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seelestia · 7 months ago

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✧ the gambler and his knight.

aventurine can't stand having his outfit exposed to the elements nor to the rude hands of clients that won't cooperate – luckily for him, he has you to take care of it all. { aventurine with a bodyguard!reader. }

⎯ fluff & angst. 2.9k wc. headcanons w/ some written scenes. the plot is vv subtle but it's there a.k.a aventurine simps for you (jokingly) but you both end up catching feelings (not jokingly). mentions of violence, death & russian roulette. pre-penacony timeline. a self-indulgent piece to celebrate this blog's 2nd anniv! ★

★ 〜 masterlist.

aventurine who graciously welcomes you under his employment with a game. just a little something to ease your nerves and get you used to his ways. you look at him with such incredulity as if he just fell and hit his head silly. he pays no mind to this – finds it to be amusing a great deal, actually. keep it up, newcomer!

“heads or tails?” he asks, flipping a coin in the air and catching it seamlessly. a routine for him, you would've figured from the sight. “that's. . . an odd way of saying hello,” you point out but your tone bears no hint of protest. he notices that.

“i've heard that one before,” aventurine tilts his head with a smile, nonchalant. “so what's your guess?”

“tails,” you reply without any delay. it's a mindless answer; getting it wrong this way would prove to bear less disappointment compared to putting actual thought in it. “heads for me then,” he whistles.

aventurine opens his palm. it's heads. you frown as if to suspect foul play—but you don't because you know about his notoriously good luck—and your new boss chuckles, almost placatingly.

“looks like i win,” he grins without a care in the world at all. “aren't you starving? let's fetch ourselves a meal, friend.”

a loss rewarded with a prize? you blink. with grace so in contrast to the whiplash you feel, aventurine walks past you with a trail of expensive perfume in his wake. obviously, he expects you to follow and you do after a moment's reluctance.

(this guy is more confusing than the stellaron.)

aventurine who grows quite fond of seeing you acquiesce to his wishes, whether serious or trivial. could you ward off those reporters? could you pour him a drink? could you play a game of poker with him? could you join him for lunch? you're always so professional that he starts to find some mirth in pushing your buttons (never too much). unlucky for you, he does it to be affectionate and lucky for him, you always say yes even if you roll your eyes every single time.

aventurine who trusts you with his credit card. . . to a worrying degree. when asked if he's sure about this, he just waves it off and says it'll be safer in your hands. seriously, this card has been in your possession longer than it's ever been in his. sometimes, he does ask for it back – only to drop some 200k credits to your account. “a tip for doing a good job,” he'd wink casually while you're flabbergasted beyond belief.

aventurine who finds it extremely attractive whenever you step in to protect him from harm. dealing with uncooperative clients is a day in his life, yet some are so brutish they resort to getting physical – but he has you to make sure their hands stay off him. a gun in his direction? knocked off before the trigger even has a chance to get pulled. reaching out to grab him by the collar? they're already on the ground, your foot threateningly pressed on their back as a warning. what a dashing sight – and thanks to you, his pristine outfit has been saved more times than he could count at this point.

aventurine who likes to call you his “knight in shining armor” teasingly. awh, you don't like it? he thinks you're more than deserving of that title with the way you always swoop in to get him out of trouble. if the thousands of credits he gives you aren't enough yet, won't a cute title suffice? “it sounds corny,” you tell him with a grimace—and maybe, yes—but he just chirps coyly, “dunno. i think it's fitting.”

aventurine who makes it his responsibility to check on you after a rough mission. credits are no problem, he'd even reserve the most expensive private doctor in the cosmos if that means you'll recover faster. sadly, he has little to no medical skills – so the most he can offer you is bandages. sure, you can take a bullet to the stomach and handle a punch or two, that's your job, but what about tiny scratches? . . .don't tell him you're about to reject his kind offer.

“what's your favorite color?” he queries, somewhat out of the blue considering the situation where he is helping you tend to a minor cut on your finger. you raise an eyebrow, “why do you wanna know?” as he gently plasters a plain-colored bandage on your skin (which he's only been granted permission to after minutes of begging you to let him do it).

“for the bandages,” aventurine answers. he finds no need to hide his intentions as he runs a thumb over the bandage, softly as to not hurt you, to keep its position secure. “so that the next time you ask, i'll have some in your favorite color for sure.”

“how. . . thoughtful of you,” you snort, amused.

(briefly, he resists the urge to ask if he can place a kiss on your cut for 'luck'. but if he does, you might have his head. so, he'll try another time.)

aventurine who slowly begins to find a sense of comfort in your company. maybe, it's the way you scoff at his quips with a smile or the way you always tell him to be careful. maybe, it's the way you take him seriously or the way you stay by his side—is your job description the only reason why?—or maybe, he's just pathetic and reeks of so much loneliness you feel sympathetic. he can't tell, but he hopes the luxuries he has can persuade you to stay just a little longer. even if you don't actually care. (you do.)

aventurine who notices how anxiety brims in your gaze when you watch him gamble at the table – with a sum too high to be considered sane and sometimes, his own life. he can see it all; how your hands shake as if you want to reach out, how your lips tremble as if you want to tell him to stop. but this is what he's made for, is it not? he'll survive one way or another. . . until fate decides the bill for all his past good fortune is finally due. and when the time comes, he'll be ready for it. (will you?)

a game of russian roulette.

it always starts with thrills only to end with carnage spilled all over the table. luck is the only thing worth praying for at that point and oh, is luck not the dearest friend aventurine ever had? hence the reason why he always agrees, not with a yes but with a “why not?”.

you're there as his protector, yet utterly condemned to the role of a witness as soon as aventurine nods along to that darned game. panic rushes through your veins as the gun is passed around so relaxedly, so easily with laughter all around. aventurine's next in line, you realize grimly. the next decision that comes after is spontaneous, so different from your usual calculated nature – you drag him out of the casino in a frenzy before the weapon even lands in his hand. in your head, there is no other thought louder than: he could've died.

“a shame i didn't get to the fun part,” you hear him hum from behind you, too disturbingly calm for your liking. the bustling noises inside the establishment have all but faded into the background. “that was close, hm?” he laughs, a sound you would've found endearing if this was another occasion. any occasion that doesn't involve teetering dangerously on the precipice of death.

you stop in your tracks and aventurine, behind you, naturally follows. your silence is something he first takes note of and the way your hand shakes as it holds his is the second. you still haven't let go. what's going through your mind? he calls out your name softly, perplexed at your lack of explanation.

“. . .why did you say yes?” you respond with a bitter question. “you could've died. you almost died,” you try to hold back a shout – yet, your words are spat in such a fusillade he feels a seed of guilt starting to bloom inside his lifeless heart. he discards it in favor of putting on a frivolous smile.

“oh, relax,” he lets out a chuckle, one that sounds so ignorant of the taut tension in the air. “it's just some russian roulette. why so serious?” he shrugs as if to physically brush off any seriousness clinging to his figure. his remark gives off the assumption that every single hint of your worry has flown over his head.

“it is serious. . .” you bite your bottom lip. he sneers in return, “yeah? since when?” as if to challenge you to give an actual answer. his life is full of risks, to say otherwise would be a lie. “you're sweet for worrying but you don't actually care about me that much, do you?” he snickers to himself. like the thought of your caring about him can't possibly be true, like it's all just a terrible joke.

but he's the only one laughing.

aventurine falls quiet and finally, genuinely meets your gaze for the first time that night. he doesn't like what he sees. your lips are downturned, unamused and saddened—you do care, a realization that has been left unsaid—and all remainders of levity in him are replaced by immediate dread. it only now registers that the anger, concern, frustration on your face are for him; they're the unavoidable consequences from caring about him.

(his eyes widen. no, no, no.)

“c'mon, you—” he covers it up with a carefree smile, as feigned as it came. he shoves his hand in one of his pockets. it's shaking. “. . .worry too much. you've seen me play a handful of games before. i've never lost a wager, remember?”

you don't look convinced at all. in fact, you look as if you've arrived at the brink of seething. “and if you do? for once in your life, you lose?” you prod him for more. for something, for anything – perhaps, for a promise that he won't do it again.

(but you know aventurine, you know there would be no such promise.)

“then i lose,” he says, final and resigned. “there's really nothing else to it,” he tries to offer you another smile but it didn't quite reach his eyes. “hey. at least, you'll be there to witness my spectacular fall, right? it'll be a show to remember.”

he nearly doesn't manage to keep up the façade. it's already as precarious as it can be. you don't reply to him this time – instead, you let go of his hand to wipe at your cheeks. his gaze trails after your fingers and it freezes upon seeing the pearly tears falling free from your eyes.

aventurine has never seen you cry before. you're always so stone-faced, so hard to break that he recalls almost cheering when he heard you laugh for the first time. that was when you finally won a round of poker against him. a pity, he would've reminisced about the memory more. . . if only the matter of losing and winning a game isn't as serious as it is now.

“don't say that,” you mutter, harshly wiping away at the incessant tears pouring from your eyes more than you'd ever allow them to. some make their way into your mouth, they taste just as bitter as your current frustration. does he truly value his life so little? you can't fathom it, you can't fathom him at all.

but there is one thing you were certain of, at the very least: “you hired me to protect you,” you shake your head unrelentingly, “so i'll do it. until you throw me away, i won't let you die.”

you've stopped crying then. aventurine feels remorse; the tears that you shed because of him are starting to dry. the selfish part of him wants to reach out and brush them away with his thumb – but would you let him? would this lead you further down the rabbit hole that is him? in the end, he decides against it.

“. . .i'm sorry,” he sighs instead, raking a hand through his messy blond hair. whatever it is he is apologizing for, he doesn't have a clue either. he lets his eyes slip shut. he can't bear to look at you, can't bear to look at his pitiful reflection in your eyes.

(he's not worth caring about, can't you see? he dances hand in hand with death – there is no need to subject yourself to being a spectator.)

the two of you then part ways that night with shallow pleasantries on your tongues. no inside jokes, no evident yearning for the other to stay, no more than an awkward exchange of “i'll see you tomorrow.”

on his way 'home', regret and relief clash to form something inexplicably hollow inside kakavasha's chest. he wanted to wipe away your tears—what a regret—but if he did, they would've burned on his skin and became another mark to haunt him—what a relief he didn't. and frankly, if destiny is about to reap his debt, he'd rather go with no regrets at all.

whether those regrets include you? he doesn't have an answer just yet.

(the name at the bottom of his contract with fate is signed as kakavasha. but you wouldn't recognize that name. not as him, at least.)

aventurine whose eyes can't flutter close at night ever since thoughts of you fill his mind more than they already do before. you care for him, you want him to live—all his fault, he allowed himself to get too close—but these realizations are rooted in too deep and refuse to leave. what to do, what to do, what to do?

it isn't supposed to turn out like this.

what he and you have is meant to be transactional; he'd be spared from unnecessary scuffles and you'd be compensated with monetary payment. he means to keep it superficially fun; for him to tease you with jests—so you'd stay and save him from the deafening silence in his head—and for you to dismiss him with that adorably annoyed look on your face. just some silly banter, that's it.

so then, since when are there rounds of poker where he'd coo over your frown when you lost? or the sound of your lecturing after he secretly got you a high-end item? or meals shared together where you'd bicker over the bill? or bandages in your favorite color kept inside his bedside table? since when do you start to care? . . .since when does he start to care?

think of something else.

kakavasha tosses and turns in his bed, but the soft pillows and blanket do nothing to quell these bothers of his. are feelings always this complicated? he places a hand over his eyes, tired and exhausted, and stares at the ceiling as if it could provide him with an answer.

but there's no use.

in a moment void of logical thinking, he reaches for his phone and hovers a finger over your name in his contacts. he is usually good friends with bad ideas – but not this time, he sets his phone down and lets out a frustrated sigh that only his expensive pillows are there to hear.

(for gaiathra's sake, he hasn't even told you his real name yet.)

aventurine who becomes awfully distant the next time he sees you. you accompany him to meetings with clients per usual, but it's different. . . he talks to you succinctly, not verbosely with that trademark grin of his. his face is bereft of the things you grow to like seeing on him. a sincere smile instead of one just for show, for example. but even that's difficult to ask for since he only speaks to fill the silence with empty chatter. he doesn't look you in the eyes either; you feel a pang of hurt, you've always loved his eyes.

aventurine who discards all thoughts of you as soon as he steps inside pier point to be assigned a project. a conclave between the stonehearts is a matter of top confidentiality and you, dutifully, are ordered to wait for him outside the office. though, he'll admit; your absence by his side actually does leave a gaping void—such hypocrisy, really—but at least, those pesky voices in his head know how to shut up when it comes to work.

“penacony. . . is diamond finally ready to do something about it?”

aventurine rests his left hand on the small of his back, fiddling with the clubs-shaped detailing on the fabric there. it looks like an act of idleness from afar, but anyone observant enough would know it's a way to subdue whatever nerves he wishes to hide.

he waits for the person in front of him, gazing at the purplish-red sky of pier point at sunset, to speak. for their next words shall mark the start of his next journey in fate's course.

aventurine who hesitates to let you come to penacony with him at first. but it'd be poor reasoning not to, since some might have a bone to pick with him as the corporation's representative. . . and he knows you'll protest to come with anyway. fine then, situationship discomfiture be damned – not even a second after he steps out of the meeting, his neon eyes finally meet yours. “so, how does a trip to penacony sound?” he announces with a confident smile. you blink, noticing how his lips are wobbling at the sides. you don't say no, however. (if only the two of you know what sort of ride you're getting yourselves into.)

— thanks for reading! reblogs with comments are most appreciated. why don't we all sob over this man like it's a cryfest ♡

#hsr x reader #aventurine x reader #—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail x reader #aventurine x you #hsr headcanons #hsr imagines #hsr fluff #hsr angst #seelestial.inks #gambler & knight 🎲

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moonlitstoriess · 3 months ago

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Bound in Silence- Rhysand x fem!Reader part 1

Part 2 here

Y/n, Rhysand’s true mate, discovers their bond while under Amarantha’s rule. As they grow closer in captivity, Rhys remains unaware of their connection. When Feyre enters his life, y/n watches in silence as Rhysand falls for her, never revealing the truth of their bond, leading to a heartbreaking end.

Warnings: mentions of SA, abuse, character death, little fluff and too much angst

The first week under Amarantha’s rule was a descent into madness. What had once been kingdoms of power and grace now lay in shambles, High Lords stripped of their freedom, their courts brought to ruin.

Y/n, a lesser member of the Dawn Court, had survived the initial massacre, slipping through the cracks of chaos. She had always lived on the fringes, unnoticed among the more powerful, her quiet presence often overlooked. The beauty of the Dawn Court, with its pale skies and soft mornings, felt like a distant dream now. The dungeons were cold, oppressive—any trace of light long extinguished.

Word of the High Lords’ fates had spread quickly through the prisoners. Rhysand, the infamous High Lord of the Night Court, was said to be one of Amarantha’s most prized captives. His reputation as a cruel, cunning male echoed even in the darkest corners of their cell blocks. Y/n hadn’t expected to meet him, let alone stand face-to-face with the infamous High Lord during her silent wandering through the dim corridors.

Their first encounter was brief, in the murky gloom of a narrow passage. He was alone, his posture rigid, and his normally sharp features were bruised and weary, yet he still held that air of cold authority.

Y/n hadn’t expected him to stop as their paths crossed. But Rhysand’s steps faltered, his gaze locking onto hers. His violet eyes, piercing despite the fatigue, lingered on her face a moment longer than necessary.

“Dawn Court,” he said, his voice low and smooth, though roughened by days of captivity. It wasn’t a question—just an observation.

Y/n hesitated, her heartbeat loud in her chest. “Yes,” she replied softly, meeting his gaze, though her own voice was steadier than she felt.

For a long moment, Rhysand simply stared at her, his expression unreadable. There was no reason for him to notice her, no reason for him to care. She was just another prisoner, a face among many. And yet, something flickered in his eyes—something that made her breath catch, though she couldn’t name it.

They said nothing more, both of them knowing there was no safety in words here. But in that shared silence, a connection was forged—one neither of them could explain, and one that would only grow stronger in the long days ahead.

The second time they met was when y/n was in an injured state. Silently crying while trying to stop the gash on her shoulder blade from bleeding as she quickly made her way through the halls. Past the ugly laughters of Amarantha’s creatures, her loyal servants.

She didn’t know where she was looking or where she was heading as she entered a small washroom. But it was when she lifted her head and saw him, sitting down in the corner, all buttons of his tunic opened to display a toned chest with claw marks all over him, face devoid of any emotion, eyes staring but not truly seeing her.

They just stared like that at one another for long enough before the searing pain in y/n’s shoulder made her hiss and remove her bloody hand from the wound.

She was too busy with disinfecting her wound that y/n didn’t even feel Rhysand get up and come towards her, hint of worry slowly blossoming in his chest as he leaned down next to her sitting form.

“Naga?”

Slightly startled, y/n paused what she was doing and turned to look at his still haunted-looking face.

She shook her head. “Attor.”

He gave her a small nod before raising his hand towards the wet cloth she was gripping.

“May I? I do not believe that you will be able to reach and clean that wound properly.”

Y/n hesitated for a moment, clearly wondering if this was the cruel Rhysand everyone seemed to talk about.

He saw her hesitation and gave her the tiniest of smiles before going back to his indifferent expression once more.

“Don’t worry. I won’t bite you.”

Despite the pain, y/n smiled slightly as she handed him the rag. To say she was surprised with how gentle he was, would be an understatement. They said no words, despite the fact that y/n had questions of her own.

Why was he in such a state? Why did he have all these marks on him? Was he with Amarantha? It seems like he doesn’t get enough sleep either. There are dark bags under his eyes.

But she decided against speaking any of them out, still hesitant with her actions. Not to mention the eerie comfort their little moment provided for her. Y/n was sure that this would never happen again.

She was wrong; this happened again.

This time however, under the worst possible circumstances. In Amaranthas bed.

In the past weeks that they were all here, y/n knew that Amarantha would toy with attractive females and males. But she never thought she would one day be a victim to that cruel woman’s sinister desires.

Her greatest nightmare came true.

She did not even do anything out of the ordinary, always keeping to the corners, preferring to stay away from anyone’s gaze. But alas, it appears that y/n was not as invisible as she thought for it was during her moment locked away in the calm quietness of a small dusty bedroom, that she got dragged away by Amaranthas guards towards her bedchamber.

And you could only imagine the shock on her face when she saw Rhysand, half naked with only a towel wrapped around his waist, staring horrified at her while Amarantha, clad in her sheer robe, dismissed the guards and slowly came towards y/n.

Lifting her chin up with two fingers, the queen snickered as she said, “My my, you are even prettier up close, little mouse.”

Y/n could only gulp as she let the queen inspect her as if she was some sort of an animal. Y/n could feel Rhysands unwavering gaze on her as she stared at the ceiling, willing her tears to stay back.

Suddenly, she felt Amarantha's grip tighten as she was forced to look at the woman before her. The queen's gaze thinned as she inched closer to y/n.

"I suppose you are well aware why you are in here then, no need to waste time on explanations. Am I right, Rhys?"

That is when y/n's gaze slightly drifted towards the male standing next to the bed, his face a mask indifference, a relaxed smirk overtaking his features but his hollow eyes needed no explanation.

"Of course, it is a privilege for her to join us."

Amarantha smirked before dragging her towards the bed, marking the start of y/n's nightmares.

That night, she endured too much, did things she never wished to do, all to keep her head on her shoulders. And for some reason, y/n felt as if she was not the only one who suppressed her disgust and cries deep within herself. Rhysand may be a good actor but his stiffness did not fool her.

The fourth and most important time that they met was in a small, forgotten chamber tucked deep within the mountain--dusty, barely used. Y/n found herself there, seeking refuge from the chaos that constantly swirled under Amarantha’s rule. She didn’t expect anyone else to find the room, and yet, there he was again.

Rhysand stood near the entrance, as though he had only just stepped inside. They froze upon seeing one another. For a moment, neither moved, neither spoke. The silence felt almost too heavy to break.

She turned her back to him, focusing on her trembling hands. She didn’t want to meet his gaze, not after what they’d been forced to endure together under Amarantha’s cruelty. The air between them was thick with the unspoken horrors, yet there was an odd pull, a silent understanding that neither acknowledged.

“I thought I’d be alone,” she muttered, not quite sure why she felt the need to say anything.

“So did I,” came his quiet reply. His voice lacked the arrogant lilt she often heard when he spoke to others. There was something raw about him now, stripped of pretense.

A beat passed before she stood, avoiding his gaze as she brushed off the dust from her skirt. She intended to leave, to disappear before this fragile quiet shattered. But as she took a step, her body faltered, pain from her old injury flaring up again. She hissed through her teeth, clutching her shoulder.

Rhysand moved then, quicker than she expected, stepping closer without hesitation. “You’re hurt again.” It wasn’t a question, more an observation, but there was no pity in his voice.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, stepping back. Her pride wouldn’t let her show weakness in front of him.

He watched her for a long moment, eyes narrowing, not with judgment, but with something closer to understanding. He reached out slowly, carefully, as if giving her the chance to move away. When she didn’t, he gestured to the bench behind her. “Sit. I’ll help.”

She hesitated but gave in. She couldn’t bandage the wound herself—not again. Sitting down, she stiffened as he moved to her side, his presence too close, too intimate for comfort. His hands were steady as he inspected the gash. She tried to hide her discomfort as he worked, gently cleaning the wound with a damp cloth. The touch was too careful for someone rumored to be Amarantha’s most favored, the cold High Lord with a cruel reputation.

Neither of them spoke for a while. The silence was comfortable, though, more than it had ever been before. When Rhysand finally did speak, his voice was barely above a murmur. “We haven’t been properly introduced.” He didn’t ask for her name—simply left the sentence hanging, an invitation she could take or leave.

She glanced at him, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. “Y/n,” she said quietly, watching him closely.

“Y/n,” he repeated, as though testing the sound of it. He gave her the faintest hint of a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was the closest she had seen to something genuine.

For the first time, she allowed herself to look at him, really look at him, beyond the mask he wore so well. She saw the exhaustion in his eyes, the weight he carried. The cruelty he endured, just like her.

“You don’t act like them,” she found herself whispering before she could stop herself. “Like the others.”

He paused, his hands still on her bandage. “Neither do you.”

It wasn’t a comfort, not exactly. But it was something, a crack in the armor they both wore.

Y/n remained still as Rhysand finished tending to her wound, his touch light and careful, the silence stretching between them. She couldn’t help but glance at him again—his face too calm, too composed for someone who had just been through hell. The weight of what had happened in Amarantha’s chamber hung heavy in the air between them, unspoken yet impossible to ignore.

As he tied off the bandage, she couldn’t stop herself from asking, her voice barely above a whisper, “Do you… endure that every day?”

Her words lingered, and she saw it—the brief flicker of something in his eyes. Pain, perhaps. But just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, replaced by the same detached mask he always wore. Rhysand straightened, his expression carefully neutral as he moved away, putting space between them.

“It’s nothing,” he said, his voice smooth, almost too smooth. “Amarantha has her ways of amusing herself.”

Y/n stared at him, not buying his attempt to brush it off. She had seen the claw marks, the bruises, the hollowness in his eyes. She had been there—seen the humiliation, the cruelty, the powerlessness they both shared. How could he call it ‘nothing’?

“It’s not nothing,” she said quietly, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to stay composed. “What she does… what we endure… it’s—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his voice a little sharper than before. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know.”

She blinked at him, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to reach him through the walls he had built around himself. There was so much she wanted to ask, so much she wanted to say, but the weight of it all seemed too much, too heavy to put into words.

Y/n’s eyes flickered over his face, searching for something beneath the mask of indifference he wore so easily. His sharp retort had silenced her, but only for a moment. The silence felt too heavy, too suffocating, after what they had both gone through.

She took a deep breath, wincing slightly at the pain from her wound. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for—maybe for prying, maybe for the awful reality they were trapped in, or maybe for the fact that she didn’t know how to help him, how to help either of them.

Rhysand’s gaze shifted, finally landing back on her. His expression softened ever so slightly, the hard edges dulling for just a moment. “Don’t be,” he said quietly, almost as if he regretted snapping at her earlier.

They sat in silence for a few more moments, both of them staring into the distance, lost in their own thoughts. Y/n thought of the nightmarish hours she’d spent under Amarantha’s cruel hands, of the helplessness that had consumed her. She glanced at him, wondering how he endured it—if he truly had to endure it every day.

“Does she—” she hesitated, her voice catching in her throat. “Does she make you go through that every day?”

Rhysand’s jaw clenched slightly, his eyes hardening once more. “What does it matter?” he said, his voice a touch colder than before. “We all suffer under her. It’s just… the way things are.”

Y/n frowned, the weight of his words pressing down on her chest. “It matters,” she insisted, her voice firmer this time. “You shouldn’t have to—none of us should.”

Rhysand didn’t respond for a moment. Instead, he looked away, his fingers tracing idle patterns along the stone wall behind him. His silence told her more than his words could. He was used to it, accustomed to the horrors that Amarantha inflicted.

She swallowed, her heart heavy. “I—I don’t know how you do it,” she admitted softly, her voice barely audible. “I don’t think I can survive this… not like this.”

Rhysand’s gaze returned to her, softer this time, almost contemplative. “You will,” he said quietly, his tone lacking its earlier sharpness. “You’ll survive because you have to.”

There was something about the way he said it—a quiet strength, a stubborn determination that made her believe him, even when everything around them felt hopeless.

Y/n didn’t respond. She simply nodded, grateful for the small comfort his words offered, even if they both knew there were no real solutions to their nightmare.

For a long moment, they stayed like that—two people trapped in hell, offering each other a sliver of solace in the aftermath of horrors too cruel to fully comprehend. Neither of them said anything more, but there was an unspoken understanding between them. It wasn’t love, it wasn’t affection. It was survival.

And, for now, that was enough.

After that moment, something significant shifted between them. Slowly, their random encounters turned into frequent secret meetups each planned with a sense of urgency and longing. They began to seek each other out, carving out spaces in the darkness where they could share their thoughts, fears, and dreams, knowing that, in this hellish place, they were the only ones who truly understood each other.

Y/n discovered that she felt safe with him in a way she hadn’t expected. In the quiet corners of the mountain, they would talk for hours, sharing fragments of their lives, their laughter echoing softly against the stone walls. Rhysand learned about her past life, about her love for creating things, about her resilience, how she had survived Amarantha’s cruelty by retreating into herself, clinging to the memories of a life before the darkness. In turn, she learned about his burdens—the weight of his responsibilities as the High Lord, the pain of leaving his people and his family behind, possibly to never see them again. They were both trapped, but in each other, they found a flicker of hope.

They often sat close, their shoulders brushing, sharing the warmth that lingered between them. There were moments when words felt insufficient, and they would simply sit in comfortable silence, allowing their thoughts to intertwine without the need for spoken language. Each small interaction deepened their bond, and soon they were exchanging not just stories, but pieces of themselves.

One evening, while hiding in their usual alcove, Y/n noticed the weariness in Rhysand’s eyes. She hesitated before speaking, her heart racing. “Do you ever wish you could escape?” she asked quietly, not expecting an answer.

Rhysand turned to her, his expression contemplative. “Every day,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I know it’s not that simple.”

Y/n nodded, understanding the truth behind his words. “It’s exhausting, isn’t it? Pretending to be fine when inside, you feel like you’re breaking.”

He looked at her, surprise flashing across his features. “You feel it too?”

“More than I care to admit,” she replied, her eyes meeting his. “Sometimes I wonder if it will ever end. If I’ll ever be free of this.”

Rhysand sighed, leaning back against the wall. “I think about that a lot. But then I remember the people who are counting on me. If I give up, what happens to them?”

She could see the heaviness of his thoughts weighing him down. “You’re strong, Rhysand,” she said softly. “Stronger than any of us realize.”

He chuckled, but it was devoid of true mirth. “Strength doesn’t mean I don’t feel pain.”

“Then we can feel it together,” she offered, a small smile playing on her lips. “I’d rather share the burden than carry it alone.”

He met her gaze, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “I think I’d like that.”

From that day on, they became each other’s refuge. They shared not only their burdens but also their dreams, hopes, and fears. Rhysand learned about the small things that made Y/n smile, the way her eyes sparkled when she spoke of the stars, the gentle way she held herself, as if trying to protect the light within her from being extinguished.

Y/n discovered Rhysand’s love for stories, how he could lose himself in the tales of distant lands and daring adventures. They created their own world within the confines of the mountain, where laughter could exist amid the pain, where dreams could be whispered even in the darkest of nights.

With each passing day, they grew closer, their friendship blossoming into something beautiful amidst the horror surrounding them. There was an unspoken promise that they would be there for each other, no matter what. And in that, they found the strength to keep going, to endure the trials that awaited them, together.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months and months turned into years as they kept enduring the horrors under Amarantha’s reign, no one strong enough to defeat her. The passage of time blurred in the darkness, a relentless cycle of survival. Each day brought new cruelties, new horrors that left Y/n and Rhysand feeling more and more hollow inside. Yet, through it all, they clung to the solace they found in each other.

Their secret meetings had become a lifeline. Whenever they could steal a moment away from the prying eyes of Amarantha’s spies, they would retreat into the shadowed corners of the mountain, seeking each other’s presence. Their conversations had grown more comfortable over time, the once hesitant exchanges now flowing with ease. Y/n learned more about Rhysand’s burdens, about the sacrifices he made each day to keep his people alive, even at the cost of his own soul.

In return, Rhysand slowly unraveled the mystery of Y/n. She was no longer the quiet, invisible courtier he had first met in the halls. Her resilience and strength had revealed themselves with each passing day, though she remained ever-watchful, always cautious. The horrors she had endured were scars, both physical and emotional, yet she never let them break her. And Rhysand admired her for it, though he kept his thoughts carefully hidden behind his usual smirks and playful retorts.

They didn’t talk much about what happened in Amarantha’s bed that night. It was an unspoken thing, something that lingered between them, always there, but never addressed directly. It didn’t need to be. They both knew the depths of the hell they were living in, and acknowledging that shared nightmare in words would only make it worse.

Still, there were times when Y/n would look at Rhysand, her gaze searching, wondering how he bore the weight of Amarantha’s twisted games day after day. She saw the toll it took on him, even if he never spoke of it.There were days when he would return from Amarantha’s bedchamber with new scars, fresh wounds both seen and unseen, and Y/n could do nothing but offer her quiet companionship, hoping that in some small way, her presence was enough.

On one such occasion, after another brutal encounter with the queen, Y/n found Rhysand sitting alone in the dark, his usual mask of indifference slipping for just a moment. She hesitated before sitting beside him, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words.

“Why does she do this to you?” she asked quietly, her voice barely audible.

Rhysand didn’t look at her, his gaze fixed on some distant point. “Does it matter?”

“It does to me,” she said, her heart aching for him in a way she hadn’t expected.

For a long time, he didn’t respond, and Y/n wondered if she had overstepped. But then, in the quietest of voices, he said, “Because I am her greatest weapon that needs to be kept under control.”

The weight of his admission hung in the air, and Y/n felt a pang of sorrow deep in her chest. She reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, though she knew her words could do nothing to ease his pain.

Rhysand shook his head, brushing off her concern with a forced smile. “Don’t be. It’s the price we pay to survive.”

But Y/n could see through the facade. She knew him well enough by now to recognize the cracks in his armor, the moments when the strain of it all became too much. In those moments, she stayed close, offering her quiet support without pushing him to speak. She had come to understand that Rhysand didn’t need words—he needed the comfort of knowing he wasn’t alone.

As time passed, their bond deepened, a quiet understanding settling between them. They no longer had to speak to know what the other was feeling. A glance, a touch, the smallest of gestures—these were enough to convey the unspoken trust that had grown between them. Together, they weathered the endless torment of Amarantha’s rule, finding strength in their shared moments, no matter how brief.

But as the years dragged on, a sense of hopelessness began to creep in. Amarantha’s power seemed insurmountable, her cruelty unmatched. The courts remained shattered, the High Lords too broken to mount any sort of rebellion. The mountain felt like a prison, and escape seemed impossible.

Then, whispers of a new arrival began to spread through the court. A mortal girl, brought under the mountain to fulfill some kind of bargain with Amarantha. It seemed like just another piece of cruel entertainment for the queen, another pawn in her twisted game. But something was different this time. Rhysand’s gaze would grow distant whenever her name was mentioned, as if he knew something no one else did. Y/n noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way his usual indifference was replaced with a flicker of… hope?

As Feyre’s presence in the court grew, so did the undercurrent of tension that seemed to ripple through Amarantha’s throne room. Something was happening, something none of them could quite understand. But Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that this mortal girl—this Feyre—was important. That maybe, just maybe, the end of their nightmare was closer than any of them realized.

What y/n also realized, was that Rhysand was her mate.

It happened suddenly, during one of Amarantha’s night feasts, a regular, twisted event that Y/n had come to despise. This particular one, however, was the night before Feyre’s first trial.

Y/n stood in the corner, as usual, staying away from the crowd. She preferred to inspect rather than socialize, to keep her distance from the cruel games and manipulations happening all around her. Rhysand was on the opposite side of the grand hall, his mask of indifference and cruelty firmly in place as he entertained conversation with a few other high-fae, Amarantha’s loyal followers. He played his role perfectly, as he always did.

But then, in a fleeting moment, their eyes met.

Y/n felt it immediately—the rush of warmth, the pull so strong it almost knocked the breath from her lungs. It wasn’t just the connection they had built over the years or the understanding they shared. No, this was deeper. A primal force that surged within her, a tether she had never felt before, snapping into place.

Rhysand was her mate.

The realization hit her like a blow, sharp and undeniable. Her breath caught in her throat, and her body froze as the bond thrummed between them. She had heard of the mating bond before, of course, but to feel it, to know that it was him…

Her heart both soared and sank. She couldn’t deny it, couldn’t push it away, but looking at him—his cold mask in place, his focus elsewhere—made her chest tighten with an ache she didn’t know how to suppress.

Rhysand didn’t seem to feel it, didn’t react in any way that might indicate he knew. His gaze lingered on her for a brief second before turning back to the high-fae beside him, the moment passing without acknowledgment.

Y/n stood frozen, the world around her muted as the bond settled within her, painfully unreciprocated.

As Feyre passed her first trial, everything began to shift.

At first, Y/n tried to dismiss it as coincidence—Rhysand had his own burdens, after all, his own games to play. But soon, the cracks in their fragile friendship became too large to ignore. Where before, he would seek her out, find quiet moments in the hidden corners of the mountain to sit with her, to speak about everything and nothing—those moments became fewer and farther between.

The subtle change came in waves. Rhysand started missing their meetups. First, it was only one night, then two, then an entire week would pass without a word. Y/n waited in their usual spots, always hoping he would walk through the door, but instead, she was met with silence. The longer the absence stretched, the deeper the ache in her chest grew.

But the worst came during Amarantha’s nightly feasts. Poor Feyre, clearly not jn a right state of mind, was paraded around the hall, her limbs loose and her eyes unfocused, as Rhysand dragged her onto the floor to dance. Y/n could barely stomach it.

Night after night, she watched as his focus shifted to Feyre—the human girl who was just trying to survive, just like them all. Yet it was in those dances, in the way his eyes lingered on Feyre’s face, even behind the mask of cruelty he wore, that Y/n felt her heart begin to shatter.

She tried to tell herself it was all part of the act, a necessary facade to keep Amarantha’s eyes off him, to protect the bigger plan. But each night, as she watched them dance, watched Feyre’s body against his, her hope withered.

The bond that had once filled her with warmth and joy now twisted inside her, a cruel reminder of what he couldn’t possibly know. Of what she could never tell him. Rhysand had no idea that she was his mate. How could he, when his attention had shifted so completely to Feyre?

And Y/n—heartbroken, invisible—could do nothing but endure it, watching as the only person who had ever understood her slipped further and further away.

The nights dragged on, the darkness under the mountain becoming suffocating as Feyre moved through her trials. Each one more harrowing than the last, each step pushing her closer to death. And with each passing trial, Rhysand's attention shifted further away from Y/n.

Y/n had never felt more alone. Every night, she stood in the shadows, watching as Rhysand danced with Feyre, his hand on her waist, his voice soft in her ear. It had started as part of the game, part of his endless manipulation of Amarantha’s court, but Y/n could see it—he was changing. His mask, once a weapon, now felt more like a shield protecting him from the truth. And the truth was devastating: Rhysand no longer came to her. He no longer sought her out in the quiet corners of the mountain.

The bond between them, once so unmistakable, now felt like a heavy chain around her neck, pulling her deeper into despair with every passing day.

When Feyre passed her final trial and was killed by Amarantha, Y/n’s world collapsed. She had watched it all unfold—the moment the human girl fell, her chest stilling, her life snuffed out in an instant. And Rhysand—he was the first one to cry out her name. His voice, filled with anguish and desperation, echoed through the hall, and Y/n’s heart shattered into a million pieces.

He rushed to Feyre's side, his face twisted in agony, and without hesitation, he was the first to give a sliver of his power to bring her back. His hands trembled as he leaned over her, tears brimming in his eyes. His voice cracked when he whispered her name again, as though she was the only one who mattered, the only one who had ever mattered.

Y/n stood there, frozen, her own pain drowned out by the overwhelming scene before her. Rhysand hadn't even glanced her way, hadn't acknowledged her presence. It was as if she no longer existed.

And when Amarantha finally fell, when Feyre was brought back to life as an immortal by the combined powers of the High Lords, Y/n felt as though the final thread of her connection to Rhysand had been severed.

Afterward, in the aftermath of Amarantha's death and Feyre's new immortality, Y/n tried—she truly tried to speak with him, to make him see her again, to understand what had been between them before all of this. She sought him out in the quiet halls, waited for him in the places they used to meet, hoping, praying that he would remember.

Finally, on the last night, before they all left this 50 years of hell behind, she found him standing alone on a balcony overlooking the endless expanse of darkness. She approached him, her heart in her throat.

“Rhys,” she called softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He turned, but there was no warmth in his gaze. His eyes, once full of shared understanding and adoration, were distant, hollow.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you,” she began, her words faltering as she took in the emptiness on his face.

Rhysand looked away, his jaw clenched. “I’ve been… distracted.”

“With Feyre,” she finished, her voice breaking despite her best efforts to remain composed.

There was a long, heavy silence before he spoke again, his voice so quiet she almost didn’t hear him. “I think… I think Feyre is my mate.”

Y/n felt the world tilt beneath her feet, the words hitting her like a dagger to the chest. She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him the truth, to scream that she was his mate—but the words wouldn’t come.

Rhysand didn’t notice her silence, didn’t notice the way her hands trembled. He kept talking, his voice growing softer, more introspective. “I’m falling for her, Y/n. I didn’t expect it, but... I can’t stop it.”

Y/n’s heart shattered all over again, the bond between them twisting into something unbearable. She had lost him.

The dawn was cold, a pale light creeping over the horizon, casting the mountain in a dim, unforgiving glow. Y/n stood alone in the shadows, her heart heavy with the weight of the last fifty years, the torture they had endured, the nightmares that would never fully leave them. But now, with Amarantha dead, it was all over. The chains were gone. The horrors were fading into the past, and everyone was finally going home.

Everyone except her.

She had known it was coming—the end of it all. She had prepared herself for the fact that Rhysand might leave, that Feyre might take him from her entirely. But no amount of preparation had lessened the crushing weight in her chest as she watched from the shadows. She hadn’t slept. She hadn’t even wanted to. The last few days had blurred together in a haze of pain, confusion, and heartbreak.

And now, standing in the pale light of dawn, she saw them.

Rhysand and Feyre.

They were on the balcony above, just as the sun began to rise, casting a soft glow over the both of them. Feyre, still recovering, stood close to him, her face soft with something Y/n couldn’t bear to name. Rhysand was beside her, his posture relaxed, a faint smile playing on his lips as he looked out over the horizon. His arm brushed against Feyre’s, the contact so light, so natural, as if it had always been that way.

Y/n’s throat tightened, her heart splintering with every passing second. He hadn’t come to say goodbye. Not a word. Not a glance.

Just silence.

She had spent fifty years enduring alongside him, had suffered the same horrors, shared quiet moments of solace when everything else was falling apart. She had been there when no one else had, and yet, as the dawn broke over the mountains, Rhysand was leaving—without a single word to her. Without a goodbye.

Her fingers gripped the stone railing as she forced herself to breathe, to stay steady, even as she felt herself crumbling from the inside out.

He didn’t know. He didn’t know that she was his mate, that they were bound by something deeper, something that should have been unbreakable. And he never would. Because in his heart, in his mind, there was only Feyre now.

As she watched him smile at the mortal-turned-immortal girl, Y/n felt the devastating finality of it all settle in her bones. She wasn’t just losing him—she had lost him. Completely. And there was nothing she could do to bring him back.

The bond between them, the one she had hoped he would feel someday, was nothing but a silent scream in her chest now. Unheard, unnoticed, unacknowledged.

A single tear slipped down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away, not wanting to let herself break. Not here. Not now. Not when it was already too late.

She took one last look at them—at the male who had once been her solace, her anchor in the storm, and at the woman who had unknowingly taken him from her.

With a shaky breath, Y/n turned away, unable to bear the sight any longer. Each step she took felt heavier, like the weight of the entire world was pressing down on her. The corridors were eerily quiet now that Amarantha’s reign had ended, and the mountain had become a place of ghostly memories.

Rhysand would leave. He would go back to Velaris, to his Court of Dreams, to the freedom they had all been denied for so long. And he would do it without a second thought for her. Feyre had captured his attention, his heart, and Y/n was nothing but a shadow now, left behind in the wake of a love she would never know.

She found herself walking to the same small, hidden room they had once met in—the one where they had shared their darkest fears and moments of fragile comfort. But those days were gone. Everything was different now.

Sitting on the bed, Y/n let the silence engulf her. The ache in her chest was unbearable, but she welcomed it. It was better than the numbness she feared would consume her next. She had thought, somehow, that once Amarantha was gone, things might get better. That they could both move forward, together, maybe find peace in each other’s presence. But that had been foolish.

The truth was undeniable now—she was alone.

The mating bond, the one she had felt so fiercely, was not enough. Rhysand had made his choice, whether he knew it or not. Feyre was his future, his heart, his everything.

And Y/n? She would be forgotten.

The bitter taste of rejection burned in her throat as she closed her eyes, trying to will away the memories, the stolen glances, the nights spent in shared pain. Everything she had held onto was slipping away, dissolving like smoke.

For the first time in years, she let herself cry. She cried for the love she never had, for the bond that would never be fulfilled, for the pieces of her heart that would never be whole again. She cried for the girl she had been before all this, before Amarantha, before Rhysand, before the endless cycle of hope and despair had shattered her into something unrecognizable.

By the time the sun had fully risen, her tears had dried, leaving only a hollow ache in their place.

Rhysand would leave, Feyre at his side, and Y/n would remain behind, her presence a forgotten whisper in the chaos of everything else.

She rose from the bed, her movements slow, mechanical. There was nothing left for her here. The mountain, the memories, the unspoken bond—it was all gone. She had to leave, too. But not with him. Never with him.

As she walked out of the room, out of the mountain, her heart broke all over again. This was her ending—quiet, unseen, devastating.

Rhysand had left without a goodbye, but perhaps that was the greatest goodbye of all. A final, unspoken severing of whatever connection they had once shared.

Y/n wandered through the wilderness, aimlessly walking with no direction or purpose. The vast world around her felt empty—silent. She had no family to return to, no place where she belonged. Every step she took was heavy, each one pulling her deeper into the pit of despair she could no longer escape.

For years, she’d clung to the hope that she mattered to someone—that perhaps in Rhysand, she had found solace, a connection that could keep her afloat through the darkness. But now, after everything, it was clear. She had never mattered—not to him, not to anyone.

The night before, she’d watched him with Feyre, saw the way his eyes had softened, how he had stayed by her side, even after the final battle had ended. He had fought for Feyre, bled for her, mourned for her as if she were the only thing that mattered in the world. And Y/n… she had been invisible, a forgotten shadow in the corner, her existence as meaningless as it had always been.

She had seen him and Feyre on the balcony that dawn, the soft glow of morning casting a light around them as Rhysand whispered something only Feyre could hear. Y/n had watched as Rhysand came closer to Feyre, giving her a devastatingly charming smile that shattered her heart beyond repair.

Y/n continued walking, the cold wind biting at her skin, but she felt none of it. The ache inside her, the hollow feeling in her chest, drowned out everything else. She had no reason to go on, no reason to fight anymore. She had fought for years, survived the unthinkable, only to come out of it more broken than before.

There was nothing left for her. No purpose. No place. No one.

Her steps slowed as she reached a cliffside, the jagged rocks below barely visible in the early morning light. The sea roared beneath her, its angry waves crashing against the stones. She stood at the edge, staring into the abyss, the overwhelming emptiness pulling her in.

The bond she had thought was hers belonged to someone else now. Rhysand had chosen Feyre, had found his mate in her. Y/n was nothing more than a fleeting moment—a forgotten soul in a sea of others.

And now, she was ready to let go.

With one last breath, Y/n closed her eyes, stepping forward into the void, letting the wind carry her into the nothingness where she had always belonged.

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#acotar x reader #acotar #rhysand acotar #rhysand #rhysand x reader #x reader #fanfic #angst #acotar angst

834 notes · View notes

hungharrington · 11 months ago

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okay what are ur thoughts on challenging steve to edge himself everyday for no nut november 🫣 do you think he would make it through the entire month????

okay this turned into a whole rambling thought fic ??? a whole 3k of it?? this is hella unedited cos i'm running out the door so i'll be back to check for mistakes but enjoy some sub!steve & some sorta mean!reader, definitely a hint of a humiliation & exhibitionism kink so beware if that isn't your thing! enjoy u horny bastards MDNI this entire blog is 18+

the whole thing comes about because of a playful bicker.

it’s starts with talking about how long you’ve gone without sex— with steve insisting his dry spell before you two started fooling around was way longer and more difficult than yours.

and you had laughed and teased, cooing about how he could absolutely not make it through an entire week without cumming like you did for a whole month— while he insists the opposite is true.

and steve is nothing if not a competitive bastard who loves to try prove people wrong. so you challenge him to last the whole month — no cumming, no nothing.

but you don’t say no touching. and steve, poor, oblivious to the consequences he’s going to feel very soon, figures there’s no harm in giving in to his morning wood, rutting against his sheets with these quiet grunts until he gets bored and rolls out of bed. it’s something he’s done before and his hard-on goes down in the shower like usual & he goes to work far too smug, feeling so confident and ready to brag when he sees you.

you come into family video middle of the day and steve delights, ready to demolish the challenge you’ve set, bragging about his easy morning and his killer restraint.

your eyebrows raise and you look pleasantly surprised — not miffed, like steve hoped you would — and you offer to raise the stakes. leaning over one of the shelves as he works idly, you change the rules a bit… and set a prize if he’s to complete your challenge.

“if you go the whole month, no cumming, i’ll let you fuck me,” you hum, a wicked smile on your mouth at the way steve straightens up. you’ve been fooling around, tucking your hands into each others pants like horny teenagers but you haven’t actually slept together yet. “anywhere you want, any way you want,”

and steve is smarter than he looks, even as you can see this lust glazing over his eyes— options, so many options pour into his mind.

you in his car, in his lap, riding him and making those nice pitiful noises you do. you in his bed, beneath him, head thrown back in his sheets as you cry out. you, against the wall behind the family video, hidden away but only just, moaning into his hand as you try to keep quiet while you fall apart on his cock.

his cock begins to thicken in his pants just at the thought & steve shifts his weight.

“what’s the catch?” he asks.

“to make your challenge more difficult, you have to touch yourself every day of the month.”

“touch myself?”

“mhm,” you nod, eyes darting down to his bulge. your wicked grin grows at the sight of it growing in his jeans. “properly. not just a little touch, a proper jerk off. how long’s it take you to get hot and bothered? let’s say 5 minutes of stroking, each and every day.”

you’ve got this look in your face like you don’t think he can do it — so of course, steve takes the bait.

“easy.” he snips back, eyes narrowing. “hope you’ll spend the month getting prepared to take it. after a whole month of nothing? can’t promise i’ll be too gentle.”

your smile turns almost feline.

and so it begins. the first few days sail by, steve easily using his mornings in bed to stroke his cock idly, feeling his desire swell and then letting it swirl down the drain in a shower that gets colder every day. after the fifth day, steve has to admit it’s not nice — he can feel his mounting urge to cum building up but it’s not terrible. it’s certainly ignorable. he’s got this in the bag.

another five days pass— but now, he’s waking up aching hard. it takes longer now in the shower to get his hard-on to flag and worse when steve realises he has to still jerk off to win your challenge. his hand feels so much softer than usual and his keyed up lust springs to the surface to moment he starts to stroke himself— steve groans lowly, pressing his head against the tiles and tries go think of unpleasant things.

he fucks up on day 13.

his alarm goes off late and his dream had been lewd and vulgar, an endless loop of sinking his fat cock into you and envisioning how wet and warm you’d be around him. his cock is throbbing when he drags himself out of sleep and he realises he’s been humping against the mattress in his sleep.

the cold shower helps, barely. shivering beneath the icy spray, steve stares at his thickened cock and groans— knowing if he wraps his hand around it now and fucks his fist, he’ll cum in a minute.

so he leaves it and goes to work, wound up enough to snap at robin and then apologise 20 minutes later. you come into his work again, having been absent for the last couple of days, and it’s like you can smell it on him.

“hard morning?” you smirk at him.

“fuck off,” he growls, shoving a vcr back onto one of the shelves. then he looks back at you. “i’m still winning your stupid challenge by the way.”

“uh huh,” you say, not believing him at all. “how’s it’s been going? fucking your cock but never getting finish?”

even your words have an effect on him. steve feels his body flush, his dick strain in his pants, his gut churning with heat. he stiffens up and scrambles to think of a reply — but you’re already laughing.

“oh man, we’re not even halfway through the month and i think you could blow in your pants right here.” you muse teasingly. steve grips the shelf tighter and shakes over the fluster you have on him.

“i have more self restraint than that,” he snips back. the flush passes and he resumes his task, flashing you a quick glare.

you nod and hum again, like you don’t believe a thing he’s a saying, and then he’s watching you head out the door again.

the moment steve realises he’s fucked up is when he’s getting into bed. his cock is, thankfully, not hard — even if there is this persistent tug from his balls that never seems to leave. but he hasn’t stroked himself at all today.

painstakingly, he begins to — soft, gentle strokes over his cock, hoping, praying he can get five minutes in without working himself up too bad. it’s futile because it only takes about twenty seconds behind his cock is twitching in his hand, growing heavier, the head of it beginning to dribble pre-cum and steve moans in anguish into his pillow.

he stares at his alarm clock and strokes slowly, so slowly, having to stop every couple of seconds until finally five minutes passes. steve sighs and releases his cock which twitches in response, the head giving a sad spurt of pre-cum. he’s so keyed up he can’t possibly sleep. his cock is so hard it’s throbbing.

as he pulls his boxers up and buries himself under the duvet, but every touch is too stimulating, his skin on fire with how the urge to cum itches beneath it. he ends up having a very cold shoulder at 3am and his cock never fully softens.

it’s brutal from there on out. from day 14 onwards, his cock remains in this permanent state of aching, always half thickened and ready to go the moment it gets some stimulation. which turns out, is far easier to get now— jeans on the tighter side, the right seat, even the rumble of his car beneath him are enough to have steve swearing and pushing at his crotch, willing it to go down.

that’s how you find him on day 20, five minutes late for his shift because he’s staring down at his tented jeans and trying to think of anything to make it go away. your tap on his window makes him startle, seizing in his seat before he realises it’s probably the only person who’s expecting to see him with a boner in public.

“hard morning?” you joke again, this time pointing at his obvious bulge.

steve glares at you. “you already made that joke.”

“and you didn’t appreciate it the first time!” you say back cheerily. you round the front of his car and open the door, plopping yourself in the passenger seat like you own it.

“what are you doing?” steve asks, going to cross his arms but feeling terribly exposed. he settles for covering his groin, muscles twitching at the slight stimulation the weight of his hands does. his hips twitch forward.

“i’ve got a proposition for you,” you say.

steve shakes his head instantly. “nope, no way.”

you laugh at his quick insistence. “wait listen! i think you will want to consider it, okay?”

you pause and when steve doesn’t say anything more, just eyes you warily, you continue.

“i will knock off five whole days off your challenge,” you hold up your hand, fingers splayed out to indicate the number. your mischievous eyes make steve worry. even if five days off makes his challenge that much easier.

“if you do your five minutes today right now.”

steve blinks. his chest flushes hot at your proposal as it sinks in— here, in the parking lot in front of his work, you want him to jerk off for five whole minutes?

“what? right here?” the question bursts out of him.

it’s not busy out in the least. even in the store, steve hasn’t even seen keith walking about or any customers milling around. he knows keith won’t come outside to fetch him and he’s the only car in the parking lot, besides one another that parked down the other end.

“five minutes for five days off,” you say, twiddling your fingers with a wicked smile.

steve considers it, even though he can already feel his cock growing harder beneath his hands. he groans and throws his head back against the headrest. was he really about to do this?

he looks at the time and then starts to undo the button of his jeans. fuck, guess he was.

he steals a glance at you as he pulls down his zipper and tugs his jeans down a couple inches to expose his boxers. the mischief from your smile has faded, a hunger taking its place. steve averts his eyes, far too aware of how his cock twitches in his boxer at your attention.

he slips a hand into his boxers and curls it around his hard cock. a keening noise pulls from his throat and steve blushes scarlet— all his little noises as he’s spiraled into this lustful denial haven’t had an audience until right now.

he shifts his hand up, a slow stroke, but you’re quickly reaching out to grab his wrist, halting to movement. steve opens his eyes, not sure when they had closed, and makes a noise of confusion.

you grin deviously. “wait,” you point to the clock on the dash. “you can go when the minute changes, big boy.”

steve’s hips jump forward at your words, both the name and your denial. he groans before he can help it, his eyes trained intently on the dash. in his hand, his cock leaks pitifully, a wet spot beginning to stain through his boxers.

humiliatingly, you notice it too. “aw, you’re making a mess and you haven’t even started.”

“stop,” steve murmurs, aiming for stern but failing pathetically. the word comes out as a whine. his cheeks glow fiery hot.

you laugh and then tap his wrist— the minute having flicked over just a second ago.

steve starts his stroking, slow and easy, his eyes slipping closed. five minutes, he can do five minutes of jerking off. even if he was suddenly keenly aware of your watchful gaze, of the window beside him, of the pure exposure of the situation.

“that’s not jerking,” you huff disapprovingly. steve’s eyes crinkle open, his mouth already hung open as he pants softly. his hand does another pass over his cock and he smothers a moan into the palm of his hand.

“go faster or it won’t count.” you say wickedly and steve whimpers, his hand obeying without thought. with the way he’s leaking all over himself, it only takes a couple long strokes before he’s making lewd, wet noises as he fucks into his hand.

it shouldn’t be as hot as it is — rubbing his own cock while you watch, eyes darting between his moving hand and his flushed face. steve can hear himself making little noises with every exhale, tiny little whines as he burns up. the coil in his tummy tightens unexpectedly.

“f-fuck-!” he stops his hand completely, gripping the steering wheel with the other as he feels his orgasm swell. it grows closer, so near to tipping over that steve can’t control his hips as they keep moving, rutting into the air frantically, into nothing, as they try to get him over the edge.

it takes another thirty seconds for his breath to catch and steve to settle down enough to not cum immediately. he quivers in his seat. his eyes flutter open to look at you.

“that was really cute,” you muse, eyes almost feline, dragging up and down his body, slow as trickling honey. steve feels his cock twitch at your words, flushing hotly when your eyes dart to his boxers and definitely notice.

“not five minutes though,” you say with teasing tilt in your voice. you point to the clock on the dash. “i think that was… 1 whole minute?”

despite how he tries to stop it, steve can’t help the pathetic noise he makes in response. he wants to be able to finish this stupid fucking challenge you’ve set, wants to prove himself, wants to be good.

he starts moving his hand again before he can consider how bad of an idea it is. he should just say no and do the next ten days. but it’s wet and warm in his hand, the tip of his cock so drippy that he can pretend his hand is yours. you seem pleasantly surprised to see him going again so soon, your lids low as you watch him closely.

“are you normally this loud?”

steve knows you mean the slick noises coming from the way he’s fucking into his hand. he tries to huff but it comes out as a quiet moan and his face flushes hotter again.

he shakes his head instead, his hair scraping against the headrest. god, his neck is burning up. he’s pretty sure he’s never been harder in his life — but fuck, he can’t stop now.

“how- how ma- many minutes?” the words strain to get out, wrapped in his arousal. his nipples peak hard in his shirt, the friction only adding to his pleasure.

at some point, his hand stopped moving all together and his hips started doing all the work. steve presses against the drivers seat, hips lifting off and bucking into his hand and— shit, it’s too much, the sticky boxers are gonna make him cum if he rubs against them one more time.

in haste, he shoves them down his thighs, exposing his cock to you and anyone who deigns to take a peek in his window. something churns in his gut and steve screws his eyes up, willing himself not to cum yet. so close, he’s so close.

“just one more,” you say, suddenly sounding more breathy than before. steve’s eyes snap open, darting over to look at your face — but you’re fixated on his crotch, watching with a hungry expression.

your eyes lift to his face. another devious smile. steve whines. so close, he’s so fucking close, so close he can taste it. he can win, he can do it.

“steve,” you say softly, reaching out to nudge his chin in your direction. he wasn’t aware of when his eyes slipped shut again but your staring him in the face all lovingly, all wickedly and steve wills his orgasm down. another minute, another fucking minute, he can wait, he’s so close he’s— “cum,” you command.

steve does. white hot flashes through his body as he tips over the edge, ecstasy washing over every sense, stronger than he's ever felt before. his cock kicks up in his hand and a whorish moan drags out of his throat as he paints the steering wheel with ropes of cum.

for a minute, steve doesn't give a fuck if he's just lost— he just cares about how fucking good it feels to fuck his fist, to feel every pass over his slit all the way through his body. he whines and whimpers as the feeling tapers off, his hips finally settling down into the seat.

the mortification of what he's done begins to set it, like the drizzles of cum drying on his steering wheel. he can't stop panting, can't think of single word to say, his lips opening and closing as he tries to recover from the best orgasm of his life.

he hears the car door open and it shoots him into gear, stuffing himself back into his sticky boxers, a shiver going down his spine at how unpleasant it feels. oh fuck, and he's got a whole shift ahead of him.

you're still hovering, one hand on the open car door, leaned down and watching him frantically try to recover— all with that damned wicked smile on your face.

you rap your knuckles on the roof of the car. "damn. better luck next month, right harrington?"

you don't sound sorry at all. steve watches you close the door and leave, weaving between the stores and out of sight as his cock softens and his boxers grow colder. he screws his eyes up and smacks his head back against the headrest.

he's so fucking screwed.

#jay writes #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader smut #sub!steve #sub!steve harrington

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woso-dreamzzz · 5 months ago

Text

Shopping

Hardersson x Toddler!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You go shopping

It was meant to be a quick trip to get groceries.

Pernille was splitting her time between being your mother, going to training and still somehow finding time to do all the chores.

Magda put it on herself to pick up the slack when she came over to visit which was how she ended up in this situation here.

You sitting in the cart, waving around your girl-swan and your girl-moose happily as Magda considers whether Pernille will be able to tell if she buys the cheaper, own brand stuff.

The cart is pressed right up against one of the shelves to make sure it's not blocking the aisle as Magda wonders what bread to buy.

There's a colourful packet of cakes next to you and you reach for them.

You know what to do when you go grocery shopping because Momma taught you.

You throw your cakes into the cart.

Magda whirls around instantly, frowning at the sudden noise.

"Did you put something in?" She asks, finger reaching out to tickle your chin.

You giggle, kicking your legs out as you shake your head.

"No?" Magda says," I think you did. Because I wasn't the one that put these cakes in. No? I should put this back then."

"No, Morsa!" You say," Keep!"

"Keep? Are you paying, princesse? I don't think you have money."

"Momma money!"

"Momma's money? You're going to spend Momma's money?"

You nod, hand reaching back for a tub of brownies.

"Whoa? We're grocery shopping, not princesse shopping!

You stick your tongue out. "For Momma!"

"Are you sure that's for Momma and not for you?"

"Momma!"

Magda sighs, shaking her head softly as her hand runs over your soft hair. "Alright, princesse, let's make an agreement, alright? I'll let you choose two things from each aisle but-"

You cheer, little arms waving in the air and Magda can't help but smile.

"-But only two things, alright? Otherwise we'll go broke."

"What that mean?"

"Don't worry, princesse."

So, you get your cupcakes and your brownies and Magda finally decides on the slightly fancier bread.

"No, princesse." She intervenes quickly when she sees you eyeing up some sweets and you pout.

"You say two! Know my numbers!"

Perhaps teaching you your numbers this early was a mistake because you can count to five all by yourself and you definitely know how many two is.

"But sweeties make your teeth rot and you have such pretty teeth."

"I do?"

"Very pretty teeth. We don't want them to go bad, do we?"

You look longingly at the sweeties but ultimately drop them.

Magda's feeling quite proud of herself as she ticks everything off of the list while also limiting your grabby hands.

It all goes downhill the moment you get to the miscellaneous aisle.

Magda's never quite sure why so many supermarkets have that random aisle of things like kid's toys and slippers and dog coats but without fail, there's one in every supermarket Magda has ever been in.

But that aisle is the one where your grabby hands can't be contained.

"Hey!" Magda says," I know you know your numbers and I know you know that's more than two!"

She picks the little dressing gown you've chosen out of the cart and places it back on the rack.

You pout, jabbing a finger into your chest.

"Bein' good!" You insist," Momma says special prize for bein' good! Always!"

"You're hustling me!"

"Don' know that word."

"It means...It doesn't matter what it means because Momma isn't here right now. I'm in charge."

You bare your teeth at her like a little kitten with puffed up fur and Magda has to smother her laughter.

"Please, Morsa? Be like Momma?"

"No-No! Don't...Don't start crying! I...No...Please stop...Okay! Okay one extra present for good behaviour!"

You grin at her, suddenly no hint of tears are on your face and you turn to look at your options.

"That one!"

Pernille isn't expecting a lot when she gets home.

Magda only flew in yesterday so while she had offered to do some of the chores around the house, Pernille was totally okay if her girlfriend decided she was much too tired to do anything.

Looking after you can be the extent of anyone's energy sometimes.

But, she's pleasantly surprised to see her cupboards and fridge stocked full of fresh groceries and something simmering on the stove.

The less pleasant surprise is the massive cardboard castle that's been built in her living room.

You're stood in the middle of it, armed with a wooden play sword and a pen that you're using to scribble on the castle walls to make it to your liking.

Magda is outside of the castle in fairy wings and a wooden spoon as a wand.

"What's going on here?" Pernille says, brow raised," Where did we get this castle?"

"Shop," You answer, reaching with your sword to bonk Magda on the head," My gift for bein' good."

"And all of the new snacks we have? Magda?"

Magda, rubbing her head, lets out a bout of nervous laughter. "More gifts for being good?"

"Brownies for you, Momma!" You interrupt, grinning and bonking Magda on the head again," Wanna come into my castle?"

"What about me? Why can't I come in?"

You grin, sword coming down yet again. "You're the mean fairy, Morsa. Mean fairies can't come in!"

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso #the big adventures universe

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joyfulcowboycandy · 3 months ago

Text

The princess in the tower... And the dragon?

Malleus x Reader

❥ one shot

Content warning: murder, angst and fluff, malleus is very tall, hints of past sexual assault

fem reader

The princess in the tower… And the dragon?

This is how the story goes:

A beautiful princess from a faraway kingdom is kidnapped and held captive in a tower by an evil and strong dragon, and the knight must slay the dragon and save her from his evil clutches. The princess then falls in love with the strong knight who risked his life to save her, and they lived happily ever after.

This "princess," however, is far different from how the story is meant to go.

She is no princess at all.

Y/n is merely a common girl who ran away from a life of suffering, seeking refuge in a lonely tower in the middle of a desolate forest. She found solace here, safe from the cruelty of others. But the tower had a guardian of its own—a dragon. Not that she knew it at first.

The dragon was enormous, far too large to ever fit inside the tower, so at first, she thought she could stay without much trouble. After all, she reasoned, dragons don’t communicate with humans… Do they? If he wanted to harm her, he would’ve done so by now. Yet, despite his fearsome appearance, he never attacked her. Instead, he left her alone, merely resting atop the tower. He even brought her berries and fruits. It was confusing. Back in her village, dragons were supposed to be vile creatures—monsters of destruction.

But unlike the people she once knew, the dragon never hurt her. And that was all that mattered.

Back in her village, life had been anything but safe. Y/n was forever scarred by that one night, the night when she dared to speak up about the man who assaulted her. He was a respected figure, shielded by his reputation, while she was met with disbelief and scorn. Her cries for justice were silenced, twisted into accusations that she had tarnished his honor. Her family turned their backs on her, and the verbal abuse became unbearable. They accused her of lying, of bringing shame upon them. The whispers, the judgment, it all closed in on her, suffocating her until she could no longer bear it.

The fear of men had embedded itself deep in her heart, long before she ever arrived at the tower. Their leering gazes, their unchecked power—it had always terrified her. The man who hurt her wasn’t an isolated case. She’d witnessed the way men in the village treated women—like possessions, tools for their amusement, and nothing more. And her voice, like so many others, had been ignored.

The tower became her sanctuary, and the dragon… oddly enough, her only comfort.

He never tried to speak to her. He never tried to control her. He only existed, a quiet presence at the top of the tower. It was strange how she found herself feeling safe in his silent company, even if she knew nothing about him. There were no words exchanged, no gestures of friendship. But he brought her food, he never entered her space, and most importantly—he never tried to harm her.

The men who came after her, however, were nothing like the dragon.

One day, the peaceful silence was shattered by the sound of hooves pounding against the forest floor. Y/n’s heart jumped into her throat as she rushed to the window, peeking out just enough to see a knight approaching the base of the tower. A sinking feeling filled her chest as she backed away, trembling. He called out for her, and although she didn’t respond, she could feel his eyes tracking her every movement from below. The way he stared at her… it was enough to freeze her blood.

She didn’t want to face him, didn’t want him to come any closer. But when he started climbing up the tower, panic surged through her veins.

In his eyes, she was nothing more than a prize. A damsel in distress that needed saving. It disgusted her how these men—knights, they called themselves—felt entitled to her. They believed they could show up, kill the dragon, and take her hand in marriage as if she were a mere trophy. She’d seen that look in their eyes before. It wasn’t concern. It wasn’t compassion. It was desire. Lust. Greed.

She didn’t trust him. She couldn’t.

So, when he reached the top and looked at her with those hungry eyes, her fear turned into cold determination. She pushed him down the tower, watching as he fell.

The sickening thud echoed below.

It wasn’t the end, though. Someone found the body, and after that, more men came—knights in shining armor, each more eager than the last to claim the “princess” for themselves. None of them cared what she wanted. They were predators, and their so-called chivalry was nothing but a facade for their selfish ambitions.

They never once asked for her permission. They assumed their presence was wanted, that they had the right to "rescue" her. But she didn’t want to be rescued. She didn’t want them at all. And every time one of them climbed the tower, she pushed them down just the same. The rumors spread quickly—of a dragon killing knights left and right, all to protect the princess in the tower.

But she knew the truth. The dragon had done nothing.

In fact, the dragon had done more for her than any man ever had. He was gentle. He respected her space, and in return, she felt safer around him than she ever had with another human. It was strange, perhaps even foolish, to trust a dragon—an unpredictable creature of legend. But in his quietness, she found solace. He gave her berries and fruits, a kind of offering. Maybe the dragon, too, was lonely.

One evening, he left a clawful of berries by her window as usual. She hesitated for a moment before reaching out. With trembling hands, she touched his claw—a tentative gesture, a soft caress of gratitude. The dragon froze, as if startled by her touch. She could feel the cold, smooth surface beneath her fingers, the sharpness of his talons. Her heart pounded as she traced the lines of his scales, feeling a strange sense of connection.

Suddenly, he let out a low growl, pulling away quickly. Fear gripped her as she stepped back, her pulse racing in her chest. Did she do something wrong?

“T-thank you, dragon!” she stammered, her voice shaky with fear and something else—hope, maybe.

The dragon huffed, a deep, rumbling sound that reverberated through the air. Was it a response? She couldn’t tell. But she took it as one.

She watched him from the window, her eyes tracing his dark silhouette against the moonlit sky. For the first time in so long, she felt something other than fear—something closer to… peace. Maybe, just maybe, the dragon wasn’t as evil as the stories said.

Maybe they were both just trying to survive in a world that had been cruel to them.

˙ ✩°˖🫐 ⋆｡˚꩜

Several days passed like this—her exchanging brief touches and whispers, him delivering food and resting on the roof of her tower. Until one day, something changed.

She had been waiting for the usual sound of his wings flapping when she heard something else—a soft footstep. Startled, she spun around, expecting another knight who had somehow scaled the tower. But when her eyes fell on the figure at the entrance, she froze.

He was very tall, but not in the imposing, armor-clad way of the knights. His clothes were dark, elegant, and his presence felt… different. The horns on his head glistened in the dim light of the moonlight, curling like the very symbol of power. His eyes, sharp and glowing, locked onto hers, and yet, they didn’t hold that familiar lust or greed she had come to expect. They were curious… warm.

Her breath hitched, her mind racing. Who—no, what was he? He wasn’t a knight, not a man here to take her away. But he wasn’t just any ordinary human either.

"Who… are you?" she whispered, voice trembling, not from fear, but from uncertainty.

The man—no, the creature—tilted his head, eyes softening. He didn’t speak, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was familiar, almost as if she had known him all along.

It clicked slowly in her mind. The dragon. The same eyes, the same gentle aura. He had always been watching over her, not as a threat, but as a guardian.

"You're... him, aren't you?" she murmured, stepping closer. She noticed the slight huff of air escaping his nose, much like the dragon’s low rumble when she thanked him. Her fear melted, replaced with wonder.

Her hands, almost instinctively, reached up toward his face, fingers lightly grazing his jawline. He stood still, just like he did when she touched his scales as a dragon, as if allowing her to confirm what she already knew.

He brought his hand up to meet hers, softly guiding it against his cheek. The coolness of his skin startled her—so cold, it almost seemed impossible that he was alive. In contrast, her hand was warm, curling instinctively against him, feeling the soft tickle of his hair as it cascaded over his shoulder and brushed lightly against her fingers.

“I am,” he finally spoke, his voice low and rich, carrying a quiet power that resonated deep within her.

There was no doubt left. He was the dragon—the creature that had watched over her, protected her from the horrors of the world, and silently kept her company all this time. And now, he stood before her in this form, speaking, meeting her touch with a tenderness that was both startling and comforting.

"Why… why didn’t you tell me?" she whispered, her fingers still resting against his cold cheek, her voice barely more than a breath.

The corners of his lips twitched slightly, as if he wanted to smile but wasn’t used to it. His hand, still holding hers, gently lowered it from his face, though he didn’t let go. "You were afraid," he said, his gaze softening as he looked at her, the golden glow in his eyes dimming into something calmer, more serene. "And I did not wish to make you more so."

She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "Afraid?" She almost laughed, though there was nothing humorous about it. "Of the knights, maybe, but never of you. You…" Her voice cracked, and she paused, taking in a shaky breath. "You’ve been the only one I could trust."

For the first time in a long while, the truth was spilling out of her. All those months of isolation, of pushing knights off the tower in desperate fear, and yet somehow, she had found solace in him—a dragon, a creature who shouldn’t have had any reason to care about her. She couldn’t even understand why herself.

His thumb brushed over the back of her hand, a barely-there gesture, but one that sent warmth spreading through her. "I have watched over you," he said quietly, "and I have seen your strength." His gaze flickered, the glow intensifying briefly. "But I have also seen your sorrow."

She blinked rapidly, her breath catching in her throat. It was true—her life had been marked by sorrow for as long as she could remember. The betrayal of her village, the trauma that haunted her every waking moment, the men who tried to take what wasn’t theirs to claim. They all left scars, both visible and invisible, and for so long, she had felt alone in carrying them.

But with him… she hadn’t felt so alone anymore.

"I don’t know why I stayed," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "When I first came here, I didn’t know if you were going to kill me, or… or worse." She laughed softly, a bitter sound. "But I couldn’t leave either. There was nowhere else to go."

"You stayed because you found safety," he murmured, his voice almost a growl, but one laced with understanding. "You stayed because you are not like them."

Her gaze met his, and for the first time, she didn’t feel the familiar tightness in her chest that came with looking into the eyes of a man. He wasn’t like them either. He wasn’t like the knights who invaded her sanctuary with their hungry gazes and false promises. He didn’t look at her like something to be claimed.

Slowly, she pulled her hand back, though her eyes remained fixed on him. "I’ve never met anyone like you," she confessed softly, taking a small step back, though she wasn’t retreating. She was just… overwhelmed. "You’re… not human, are you?"

He shook his head. "No. I am not."

She studied him for a long moment, her eyes tracing the curve of his horns, the ethereal glow of his eyes, the way he stood so still, so calm, so unlike any man she had ever known. And then, as if the weight of everything suddenly caught up with her, she let out a shaky breath. "I don’t know what to say," she whispered, her voice cracking with the weight of all the emotions swirling inside her.

"You don’t have to say anything," he replied gently. His voice was like the rumble of distant thunder, soft but powerful. "I will not force you to speak."

She bit her lip, her gaze lowering to the floor as she tried to collect her thoughts. "I just… I feel like I’ve been running for so long. Hiding." Her voice broke on the last word, and she quickly swiped at the tear that slipped down her cheek, hating how vulnerable she felt in this moment.

Malleus watched her in silence, his eyes never leaving her, though his expression never changed. He wasn’t judging her. He wasn’t pitying her. He was just… there, with her, in this moment. And that alone made her feel a strange kind of safety she hadn’t known in a long time.

"You don’t need to run anymore," he said quietly, his voice a low murmur that seemed to reverberate in her chest. "Not from me."

Her breath hitched, and for the first time, she felt the warmth of hope flicker inside her, fragile but present. Could it really be that simple? Could she really stop running? Stop hiding? It had been so long since she felt safe, truly safe.

And yet, here he was, the dragon she had once feared, now standing before her as her protector.

Tentatively, she reached out again, her fingers brushing against the fabric of his sleeve. "Then… stay," she whispered, her voice so soft it was almost lost in the stillness between them. "Don’t leave me alone."

His gaze softened further, and for a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes—something she couldn’t quite place, but it warmed her all the same.

"As you wish," he replied, his voice as soft as the night air around them. "I will stay."

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #malleus x reader #malleus #malleus draconia #twst #malleus draconia x reader #dragon malleus

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scuderiahalf · 7 months ago

Text

wild child — daniel ricciardo

pairing. platonic!daniel ricciardo x verstappen!f1a driver!fem!reader

summary. your uncle has another thing coming if he thinks you’ll idly sit there and take whatever he throws at you. alternatively, the story of how jos verstappen got his shit rocked by a sixteen-year-old girl. 1.6k

warnings. description of injury, referenced physical violence, themes of domestic and child abuse, mention of jos verstappen

masterlist.

Daniel watched with a wary smile as you joked around with your Prema teammates across the way. Dino said something that had Ollie covering your ears while jokingly scolding the other boy. You elbowed Ollie in the side and pointed at Kimi, probably complaining that you were less than a year younger than the Italian.

You were acting completely normal. Everything seemed fine and normal and totally cool. You gave no hint that anything was out of the ordinary, that anything was wrong. You smiled just as you always did.

But Daniel couldn’t ignore the swelling of your cheek, the bruise under your eye, the split of your lip.

Prema’s statement about the state of your face had said that you had gotten into a physical altercation that you had not instigated and that the perpetrator had been dealt with as necessary. Daniel had a really bad feeling about who said perpetrator was.

The VCARB driver wet his lips. He had to say something. He would never forgive himself if he didn’t. You needed to know you had people you could go to. You needed to hear it spoken plainly. He needed to extend a hand, whether or not you took it.

This wasn’t something he could sit in regret with. Daniel already regretted never saying anything to Max, never asking the important questions back when Max had still been skinny and ruddy-faced.

Daniel still didn’t know the full story there. He’s sure if he did, he should never be allowed in a room with Jos Verstappen ever again.

Daniel hated to see history repeating itself. He hated seeing Jos look at you like he looked at Max, like you were some prized race horse purpose-bred to win. Like you could win the Formula One World Drivers’ Championship and it still wouldn’t be enough.

Daniel didn’t know everything about Max and his father but he knew how Max acted, knew how he thought of himself, knew how his childhood still affected him today.

Daniel didn’t want that for you. If he could help you in any way, he had to try.

He caught you in Red Bull hospitality later in the weekend, when you were separated from the other Prema kids and eating lunch while scrolling on your phone.

“Y/N/N!” he greeted you with false enthusiasm. “Can I sit with you?”

You just smiled amusedly. “Knock yourself out, Ric.”

You and Daniel had always gotten on.

Before you got serious about racing and moved to Holland to live with your uncle, Daniel had only heard mention of you as Max’s favorite cousin. Starting two years ago, you had been making more and more appearances in the paddock as your relocation to Europe had given Max easy access to take you on field trips to various Grand Prix.

You had been uncharacteristically funny for a fourteen-year-old. Not in a mean or sarcastic way but genuinely funny with jokes and stories always ready to go. Daniel had liked you from the first time you had met.

Now, you were sixteen and you looked so much older but when Daniel looked at you, all he could see was that scrawny fourteen-year-old kid who had to have ten kilos of lead welded to her seat to meet the karting weight requirement.

Every time he looked too hard at the cut on your lip or the persistent redness of your right cheek, he felt sick to his stomach. He couldn’t imagine anyone ever wanting to hurt that funny, lovable little kid, or the young woman you were becoming who was still so full of life and humor.

“Daniel? You good? Do I have something on my face? Besides the obvious.”

Daniel forced out a laugh. “No. No, you’re fine. I was just wondering… How did you get that shiner?”

“Lost a fight with a revolving door. They’re vicious creatures, I tell ya.”

Daniel didn’t laugh. He barely managed a polite smile.

“Wow, tough crowd—yeah, it was Jos. I know that’s what you’re asking.”

You had always called your uncle that: Jos. Just Jos. Never Uncle Jos. Or Oom Jos, or however it would be said it in Dutch.

Your verbal detachment from your uncle didn’t make it any easier to stomach the thought of the man hitting you. Was this the first time? Had he done it before? How often? How severely? How had no one noticed?

“Y/N,” Daniel started, trying to approach the subject as gently as he originally planned, “You know you have so many people who care about you and would never want to see you kept in an unsafe environment? You have people you can turn to if you need help. Max, me, the people at Prema—“

“Did Max not tell you what happened? I figure he would have told you the story already. It’s pretty hilarious, in hindsight.”

What about this situation could ever be construed as hilarious? Daniel would admit he had a bad habit of making everything into a joke but this was a step too far, even for him.

“Y/N, I’m being serious. If Jos is hurting you, it has to be taken care of.”

“Believe me, I took care of it.”

Daniel just looked at you.

“Max really hasn’t told you?”

“Told me what?”

“So, I made that post about pride month on the first, right? Just ‘happy pride month’ in the caption of my insta post? Well, Jos decided that he wouldn’t have that under his roof and when I called him a ‘homophobic wife beater,’ he slapped me. Backhanded me, actually.”

Daniel was still failing to find even the slightest bit of humor in your story.

“So, I beat the shit out of him.”

Daniel blinked. “You what.”

“I beat the—I don’t know how else you want me to say it.”

“I’m not understanding…”

“He put his hands on me, so I rocked his shit. Kicked him in the dick. Slammed his face into the kitchen counter and broke his nose. Probably bruised a rib or two.

“He’s at home nursing his pride, I’m pretty sure. I’ve been staying with Max in Monaco ever since. It’s a real ‘you should see the other guy’ situation.”

Daniel thought he was having an aneurysm. His brain couldn’t decide if he should continue to insist that you could leave your unsafe home life or if he wanted to feed into the inarguably hilarious mental images of Jos Verstappen getting beat up by a sixteen-year-old girl.

The internal battle must have shown on his face because you said, “You can laugh. It’s pretty funny.”

No. No, he needed to be an adult and not feed into your interpretation of the events being funny. It wasn’t funny that Jos raised a hand to you. It wasn’t funny that you had to defend yourself from a grown man you were meant to be able to trust.

But then Daniel couldn’t stop imagining a semi-cartoonish version of your uncle curled on the ground, blood pouring from his nose as you stand above him, laughing maniacally with a foot on Jos’ side like a big game hunter.

“It’s not funny,” he barely managed to get out before he started laughing along with the triumphant caricature of you in his mind.

The you that sat across from him grinned. “No, it is 100% funny. He obviously didn’t know anything about me whatsoever if he thought I’d just let him get away with that. He started that fight, and I ended it.”

Daniel just laughed harder. You grinned even wider.

“No—it’s not funny! I swear, it’s really not.” Daniel collected himself as best he could, tried to look at you seriously. “Y/N, you can’t keep living with him. He can’t keep managing you.”

“I know. Prema’s already worked it out. They’ve found me a new manager and I’m staying with Max; he’s helping set me up in an apartment in his building.

“My mom is furious. She had to be escorted out of the hospital when she flew in to talk to Jos. She might have broken his nose a second time. I don’t know. I wasn’t there, unfortunately. Jos isn’t allowed within a hundred meters of me until I’m 18.”

That guilty, worried part of Daniel that had started festering as soon as he had read Prema’s statement about your altercation finally laid itself to rest. Everything was handled. You were safe.

“Y/N, I—“

Daniel didn’t really know how to put into words just how relieved he was. He didn’t know how to say how much he cared about you, how glad he was that you had gotten out of what could have been a terrible situation.

“I know.”

Luckily, you understood. Daniel didn’t have to stumble over the words. That was another thing about you that Daniel adored: you were intuitive.

“I’m talking through it with my therapist. But I’ll be fine. I feel fine. I’m not going to let Jos ruin me before my career’s even really started. I’ve still got a season of F1 Academy to win.”

Daniel had a feeling you were telling him this not because you needed someone to talk to but because you knew it was what he needed to hear. Relief settled even further onto his shoulders.

“Spoken like a true Verstappen,” he joked.

“My last name is L/N.”

“You still belong to the Verstappen clan.”

You giggled. “I hail from House Verstappen.”

“Exactly. Just like Game of Thrones.”

You fall into easy laughter alongside Daniel.

You were laughing. Your bruises would fade and you would remain unchanged. You would race later that day and continue leading your championship just as your cousin led his.

Ultimately, you were undamaged. You were safe.

And you also had one hell of a story to write a memoir about in thirty years.

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ivystoryweaver · 9 months ago

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Your Father's Rival!Leto Atreides x F!virgin!reader

NSFW MDNI. Reader is of age, obviously! AU in the sense that there is no mention of Lady Jessica or Paul Atreides. Also, Leto may be OOC here. Not beta'd. More content/warnings below the cut. 1.3k words

content: seduction, nipple play, allusions to oral - f. rec., allusions to fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink, duplicitous behavior, but everything is consensual

✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧

Your father's rival!Leto Atreides

...who invites your family to Caladan for "peace talks", but secretly hatches his plan

Rival!Leto, who welcomes your begrudging father, throwing a magnificent ball in your family's honor

whose gaze lingers on you - your father's only heir, nearly twenty years younger than Leto himself...

and conveniently unmarried.

Rival!Leto, who requests the honor of a first dance with you. His dark eyes devour yours as his gloved hands pull you a little closer than is formal.

whose stern countenance dissolves when eyes crinkle as he grants you a brilliant smile

whose smooth, tenor voice tickles your ear as he compliments your dancing, subtly hinting at how your body moves in perfect time with his

whose gaze lingers on your lips before dipping down to the low scooped neck of your gown

Rival!Leto, who lets everyone know to treat your family like royalty - to be sure you don't miss a single dance, so that you will eventually need to step outside for some air...

who conveniently stumbles upon you under the stars, in the lush gardens of Castle Caladan and manages to remark how you are more beautiful, if possible, bathed in moonglow

Rival!Leto, who notices your breath hitch when he nears, who asks permission to escort you on a tour of the garden, granting him the opportunity to take you by the arm.

who finds you delightful, really: intelligent - well-read and opinionated. Sparkling conversation distracts him, for a brief while, from his primary goal.

Rival!Leto, who plans to seduce you, and breed you.

You're young and beautiful, and a virgin - the cherished prize of his one and only rival.

Rival!Leto, who will snatch his enemy’s most precious possession from his grasp - to steal your youth, your body and above all, your love.

Not to harm you. In fact, he's already growing quite fond of you.

Rival!Leto, who bids you goodnight, as an upstanding Duke would do, who keeps your honor in tact, while his plan begins to unfold.

who notices you stealing glances across the breakfast table, smiling to himself at the impression he's clearly already made.

who finds you again in the gardens later that evening - who walks and talks with you, luring you into a comforting trust...but doesn't realize he is being lured as well.

Rival!Leto, who carries on for days, so innocently, that he's almost forgotten the duplicity of his original plan...

who finds himself meaning it when he folds you into his arms and kisses you breathless underneath the stars, his body responding with fervor as you wind your fingers through his thick curls and tug him closer to you.

who lures you the next night, and the next, until your walks in the garden turn into the collision of your mouths, the tangle of tongues, the sharing of breath, kissing and panting and touching, bolder each evening.

unlacing the front of your dress while kissing you deeply before trailing his lips down your throat, fingers brushing your collarbone.

stepping over the line of propriety, cupping your breast in his palm, stoking a fire of lust inside you. His lips caress the curve of your mound as hot breath fans across your stiff peaks.

Your father's rival, who takes your nipple into his mouth and gently sucks, pulling a breathy moan from your throat...

who greedily sucks and fondles away your innocence, his cock stirring and twitching at the sounds of your evident desire.

Rival!Leto, who has you half naked in the garden - a scandal just waiting to be uncovered - but the sound of his name on your lips won't allow him to slow, or stop.

who tells you that he's never seen anything more beautiful in all the known universe, and asks you to come to his bed tonight.

Your father's rival, who assures you his staff is discreet, and your secret is safe...

who thrills as you enter his bedchamber in the dark of night, very obviously bathed and perfumed to please him

who unleashes his fervent desire now that you are alone, unlacing your gown - his strong fingers laying claim to your soft flesh as his hungry mouth seeks out yours.

Your father's rival, who draws previously unknown desires from the core of you, making you bloom with raw want and drip with lust, soaking his beard

whose lips bring you to heaven itself as he sucks and fingers away your innocence, coaxing you into womanhood with delicious gasps and moans and sweet little begs that make him hard and ready to take your body completely

who slips inside the wet core of you, hissing as you snugly fit and grip his cock, whimpers and sighs of how full you feel tickling his ear.

His name on your lips as he starts to move - as the sting of intrusion eases into a fullness and completeness unlike anything you could have imagined.

Your father's treasure, naked and panting and scandalously writhing beneath his bitter rival, filled with his thick length, giving your maidenhood away to the enemy - to a man who has promised you nothing

Rival!Leto who presses his strong hand to your abdomen, murmuring your name. "Let me fill you up, dove. You can have a piece of me I've given no woman before this night."

"Yes, Leto," you repeat over and over. "Fill me...I'm yours."

Your father's rival, who intends to fill your belly with his heir, and now realizes, as your thighs fall apart - with each deep thrust - how quickly and how hard he comes inside you. How he fell apart so easily in the soft heat of your body. How he relishes this task he’s taken upon himself, almost feeling as if he is corrupting you.

who holds you close to his chest, like he owns you, your bodies still joined, kissing you possessively

Who can't seem to usher you back to your rooms, even to keep your scandalous secret. Who gently wipes you clean and folds you against his naked, sated body, assuring you to give into your exhaustion and rest - feeling a secret thrill that he’s winning your trust, as you sleep soundly

Who wakes to your beautiful face in dawn's light, stares into your eyes and kisses you deeply, certain you are falling in love with him

He swallows hard, realizing…something is happening to him.

Rival!Leto who finds his thoughts on you constantly throughout the day, who can't keep his eyes from devouring you when you enter a room.

Who desperately seeks a moment alone with you, to beckon you back to his bed. "I must have you again," he murmurs against your cheek in a darkened alcove.

He gathers you into his arms when you come to him that night and takes you to bed.

And the next night, and the next. Each night, telling you how he wants to fill you - his body climaxing at your eager acceptance

Who fucks you slow and deep one night, hand on your belly, hard and ready to burst as you beg him to fill you up - who finally utters his plan aloud. "I want you to carry my heir. I want my child to grow inside you."

You assume this is practically a marriage proposal. "Oh Leto..." you coo, coming apart in his arms. "I would love to be your wife."

He should tell you the truth. That he planned to breed you. To trap you on Caladan, to win your heart, and take your father's only treasure away from him.

But he sees an out - he can simply propose and all will be well

Rival!Leto, who didn't plan to actually fall in love with you

Who realizes, he's trapped himself. He loves you too much to lie anymore. So he confesses.

You don't seem upset with him, or even shocked. You simply kiss him deeply, coaxing him to hardness before joining your body with his once more.

Your father's rival, who has fallen in love with you, who wants to marry you, who will share children with you.

Your mission is accomplished. Your father will be proud.

And it cost you nothing. Because you accidentally fell in love with him too

✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧

Leto Masterlist | Main Masterlist

#duke leto atreides #leto atreides #dune part one #dune #dune fanfiction #leto atreides x reader #oscar isaac characters

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internal-ethics · 2 months ago

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Ok im bored and ran out of good content so fuck it lets do this. Decided not to publicize it for so long bc its difficult.

This is my boldest and most prized contribution to this cursed fandom, as well as my dearest tribute to Tobirama, the best political character ive ever read in fiction, and his anija.

warning - this might not be for people with too heavy leaning on anti-konoha, anti-Hashirama sentiments or ships that's not hashimito or tobirama/konoha, or take the timings and numbers of the databook too seriously.

Hashirama is vaguely hinted to canonically have retired as Shodai years earlier, then married Mito, then lived till 10-20 years after VOTE and died in or before the 2nd War.

Tobirama died first in the 1st War. The scene where he sacrificed himself for his squad happened before the VoTE fight, not after. It's his death that signaled the End.

Hashirama losing his power/ability to lead due to possible depression and keeping a low profile (no one could know how and when the Shinobi God died because village situations, and there were sensors and trackers who could find him) is the reason why he didnt know the motive of the Police Force that Tobirama created, and also struggled with Kurama to the point he needed Mito to LEND him power, when earlier he could beat both Kurama and Madara.

Zetsu made up bullshit about Tobirama burying and letting Madara escape with a clone, based that assumption on Tobirama's reputation of creating weird jutsus involving sacrifices, most likely framing him for his surbodinates' doings, because Tobirama totally never knew Tsunade, possibly never even met Mito and dealt with a jinchuuriki, while Hashirama did both, comparing teenage Sakuras power to Tsunade's.

Zetsu also would not have been near there to know what the senju brothers did because they were both sensors that could detect him. Hashirama was the one who buried Madara.

As Onoki said this summit was to end minor conflicts, it happened right after Konoha was founded, not right before the WW. the 2nd kages looked much younger than in the VOTE/WW era. Hashirama likely had other means, more temporary and less effective, to restrain Kurama at this point (his mokuton and necklace) The databook also never said Hashirama died in which war.

Tsunade and Tobirama had no recollection of each other outside Tsunade only calling him distantly 'nidaime' since part 1 and only 'heard' about the ones who killed him.

meanwhile Hashirama was too familiar with tsunade as she with him, and familiar with the village and people, so that he could recall his memories with it despite just having seen it before he died like weve been told.

He talked like he's been through 2 wars with them.

Our second known grandkid of Hashirama was Nawaki, who was 11 years younger than Tsunade. Unless his first son has multiple children in short years which is pure fanfiction, how would he know Tsunade was his 'first' grandkid and how she would turn out 'in the end' if he died when she was this small.

Also the fact that Hashirama didnt wear Konoha headband in the VOTE fight.

But did wear it when he married Mito. Tsunade was not Mito's grand daughter.

As for how he died, its in battle, probably to a nobody mob while protecting his clan or Mitos clan (both conveniently destroyed or disappeared after hes dead). And by the time they killed him and he let them do that, i doubt they even realized or remembered they killed the First Hokage and God of Shinobi. I mean youd think whoever killed him should have been insanely famous, regardless of his power level at the time.

Tobirama said "my role as Second Hokage was to stand between and meditate between brother and Madara while protecting the village" this raised eyebrows because there would have been no one to stand between if he only became Second after Hashirama died and Madara left (forever). Meaning Hashirama was alive when Tobirama became Second, and it had been like that for a long time.

This is what a japanese fan thought of Tobirama's death

Between the two brothers, it makes more sense for the 'normal' one who invented jutsu that defied the law of nature, including

ninja nuclear bombs,

Summoning the dead and giving them infinite chakra

clones only reserved for monster chakra reserves like Naruto with Kurama in him

and a teleportation jutsu that required 5 people in place of an absolute genius like Minato to do- moderately,

rather than a powerful monster with the same annount of chakra as a bijuu AND sage mode that heals himself, to die earlier out of illness.

This is also why Hashirama would ban Tobiramas jutsu and compiled them into HIS scroll seen in the very first chapter - they likely literally shorten ones life. Hashirama wouldnt want random people to drop dead using them...like his brother.

Some more readings on which Japanese samurai characters that have been Kishimoto's references for the founders.

Oda Nobunaga - Hashirama's first concept when he was a scary rugged scarred and big nosed guy, the one who stopped the genenations long wars, unified japan and died right after realizing the dream, but he died partly because of his brutality and crimes in life - he ACTUALLY killed his brother by blood among others of his family who betrayed him. His successor has nickname 'Saru'.

Ashikaga Takauji - Hashirama's later concept, first shogun of his era but softer big brother guy.

Ashikaga Tadayoshi - Takauji's younger brother who stepped up where he couldnt, disagreed with Takauji on politics and died 5 years before his brother did, in defeat but also there are sources that say he suffered some kind of illness before that.

Ko no Moronao - Takauji's close friend who Tadayoshi hated and was later exiled.

More references in Japanese creation mythos involving Izanagi and Izanami, where Izanagi killed his Fire god son Kagutsuchi after Izanamis death, hence his words "my very own child".

#naruto #naruto shippuuden #meta #meta galore #senju hashirama #senju tobirama #naruto timeline #senju tsunade #japanese history #kishi is a smooth liar

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theanimeroom · 4 months ago

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BOMBSHELL | TEASER

synopsis: five men, five women, one villa. with hearts and a $50,000 cash prize on the line, who will win the race to find love?

warnings: love island au featuring: tokyo revengers, blue lock, and jujutsu kaisen, lots of kissing, smut, multi characters × reader, lots of mixed pairings, very random challenges, fluff, slow burns, mentions of cheating, drama, angst, plenty of tears, multi fandom, and playlists included!

a/n: content warnings will be posted with each chapter, so be sure to read thoroughly before indulging! i haven't written a full fic in a while, so any beta readers would be appreciated to make sure that the story comes out as best as it could <3 the story will progress through my own discretion as well as voting at the end of each chapter, so make sure to cast your votes to see how the plot will unfold!

BOMBSHELL MASTERLIST

your heartbeat was erratic as you stood in front of the fire pit and your host, eyes scanning the expanse of the large, beautiful villa that you'd been staying at for the past four weeks.

you still remember the first day that you walked in here; a plethora of pretty faces greeting you with happy smiles and intrigued expressions. you reminisced the way that you were almost as nervous as you are now, eyes wide and palms clammy as you tried to ignore the growing anxiety surging through you. you thought about all the experiences you'd had up until this point, all the friends you made, all the things you learned about yourself, and most importantly, him.

out of everything that you had been through in your time at the villa, one thing that made the whole experience worth it was finally meeting the person of your dreams. you came onto the show thinking that it would be something fun, maybe slightly embarrassing, but fun nonetheless. you never thought that you would come out the end with someone that you could call your own, someone who understood you seemingly better than you knew yourself. despite all the fights, all the tears, and everything in between, you managed to come out the other end okay. happy even.

and you weren't the only one.

your gaze fluttered to your best friend, who stood two people away from you, a proud smile crossing your lips even with your nerves consuming you. you weren't the only person who came into the villa with baggage on their shoulders, yet none of you let it stop you. a brief image of you holding her as she cried into your arms flashed through your mind, the sadness and betrayal leaving her a wreck in your makeup room. you'd thought for a moment that it would be the end of your time together, yet you were happy to see her pull through and find happiness in the end.

everyone here had done their absolute best, even with their rights and wrongs, and that thought alone was enough to quell the queasy feeling building up in your stomach.

"alright islanders, it is officially time," the hosts' voice chopped through the nerve-wracking silence with ease, her calm expression giving no hints as to how the end of the night would go. a long sigh escaped your flared nostrils as you closed your eyes, teeth grazing your bottom lip as you forced your emotions to stay in check.

a soft hand turned your attention to your left, air escaping you as you looked up at the man you could truly say you were starting to love. he smirked at you, his own expression laced with playfulness as he tried his best to calm you down. a large grin spread across your face when you felt fingers interlocking with yours, a gentle squeeze giving you all the reassurance you needed to keep yourself grounded for the time being. your breath halted as he leaned down, lips just barely touching the shell of your ear as he whispered to you softly. "we'll be fine, baby."

you pulled away so you could glance into his eyes, a small nod giving him confirmation that you heard what he said. you trust him, probably more than you should.

"it has been a long, hard journey for those of you remaining," your host started, giving a soft smile to each of the islanders standing on the other side of the firepit. "yet, each of you has managed to find a connection here in the villa. although some of you have been through more struggles than others," you could feel the heat rising onto your face when your eyes made direct contact with hers, a snort escaping you as you laughed with the rest of the islanders that you could now call your best friends. "you all have made it to the finals, and are now in the running for the 50,000 dollar prize on the line."

you subconsciously tightened your grip on his hand at the mention of the prize, your body weight shifting from one foot to the other. you wanted to win, wanted that 50,000 so badly so you could finish your schooling without issues. yet, you were content with whatever outcome was prepared for you. in the end, as long as you had him next to you, you would give up the money in a heartbeat.

"since the start of the show, the country has been voting for their favorite love island couple," each word she spoke left your anxiety spiking, your mind begging her to just hurry up and give the results before your heart exploded from suspense. "but now, they have voted for their official love island winner."

you held your breath as you stared at the host, silence taking over the villa as she picked up a small envelope from the couch behind her. you eyed the paper with angst as she peeled it open slowly, reading the results before looking up at the lot of you behind the fire pit.

you watched as her jaw flexed, a breath getting sucked into your mouth as your heart started to beat so fast you thought it would jump out of your chest.

her mouth opened, eyes scanning the crowd before the first words left her lips. "and the winner... of love island is..."

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arctichangovr · 2 months ago

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Some thoughts on Mouthwashing ive been having...

the fact that at the end of the game, Jimmy still doesn't understand what he needs to take responsibility for. he thinks its for hurting Curly and crashing the ship when really he needs to take responsibility for a lot more than that, like manipulating Daisuke and assaulting Anya. It's like what Polle says at the end of the game, "If all of that is true... why are you still so concerned with him?" Jimmy is too arrogant and self-absorbed to really even take responsibility at all. Even in his final moments, he shifts the responsibility to Curly, making sure he is the one with the chance of survival by putting him in the pod and calling him "captain", putting him in charge.

After Anya's death, there's the appearance of multiple flowers in areas relating to her, like her grave and the vents. I recognize these flowers - they're actually quite popular in Queensland, where I'm from. I'm pretty sure it's a Hibiscus, with meanings often associated with personal power, fame, and glory. Personally, I reckon this meaning relates directly back to Anya's assault and the power that Jimmy held over her (and also the fame and glory meanings remind me of the fact that women are often seen as prizes to be won, sexual prizes). Flowers in media are also associated with sexual organs or pleasure, and then there's the fact that flowers are pollinated, which just reminds me of Jimmy's assault on Anya and giving her this unwanted pregnancy. the fact that these flowers show up in her section absolutely disgusts me, as it's the way Jimmy sees her, as a flower, weak, fragile, and to be pollinated.

And that whole dead pixel scene with Anya and Curly - I don't see a lot of people talking about that. the fact that Anya was able to see the dead pixel clearly, while Curly couldn't find it at all, symbolizes to me the fact that Anya was fully aware of the monster that Jimmy was and what he was capable of, while Curly was still stuck in his optimistic "a bad action doesn't make you a bad person" rose-tinted glasses.

And then the fact that the only time Anya is mentioned or hinted at after her death is in the form of a womb and a monstrous baby, which looks like the Polle statue. Jimmy truly did not care for her at all. all he can see in her is his own punishment and the consequences of his actions. She is viewed as only her womb, only what is growing inside her, only as an object. and the baby being in the form of a horse for Pony Express shows how he really doesn't view the fetus as a real biological entity, but instead the fear of what could happen to him after the ship arrives at his destination. Jimmy has never cared for Anya. he doesn't view his assault as wrong.

and then when Anyas about to die and she talks about how Jimmy was right, and she should've done this from the beginning, that just makes me feel like he's told her to off herself in the past?? which is just so insane if true

Theres literally so much I could talk about with this game, I could write a whole essay. actually, if anyone wants me to write an essay about this game I absolutely will. but these are just some thoughts I had that I haven't seen many people talking about elsewhere, so I thought id put them here. Anyway, Mouthwashing is an amazing game. Probably one of my top ten now.

If ive made a point you disagree with or want to add onto, let me know in the comments. I'm always up for a discussion!

#mouthwashing #mouthwashing game #wrong organ #curly mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #mouthwashing thoughts #mouthwashing curly #mouthwashing anya #mouthwashing jimmy #daisuke mouthwashing #swansea mouthwashing #mouthwashing swansea #mouthwashing daisuke #mouth washing

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gangplanksorenji · 1 year ago

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Kinknuary Day 22: Spanking

Pairing: Kep1er Xiaoting x Male Reader

Word Count: 4,956

[Kinknuary Masterlist]

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

“Don’t you want to take me somewhere else more than this?”

“I actually just want to go home now, Xiaoting—I’m pretty tired…”

“Aw, come on—please? Just one more then we’ll go home…”

Of course, Xiaoting won’t end a day without a good note because she detests anything that’ll make her feel bored or even the simplest hint of discontentment and you won’t dare to disappoint her. Sometimes, life doesn’t go the desired path they want them to and that’s being sampled on her right now, and you won’t let her selfish wants be your burden in the long run.

“Aren’t you even feeling tired, Xiaoting?” Your tone laces a hint of discomfort as she seems to be much more invigorated than you even though you’ve mostly spent the whole day shopping and attending such an incredible party you’ve ever gone to.

“Not really, but please—”

“Okay, okay…” You break her constant plea with a single proposition: a classic game of rock, paper and scissors and whoever wins, will mark both of your fates—it’s quite a simple game but unable to be rejected as Xiaoting agrees about that, and you smiled because of her sudden agreement.

“Just once, okay?”

“Alright…” Xiaoting sounds pretty defeated even though it hasn't started yet because the pessimistic side of hers says that she may end up losing and it will deeply make her disappointed and knowing how well she will think, you curl up a smirk as this is the moment of truth.

Counting down up to the lowest possible integer, you could feel the tension on Xiaoting’s eyes, laced with anticipation and the desire to win as she wanted herself to be fully-redeemed on peak-happiness but it’s like, you can clearly read her mind through that serious gaze of hers as you curl up a smirk after utter ‘zero’ and guess what, all became too ambitious for someone who desired something truly at its best.

It wasn’t really the best, for Xiaoting as you landed ‘rock’ front of her which made her gasp in defeat as it’s too late, with even half a second to spare and cheat, she panicked and managed to land a ‘scissor’ and with that little game, you knew who’s victorious and it’s goddamn you.

“I hate this game! It’s unfair!!” Xiaoting whines and as expected, she rants out how rigged that game could be and how you “cheated” to get that desired prize as she frowns in front of you, her pouty yet disappointed expression still exuding such beauty that no one can come close.

“How is it unfair? You even switched it up at the last second and ended up losing? Just accept your defeat—”

“Ughh, fine! Fine, I will…” Xiaoting brushes off your further continuation of fighting how she’s on the wrong side as she doesn’t want to hear anything that would just make things worse—it’s like she’ll lose anything of our decision, probably a good night’s rest at her place, especially with you on her side. Knowing that investing onto another argument or another plea won’t make anything better since a deal is a deal and you’re just going to wait for time to tell the fate you have in store with and knowing how Xiaoting will take your upcoming proposition wholeheartedly, then it’ll be just only a matter of time before it all unveils onto that anticipated abyss of wonders and desires.

---

It never gets old between the both of you and the fact that you’ve been holding this for a while now is surprising, knowing how insatiable Xiaoting can be at an times you lay your eyes on her as her vixen-like aura and her seductive nature is enough to make you lure in to your deepest desires, and it’s being fulfilled with multiple, sloppy kisses on her lips. You chase your delightful moments in every kiss that you make up with her, as much as the lustful need in you every time you tangle your tongue on hers as you went deeper, and Xiaoting, pulling out as she’s running out of breath due to our audacious nature and aggressive actions towards her.

“Why would you pull out, babe? Am I too much for you to handle?”

“Not reall—ahh, ohh… right t-there…” Maybe you’re right or you could lean onto the opposite, knowing that the culprit would be the lack of oxygen would let those speculations set aside onto the correct verdict. You know how your lips are one of her ultimate weaknesses out of the many things you can elaborate as you let her know how your stupendous skills can make a girl like her fall under your spell within just mere seconds. You latch onto her deep, sharp collar bones that you always love worshiping, knowing how perfectly sculpted those are like the rest of her body, deemed to be drooled on a praised by only you—you could be just the luckiest menace of them all, being gifted with such an angel being close to the epitome of perfection, from head to toe. You keep peppering that porcelain skin of hers with multiple kisses, running your lips down to her neck as she moans almost-inaudibly and incredibly sultry, voicing out her deep satisfaction towards your expertise.

“Oh god—you k-kiss me so well—oh, so good!”

Hearing her constant compliments on your actions, you continue to pepper her with intimate kisses until you pull out right after, hearing her soft whimpers needing your lips to be attached onto her skin as soon as possible but you had enough, for now.

“Isn’t my baby needy for me?” Your eyes demanded an answer escaping her lips right away, wanting her to unleash that living submissiveness inside her and you’ll do it slowly, knowing how the beast inside her will be a little challenging to tame.

“Y-Yes…”

She’s succumbing onto that state slowly as her eyes glistening with need and her soft, needy tone is enough of an evidence, luring her into falling under your spell and will not make her escape out of it. With her needy pleas and her body grinding greedily against yours, wanting to feel your touch, you can’t seem to be convinced as there’s few elements that’s lacking from her constant pleas. “Yes what, baby?”

“Yes, please…” With Xiaoting’s constant pleas, you can’t help but just fulfill her needs right at this moment but you need to unlock that beast inside of you with the magical word that will turn her world upside-down.

“You’re getting there, baby~” You tease her porcelain skin with a gentle swipe of your fingers, running it down her neck and then up to her toned midriff, which you always love kissing and worth worshiping until the end of time. Xiaoting knows that she needs to crack the code within you, and with a clever mind and taking a few seconds of the clock for her to think about what could make that happen, she finally thought of that forbidden word and it’s only a matter of time until~

“Yes I am, daddy.”

You never expected her to fail in any kind as she’s cognizant as the way she is and it’s always impressive to see and even hear it all with utmost sincerity and need. With your face still inches away from her, such eye contact would let the other succumb onto the endearing stare of the other yet you’ll change that, more likely, a commanding one as you live up with that, wanting Xiaoting to strip her clothing in front of you with class and skill like nobody can achieve. Maybe, you haven’t seen anyone become on par with her skills, let alone surpassing her and you’ll keep it that way—it’s way phenomenal seeing Xiaoting doing the things she’s great at and you won’t even bother thinking of another woman to do it for you. With her seductive gaze inviting you to strip her clothing with her, you wouldn’t skip that opportunity as you do so, slowly removing the fur-like sleeves on her arms but before you completely strip it off her, you take some time to commend her flawless figure and her outfit perfectly complimenting each impeccable feature she has.

“Thanks, d-daddy—really l-loved this one…”

“You know, as much as I want this on you, this would be better on the floor.”

Xiaoting’s lips curled up a sinister smirk as she invited you to make that “wish” of yours come true, and it wouldn’t take up much of your time until it became accomplished. She would aid herself for you to be comfortable, leaning onto you as she gives you such inviting and sultry moans, making yourself get riled up for her and you love it but you wouldn’t be fazed with that as you continue stripping her. Her hands wouldn’t be idle as she pulled her pants, down to her ankles and then onto the floor with a swift motion and god, those scrumptious, milky thighs on your sight is tempting to be voraciously kissed as hunger took over you yet you continue your work and with her top off, her slender, hourglass figure is now within your eyes to be blessed and you couldn’t ask for more because of it.

Xiaoting is a work of art, sculpted by the gods to perfection as you’re the lucky man to handle and appreciate this masterpiece, maybe even use it until her legs give out—a sullied goddess, in your own books.

“God, you’re fucking hot, Xiaoting—oh gosh…” You can’t believe your eyes as it takes numerous gazes throughout her perfect figure, eyeing every inch and drooling on it like it’s a five-course meal—maybe it may lie down onto the scope of similes but metaphorically, she’s always the main course and you would love to devour her like a predator hungry for its prey. With her last bits of defense still within her body, concealing her true beauty, you asked Xiaoting if you can strip it off her and without any hesitations, she nodded as she’s been longing for this for a while now.

“You really love my body so much, hm, daddy?” Xiaoting doesn’t even need to ask you about that because she already knows what your answer will be and it’s always readable, your eyes glistening with hunger over her is enough evidence.

Still busy admiring her scrumptious body and her drooling all over it, it took you seconds before you could respond as you flash a smile at her, making her feel delighted and truly loved by you. “Of course, baby—I love it all but daddy’s getting impatient…”

Xiaoting runs her finger onto your clothed chest, up towards your shoulders as she rests her arms on it, and then utters such a seductive invitation letting you know how it’s going to start. “Have your way with me, daddy—I’d love what you’ll make me do…”

And as always, Xiaoting never laid a better invitation than that and she never fails to make you amazed and aroused. With all of that foreplay coming into its denouement, you commanded Xiaoting to get onto the bed as her naked body is now on display, ready to get used as she gets on all fours.

“This is going to be fun…”

---

“Count.”

“Y-Yes, daddy…”

It’s maybe a newly profound kink of him, and maybe even you, considering that as you're guilty as he probably likes how your thighs jiggle with his mighty palm striking onto your butt with the force of a truck, and you love it. He knows how you love it so much, your eyes won’t even deny letting him know about that and under his own control, you completely submit yourself and let him have his way with you.

“Don’t hold back, baby—let it all out and count, do you understand?”

You nod frantically, not wanting to disappoint him as you wiggle your ass in front of him, inviting him to do the honors of the actions he’s been longing to do—

*loud smack* “O-One…”

It was just the first one and it’s already rocking your world, sending your arousal up to the sky as his smacks are pleasurable, making your sensitivity peak at its finest. You could feel yourself getting wet with the thought of his hands spanking your butt harshly until it’s red as a tomato while ramming your tight cunt down and you can’t wait for it to happen.

*another loud smack* “Two—oh god…”

Another one emanates around your ear as the crisp of its pristine sound sends your libido skyrocketing, probably filling the urge of him using you but you can sense and know how he won’t just pull the trigger this easily—the both you wanted this on the first place: you wanting this for a long time now and gains gratification from it and lastly, him wanting to tease you and there’s no better way to do that with his palm printed onto your milky buttcheeks, going to be redder than a tomato.

*another loud smack* “T-Three… That feels so g-good…”

It may feel redundant but you love every second of it and will not even feel the hint of being tired of it because of his harsh actions—you wanted the pain anyways, as he knows how you derive pleasure from his spanks and the discordant sounds of it increasing your libido onto the roof, and makes you even wetter by multiple barrages of it.

*another loud smack* “F-Four—f-fuck, daddy…”

This time, it was way harder than the rest as you whimper in pain again because of his harshness, but gaining that genuine gratification as you love the pain and the pleasure mixing all up together—you’re maybe a masochist because of how you derive intense pleasure, and you know he’s here to fulfill that at all costs. Even though you can’t catch a glimpse of the hot sight of him doing such sinful things to you, you can’t still brush the fact that your imagination reaches the furthest of its limits, capable of formulating the filthiest thoughts known to mankind.

*another loud, harsh smack* “Five—o-ohh… too g-good—ahh~”

You keep voicing your own satisfaction alongside your ragged breaths between random intervals that puts him onto authority to further smack you until your butt is scarlet red but you can sense that he has better options in mind, the feral beast inside him wanting to be unshackled from its restraints, and you’d be the guest to let it be a wish come true.

“Such a good girl for me, hm?”

You know he’s growing impatient, and you can sense it igniting in his eyes and you wouldn’t dare to let him wait for another move preceding what he could command you.

“Yes, daddy—” Your sultry voice invites him into falling down to his own, carnal desires and you know he wouldn’t make the both of you wait for nothing as every second should be treasured. “—now will you fuck your good girl?”

It’s up to him to write your fate, and you’ll just relax yourself and find out what it would be…

---

It does tempt you into fulfilling her needs and it’s just a single strand before you break your shackling confines, and it wouldn’t be long until you reach your primal desires. It wasn’t your cup of tea to tease into oblivion but if she wanted that then so be it as foreplay plays an impressive role on someone’s anticipation and her desires running like a roller coaster, all opting for the chase of fun and the freakiest frustrations of not being attended.

“Put it in, daddy—please, ohh!”

Of course, another tease makes her weak, whimpering in need as she tightly grabs the bed sheets for a leverage to fight the profound pleasure that she's not experiencing. You continue swiping your finger onto her heated core as she cries in response, and it further skyrockets once you start stimulating her clit and with her small sounds being the fuel on your unstoppable lust, you won’t let her wait for more as you gave what she truly deserves.

With your hands caressing the soft, silky skin of hers, you grab her hips and position yourself into a state of bliss and within a single second, it all went uphill as you could just hear each other’s groans emanating the wonders of such a great commencement of sex. You deliver shallow and leisure thrusts, aiming to just make her anticipate and savor every second of that blithe that she always loved. You continue peppering her neck with constant pecks as you muster such a sluggish pace, making her feel loved as you worship her and make her know how much you adore her.

“You l-love kissing me, daddy?”

You smile at her question, and you know that she already has the knowledge about that question, but you would love to let her know about everything you love about her, more likely, verbally. “Of course, baby—how could I not adore every inch of your perfect body?”

Well, she’s not egoistic but she knows how perfect she is in your eyes and that’s something that always wanted to hear, as it boosts her confidence in a great percentage and makes her feel the utmost care by you. Maybe the slow and redundant foreplay was getting on your nerves longer than you expected as you wanted to ruin her and Xiaoting herself would love the thought of that.

Maybe it won’t rely onto the cloud of thoughts as it’s now ascending into reality, pacing faster into a moderate speed where she constantly whimpered in need, your constantly ramming cock into her tightness becoming too much for her and of course she would request for an element to be added for the better experience for both parties.

“Spank my ass while you f-fuck me, daddy—oh god!”

Now averting your hands onto different places: your left hand swiftly fondling her perky breasts for better stimulation and your other hand already finding its way onto smacking that soft flesh in front of you, the rippling of it and the sound it reverberates around the room makes such an arousing sight that it further thrust you into her rapidly as she recoils a little from your harshness.

Who would have thought that a modest, sophisticated girl like her is invested in such a sinful, cruel act? Well, it wasn’t emanating from her aura totally but you know how she subconsciously knows how hot and captivating of a woman she is—you’re glad that she’s yours and you’re the only one to have a sight of her alluring masterclass. Maybe it’s a faux conception knowing that Xiaoting doesn’t exude such hotness if she’s always being a little “puffball”, as you call her, but her other side is nothing compared to this and god, the next thing you’ll know is that you’ll be just riled up for her that the both of you will succumb to each other’s needs and be the freakiest creatures known to mankind.

If it wasn’t always the case about the latter, then you don’t know what is because the both of you prove your points about that title.

Harsh spanks add up to the sea of cacophonous sounds that lingers around your ear, further fueling you to bring such hard poundings in aims to totally let her succumb to submission, and you’re nearing that goal with all of the stimulation you’re doing on her. Every whimper she exclaims with the pain you’re bestowing her just makes the sight rapidly hotter but you know it wasn’t enough until her cheeks are scarlet red so you muster a new pattern of thrusting between spanks and using the other hand as a leverage by grabbing her hips harshly. The constant rhythm of your hips gradually increases over time, and so is your harsh treatment towards her but you want to add an incredible twist that will elevate the experience even more.

Xiaoting lets out series of cries as you pound her into the mattress, her arms able to give out with how much you’re treating her and then suddenly, you slow down immediately, catching her off-guard and for her to recovering a little as you’re selfless—you wanted her to savor every moment whenever possible and not want her to reach her high too quickly even though you know how your cock can make her do that in a few minutes. With your sudden impeding, you could take a closer attention to admiring her scrumptious backside and the sexiest curves of her hourglass figure that you can drool on for days and won’t get tired of. This is also an exceptional time to let your hands be berserk and give her harsh barrages of spanks that makes her even wetter and even more whimpers that lets your cock twitch because of how soft and arousing her tone is.

“P-Please fuck me h-harder, daddy–oh gosh, s-so good!!”

Another resonating smack lingering around her ears as you’re a little infuriated with her pleas, making her writhe a little and cry in need of a better pace. “Don’t tell me what to do, baby…”

Her tightness is nearly suffocating but you don't care, not when a hot sight is just right in front of you as you resume on your frantic pace, making her moan uncontrollably to the point that she almost screams and it’s deafening but angelic. With all of the constant stimulation of your hands throughout her body and the pain you’re bringing in with such onslaught of smacks, it wouldn’t be surprisingly to know if Xiaoting is going to reaching her high sooner than you expected as the constant constricting of her pussy and the juices seeping out of it are enough evidences to set herself near to the promised land. Now with her buttcheeks red with your hand printed on it, you gave her a small break and continue to double your efforts on pounding her tight cunt, letting her know how she’s going to be having the paramount orgasm of her whole life and with a shuddering response escaping her lips, you knew it’s deemed to come into an end.

“Shit—daddy, I’m gonna c-cum so soon!!”

She wanted this for so long and you wouldn’t dare to put it in a halt and gave the reward that Xiaoting absolutely deserves. “Then cum, baby—cum all over my cock—”

It all went onto that singular point of bliss, releasing deafening screams of pleasure as she lets everything out around your ravaging length and with Xiaoting aiming to further elevate her orgasmic trance, she requested you still fuck her senseless on her orgasm as you do so, making her a wild, mindless mess just capable of uttering such sinful sounds. With your ruthless pace, Xiaoting kept whimpering on how she wants you to treat her harsher as you fulfill her wants, further hammering her tightness with such thrusts mustered to the highest velocity possible and with spanks with a force of a truck. After such breathtaking thrusts and a breakneck pace, you instantly calmed down the feral beast inside of you and gave her a leverage to recover, thrusting with such a sluggish pace as she catches her breath due to her orgasmic high.

“Daddy, t-that was—”

“Good? Yes, baby, I know—” You lean down to kiss her beautiful neck, and then course your way near her ear and continue her sentence. With your lips still worshiping the porcelain skin of hers, you let her know how great the experience was and showered her with compliments that definitely stroked her ego. “—because honestly, you felt great around my cock, baby…”

Xiaoting lets out needy whimpers—maybe even possibly smiling because of your compliments—as you stroke her hair to make her feel your touch, your hips now ensuing a moderate pace, pumping into her but this time, it’s all full of affection and love and dismissing the harshness and greed like from earlier. Knowing yourself would be near your own high too, you wanted to save the best for the last as you warn Xiaoting that you’re going to pull out and let herself switch into a different position.

“Baby, turn around for me so I can fuck you while seeing your beautiful face.”

It was straightforward and she obliges immediately without any questions and even with the hint of frustration laced on her emotions, it wouldn’t be long until you reward her with something exceptional as now is the time for another side of bliss. As she spun her figure around gracefully, her hands grabbed your shoulders as you immediately didn’t waste any time teasing her and plunged your length deep inside her and god, she’s still as tight as earlier and you wouldn’t complain about that because that’s what makes every second worth cherishing.

Your hands then coursed down on her waist, caressing it as your touch makes her writhe a little and it didn’t bother you, continuing onto your desired precedence to reach your ultimate high. You pump your hips in her with aims to make her feel the utmost pleasure and how much you love her and with Xiaoting’s cleverness and the heat rising up onto its maximum scope, her hands didn’t become idle and pulled your head towards her, initiating into a heated kiss. It was full of hunger and lust as the both of you kept on chasing the higher authority, battling for the dominant control over the other person as drool inevitably seeped out of your mouths with your tongues dancing around gracefully. The kiss eventually gets sloppier and more heated and so are your ramming thrusts, pistoning onto a velocity unable for anyone to comprehend and it wouldn’t take long before you achieve your long-anticipated high with that familiar tingle in your loins.

Wanting to savor the last moments before your peak, you initiated a new rhythm as you gave up on a ridiculous pace in exchange for more powerful thrusts, as every time you do it, her thighs jiggle like jelly and that’s why you love such slow-paced thrusts that aims to strike harder—maybe the accumulation of such force on hammering her tight cunt is wonderful and it wouldn’t be long until you achieve something that you’ve been longing for.

“Aren’t y-you close, daddy?”

You chase your breath as you became too focused on peppering her neck with kisses and fucking her into oblivion that it took your seconds before you responded back, “I’m pretty close, baby—”, and instantly you kissed her lips again as you looked at her endearingly, full of fervor as you muttered such saccharine-filled words, “—I love you so much…”

That made Xiaoting realize how sincere everything was and she always knew it, but she never felt this much adrenaline and affection as she can’t help but smile sincerely as you continue hammering her and chasing that peak of yours. “I love you too, daddy—more than anything in this world.”

You pulled Xiaoting into another heated kiss as you buried your entire length in this, filling her up to the hilt as she let out muffled moans onto your lips but didn’t let herself faze on her grand prize, continuing on deepening the torrid kiss. You fill her up as you grab her waist tightly, almost forming into an embrace in order for a better leverage on dumping everything inside her. You groan between your heated kisses with Xiaoting as everything is just now in a complete state of bliss, every spurt worth treasuring as the constriction of her walls makes the pleasure worth your while and maybe even extending your orgasm. When you feel that everything has been toned down, you then palm her shoulders and pulled out slowly, Xiaoting catching her breath because of such a heated kiss initiated by you and god, what an incredible it is to see her pussy full of your cum, and some of it dripping and onto the sheets they stain—you suppose you would need a new mattress considering how much she spurted ner nectar all over the place and maybe, that would be the case.

“Ohh, it’s s-so much, daddy…” Xiaoting moans in satisfaction as she can feel the warmness of your seed that fills every inch of her velvety walls, and some are even seeping out of her lips. She took this as an opportunity to scoop out a sample and tasted it and as expected, she was delighted to let her taste buds orchestrate the final verdict of its delectability. “It’s salty and sweet—I love it, daddy…”

You smile because of her satisfaction being voiced out verbally, and with that, it makes you feel that everything was worth both your whiles and there’s nothing you could ask for more when it’s already been fulfilled.

“You felt so good, baby and—” You caressed Xiaoting’s cheeks and looked at her endearingly again, feeling affectionate and thankful with the greatness she's bestowed you and being such a good girl for you. “—glad you loved me filling you up.”

“I love your harshness too, daddy—everything is just perfect…” It’s a little surprising that she can still articulate words that she shouldn’t but she got stamina for days so her recovery would be pretty quick. You know the night’s getting older but you know there’s more ways to enjoy everything you could think of but for now, a good night’s rest would not be bad as you can feel your drowsiness slowly taking over you until—

*notification pops up*

Yujin’s gonna see you tomorrow and you’re fucked up…

Well, was this all a mistake? You’d consider this as one but maybe this won’t be and all you can do is to prepare onto something that’s the last thing you want to deal with—her.

#kinknuary 2024 #kep1er smut #xiaoting smut #kep1er x male reader #xiaoting x male reader

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