean you shouldn’t feel sad?” he asks.

“Because… because there’s no reason to be sad,” you answer.

“If you’re sad, then there’s a reason to be sad,” he says and looks down at you with growing concern.

You shake your head. “No, there isn’t,” you whimper. You start to feel tears collecting in your eyes while your throat feels like it’s constricting. “You make everything so perfect for me, and I can’t do the same for you.”

He’s beyond confused at this point. He feels a couple tears fall against his neck, and all he can do is hold you tighter.

“Woah, woah, baby, c’mon,” he says, trying to prevent more tears, “What are you talking about? Perfect? I don’t expect you to be perfect.”

“Yeah, exactly because you are perfect. You never push me. You never ask for too much. You never do anything bad, and I still get like this,” you cry.

“... Is that a bad thing?” he asks, still lost.

“No, but I just wanna be perfect for you too. You work so hard all the time at your job, and then you come home and you have to deal with me,” you weep and cling onto him more, “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t say that,” he says in a hushed voice, “You’re exactly what I want. I couldn’t ask for anything more than you.”

“Yes, you could. You deserve someone who can give you what you give. You deserve someone who’s not fucked up by stupid stuff from the past,” you cry, “I’ll never be a perfect pet, and I don’t wanna disappoint you.”

His chest aches and tightens up when he hears that. He starts to pull out, figuring this wasn’t the time to be balls deep inside you, but you stay locked around him so he stays put.

“Sweetheart, you’re not… I don’t see you as…” he starts, being careful with his words.

You continue your quiet crying against him.

“You’re more than a pet to me,” he decides, soft but firm, “You don’t disappoint me ever. You can’t disappoint me because I don’t have expectations of what you should be. You’re not some dumb animal that I want to mold into a fantasy. I know you were treated like that before, but that’s not what you are to me. You’re my baby bunny. My little love.”

More tears spill out onto him. The bathwater ripples with the shaking of your body.

“You’re not fucked up,” he whispers, “That stuff you went through at the shelter, that’s a big deal. I don’t expect you to just be able to move on from that like it’s normal. You need some extra care, and I’ve known that since the first day you came home with me. It’s not a bad thing. It’s something I love about you. I’m not dealing with you when we do things like this. You’re not a burden to me.”

“Promise?” is all you can choke out right now.

“I promise, baby. Cross my heart and hope to die,” he murmurs and kisses your temple. He sighs and squeezes his arms around you before saying a little more amidst the quiet of the bathroom. “I’m not gonna pretend I know exactly how you feel. But I know how it is to get shoved into a life you didn’t ask for. To get expectations put on you that you can never meet. I don’t want you to feel like that with me. I love you, and I’m gonna love you whether you’re a perfect ‘pet’ or not. That’s not what’s important to me.”

You know he’s being genuine. You hold yourself closer and press a few faint kisses to his throat. “I’m sorry,” you cry.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he whispers, “Just try and calm down for me, sweet girl. Take some deep breaths.”

You do as he says and work towards settling down. Your breathing slows, and the tears slowly stop. He grabs another washcloth and wets it. He guides your head up and gives you a small kiss before dabbing at your cheeks and cleaning your face of any remaining sadness. Your eyes flutter shut and relax under the loving care of his movements. He tends to your hair next, caring for it how you need.

Once your bath is done, he pulls out of you. You give him a little pout, bringing a smirk to his face.

“Patience, little one,” he teases before standing up with you in his arms.

He taps the stopper with his foot, draining the bathtub as he steps out. He sets you down so he can wrap a towel around his waist and then bundles you up in a big fluffy one. He dries you off and brings you in front of the mirror. He applies some product to your ears, something he’d gotten to keep them from drying out. You can’t help the smile on your face as his fingers gently rub down your long, fluffy ears. You can feel his love through his motions. He follows it with your hair routine, going through each step with precision and making sure to do it just how you like.

Before he takes you to the bedroom, his arms curl around your waist and he slots his head next to yours, gazing into your eyes through the reflective glass of the mirror.

“My baby bunny,” is all he says before pulling you out to the bed and laying you down on it.

He gets some of your lotion, a scent he’d become so familiar with. He rubs it all up and down your legs, taking time to lightly massage as he works. His hands glide all over your body, over your hips, up your sides, across your chest, and down your arms to your hands. Every inch of you was going to feel soft as silk if he could help it. The soft sighs of pleasure that come from you are enough to keep him thoroughly invested in the process.

When he’s finished, he plants a kiss on your lips and gets up. He heads to the door where you had dropped the shopping bags from earlier. He’s rifling through them, pulling out some new items you could wear to bed. He fishes out a cute t-shirt and some smooth panties when he hears your voice call to him.

“Wait, daddy?” you say.

“Yeah, baby?” he responds immediately, looking over his shoulder at you.

“Come back,” you request.

He looks at you curiously but stands up and walks back to the edge of the bed where you were sitting. Looking down at you lovingly, he holds your jaw and squeezes your cheeks. “What is it?”

“I don’t wanna get dressed yet… Maybe I could still have my treat… if you want to,” you initiate timidly while grabbing the hem of his towel.

He smiles and breathes out a laugh. “Yeah? You’re feeling better and need daddy again?” he asks teasingly, letting you tug the towel loose. It crumples to the floor behind his legs and unveils his cock to you.

“Always need my daddy,” you say, looking up at him.

“Don’t I know it,” he teases.

He pushes you back on the bed and crawls on top of you. Leaning down, he kisses and nips at your neck. His hands squeeze your hips. You nuzzle the side of his head affectionately. Out of the corner of your eye you see him swat away the plush cow that sat nearby on a pillow from when you’d thrown it earlier.

“Hey,” you say, feigning protest, “That’s mean. He didn’t do anything.”

“I’m sure he’ll forgive me,” he says with a grin.

Your body is already exposed from the bath, and he takes advantage. He kisses down along your collarbone towards the valley of your breasts. His palms cup them at the sides as his lips coast over them. He always took his time with you when he could. He’d get to rush when you were in heat and soaked just from being in the room with him.

Your fingers lace through the strands of his hair as you draw in a sharp breath. He laves at your nipples and the sensitive flesh of your breasts. His tongue caresses along the curves slowly, building your anticipation and causing your tummy to start fluttering.

His hand slides down your body, dipping between your legs to seek out your center. His fingers brush against the velvet folds and feel how they’re beginning to grow slick with your arousal. He swirls around your clit before pressing down on the sensitive nub and rubbing. Your lips part as you mewl.

“Is daddy already making you feel good, baby?” he coos.

You nod as your face starts to morph into that pouty look you get when you’re worked up. He loves every second of it and continues flicking his middle finger against the bud.

“You gonna let me show you how perfect you are, hm?” he asks.

You simply whine in response and tilt your head back against the pillows.

“That’s my girl. So fuckin’ pretty when you get like this,” he says.

He swipes his fingers up and down some more until he feels you're wet enough and ready to take him. He was certain you could take it without as much prep. Over the last couple of months, you’d you’d shown him the phrase “fucking like rabbits” was true after all, but he liked making you feel like you needed it. He like dragging his tip against your entrance, teasingly prodding the head of his cock at your hole. He savored the way you whine and squirm for it. Just like you were doing right now.

He pushes it in you, a deep groan coming from him as he sinks in all the way to the hilt. The way your eyes flutter and droop drives him crazy. His arms cage you down on the mattress as his knees sink into the plush blankets for leverage so that he can start thrusting.

“Perfect fit, that’s for sure,” he grunts, “No one else can take my cock like you can.”

You nod, whimpering and holding onto him. “Made for my daddy,” you say before gasping.

“Yeah you were. My perfect angel bunny. Sent down just for me,” he says and starts rocking his hips.

You writhe within the confines of his arms. Your breasts push up against his chest as your back arches. He fucks into you deep as he can, just how he knows you like it. Gripping your wrists, he pins them on the mattress, keeping you secure and in place so that he can piston his hips against you without interruption.

His own head tilts back, eyes shutting and lips separating the smallest bit. You gaze up at him like he’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen. Every bit of him makes you clamp around his length.

“Such a good girl,” he mutters, “This is just what you needed. Just needed daddy to breed you and get you nice and calm again.”

That word makes your fuse burn faster, and you nod vigorously. “Can’t help it daddy,” you whimper, “I’m just a bunny. Don’t know any better.”

“Oh, I know, baby. Sweet little bunny like you needs to be bred. You need daddy’s cock to function, don’t you? Nothing feels right if you haven’t been bred,” he says, picking up more speed.

“Mhm,” you squeak.

Your legs start trembling hard as he hammers into your sweet spot over and over. To stabilize you, he lets go of your wrists and places his palms on the back of your thighs. He’s pressing you so hard into the mattress it feels like you might drop through straight to the floor. You cry out for him again and again, spurring him on.

“Good girl. I gotta breed my perfect little bunny. Fuck you nice and full like you deserve,” he grunts. The bed creaks with the force of his movements.

He pants as he drills into you. His head eventually falls forward to your shoulder again, but his hips don’t stop rolling.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum so hard, you’re gonna end up with a whole litter,” he moans.

Your eyes roll back and your legs lock around his waist. “Need it, daddy. Please,” you whine and clutch at his shoulders.

“I need it too baby. Need to knock up my sweet baby bunny. Gotta get you nice and full so everyone knows you’re all mine,” he says.

You’re both almost at the peak, gripping each other as tight as possible, sucking in air like there’s a limited supply. Both of you are moments from snapping when Leon’s eyes screw shut, his mind clouded by images of you pregnant with his babies. It’s too much, and he’s snapping into you like he’ll die otherwise.

“You’re gonna be the prettiest mama to our perfect babies,” he moans against you before his body starts sputtering.

The feeling of his cum flooding into you is enough to throw you over the edge with him. You seize up, back arching off the bed like you're possessed. You babble out some words of love, but all of it gets lost. You’re so jumbled up from the high, you both can only cling to each other as you ride it out.

You’re still breathing heavy as you come down, and so is he. Puffs of his breath come out right next to your ear. He lazily kisses below the lobe as you come back to reality.

“You see how important to me you are? See how much I love you?” he murmurs as he carefully rolls over and brings you to rest on his chest with him still buried inside you.

You nod and peck his jaw as you settle against him.

“Good. I never want you thinking like that again. If you ever need a reminder of what I think of you, I want you to tell me, and I’ll give you this same reminder.”

“I will,” you agree softly as he strokes your back.

You’re both exhausted from the exertion and the long day. He’s content to just melt into the bed while tangled up with you.

“Gonna keep you plugged up for a while, baby. Gotta make sure it takes, my sweet girl,” he mumbles as his eyes start drooping.

You gaze up at him, pretty sure you have hearts in your eyes. Your doubt and sadness had been abated for now. You nuzzle him and kiss his chest before trying to get some rest yourself. 

“Love you daddy. So so much,” you whisper.