#time he's able to calm them down so quickly | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nemumiruku · 3 days ago

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I've always known Artorias and Ornstein were massive, but I never knew they were THAT big. Not until I saw the size comparison between them and Ciaran. Gawd lord :))

Also, finally got this one off my list, yay!

wc: 14.5k

tw: non-con, dub-con, coercion, tentacles, ooc, yandere themes, spanking, humiliation, breeding, belly-bulge, size difference, emotional manipulation, vaginal sex, deadly grammars,...

To the very east of Anor Londo, he had arrived at a small village. A night like any other, Ornstein and his knights were sent on. His memory was as clear as day.

It was before dawn, when the sky was still gray with smoke and the flames were dying down to embers. The dragon was easy to hunt. It was still there, rooting through what was left, and perhaps too careless in its hunger for flesh and blood. Because it didn’t even see him approach until it was too late.

Ornstein made quick work, barely breaking a sweat gutting the dragon over and over. That was the point of this march. No spectacle nor drawn-out fight was needed for these vile creatures, but a spear thrust through the eye with a touch of flashing lightning in the dark before it fell in a shuddering heap that smothered the last of the fires.

He stood over the carcass for a moment. The air was thick with the stink of scorched timbers as well as flesh. It never bothered him much, for it was just another part of the job he had to fulfill. As long as he was alive, no dragons should be able to fly the skies.

After the dragon fell, the man moved through what remained of the village. The air was heavy with the stench of death. The sagging, warped, and blackened roofs made him duck his head each time he stepped inside the small cottage.

Even though they told him to look for survivors, it was just a formality anyway, one he followed because he was ordered to. His Lord didn’t expect his knights to save anyone. He expected them to kill dragons.

Still, he pushed open the wreck of a door with his boot, only to be met by a wild, uncivilized thing that lunged at him with the speed of light. Its filthy fingers clutching a dull blade, trying with all its meager strength to cut his throat.

Ornstein tilted his head slightly, a hint of amusement in his eyes as it kept trying while clinging onto him, the worn kitchen knife glancing harmlessly off his gold-plated armor with every frantic stab.

He then grabbed it by the collar of its torn shirt and hauled it up, bringing it close to inspect the defiance behind all that thrashing.

Turned out it wasn’t an animal after all. just a little girl with a face smeared with ash and tears, glaring at him with hatred in her eyes.

“Cunning little one, art thou? I barely heard thee crawling above,” he said evenly.

Teeth clenched, you could only glare up at him, absolutely hating how that snarling lion helm looked so much like the monster that burnt your home down.

“My lord, is all well?” one of the knights asked as they entered, having finished their search through the ruined village.

“Aye, all is well,” Ornstein replied simply. He kept you dangling by your collar, turning slightly to show you to them.

“Take this wretch back to Anor Londo. I shall speak with Lord Gwyn on her fate,” he commanded in a calm voice, as though you weighed nothing more than a stray pup he’d found in the mud.

And so, that was how your new life began in Anor Londo—the shining city of the Gods, where the marble floors gleamed and the sun seemed fixed in the sky.

It looked beautiful from afar, but you learned quickly there was nothing kind about it.

You were just a human, dragged in from the wreckage of a village no one would bother naming. The knights didn’t speak to you unless it was to give orders. The clerics averted their eyes as you passed, as though your very presence reminded them of everything they chose to ignore. Servants whispered about you in the halls, calling you the little rat or the dragon’s orphan when they first washed you from the charcoal.

You didn’t get special treatment. The caretakers fed you well enough to keep you standing, and gave you clothes warm enough to keep you comfy. Aside from that, you also got your own tiny room, though it wasn't anything fancy, just a bed and a chair. The only positive thing was, no one beat you for no reason, but no one comforted you either.

The only thing given freely by them was intensive training. Every morning before the sun rose, they pulled you from your narrow bed and sent you out onto the cold stone courtyard while your breath was still misting in the gray light.

Training was relentless, just as it was exacting with hours spent drilling footwork until your legs ached and practicing with daggers until your fingers were numb from gripping. On top of that, you were taught to move like a shadow, to place every step with care so no one would hear you coming when you slit their throat.

It only made sense. They expected nothing less if you were meant to follow in Ciaran’s footsteps.

Aside from intensive body and tools traning, mixing poisons was also treated like an art. You remembered making mistakes and having to start over countless times, no matter how long it took. The instructors were kind of harsh, though. They didn’t offer any praises to encourage you, only several coldings here and there when you did wrong. Yet, they were at least patient.

Though you must have admitted, their words were extremely harsh whenever they opened their mouth. It wasn’t cruelty for its own sake. You told yourself it was their own way of shaping you into something useful for the system, an assassin who wouldn’t hesitate, who could set emotions aside and do what needed to be done without backing away.

Soon enough, with lord Gwyn’s favor granting you real missions, you had the chance to prove yourself. You showed your worth with every completed task, until even the others had to admit you belonged among the Lord’s Blades—an elite circle of assassins who served Gwyn’s will without question.

From then on, life began to change. You were fed well, given better clothes, and granted your own small quarters in the castle. And you had more friends, too. Those were the signs you were no longer just a useless addition.

Much to everyone's surprise, you weren’t the inexperienced new blood anymore. You’d become an instructor at a surprisingly young age, trusted to train the next generation. People showed you respect when you passed, and some even looked up to you, watching carefully for every lesson you had to offer, eager to learn what you knew.

Nevertheless, you wouldn’t have made it that far without Ciaran’s guidance. As one of Gwyn’s Four Knights, she trained you more thoroughly than anyone else could have. Her lessons were sharp and efficient, leaving no room for weakness or doubt, perfect for someone like you.

It was through her that you first crossed paths with Artorias.

Unlike Ornstein’s strict and formal manner, his presence was warm in a way you hadn’t expected. The first time he spoke to you, he knelt slightly to meet your eyes, asking your name, where you were from, and if you’d eaten. You remember trying to hide behind Ciaran’s legs, peeking out nervously at his towering frame, surprised that someone so imposing could sound so gentle and heart-warming.

He became a constant presence in your life. You were never sure if it was simply in his nature to look after a lost human child, or if he was just curious to see how you would handle the unforgiving demands of assassin training.

Calling it "care" might have been generous. But he was there often enough to tell your handlers to ease up when they got too rough. Always stepping in calmly when you ended up on the ground with something broken, only to make sure they didn't push you past the point of getting back up.

You remembered crying on the days he wasn’t there, when the training turned harsh and left you bruised and hurting. Then later on, you would find yourself looking for him without even thinking, hoping to catch that soothing cobalt-blue. It was tragic how you were quite drawn to the quiet comfort he offered.

Because Artorias tended to more than just the wounds on your outsides. He had been the only one to listen to you when no one else would, letting you speak about things you’d never told anyone—not even Ornstein or Ciaran.

You told him about your old home, the hard life you’d left behind, and how, despite everything, you would have given anything to have it back. A lonely human girl yapping about her horrible past, yet he never interrupted or judged you. He just took everything in, with a quiet understanding that felt rare in a place ruled by beings who seemed too distant to care. Then, after you had sobered yourself to sleep, you would wake up with your head on his lap instead.

He’d bring you small gifts when he returned from missions, simple human food you actually liked, or little things that reminded you of your old home. The man paid attention to what made you smile, even if you tried to hide it. And when there was news or truths he knew would cut too deep for someone like yourself, he kept them from you.

He also had a puppy named Sif, with big, curious eyes and oversized paws that tripped over themselves. Whenever you cried telling Artorias about how your peers had treated you, Sif would nuzzle close and lick the tears from your face, tail thumping against the floor, determined to cheer you up in the only way she knew how.

It was almost fatherly, the way Artorias treated you. Some whispered he had a soft spot for the human girl among the Blades, while others insisted it was simply his nature—kind to anyone, whether they were gods or humans, friend or foe. No one really knew which was true, least of all you.

Perhaps the only one who truly knew was Ornstein. He was Artorias’s closest friend and comrade, after all.

Now, Ornstein was a special case for you, too, if only because of how closely he worked with Smough—the executioner you’d despised from the moment you arrived in Anor Londo.

Smough was everything you feared in a man: cruel for the fun of it, smiling at screams and shrieks. You’d seen enough to know he enjoyed his work too much. Just watching Ornstein stand beside him, calling him “partner” had always made your skin crawl from a thousand miles away. Plus, Smough had a boogeyman laugh, and it was terrifying for it almost made you piss yourself as a kid.

You would never ever dare to be in the same room as Smough if Ornstein weren’t there. His presence was the only thing that made it bearable, the only assurance that the executioner wouldn’t take things too far just because he felt like it.

If Artorias was like a gentle father figure, then Ornstein was the strict older brother who never let you relax. Training with the other assassins was already demanding, but he insisted you train with him too.

It wasn’t exactly required, yet he claimed it was good for you to learn from his strength, insisting that once you were old enough, you would come back and thank him. And once he decided that, there was no escaping it. He made sure you never missed a single session, no matter how tired you were.

Orstein the Dragonslayer was known for his pride and his strict, disciplined manner. But with you, that sharp edge often softened into something more playful, full of quiet teasing.

Every time you insisted he treat you seriously, reminding him you weren’t that scrawny child he’d once lifted by the collar while chuckling at your fury, he’d just wave it off. He loved to bring it up, though, saying you were “adorable” back then, pouting at him with such murder in your eyes the moment you first laid eyes on him.

Despite all the teasing and that tough, almost brotherly discipline, you knew deep down he was always the one in your corner. When the vassals whispered about your mediocre human blood, hinting you didn’t belong and urging Gwyn to send you away, it was Ornstein who spoke up.

His words were so firm, they left no room for argument, calling out the potential in you to lord Gwyn that you were worth keeping. And once he made that clear, no one dared to challenge it.

One thing you appreciated about him was that he didn’t treat you the way Artorias did. Where Artorias would fuss when you got hurt, suggesting your instructors give you days off to recover, Ornstein barely acknowledged it.

Ornstein would pick you up before pushing you to keep going like you always did. But you weren’t stupid. You knew he paid attention in his own way. The man always seemed to find out exactly who was pushing you too far. You figured that was why one particularly cruel instructor suddenly stopped showing up one day.

They were caring in their own ways. With them, you found something like belonging. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt like a family in its own, strange way—except for Smough, who was more like the deranged uncle everyone avoided.

You lived among them, trained with them, and learned to appreciate every single moment duty didn't call you. Trying to carry out someone else’s will with a dagger in your soft, delicate hand.

It was going perfectly fine, in its own rough way, as you felt safe around them enough to crawl out from your hermit shell.

Until you were old enough that everything started to change. Suddenly, you weren’t just the scrappy kid they’d taken in. You were someone they all looked at differently.

You’d grown taller, though still dwarfed by the gods and beings around you. Your body had also matured, blooming into a beautiful woman with smooth curves and a flush of youth in your cheeks. At the age where men and women started to look at you with either want or jealousy.

Maybe the final blow was that mission. When Ciaran was away, they had to send you in her place to eliminate a high-profile target, a traitorous noble who needed quiet killing.

You carried it out, but it almost cost you your life, too. When the help came, they had found you half-conscious, bleeding out as you tried dragging yourself through the dark streets with your dagger still wet. So heavily wounded, they had to carry you back to Anor Londo.

Both Artorias and Ornstein came to see you while you were laid up in the infirmary, bandaged from head to toe. Even through the haze of pain and half-sleep, you could sense the tension between them. You didn't think you had ever seen them get this worked up.

Their voices were low at first, but you remembered the way it rose...sharp, angry, guilty. You couldn’t make out every word because you were too dazed from your wounds. But the sound of armored boots shifting and harsh tones cutting through the quiet room stuck with you. You remembered their shapes, looming and rigid, refusing to back down even at your bedside.

Then came the changes.

Artorias grew more distant with each passing day. It wasn’t obvious at first, just small things you usually let go of. The way he would fall quiet around you, his gaze dropping when you tried to catch it. And how he started finding reasons to be elsewhere during your training, offering fewer corrections, fewer words at all.

It almost felt like he was trying to avoid you entirely, blaming it on the missions, as if keeping his distance was the only way he could deal with something he didn’t want to admit, even to himself.

You missed his company, though you wouldn’t have said it out loud. Instead, you told yourself it was probably because of Ciaran. There had always been rumors about the two of them. And honestly, it wasn’t hard to believe, not with the way she watched over him, or the quiet looks they sometimes shared when they thought no one was paying attention.

It was easier to think he was pulling away for her sake than to consider any other reason. You were no longer a kid but a proper woman now, after all. So any type of interaction with him must have put your mentor in a weird spot and made things awkward in some sense.

Meanwhile, Ornstein was easier to figure out. You spent far more time with him now than you ever had before. As a child, you’d always tried to slip away from his training sessions just to run off to find Artorias instead.

But now it was quite the opposite. Nearly every mission you took, he was there too—if not officially assigned, then somehow showing up anyway. He always brushed it off as a coincidence, but you weren’t so easily convinced.

Every time you asked if he’d been spying on you, or if he’d sent one of his knights to follow you, because there was no other way he could know every detail of your missions. He’d just give you that calm, unreadable look. Sometimes he’d act like it didn’t matter at all, other times he’d play dumb and change the subject, leaving you fuming but with no real answer.

Even the friendships and connections you’d worked so hard to build started to fall apart, one by one. People you trusted began avoiding you, their sudden distance leaving you confused and uneasy.

It all came to a head the day one knight, someone you’d been close with for years, resigned without warning. He found you before he left, eyes troubled, and asked quietly if he’d done something to offend you, if that was why both Artorias and Ornstein had sought him out. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t even know how to answer, let alone talk to them.

And after that, the rumors started. Ugly whispers about you sharing both their beds to earn all that “special treatment.” It wasn’t hard for people to believe, not when both of them had always been kinder to you than to anyone else. They spoke well of you to Lord Gwyn himself, made sure you had the finest weapons and tools for your missions, and no one missed how carefully they watched over you.

To them, it all looked like proof. To you, it felt like something you couldn’t defend without sounding like a liar.

What you didn’t know was everything they did behind your back. About Artorias going straight to Lord Gwyn to have you taken out of Ciaran’s care and put under his instead, making sure the missions you received were short, simple, almost insultingly easy compared to what you were used to.

Meanwhile, Ornstein quietly made it his job to scare off anyone who got too close, using little more than a glare and his reputation to keep them away. He even followed you himself sometimes, convinced he was the only one who could keep you safe, even if it meant you never realized how often you were being watched.

They only grew stranger with time. Neither of them stayed too close, but they never let you get too far away either. It was like they were always circling, watching, waiting for something to snap. You tried to ignore it, tried to tell yourself it was nothing, but the doubt kept gnawing at you.

That doubt became certainty the day you overheard them on the training field.

You hadn’t meant to listen, truly. You were just passing by, steps slowing when you heard your name in the quiet. They didn’t notice you at first, too caught up in whatever argument had been brewing for who knows how long.

"Stop coddling her, Artorias. She is no child." Ornstein’s voice was sharp as his hands were already folded. And based on your own experience with him, whenever he did that, he meant business.

"And you? Do not pretend you have not been trailing her on every mission." Artorias narrowed his eyes. You noticed his grip becoming firmer on the sword's handle. What were they even talking about?

Ornstein fell silent for a moment, head tilting slightly with a hint of wry amusement, for he wasn't able to provide an answer. That's why Artorias's voice cut through the stillness.

"Admit it. You have feelings for the girl."

"So you would let me have her then?" Ornstein’s tone turned mocking, a rare edge you didn’t often hear from him.

He probably struck a nerve because Artorias’s reply was cold, unwavering. "I do not see so."

It took you a moment to really understand what was happening. You didn’t stay to hear the rest. Instead, you slipped away before their words could dig any deeper into your thoughts.

After that, you buried yourself in missions—anything to keep yourself busy. Easy, hard, it didn’t matter. You took them all, even when it meant going against Artorias’s wishes. It was the only way you knew to avoid them both. You were confused and overwhelmed. You didn’t know how to handle any of it because they had been family to you. Especially knowing you didn’t have just one, but two gods chasing after you.

Much to your surprise, neither of them took it well. When they realized you’d been avoiding them, they started seeking you out at every opportunity. Whether it was to simply be near you or to hold onto you in some quiet, desperate way, you couldn’t tell anymore. Sometimes you wondered if you were imagining it.

You used to think you’d never understand why. But you did now. Because they’d said it themselves.

You remembered the moment clearly. In some dark corner of the castle, the two of them cornered you, their imposing forms blocking you from any easy escape. Their voices were calm but also demanding as they pressed you with question after question about why you’d been gone so much lately.

And if they had done anything to offend you. That was the part that caught you off guard...the way they actually asked. Their manners were nicer then, but no less intense. It was almost frightening, the weight of their presence in those godly armors, the way their eyes locked onto you like your answer was the only thing that mattered in the world.

You mumbled some poor excuse just to slip away, all the while feeling the tension in the air, the way both of them seemed to be holding themselves back from simply grabbing you and keeping you there. When you finally made it back to your room, you didn’t take any chances. You locked the door, bolted the windows, and checked it all twice, heart still racing at the thought of their eyes on you.

The real nightmares began when Gwyn’s firstborn betrayed him to stand with the dragons, and the Abyss began swallowing Oolacile whole. In response, Gwyn had to send Artorias to confront the spreading darkness, while Ornstein was tasked with hunting down his own mentor, his brother-in-arms.

Everyone else was tangled in politics and strategy, too busy to care about anything else. You were sent on mission after mission as well, which you counted as a blessing. Because they kept you busy, and more importantly, kept them both away from you for a while. You needed that break, even if you wouldn’t admit it out loud.

But that break didn’t last.

They gave you command of a small team for a special mission, one meant to root out a single traitor who’d fled Anor Londo with secrets too dangerous to be left alive. It was supposed to be simple, clean, and precise, until it wasn't.

You hadn’t expected betrayal within your own ranks. But one of them turned on you, and suddenly it wasn’t one traitor you were facing, but many. You watched your comrades fall one by one, heard their screams echo in the dark. By the time it was over, you were soaked in blood, some theirs, some yours, and shaking so hard you could barely hold your dagger.

Regardless of the fleeting feelings, you finished the mission. You had tracked the traitor to their home and did what you were sent to do. Your blade was cold when it ended their life.

It was only when you turned to leave, your hand on the door, that you heard a thin, shaking cry.

You froze.

Slowly, you turned back and saw them. A child, no older than you’d been when Ornstein found you, crouched in the corner, tears cutting tracks through the dirt on their face. Clutching at the fallen body that you had left cooling on the floor.

Your fingers felt numb around the dagger. You couldn’t move, couldn’t even think anymore. You just watched as their sobs filled the small room, the sound tearing something inside you wide open.

When you returned to Anor Londo, you barely felt like yourself anymore. You spent most of your spare time shut away in your room, locking the door, shutting out everything beyond those walls. It all felt unreal, like something you couldn’t quite believe had happened.

Your missions had never been like that before. The people you were sent after didn’t have families waiting in the next room. They were just targets. Names on paper. Faces to forget once the job was done.

But this time there had been a child. A life you hadn’t meant to ruin. And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the sound of their crying or the way they clung to the body you’d left behind.

It turned into weeks. Then months. You had tried burying yourself in work, taking any mission they would give you, hoping the blood and routine would drown out the guilt clawing at your insides. But it never went away.

You couldn’t eat properly. Sleep came in restless snatches with nightmares waking you in a cold sweat. There was no deny that the guilt sat heavy in your chest, a terrible weight you couldn’t shake.

Dreadfully, it started to show. You were slower in training, careless on missions. Mistakes you never used to make piled up, and for the first time in a long while, you felt weak. Breakable even. Like the life you’d built around blades and shadows was finally cracking apart.

You needed comfort, needed something to hold onto before you lost yourself completely. So you turned to the few you trusted. Ciaran listened, quiet and steady, offering gentle words that tried to soothe the raw edges. Gough laid a heavy hand on your tiny shoulder, voice deep with that calm wisdom only he seemed to carry, telling you that no warrior leaves every battle unscarred.

They did their best. But it wasn’t enough. Their words couldn’t reach the hollow ache that had settled in your chest, the heavy despair that refused to lift no matter how you tried to reason with it. All you could ever do was nodded, and thanked them. Yet nothing really eased the weight pressing down on your heart.

You were so deep in your own hopelessness that you didn’t even notice the day Artorias finally returned. Prior to that, rumours had whispered about his disappearance, stating he had long been swallowed whole by the Abyss in Oolacile. Just another hero claimed by the darkness.

You barely looked up when the knights dragged him through the gates. One of his arms was limp as his armor was scorched and cracked, that inky corruption clinging to him like a living thing.

They carried him to the infirmary with grim determination, doing their best to avoid the seeping blackness that writhed across his form. The people’s voices were hushed, tense with fear and pity, yet remained with supreme respect for their lord.

But you didn’t see much of it. You stayed in your room. The curtains were drawn tight, and the world outside felt just as black and suffocating as the thoughts you couldn’t seem to outrun.

It took you a few days before you finally gathered the will to visit Artorias, the famed Abysswalker. Even with all that had passed between you, you couldn’t ignore what he’d been through. His obsessiveness might have made you uneasy, but you couldn’t deny the truth of who he was. A kind man at heart, one who had never failed his people.

And you weren't in the wrong when the others adored him like they always had. You heard them speak in secret tones about the hero who’d braved the Abyss to save Oolacile and its princess from destruction. Thus, you felt a flicker of guilt twist in your chest for ever doubting his intentions.

When you finally stepped into the room, you found Artorias already awake. He sat propped against the infirmary bed’s headboard, motionless except for the slow rise and fall of his chest.

His hood was drawn low, casting his face in dense shadow. Even in the dim light, you could see how changed he was. The edges of his armor were blackened and cracked, dark tendrils of something foul still curling along the seams like smoke that refused to clear.

His eyes were hard to catch beneath the hood, but you could tell he wasn’t really looking at anything in the room. It felt like he was locked somewhere else entirely, lost in some deep, silent struggle you couldn’t reach no matter how hard you tried.

You wondered if he had fully healed when looking at his limp arm. The very arm that he was best at when holding his sword.

When he finally seemed to notice you standing there, he turned his head slowly and managed a small, tired smile.

"Good evening, (Name)."

Your eyes shifted away from his hollow gaze, landing instead on the small bundle of flowers resting in a chipped vase beside his bed. You wondered if Ciaran had left them there for him.

You forced yourself to meet his eyes again, giving him a polite nod. "Lord Artorias."

"No need to be so formal." His voice was quieter now, but firmer than before, as he gestured to the chair beside him. "Sit with me,"

You hesitated, yet obeyed by lowering yourself onto the chair. He watched you for a moment before speaking again, eyes shadowed beneath the hood.

"I heard from Ciaran. She told me what happened."

The words caught you off guard, tightening something in your chest. You tried to straighten your posture, forcing the guilt back down where it belonged. And here you were, wondering why Artorias never failed to know everything about you.

"My Lord, I apologize. I-"

Artorias’s gaze softened at your apology. He cut you off before you could even finish. “It’s alright. What happened was unavoidable. You did what you could.”

You swallowed hard, the words landing heavier than you expected. The aftermath had been haunting you for days, taking every ounce of sanity from you the more you kept on.

Trying to push the guilt aside, you shifted in your seat and told him everything that had happened while he was gone, while trying to hold back tears.

He seemed quite happy to finally catch up. Until you cracked a question out of curiosity.

"What about your expedition to Oolacile? How was it?"

At that, something in him seemed to tighten. His eyes suddenly dropped. “Ah...”

"…" You frowned, hesitating whether or not to pry any further due to the atmosphere changing in the room.

His hands flexed against the blanket. Then he finally found the strength to speak, spilling out his heart like how you did to him before.

"The Abyss. It was far more terrifying than the rumours themselves." His breath hitched, the words tumbling out like something he’d been holding back too long.

His shoulders trembled slightly, armor creaking as he struggled to hold himself together. The truth was only unfolded when he finally took a breather.

"They praised my name...but it was all a lie. It was not I who saved the Oolacile, or the princess. I was merely a coward who ran away.”

To see Artorias like this, crumbling under the weight of his own words, it wasn’t like him at all. He had always been so noble, so unshakable...that watching him struggle to keep himself together made something twist painfully in your chest.

Your body moved before you could even think.

Halfway through his confession, you reached out and pulled him in, arms wrapping around the cold metal of his armor. Holding tight as if you could keep him from falling apart any further.

Unlike the gods, whose emotions were nearly nonexistent, you were human. Your flesh could be torn, your bones could break, and you felt for the man before you.

Artorias didn’t hesitate. The moment your arms wrapped around his larger form, he returned it by leaning in closer. It was almost desperate how his armored arms locked around you, holding you so tightly it was difficult to breathe.

You could feel the tremor in his grip. It wasn’t just from exhaustion or pain, but something deeper. His head rested against your shoulder, raspy breath warm against your ear. He held you like he’d been starved for this simple contact.

"Don’t leave," he said with almost desperation.

You shifted, uneasy at how hard his fingers pressed into your back, like he was afraid you might slip away if he didn’t hold tight enough.

Then he drew in a slow breath against your neck, one that you could barely catch. “I’ve wanted you close like this for so long,”

When you tried to ease back, his hold only tightened further. You could feel his fingers tighten under the gauntlets, as if trying to physically restrain himself from pulling you even closer. His breath was warm, uneven, ghosting against your skin.

For a moment, you realized you weren’t comforting him anymore. He was claiming you.

You found yourself making it a small routine to visit him, slipping into the infirmary when your duties allowed, just to sit by his side. It felt like the least you could do for all the times he’d comforted you when you were younger.

Whenever you were there, he seemed to relax. The tension in his shoulders eased, the harsh set of his jaw softened. The darkness that clung to him, the Abyss twisting in the edges of his gaze, seemed to settle for a while.

With anyone else, he was cold and distant, sometimes even frightening with that coiling corruption beneath his skin. But with you, it was different. He spoke softer, and looked at you like you were something grounding him to what little humanity he had left.

Then Ornstein’s return came a few days later. His armors were heavily dented when you saw him walk through the gates, still looking every bit the Dragonslayer. Even from a distance, you could tell something was wrong, the way he seemed so calm and eerie.

He didn’t speak to anyone unless forced to, and when he did, his voice was somehow colder than usual. For some reason, whatever kinds of expression he wore behind that lion helm felt darker than anything you’d seen on Artorias.

You didn’t need anyone to tell you he had failed in his mission. He hadn’t brought Gwyn’s firstborn back. And what had happened out there in the darkest places of the world had followed him home, heavy on his shoulders and festering behind his tired eyes.

Unlike Artorias, he didn’t wait for you to come to him. He showed up at your door one night without warning, armor traded for a sleeping tunic, and the lion helm was nowhere in sight. It was the first time in so long you’d seen his face instead of that regal headwear.

He looked so...dead. Like something essential had been carved out of him, leaving nothing but a shell. His eyes were flat and dim, as if his purpose had been stolen and he was on the edge of going hollow right there in your doorway.

You waited a long moment before finally opening the door to him after a while of peeking. The scent of alcohol immediately caught your nose, sharp and heavy. His expression back then was so out of touch, clouded with something you couldn’t quite explain. You cautiously asked him what had happened. He didn’t answer but stared at you for a long moment, chest rising and falling like he was trying to keep himself in check.

Then he suddenly closed the distance in one step, grabbing you with hands that felt almost rough. His dry mouth crashed onto yours in a kiss that was all but gentle. Tongue and teeth, raw and claiming, like he’d been holding himself back for far too long and couldn’t anymore, pouring whatever sadness he had onto you just because you were his joy and pride.

It felt wrong the moment your lips met. Because you’d always seen him as an older brother, someone who pushed you past your limits but watched over you all the same. The admiration was too much to be twisted into something else.

But there was nothing brotherly in the way he kissed you, though. His grip tightened around your waist as he kissed you feverishly, strong enough to lift you off the floor without even meaning to. The height difference was making you float ridiculously in the air. Yet his mouth was diligent, all bruising insistence, as if he wanted to devour every ounce of love from you.

You could feel the desperation in it, the way his fingers dug in, holding you like he’d never let go.

You didn’t think you wanted to see either of them after that night. The memory of Ornstein’s mouth on yours, the way he’d held you off the ground like you weighed nothing...it haunted you, made your skin crawl every time you thought about it.

So you threw yourself back into your old habits, trying to reclaim the routine of an assassin, anything to feel in control again. But it didn’t last long, for grand words had come down from Lord Gwyn himself.

You were finished. Released from the Lord’s Blades.

Hells, they didn’t even try to soften it. Like a bucket of cold water to your face, they stated you were “no longer fit” for the role as they stripped you of your rank and duty.

What made your blood run cold was what came next. Gwyn’s decree wasn’t just dismissal; it was also meant to convey ownership. You were handed over entirely to Artorias and Ornstein. Like you were nothing more than something to be given away, something to be claimed.

The fury had burned hot in your chest, mixing with something cynical and hurtful. You’d given everything to this place. Your skill, your youth, your soul, your everything. And in the end, they treated you like property to be owned. It was more than enough to make you feel sick to the stomach.

People had always whispered that a human had no place among the gods. Maybe they were right.

And for a second, you decided to prove them right in the only way you could. You did them all a favor.

You went back to your room and started packing your things. Your hands were shaking from anger as you grabbed what little you owned, stuffing clothes and weapons into your own satchel. Every movement felt so heavy, like the betrayal was pressing down on your shoulders. Making you feel like you were dying from the inside.

You didn’t want to see the grand halls or those towering marble statues ever again. You didn’t want to hear another order barked at you, or see the pity in anyone’s eyes the moment you walk away from everything.

Because you were ready to leave it all behind. To leave this gilded cage once and for all. Because if this was how they saw you, something to be tossed away and handed over like spoils, then there was nothing left here for you.

Then the next thing you knew, everything went black. You didn’t even remember falling or tripping. There was only a single moment of the suffocating darkness when it swallowed you whole.

When you finally came to, your head was pounding and your vision was blurry. You blinked hard, trying to make sense of the room around you. It was unfamiliar...too clean, too richly furnished. Velvet curtains decorated barricaded windows, there was a thick rug underfoot, and a heavy oak door with a lock so sturdy nothing could break.

This place looked nothing like your messy little room in Anor Londo.

Panic began to hit when you tried to move and heard the clinking of metal. When you looked down, your breath was stuck in your throat. One of your ankles was shackled to the bedpost with a thick iron chain.

No. No, this couldn’t be real. This had to be some twisted joke.

Your heart hammered as you clawed at the shackle, fingers slipping every so often due to the unfamiliarity. Then you noticed what you were wearing in the mirror next to the bed.

A lacy nightgown, soft and delicate, nothing you’d ever owned. Someone had undressed you. Then put you in this. The thought made your skin crawl even more.

You forced your shaking hands to work, scrabbling at the lock, testing the links, tugging until the metal bit into your ankle. Anything to get free. Your breathing turned harsher and rougher in the silence of the room as you realized there was no easy escape.

Out of sheer frustration and blind panic, you didn’t even think straight. You lunged for the door, wanting to slam your shoulder against it in a desperate attempt to break it open.

But the chain snapped taut with a harsh metallic clank, jerking you back so hard you lost your balance. You fell hard, scraping your poor elbows on the rug with your face planted on the ground.

You lay there for a moment, gasping, eyes fixed on the doorknob that was just out of reach. Your ankle throbbed where the shackle bit in, a cruel reminder you weren’t getting anywhere.

Then came the hot sting of tears gathering in your eyes, making the fury and terror even more ugly in your chest. This couldn’t be happening. But the cold weight of the chain against your skin told you it was all too real.

You scrambled back upright and fumbled for the small pick you always kept hidden. With shaking hands, you jammed it at the shackle’s side, searching for any catch, any lock to work at. But there was nothing. No keyhole or seam but solid iron clamped around your ankle.

Your heart sank as you realized that it wasn’t even locked. It was forged shut. As if someone smithed this onto you while you were unconscious. The pick fell from your fingers as you stared at the unmoving metal. You felt sick at the thought of them working over you while you were limp and unaware, binding you like some animal.

A sudden click echoed in the quiet room, and your head snapped up instinctively, making you go still on the velvety rug.

The litte doorknob began to turn slowly, in perfect time with the frantic pounding of your heart. The metal then creaked as it twisted, and you could only watch in terror at the cobalt-blue that was slowly peeking from behind the frame.

“Good evening, my dear. You are awake at last.” Artorias’s voice was calm, almost gentle, as he stepped through the door. He didn’t even take his eyes off you while he shut it behind him with a quiet click, then turned the key in the lock with care.

The softness in his tone sent a cold shiver down your spine. You hated it.

“W-what is the meaning of this?!” Never had you ever dared raising your voice at him. But you guess it didn’t matter anymore.

Artorias didn’t even flinch. He didn’t even bother answering your question. Instead, he simply lifted the small sack in his hand, the sound of wrapped food rustling as he shook it lightly.

“You must be hungry yeah? You have been asleep all day, after all.”

His tone was maddeningly calm, patronizing even, as if you were a child throwing a tantrum instead of someone chained to a bed. The worst part was he didn’t even try to hide it, like he was waiting for you to stop fussing and behave.

The man crouched down in front of you with unsettling ease, as though the chain on your ankle didn’t exist. He opened the sack with his usable arm and carefully took out a piece of crispy bread with a small container of hot stew, setting them on the floor just within your reach.

Then he settled there, elbow resting on his knee, chin propped in his palm, watching you with that infuriating tilt of amusement as your stomach betrayed you with a loud rumble.

You glared at him, the heat of your anger mixing with something far more bitter.

Because you recognized that meal immediately. Your favorite childhood dish. The very one he used to sneak you when the standard rations for training made you gag.

You never thought he would stoop this low, using old comforts against you like you were still that scared little girl clinging to him for safety. You could feel your jaw tighten, and the anger simmering in your chest. If he thought he could buy your obedience with warm food and old memories, he was wrong.

Without breaking eye contact, you lifted your hand and slapped the bowl away, sending the hot stew splattering across the polished floor in a messy arc. The rich, familiar smell filled the room as it soaked into the rug.

Your glare was unflinching, even if guilt twisted in your gut at the waste. You just wanted to see something from him other than that stupid void where his face was. Anything to prove you could still get under his skin so you could talk some sense into that thick head of his.

There was a moment of numbing silence.

“Hm. I do not recall you ever behaving quite so badly,” Then Artorias remarked, his voice hauntingly calm, an indication that the spilled meal on the floor meant nothing at all to him. He didn’t even blink, either, only watching you with unsettling patience.

Your fingers dug into the rug so hard your nails bent painfully. Every muscle in your arms became tense. “Stop with this stupid play and release me right now!”

He had yet to answer, as if waiting for you to tire yourself out.

“Artorias!”

Your voice cracked as you shouted, rage and fear spilling out all at once. Yet it couldn’t get a reaction out of him, like your words were wind against stone, a cup of water to raging forest fire.

“Naughty girl. You should learn never to raise your voice at your lord.” The man sounded so collected after a while, but there was nothing kind in it anymore.

He rose to his full height, towering over you so completely that craning your neck to meet his gaze actually hurt.

Your stomach twisted as he stepped forward. Before you could even think of backing away, his hand already clamped around your arm.

“Wait—!”

Artorias dragged you across the floor, the chain rattling harshly with every movement until you hit the edge of the bed.

“And I shall teach you that.”

You barely had time to gasp before he hauled you onto his lap like you weighed nothing at all. The chain clinked and tugged at your ankle with every struggle, but it didn’t slow him in the slightest.

“Stop! What are you doing? Stop—stop!” Your voice cracked in horror when you felt him lift the delicate fabric of the lacy gown, cold air hitting your exposed skin.

Then the slap came. It landed hard and fast, the sharp crack ringing out so loud it felt like it split the silence in two, making your ears ring. The excruciating pain flared instantly across your skin, sinking deep enough to drag a startled yelp from your throat.

Tears stung your eyes as you tried to twist away, but his grip only tightened, refusing to let you go.

“It hurts! You're hurting me—” Your voice cracked as you clawed at his limp arm, nails scraping uselessly against the cold metal of his gauntlet. In return, he only pressed you harder against his lap, locking you in place as another harsh smack landed, and then another, then another.

Each strike burned hot across skin that had never been touched this way before, the sensitive flesh stinging and throbbing in brutal waves.

You'd had your bones broken and flesh torn before, but nothing felt like this. Like every humiliating, punishing impact was designed not just to hurt but to brand you. To remind you exactly who held you there and why you couldn’t do a thing to stop it.

He only stopped once he decided you’d had enough. When your voice broke pitifully, and your sobs turned frantic. The beautiful eyes that had once looked at him with admiration, were now wet and shining with humiliation.

Artorias’s breath came heavy as he finally let his hand fall still. He watched you for a moment, the rise and fall of your shoulders, the way you refused to look at him.

His gloved hand moved then, slower, gentler. He rubbed the reddened skin where he’d struck you over and over, feeling a tinge of guilt coiling around his chest.

But then his eyes flicked downward, catching the shift of your hips, the subtle tremble in your thighs...and the unmistakable glistening wetness between them. Not only were you a naughty girl, but a lying one as well.

“Ah,” he murmured. “So that is it. Look at you. Did you enjoy this? Being reminded where you belong?” The corner of his mouth must have twitched as something dark flickered in his tone.

“No…” You whimpered as you fought to steady yourself.

But your breath hitched in betrayal when one of his thick fingers pressed firmly between your folds, spreading you open.

“No?” he repeated softly, mocking the quaver in your voice. His head tilted as if studying you from a new angle, and you stopped breathing when that gloved hand settled fully between your thighs.

“Then what is this?” He pressed in harder. That single finger slid along your slit, dragging slowly from your entrance up to the sensitive nub, spreading the wetness over your skin. The noise was so shameless, you actually whimpered, biting your lip hard enough to hurt.

“Listen,” he ordered. He moved the finger again, even slower this time, letting you hear every squelch that filled the silent room. Your whole body jerked in his lap at the humiliation.

“Does that sound like ‘no’ to you?”

You struggled under his painful grip, your throat worked as you tried to answer, but all you managed was a sob. He clicked his tongue and stroked again, thumb joining in now to part you further, exposing every glistening fold to his scrutiny.

“You’re soaked,” he whispered, leaning close enough you could feel his breath against your ear. “Absolutely drenched from getting spanked like a disobedient child. Do not lie to me.”

Artorias resumed stroking, fingers gliding over your slick folds to tease your clit, coaxing fresh wetness with every friction. In response, you thrashed helplessly on his lap, but your frail human strength was nothing against his unyielding, godlike grip.

"How about we put this place of yours to good use."

He shoved you down onto the bed, pinning your wrists tight despite your frantic struggles and shrill screams. In seconds, black tendrils of abyssal darkness slithered around them, coiling and tightening until they bound you like cuffs.

"Hey, stop it—"

Your words got cut off in a gasp when his face dipped between your thighs. You couldn’t see him clearly beneath the shadow of that cobalt-blue, but the hot breath ghosting over your aching core made you cower.

He held your legs wide apart with such strength, the armored weight of his arms pinning you so firmly you could barely twitch. From the roiling darkness beneath his hood, the slimy tendril uncoiled fully, glistening black and wet as it snaked down between your thighs.

You sucked in a desperate breath, eyes wide with terror and humiliation as it slithered over your folds. The first contact was cold and slick, making you jolt and cry out, your cunt reflexively clenching around nothing yet.

“Easy,” he rumbled with dark amusement. His grip only tightened, keeping you spread open and vulnerable while the tendril stroked you endearingly, dragging hot trails across your sensitive flesh.

It prodded at your entrance and your clit in turn, rubbing circles that left you soaked and twitching. Every squelching noise it made filled the room, drowning out your high-pitched whimpers.

Then it pressed in, punching a sob out of you when it forced its way inside, the cold slickness stretching you open, making your walls clench. He let out a guttural sound of pleasure at the sight, head dipping lower.

Much to your horror, from the hooded void, more blackness pooled out, tendrils wrapping around your thighs to hold you even more still..

He didn’t give you time to adjust either. The main tendril inside you began to pump, slow first, while another smaller one emerged to flick and lash at your swollen clit. Your back arched hard off the bed as you shrieked, breathing heavily when that second tendril wrapped around your nub and squeezed, pulsing with a rhythm that sent brutal sparks through your belly.

Your slick drooled down onto the bedding below, strings of it glistening in the evening light as he kept working you with those abyssal limbs.

“Listen to yourself,” he growled, voice muffled from where he watched between your legs. “So damn wet for me.”

For a moment, he let out a deep moan of his own as if savoring your taste through the tendril. It pulsed in response inside you, grinding mercilessly against that sweet spot until you were thrashing in his hold, babbling nonsense and sobbing for mercy.

"Ah...stop. Stop this, please..." you cried out. Yet, your hip wouldn't stop thrashing for more.

The tendril on your clit tightened, vibrating just slightly, making you spasm around the one buried in you. Artorias watched it all with amusement, holding you down so you couldn’t squirm away.

He blamed the Abyss for making him this obsessed.

The abuse your clit was getting soon became too much when he hauled your hips clean off the bed, folding you nearly in half without a hint of care for your frantic cries. The chain on your ankle swung wildly, clanging against his armored shoulder with every desperate kick, but he ignored it completely.

If anything, it only seemed to excite him more.

Your eyes watered from the burn in your stretched muscles as he forced you open even wider, leaving you shamefully exposed to the writhing tendrils. They lashed and rubbed with merciless precision, one flickering your swollen clit to squeeze and pulse until you screamed, while another kept thrusting deep inside you, the lewd noises sounding impossibly loud.

Every time you struggled, he let out a hungry laugh, the shadows under his hood churning with feverish delight. The more you resisted, the more brutal the tentacles became—fucking you harder, tighter, wringing out every single reaction from you.

Your orgasm slammed into you before you even realized it was coming, ripping a raw, strangled scream from your throat. Your body convulsed hard in his grip, back arching until it hurt.

Artorias actually flinched in surprise when your tight little hole spasmed and squirted a sudden gush of glistening fluid all over the probing tendril and his armored torso, splattering wetly as if your body itself was trying to reject the overwhelming pleasure he forced on it.

For a moment, he was stunned at the mess you'd made. Then a delighted laugh rumbled from his heaving chest. The slick tendrils finally slid free from your drenched cunt with an obscene squelch, leaving your hole twitching and gaping slightly from the relentless abuse.

You barely had time to come back from the high when the door behind Artorias creaked open. Heavy, thudding footsteps echoed through the room, so familiar they made your blood run cold.

Ornstein stepped inside without a word, golden armor catching the glow as he surveyed the scene. He set his spear casually in the corner, its bottom scraping the floor. Then the lionhead turned slowly toward you, taking in the scene while you were completely sprawled out and shaking in another man's grip.

“I was out there fighting for my life with the dragons,” he drawled, folding his arms over his broad chest. “And you two were having fun without me? That hurts.”

You didn’t miss the mocking tilt of his head, the false wounded tone. He was lying, obviously so. If anything, you knew the dragons had been the ones fighting for their lives just to keep him at bay.

"You are back early, Ornstein," Artorias remarked. His attitude was deceptively calm as he shifted just enough to let his comrade approach, though his hand stayed clamped possessively around your waist, fingers digging in.

"Lord Gwyn let me off early this time," Ornstein replied with a lazy smirk in his tone. "Plus, I missed the girl."

The bed creaked under his weight as he sat down beside you, the thick golden armor now gone, leaving only the layered cloth and lean muscle beneath. He stretched an arm across the mattress behind you, eyes roaming over your spent, trembling form with open hunger.

"Ornstein, if you were wise, you would let me walk out of that door." You ground the words out through clenched teeth, still pulling frantically at the writhing darkness binding your arms together above your head.

Your defiance drew a moment of silence from Ornstein. His visor tilted slightly, studying you in that eerie, predator's stillness before he finally reached out, gloved fingers brushing your tear-streaked, sweat-dampened cheek.

"You are as amusing as ever," he murmured, voice dropping to a condescending softness. "Why would you wish to run away now, when we are both here for you?"

Until he leaned in closer. "You should know the moment you walk out of this place, you will make all of Anor Londo your enemy. Would you want that?"

Then it twisted into something worse, just enough to make your blood run cold. "For us to hunt you down and kill everyone you love?"

"What? W-what are you blabbing about?!" You spat, voice shaking with anger and terror.

"Now, now. There’s no need to be so agitated," Ornstein cooed, sounding downright soothing in his condescension. "Be a good girl and let us make love to you, okay?"

Right when the words left his lips, he pushed them your dry, cracked ones, trying to coax them open. You turned your head frantically, trying to escape the kiss, disgust churning in your gut at the thought of him daring to threaten you one moment and feign tenderness the next.

But Artorias wouldn’t allow it. He held you down ruthlessly, one massive hand splayed over your stomach to keep you pinned while the other flipped the delicate lacy gown up, bunching it around your waist. His hooded face dipped low, shamelessly basking in the sight of your supple breasts spilling free, his breath hitching with raw hunger at the sight of your vulnerable, exposed flesh.

Ornstein’s tongue pushed insistently into your mouth, tasting you deeply, drinking in every muffled whimper you couldn’t hold back. His kiss was wet and greedy, forcing you to gasp and shudder beneath him.

At the same time, Artorias lowered his head to your chest, lips sealing around one of your perky nipples. He sucked carelessly, tongue flicking and lapping at the sensitive bud as if he expected milk to pour out for him before grazing it lightly with his teeth, making your back arch helplessly despite your muffled cries into Ornstein’s devouring mouth.

From below, you felt a hand slide possessively over your inner thigh, fingers pressing into the soft, abused heat that had been left pulsing and raw from Artorias’s earlier torment. The contact was firm, almost casual in its cruelty, dragging your folds apart to expose you fully.

You let out a muffled cry against Ornstein’s mouth when two thick fingers pushed in without warning. The obscene squelch filled the room once more as he spread you open around them, forcing your walls to stretch and squeeze around the rude intrusion.

He didn’t pause to let you adjust. Instead, he fucked you with those fingers immediately, pumping in and out with a steady rhythm that made your hips twitch with each thrust. The chain on your ankle rattled uselessly. You tried to squirm away, but Ornstein’s arm kept you pinned in place, his mouth still locked over yours, swallowing your every broken noise.

The soft tongue explored your mouth desperately, hot and heavy, coiling around yours and forcing it to dance with him. You whimpered, trying to turn your head away. Yet his grip on your jaw was iron, making every protest die in breathless gasps while his fingers curled inside you, seeking out that sensitive spot.

When your walls fluttered helplessly around him, betraying you with gushes that made each pump wetter, noisier, he moaned approvingly into your mouth.

Above you, Artorias was just as sedulous. His hood shadowed his face but couldn’t hide the deep, scary sounds he made as he worshipped your chest. His mouth latched onto one nipple, sucking hard enough to make you cry out, tongue swirling over the swollen bud until it ached and tingled.

He shifted to the other breast, licking wet stripes over your skin before sealing his lips around the peak. You felt his teeth graze it back and forth again. He became creative when his gauntleted hand came up to squeeze and knead your breasts roughly, toying with them like they were stress-relieving tools.

“Look at you,” Ornstein finally murmured against your lips, voice hoarse with lust as he pulled back just enough to speak, thumb brushing your spit-slick lower lip. His fingers never stopped moving inside you, pressing ruthlessly at that sweet spot until your legs shook. “Making such a mess on my hand. You are so, so wet it’s dripping.”

He twisted his fingers with a wet squelch, making your hips buck despite yourself, while Artorias’s tongue lashed at your nipple, warm breath heating your skin.

“Stop…please…” You sobbed from the humiliation and overstimulation.

But they only chuckled at the adorable plea.

"Artorias has a thing for helpless, begging girls, you know?" Ornstein drawled with a smirk. His fingers suddenly sped up, thrusting faster, thumb slipping down to grind circles over your clit until your entire body shook in their grip.

"Only when it’s her," Artorias growled in response as he dipped lower. Mouth pressed to your chest, teeth sinking in to leave stinging bite marks all over your tender skin.

They worked you over and over, hungry in their assault of kisses, roaming hands, and shameless teasing touches. Every wet lick, every squeeze, every thrust of fingers made you squirm and sob so bad, your heat coiling in your belly until you were right on the edge of cumming again.

But just as you were about to burst, they stopped.

Your breath came in broken sobs as you were left dazed and aching, core throbbing with cruel, unsatisfied need. Frustration twisted in your gut. Your head rang with static noise, making you wish desperately that this was all some sick nightmare you’d wake from.

Too bad it wasn’t.

You barely realized what was happening when Artorias shifted behind you, his massive arm sliding under your limp, trembling form. He hoisted you up easily, as if you weighed nothing at all, settling you in his lap with your back pressed firmly against his chest.

Your eyes flew open in panic when you felt Ornstein move in closer, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you wide open. The cold, heavy weight of his cock rested against your slick, abused entrance as he lined himself up, his golden eyes burning with predatory hunger at the sight of your hole twitching and dripping for him.

“W-wait—!” you babbled, thrashing weakly in Artorias’s iron grip, but all it did was make Ornstein’s smirk widen as he pushed the swollen head of his cock insistently against your yielding folds.

He moaned out loud as your prepped little cunt clamped down on him with a near-death grip the moment he forced his thick length inside. After so many years spent yearning for you, his lovely, stubborn apprentice, finally having you like this, spread open and trembling, felt like a gift sent from above.

"Refrain yourself from breaking her," Artorias said from behind you, his arms like iron bands around your legs to hold you steady even as you thrashed.

"Don't think I can guarantee that," the dragonslayer shot back with a savage grin.

Then he laughed lustfully in his chest, chivalrous eyes locked on the sight of you stretched tight around him, before he thrust in again, harder this time, pounding into you without mercy as your pitiful cries filled the room.

Your head lolled back onto Artorias’s shoulder with every pound. Hazy eyes glazed with tears, every breath coming out of you either as a whimper or a scream. And Artorias hadn't looked away—not for a second. He held you open for Ornstein.

Massive, clawed hands gripped your thighs so hard to keep you from sliding forward, you’d feel the bruises for days. He forced your legs wide apart, spreading you indecently so Ornstein could drive in as deep as he wanted, your stretched pussy swallowing every inch of him despite your body’s resistance.

Artorias’s hood shadowed his face, but his breathing was harsh. Beneath the dark folds, his eyes burned with naked hunger, sp locked on the sight of your hole clenching around his comrade’s cock. Not to mention, he could feel the heat of your slick dripping onto his armored thighs, and the way you spasmed every time Ornstein’s length dragged along your walls.

He was painfully hard himself.

You could feel it, the thick ridge pressing insistently into the small of your back every time you writhed. But he didn’t move to take you, not yet because of the promise he made with Ornstein.

“Good girl,” he growled in your ear. “Take all of him.”

Ornstein let out a laugh, head thrown back slightly as he felt you squeeze tighter with every savage thrust.

“She’s so fucking tight,” he panted, licking his lips as he watched your breasts bounce from the force of his thrusts. “Listen to her, Artorias. She’s crying for it.”

Artorias’s arm tightened across your waist, pulling you back hard against his chest as he forced your legs even wider in response.

“Don’t break her too soon,” he warned again, but his voice shook with lust and betrayal at the sight of you being fucked to the brim.

You squeezed your eyes shut, but curiosity and horror made you peek down at where your body was joined with Ornstein’s. You were so slick that your cunt swallowed his thick cock without protest. It only terrified you more.

There was no hint of the brotherly love you once remembered. That was long gone, replaced by some twisted perversion and obsession. If only you knew, you would have left this wretched place before they could even make it back.

"Fuck, think I'm close," Ornstein grunted. He slammed into you harder, making the entire bed shake with each brutal thrust. His eyes then flicked up to Artorias’s larger frame, a mocking grin twisting his lips. "You think I should do it inside? Give her a child and have you be the uncle, yeah?"

Your eyes went wide in horror. A sob tore from your throat as you started thrashing wildly in Artorias’s iron grip, chains rattling madly against the bed.

"N—no, you can’t!!" you screamed, voice cracking with terror.

But Artorias didn’t budge. His arms were unmovable bands of steel around your waist and thighs, forcing you open even wider for his friend. His dark, hooded head turned slightly, watching with gleaming eyes as your body was pounded without mercy.

"If you are so confident in your seed," His tone was low and mocking despite the lust that thickened every word, "then be my guest."

The mental image of you swollen with child made his cock twitch so hard he wished he could pounce you right now.

Ever since you were a kid, just a tamed little wild thing. Trouble always found you, or maybe you went looking for it. Always so damn hard-headed, forever talking back but never knowing when to shut up. Always so eager to square up with him, too, even though you never stood a chance.

Maybe having another little version of you didn’t sound so bad.

He could see the appeal in it, actually. The thought of you waddling around carrying his child, of helping you raise it, of scolding a stubborn little brat with your same spark and fire, made something fierce and almost possessively tender burn in his chest.

Yeah. He could get used to that.

Without warning, Ornstein’s grip on your waist tightened like a vice, fingers digging deep enough to leave bruises as he hauled you flush against him in one savage motion. The swollen head of his thick cock rammed hard into your cervix, sending a sharp, dizzying shock up your spine that made your vision blur and your toes curl helplessly.

You choked on a scream, eyes rolling back, whilst he groaned loudly with satisfaction. In a matter of seconds, you felt the hot, thick spurts of his cum flooding deep inside you, coating your walls and painting your womb white. The wet heat spread through you in humiliating pulses, leaking around the seal of your stretched cunt as he stayed buried to the hilt, making sure not a drop could escape.

It took Ornstein a moment to catch his breath, his chest heaving with each inhale. Sweat glistened on his forehead, matting fiery red strands of hair to his skin; the usually tidy mane was now wild and tangled.

He let out a satisfied chuckle as he finally pulled out, a wet squelch marking his exit. Sharp eyes instantly locked on the mess he’d made—thick, pearly ropes of his cum spilling freely from your abused, gaping cunt, trailing in lewd strings onto the sheets below.

“With that much,” he drawled lazily, completely mesmerized, “I wouldn’t even be surprised if you were with child by tomorrow.”

He laughed again with the same cruel amusement gleaming in his eyes.

"Shut up, you—you—" you stammered, trying to think of some insult as you weakly kicked out at him.

Ornstein just caught your ankle effortlessly, smirking. He pressed a teasing, mocking kiss to the inside of it, the gesture making you shudder in disgust.

"Complain to me later," he murmured with a lazy drawl. "Because I doubt Artorias can wait any longer."

With that, he shifted to the side, finally giving the other man room.

Artorias wasted no time. He leaned in close, the shadow under his hood pressing to your tear-streaked cheek, like he was kissing you. But all you could feel was the cold, suffocating Abyss that clung to him, seeping into your skin and making you shiver.

Then he moved back with predatory calm, letting you fall limply onto the bed. In a blink, the black tendrils binding your wrists vanished into nothingness, freeing you just in time for you to throw your hands over your chest in reflex.

You tried to push yourself up with terror pounding in your veins, but froze when you saw him loosen the front of his dark trousers.

It sprang free with a heavy, lewd slap against his own stomach, massive, pale, and veined so thickly it looked monstrous. Far thicker and longer than Ornstein’s had been. Your eyes went impossibly wide, throat closing up.

There was no way you could take the head alone, let alone the entire thing.

Artorias watched you stare with shaking horror. One of his massive hand wrapped lazily around the impossible length, stroking it.

“Impressive, right?” Ornstein drawled lazily, now lying on his side next to you, head propped on his palm.

His eyes gleamed with open amusement as he watched your face twist in panic. Meanwhile, his free hand roamed over your chest, fingers squeezing and kneading your bite-marked, sensitive breasts, rolling your sore nipples between rough fingertips until you squirmed helplessly.

“No way…I-I can’t take it, he’ll tear me up,” you choked out in fear as you gripped the sheets so hard your knuckles turned white. Sweat dripped from your temples, your whole body trembling.

“No need to worry,” Artorias said from above. “Soon enough you’ll take pleasure in it.”

You sobbed once in horror as he shifted closer, heavy weight pressing the mattress down on either side of your quivering hips. He angled his thick, monstrous cock with one massive, armored hand, lining the veiny length up perfectly with your entrance.

You could feel the hot, heavy head nudging insistently against your drenched folds, the threat of it sinking in making you writhe and squirm in mindless panic.

His grip on your waist was so strong you couldn’t move an inch even if you wanted to. You could only thrash weakly, crying out when you felt the swollen head of his cock press hard against your slit, trying to spread you around something impossibly thick.

Artorias let out a growl the moment he pushed forward, the wide head catching on your stretched entrance but refusing to slide in.

“Too tight,” he snarled with frustration before withdrawing an inch only to shove forward again, grinding the head against you in delicate thrusts that forced your folds apart. Yet still couldn’t bury him even halfway.

You screamed, tears streaming, fingers clawing at the sheets. Your legs kicked weakly.

“Stop. Ah—too big! It won’t fit!”

Beside you, Ornstein let out a dark laugh, watching you squirm with gleaming eyes. He reached over, strong fingers wrapping around one of your thighs to hold it wide and steady. His other hand went between your legs, fingers parting your slippery folds even further, spreading you for Artorias.

“I’ve got you, little assassin,” Ornstein crooned, still using that childish nickname he gave you in the past.

Artorias groaned. He pressed in harder, feeling the resistance given by cruel, grinding inches.

You nearly died when he finally bottomed out inside you, the fat head of his cock slamming into the very deepest part of your core. Your breath hitched on a silent scream as you felt your belly distend slightly with the sheer size of him, the obscene bulge tracing his length beneath your skin.

Your cunt clamped down violently around him, the slick, trembling walls spasming in panicked reflex. It was too much—too big—forcing you open in ways you never thought possible.

Artorias shuddered at the sensation, fingers digging bruises into your hips as he held you locked in place. His breath grew laboured and unsteady. The hood shadowed his face, yet unable to hide the way he trembled with need.

“Gods,” he hissed, voice breaking with dark delight. “You’re too tight…it’s—fuck…it’s perfect.”

He didn’t want to move yet, simply savoring the crushing, molten grip of your cunt around him. The way it pulsed and squeezed like it was trying to force him back out, even as it held him in a vice, was undeniably deadly that...

“I might never want to leave you.”

All hells broke loose the second Artorias began to move. His hips snapped forward with brutal force, dragging that impossibly thick cock almost all the way out before slamming back in, making your entire body jolt against the mattress.

The pain was immediate, tearing a raw scream from your throat as your walls fought to accommodate the brutal intrusion. But with every thrust, the searing burn slowly blurred into something else…hot, tingling pleasure that crawled up your spine, making your legs tremble and your toes curl.

It was humiliating. Psychotic even...how you were falling apart under his charm.

You went from shrieking in pain to letting out these breathless moans you didn’t even recognize as your own. Your mouth fell open, eyes already rolling back with drools slipping from the corner of your lips as Artorias forced your traitorous body to submit.

He didn’t slow down. If anything, he thrust harder, grinding so deep you could feel the head of his cock battering the very entrance to your womb, making your belly bulge slightly with each stroke.

Beside you, Ornstein lay propped on his elbow, watching with predatory glee. His sharp eyes tracked every twitch of your face.

When he saw your drool glistening on your chin, he let out a chuckle.

“Look at you,” he drawled, fingers idly playing with the bruises and bite marks on your tits. “Already drooling for him. Didn’t know you could get so desperate for cock.”

Your sobs mixed with keening moans as Artorias’s thrusts only grew faster. The room was soon filled with wet, rhythmic slaps and your own pitiful sounds of unwilling pleasure.

“A-Artorias!” Before you knew it, you were already cumming. Your back arched violently against him, every muscle locking tight while your cunt clamped down in spasming pulses around his thick cock.

He let out a breathless laugh, sounding more like himself.

“Goodness,” Artorias groaned, the sensation of your walls milking him nearly buckling his control. He had to brace himself, arms trembling as he fought to keep from spilling inside you right then and there. Every pulse of your tight heat was sending bolts of unbearable pleasure through him.

Despite the savage need in his eyes, he was generous enough to slow down, pulling his cock out with a wet slide that left you gasping and twitching on the sheets.

He let you ride out your own orgasm. With tears streaming down flushed red cheeks, you shook with the aftershocks, your chest heaving for breath, clinging onto Ornstein's hand when it took yours in.

Then Artorias moved, looming over you in the dim light. With unsettling ease, he lay back and hauled your limp, quivering body on top of him, settling you astride his broad torso like you weighed nothing at all.

Your arms trembled uselessly at your sides, unable to hold yourself up as he lined himself up again. This time, slick with your own wetness and the copious remnants of Ornstein’s cum leaking out of you, he sank back in with disgusting ease.

From this angle, his size was even more apparent so holding you like this was like having an oversized doll in his lap, completely at his mercy.

Without waiting a second longer, Artorias’s massive hands clamped around your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as he yanked you downward at the exact moment he thrust up from below.

“Ah—ah!!”

Your shriek split the air as his cock slammed impossibly deep, the new angle forcing him even further inside you. The fat, veined length speared into that devastatingly sensitive spot deep in your core, the one that made you see stars and scream every single time he hit it.

Your voice cracked on a desperate wail with tears streaming down your cheeks. Even Artorias couldn’t keep quiet, for he groaned and moaned, sounding more like the animal he was becoming.

“Fuck yes,” he growled ferally as he bottomed out once more, grinding that swollen tip against your sweet spot again just to hear you scream so sweetly. “So fucking tight…so good.”

He kept that savage rhythm the same, hauling your hips down every time he thrust up, using your limp body like his personal toy, making sure you felt every last inch of him splitting you open.

When the days were harsh with doubts dangling in his clouded head, you were the answer he had been longing for.

He loved you so much it hurt. The consuming obsession that had festered for years in him, loving you, knowing deep down you would never feel the same way. The Abyss might have ruined him, but it had also given him the courage to take you like this.

Every muffled scream, every pleading sob that fell from your lips would forever be with him in ways he’d never admit. As he forced your hips down onto his rod over and over, feeling you clamp so tight and hot around him, his mind was heavy with the weight of that truth.

Because he remembered.

He remembered every time you’d run to him crying, pleading for that everlasting comfort. Every time he had sat there, ever the stoic knight he was, offering you his shoulder while your tears soaked through his heart. It had taken everything he had to hold back then, to be the good man you needed instead of the selfish monster he felt himself becoming.

But he was done faking it. He was done being just the shade you found comfort in on a hot summer day.

He wanted to be something else to you entirely—a lover, a mate, the only one who could hold you like this, make you feel this way. Even if it meant forcing himself on you.

You were the final flicker of light holding him back from tumbling completely into the madness the Abyss had brought about. He would never let you go, even if it meant death.

As his thrusts grew more desperate, the hand from his non-limp arm snaked up your trembling body to find your neck. His fingers wrapped tight around your throat, squeezing firmly until your breath hitched in a strangled gasp, eyes flying wide with panic.

The pressure was like a stimulant, making your walls clamp down even tighter around his thick cock, eager to milk him with every involuntary spasm.

It felt so damn good that for one brief, perfect moment. That Artorias actually believed your cunt was driving the Abyss right out of him. Every squeeze, every flutter of your adorable, helpless cunt, felt like it’s chasing away the corruption in his bones.

He let out a roar as he came with one brutal, final thrust that drove you down onto him to the hilt, grinding so deep you saw stars. Hot, thick spurts of his cum flooded your puffy pussy, warmth spreading as he filled you up, claiming every last inch of space inside you.

Yet, Artorias kept moving. Hips jerking in messy, unsteady thrusts, he fucked you through the gut-wrenching high. To the point his cock throbbed and pulsed inside you, still unloading more with every spasm, refusing to pull out.

It was like you were some succubus conjured to drain him dry—your body sucking the very life out of him, taking every ounce of his strength, his sanity, his love. He groaned in your ear one last time, voice breaking with a helpless desperation when he gave you all he had left, thrusting sloppily until his limbs trembled and gave up.

You unconsciously clung to his massive frame, fingers digging weakly into the hard lines of his armor when he crashed down, barely holding himself up with one arm.

He had given your womb a second, merciless chance to get bred full of him. And you loathed how your body betrayed you completely when his seeds flood your garden. Because the pleasure he brought was too much, searing your nerves until you couldn’t even tell what was happening anymore.

Maybe you came. Maybe you pissed yourself.

You weren’t so sure. Your body convulsed and shook, leaking slick and seed and everything else onto his thighs, soaking the sheets beneath you.

The only thing grounding you in that dizzy, drowning haze was Ornstein’s slow, surprisingly gentle kisses pressed to your temples. His lips were warm and patient, brushing over your sweaty, salty skin as if to remind you to come back to them.

The redhead clicked his tongue, shaking his head with feigned annoyance when he saw how heavy your eyelids had grown, fluttering weakly before finally closing. You looked so small like that, limp and boneless in Artorias’s bruising hold.

Artorias let out a low, uneven exhale as he finally lifted himself off you, the creak of the bed groaning beneath his weight. His hands then moved with uncharacteristic care, adjusting your slack form so you wouldn’t suffocate under him, though the worry flickering behind his abyss-tainted eyes was unmistakable. He looked down at you, taking in every detail. From your tear-streaked cheeks to your swollen, well-fucked cunt, which was leaking with their mixed release.

And in that moment of quiet, your body finally gave up its fight.

Your breathing slowed prominently with relaxed shoulders. Foggy head lolled back against the pillow seconds after, you drifted off without another sound, slipping into a deep, healing slumber.

Ornstein watched you with a small, knowing smirk, thumb brushing idly across the bruises on your thigh.

“Soft little thing,” he muttered, voice softer than he’d admit.

“Think she’ll want the north wing for a nursery?”

Artorias didn’t answer. He was watching your face with quiet hunger, as if memorizing it for every nightmare the Abyss would give him.

“I like the east wing better. It is more secluded there.” He finally spoke, pulling out just enough to let his seeds spill freely.

“No one would have to know about her whereabouts.”

Ornstein then huffed in defeat, watching over your sleeping form before admitting the corruption out loud. “The Abyss sure did change you, huh?”

#dark souls #soulsborne #x reader #imagine #yandere #tw noncon #tw dubcon #artorias the abysswalker #dragon slayer ornstein

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wolffishgrin · 23 hours ago

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Quiet Corners | Chapter 1

Pairing: Toto Wolff x Reader

Tone: Slow-burn, emotionally restrained, grief-healing, respect-to-romance, soft moments behind hard lives

You’ve worked at Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula One Team for almost two years.

Long enough to learn the power of invisibility. Long enough to master it.

Your role is behind the scenes — tucked inside wind tunnel reports, simulation discrepancies, sidepod revisions. You don’t travel with the team. You don’t appear in race-day photos or stand in the paddock during post-qualifying chaos. You operate from the calm, fluorescent-lit core of Brackley HQ.

That’s the point. It was always the point.

You show up. You deliver. You keep your head down and your answers crisp. The engineers like you. You’re dependable. Quiet. Professional. You occupy space without demanding it.

And that makes you easy to forget. Which is precisely how you prefer it.

Until today.

The quarterly technical review is the kind of meeting where everyone shows up five minutes early but pretends they didn’t. Mid-season data, update timelines, upcoming collaborations. You take your usual seat, back-left corner, notebook open, pen aligned with the table’s edge. Close to the wall, far from the spotlight.

Across the room, Toto Wolff enters.

You don’t look up. You don’t need to. There’s a subtle shift when he walks in, a pause in conversation, a shared awareness. He doesn’t demand attention; it simply follows him. He takes his seat at the head of the table without ceremony, scrolling through a tablet, expression unreadable.

The meeting begins.

You listen. You contribute briefly when asked, an update on aero correlation metrics. Your tone is even, your phrasing efficient. When you finish, he nods once in acknowledgement. No fanfare.

You should feel relief.

But partway through the discussion, a set of oversized printouts makes its way around the table, too large to pass easily between hands. You reach out to take them.

His hand reaches out too.

The touch is brief. Intentional only in its necessity. Still, when your fingers graze his, you look up.

He’s already watching you.

Not intensely. Not curiously. Just… present. Focused in the way only someone very good at reading people learns to be.

His eyes flick briefly to your chair, then back to yours.

“You always take the corner seat,” he says.

It’s not a challenge. Not an invitation. Just an observation — quiet and matter-of-fact, like he’s noting a pattern in tire degradation or wind direction.

You on the hand are shocked. Because you both haven’t exactly interacted much. He’s mostly away hopping from one country to another for races and works here off season or during Silverstone GP.

So, the only time you ever have a conversation is during such meetings. And he shouldn’t be able to remember you much alone your seating habit.

His comment had knocked you off your balance. But you quickly gain your composure and offer the faintest of smiles. “It’s quieter back here.”

A pause stretches between you, just long enough to register.

“Corners are for people who need exits,” he says. And then he turns away, as if the conversation never happened.

The meeting continues.

No one else noticed. Not really. But your thoughts splinter, momentarily off-balance.

You stare at the papers in your hand, though you don’t absorb a word. You’re aware, uncomfortably so, of where you’re sitting. Of the fact that someone noticed. That he noticed.

You pack up quietly when the meeting ends. Leave as you always do: before the small talk, before the laughter, before anyone might ask you to stay a moment longer.

#toto wolff #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff x you #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff imagine #f1 imagine #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 imagine

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downbadace · 2 days ago

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༊*·˚𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐃, 𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃, 𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐍* - 𝐍𝐨. 𝟐-𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫 ೃ༄

Pairing: Sophia Laforteza/Megan Skiendiel

The two had been effortlessly working on the case together. It seems like this has brought them closer as they both discover something interesting about one of their suspects and each other.

Content: Lawyer AU, Strong Language, Mentioned Kidnapping, Coming out

A/N: sorry this took so long yall. thank god for my girlfriend who was able to proofread this so quickly for me i love you babe 😭 anyways i hope yall enjoy this chapter :3

Word Count: 2.7k

Masterlist • Unsolved Series Masterlist

PREV • NEXT

"What time is it?”

“Uhm… almost 10.”

Megan groans as she slowly starts to succumb to sleep. The two have been working on the case since they got it, trying to find a crumb of evidence that may be able to help them out. They’re ready to call it quits with almost nothing to report.

It’s after hours. Mostly everyone in the building has left besides the janitors working the night shift and, of course, Megan and Sophia. While they were working off of nothing, they were able to link together some important dates and transactions that happened within the alleged timeframe they came up with. But all of it could be argued as speculation—they needed hard evidence.

“Did you figure out what the transaction was for Wolfgang?”

“Yeah, apparently it was just for materials, which would make sense since New York Fashion Week was coming up at the time. He ordered almost 60 pounds of fabric.” Sophia turned her iPad, showing the notes she had taken throughout the day. Megan hates to admit it, but she admired Sophia’s organization and how well-put-together she was—something that Megan struggled with. The Canto girl skims through them and nods, giving a small “Nice” before going through some files she had definitely looked at before.

“How about you? Did you find anything suspicious?” Megan just nodded no, not looking up at the girl.

“Y’know, this is exhausting. We’re basically working with nothing here. How could Gnarly come up with any evidence to suggest these guys have anything to do with a federal crime? I mean, look.” She says, holding up the profile for a woman named Michelle Asby. “This woman is in her 50s, she has grandchildren already, and barely speaks English.”

She plops the file on the table in frustration. Sophia can’t help but giggle at Megan’s tantrum.

“Hey, you never know, she could have a secret criminal record we don't know about.”

Megan snickers. “Yeah, put that on your notes, Laforteza.” They fall into another uncomfortable silence before Sophia gets up from her chair.

“I’m gonna get some water. Wanna come?” The two look at each other before Megan shrugs. “Sure, why not.”

She follows Sophia out of the room and they begin their short journey to the break room. It was after hours. Besides a janitor and some overtimers, they were the only ones in the building. It was calm—quiet in a way that seemed unsettling. It was a stark contrast to how chaotic and loud the floor is during the daytime. They make their way to the small break room and, unsurprisingly, it’s empty. Megan sat down as Sophia opened the fridge to pull out two water bottles, setting one down on the table.

“Thanks,” Megan muttered. Sophia sat down next to the girl, pulling out her phone to check the time before flopping it on the table.

“I don't understand why we were put together.”

“Ouch,” Megan says, pretending to be offended. Sophia scoffs, slightly amused.

“No, not like that. I mean… why did Matt think we would be a good pair?”

“Maybe because we're the best-performing attorneys? I mean, c’mon, you’ve never lost a case and I’m really good looking—it makes for a dream team.” Megan responds in an attempt to fill the air with humor. And it seemed to work, judging by the way Sophia giggled, snorting a little. Megan's heart beats a tad bit faster at Sophia’s smile, but she wouldn't admit it.

“Sure, sure, whatever you wanna believe, Skiendiel.”

“No, I’m being serious! Guys and girls all want a piece of this.” Megan says, pointing to her chest confidently. Sophia responds by rolling her eyes, about to put her water bottle to her mouth before she stops.

“Guys and… girls?” she asks. Megan looks at her, recognizing her own words.

“Uhm… I mean, yeah? I mean I can't help it if I want a piece of everything too.” Sophia tilts her head. “Wait, so you're…”

“Oh, uhm… yeah, I am.”

“Bi?”

“Mhm. I guess I never mentioned it in the many years we worked together.” Sophia nods, unsure of what to do at Megan’s sudden coming out. So, awkwardly, she puts her hand on her shoulder and nods.

“You’re bi.”

“...Thanks, Laforteza, I was aware.”

“Sorry—no, I didn't mean it in any bad way. I just—I mean, thank you for, uhm, telling me.” Megan smiles at her sweetly before nodding.

“Yeah. I mean, like, it was gonna come out eventually, so… yeah.” Megan says, pun one hundred percent intended. It didn't amuse Sophia. In fact, Megan thinks it went way over her head. She averts eye contact, looking at everything but Sophia’s gorgeous eyes.

“You know what confuses me?” Sophia asks, hoping to break the silence. Megan hums in response, waiting for a continuation.

“That some of Gabriela’s employees don’t have purchase records.” Megan leans back in her chair, one of her eyebrows raised.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well… Ellie Montez. She worked as an intern almost immediately after high school. She’s worked in multiple positions up until 2021, where she stayed in the marketing and sales communication branch. After that, it’s blank.” Megan nods along to Sophia’s words, unsure where the girl was going with it.

“What do you mean ‘blank?’ Like the trail on her went cold?” Sophia sighs, looking at Megan before nodding. “Come with me.”

Sophia stands up and exits the room. Megan, unable to do anything else, follows her. They walk quickly all the way back to the conspiracy room. Sophia opens her iPad to the notes she had taken. She scrolls down to scribbles of notes on this Ellie girl she had mentioned.

“Here. I basically copied and pasted what was on her files. You can read it over there if you want.” Megan looks over the scattered folders on the table, spotting the Montez file immediately. She reaches over and skims through it, flipping through pages to find something—until it goes blank.

“Told you. There’s nothing about her after that.” Megan sighs, putting Ellie’s profile back down on the table. She takes out her phone and immediately starts searching her up on Instagram, hoping that she’s like every other young girl and has an account. Luckily, she does. Megan shows her screen to Sophia.

“This is her, right?” Sophia looks at the phone and then back at Megan, nodding. Megan brings the phone back to her and opens her latest post. She looks over the date, and it reads July 18th, 2021.

“She hasn't posted in four years. Wonder why…” Sophia comes up behind her colleague, her head hovering over her shoulder. She was too close—close enough for Megan’s heart to start randomly pumping fast. She suppresses the emotion as she continues to scroll through the girl’s account. Ellie posted a lot, mostly about her life, friends, family, and most importantly, her job. Sophia points out a post with her and her brother outside the Gabriela building.

“Wait, go on his profile.” Megan follows directions and goes to the profile attached to the post. It sends her to her brother’s account, Evan Montez. He was older than his sister, an art student at UCLA who would be graduating next year. A quick glance and someone would immediately realize his flaming homosexuality.

“Seems like a chill guy.” Sophia nods in agreement. She squints her eyes at his bio.

“L-L-E 21? What does that mean?” Megan looks at Sophia, accidentally getting close to her face. She turns back to her phone and reads what Sophia had just read.

“L-L means long live… Wait—L-L-E 21? That’s—”

“The year Ellie’s profile goes blank.” The Filipina takes a step back and goes to sit down in front of her iPad. Megan watches as she opens Google, searching up Ellie’s full name with 2021 in quotation marks. The first link that pops up is an article from a local news outlet.

“‘Updated missing persons profiles?’” Sophia reads out loud, in a questioning tone. She clicks onto the link and scrolls until she finds her.

“Says she was last seen on November 7th, hanging out with friends on Pier 45. Someone’s birthday, apparently.” Megan inhales at Sophia’s words. She looks at the picture posted. Ellie had bright eyes—a smile she wore in every post. It broke Megan’s heart to know that this girl had been missing for so long.

“Do you think this has any ties to our case?” Sophia bookmarks the page before closing her tablet.

“I’m not sure, but we should keep a pin in it till we have more information.” She stands up, neatly gathering the files together.

“You should head out, it’s late. We can continue this in the morning,” Sophia tells her. Megan watches as she puts everything back in its respective place.

“Are you sure? Cause I can—”

“Yes, Skiendiel, I’m sure. I got this, you can go.” Megan presses her lips into a thin line. She picks up her messenger bag and puts her things away. She looks at Sophia one more time. The dim light in the room makes her eyes sparkle, and it reflects onto her plump lips—looking pretty as ever. She looks away before Sophia notices that she’s been staring at her lips too long and makes her way to the door of the room.

“Okay well… goodnight, Laforteza,” she says before walking out, not bothering to wait for a response. Megan walks down the dim hallway, a million thoughts racing through her mind. Two faces are very prominent, however: Sophia and Ms. Ellie Montez.

Something didn’t sit right with how Ellie seemingly went missing out of nowhere. It bugged Megan to an extent she didn’t understand. And Sophia… She was a mystery to her. She always had been for as long as she knew her. Why did she want to know more about both girls—especially her colleague? She hadn’t thought about the girl so much until this point. Her face, her smile, her laugh, her lips. It almost pissed her off how beautiful she was.

A question rang in her head as she entered the elevator, walked to her car, and drove all the way home.

Why was she thinking about her so much?

#katseye #katseye imagines #katseye smut #katseye thoughts #katseye fanfiction #katseye headcanons #unsolved series #unsolved thoughts #sophia laforteza #megan skiendiel #megan skiendiel x sophia laforteza #meifiz #meifiz fanfiction #wlw #ace speaks

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grudgecollector · 12 hours ago

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Closer to the mirror | Nam gyu / Fem!Reader

You are reading part seven

Story Summary: After a year, Nam-gyu and Su-bong are tired of being shut-ins and decide to go clubbing. They are forced to come to the stark realization that they have certainly changed far more than they cared to admit.

Luckily for them, you just so happened to be working that night.

Words: 4k

Tags/Warnings: Nam-gyu and Thanos have PTSD, Canon divergence, Thanos lives, fluff, light angst, maybe slightly ooc?, barely proof read

A/N: I love these awkward chucklefucks so much.

Also thank you very much to @freaknamgyu for making this chapter possible, it wouldn't have turned out like this if it wasn't for you!!

STORY MASTERLIST

Thunder cracked through the blanketed sky, heavy droplets breaking across the sidewalk you walked on. Head bowed, hood up as a shield, your hands tucked into the pockets of your jacket. Your lips downturned, sadness pressing into you as his shaking words played in your mind like a broken record.

“I didn’t want to leave you… I loved you…”

It was overwhelming to say the least, pent up anger ready to burst, blunt fingernails digging into the palms of your hands. How could he be so cruel? To say something like that, with so much vulnerability, like it was still true.

After Nam-gyu was able to recover from his breakdown he had gone silent. His face was turned away from you, a quiet sniffle coming from him before quickly standing. He wiped his sweaty palms against his pants before tucking his hands in his pockets, toeing against the rug that was slightly rolled up in the corner.

“You should probably go home.” He said flatly, eyes blank, his voice still hoarse from his sobs.

You steadily brought yourself to your feet, sparing him one last glance before making your way out of the bathroom. The sound of Nam-gyu shuffling around drowned out by quiet voices on the tv, Su-bong now scrolling through his phone rather than paying attention to whatever movie he had put on.

He looked up at you expectantly, eyebrow raised in question, worry barely hidden behind a calm expression.

“I’m gonna head home, you guys have a good night.” You said quietly, hugging your jacket tighter around yourself as you sniffled quietly.

There was a hint of concern drawn on his face, “You sure? It’s still raining.” His voice was quiet, “Want me to drive you back?”

A shaky breath fell from your lips, your head shaking slightly looking down at your shoes. You would much rather be alone with your thoughts right now.

So you decided to walk home, feeling the rain roughly beat into your back, soaking through the fabric and spreading a dewy layer of water across your skin.

It was difficult, biting back the sob that so desperately wanted to break free from the confines of your throat.

Nam-gyu didn’t bother to reach out ever since that night, his silence deafening amongst your racing thoughts. The days dragged on far longer than you would have liked, life back to the same boring and dull activities.

The only thing keeping you from sleeping through most of the day was Su-bong and his occasional texts. Most of the time it wasn’t even anything worth looking at, the mix between shitty AI generated pictures of bigfoot lounging beside a pool, or Instagram conspiracy theory videos that he stupidly believed.

He did his best to convince you to come around, which you had sadly rejected. Feeling as if you would breach an unspoken boundary, infiltrating Nam-gyu’s space when he clearly didn’t want to be bothered.

Then one night when you were sitting on your couch, you got a call. Your thumb hovered over the answer button, staring down at the name anxiously.

A sigh slid from your lips, “Hello?”

---

Nam-gyu could barely swallow past the lump that had formed in his throat. A cold sweat on the back of his neck just above the collar of his black shirt.

It was slightly wrinkled from laying on his bedroom floor for so long, but it was cleanish and that was the best he could do in such a short amount of time.

His thumb anxiously rubbed against the leather steering wheel, deep in thought as he softly chewed on the sharp dry skin of his bottom lip. He tried his best to stay focused on the road; occasionally his eyes wandered over towards you. Sitting in the passenger seat, eyes peering out at the pedestrians that crowded the sidewalks.

Nightlife in Seoul is just as busy as Nam-gyu remembered.

“You gotta make it up to her, bro.” Su-bong shrugged, tilting his head to get a better look at Nam-gyu’s crestfallen face, “Do you want me to make a reservation or something?”

Nam-gyu couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the question, looking up at his friends through his lashes. There was a defensive look in his eyes, barely resisting the urge to snap at his friend, wanting more than anything to relieve himself of the pain that built up in his chest.

Su-bong leaned forward from where he sat on the coffee table, a hand coming up to rub across his mouth before pointing at his friend, “You’re fixing this shit, because I like this girl, and she clearly still cares about you. So- I don’t know-” He sighed, bringing his hands up briefly, “Do something. Just… stop being a fucking pussy.”

A soft huff came from Nam-gyu’s mouth, shaking his head lightly, “This isn’t exactly something fixable.” His ringed fingers pushed a strand of hair away from his eyes, “She just needs to let it go.” There was a hint of cruelty to his tone, attempting to push his part of the blame away.

Su-bong laughed at that, eyes widening a little, “Holy shit, bro, you are fucking delusional.” His hands were rough as they grabbed onto Nam-gyu’s shoulders, forcing the sulking man to look into his eyes, “If you want her to let go so bad, then be a fucking man and talk to her.” He leaned a little closer, “That woman loves you. Stop leading her on like a dick.”

Su-bong’s words left little room to argue, rightfully calling Nam-gyu out on his selfishness. It was a cruel punishment, dragging this on in order to satisfy his desire of having you back in his life.

After the conversation had fallen quiet Su-bong made the decision for Nam-gyu, setting up reservations at some Italian restaurant in Seoul.

It felt stupid in all honesty. Doing all of this just to break your heart in front of an all too expensive pasta. Nam-gyu would surely laugh if he wasn’t the one having to do it.

Just as he would have laughed at how severely underdressed they were, a fact he noticed once you were guided to your table.

Looking over at the other patrons, Nam-gyu found it hard to miss the heavy stones that hung from women's necks, sparkling under the dim lights of the restaurant. Classy dresses, finely pressed suits, even their quiet laughter sounded wealthy.

Meanwhile, the both of you were dressed as if you just came back from a low level business meeting. It made Nam-gyu shuffle in his seat a little, already feeling severely out of place.

He didn’t miss the incredulous look you gave him, brows knit together in confusion as you looked around. Your arms started to hug around your body, shrinking into yourself just a little before looking back at Nam-gyu. Your gorgeous eyes swimming with concern, making his pulse jump.

“Do I look okay?” You spoke at almost a whisper, not wanting to draw attention to yourself.

There was a beat of silence, his eyes softened, warmth flooding his system as he looked you over, “You look beautiful.” The words slipped out unexpectedly, immediately making Nam-gyu’s face heat up.

“Oh- shit- Sorry…” He whispered quietly, hair falling in his face as he let his head dip down, barely noticing the small smile form on your lips.

The sound of laminated pages being turned cut through Nam-gyu’s embarrassment, his mental screaming quieted when he heard you let out a confused hum. Eyes trained on a specific word, your lips trying to sound out the word silently, before looking up at him.

“How the fuck do you pronounce this?” You whispered while sliding the small booklet towards him, pointing at an item on the fancy menu in front of you.

“What the hell?” Nam-gyu couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, “Bro… We are so fucked.” He grabbed his phone off of the table, trying to look up an easier way to pronounce this ridiculous dish.

---

While he was busy, you stole his menu and slowly flipped through it. Finally catching onto the numbers hanging heavy beside each dish, ranging from anywhere between ₩10,000 all the way to ₩20,000. Your eyes widened, lips parting in shock as you reread the numbers over again, like you had somehow hallucinated them.

“Nam-gyu…” You started, eyes looking back at the man who was still helplessly googling pronunciations, “There’s no way we can afford this food.” There was a nervousness bubbling in your stomach as you scanned over the other people inside the restaurant again.

Nam-gyu barely glanced up from his phone with a small wave of his hand, “It’s not a problem.”

Nam-gyu had said it so casually, as if money hadn’t been a problem of his for the last two years. Self hatred slowly eating him alive as he scrambled to make just enough money for drugs, taking out his frustrations via mockery and not so subtle guilt tripping. Blaming you for not stopping him sooner,

“I tried, Nam-gyu.”

“Well- You should've tried harder! I mean, fuck bro.” He scoffs.

His hand came up to rub at his nose, probably to alleviate the burn. Pupils stretched wide with a cruel scowl adorning his features, a humorless laugh leaving his lips.

“You always gotta make me the fucking bad guy, huh?”

You looked at him suspiciously, accusatory words on the tip of your tongue just as the finely dressed waitress walked up to your table. A small notepad clutched in her hand, freshly painted nails flipping the page.

Drinks were ordered for the both of you, needing something in your system if you truly wanted to make it through this dinner. Already feeling the frustration bloom as you look back at Nam-gyu, who attempted to look cool and collected.

After your drinks arrived you stumbled over your order, the words coming out messily as you tried to read off the menu again, ignoring Nam-gyu’s stifled laughter from across the table.

“I feel ridiculous.” You mumbled, still slightly embarrassed as you watched the waitress weave through the tables towards the kitchen.

“Let’s just hope the food’s good.” Nam-gyu replied, not doing much to hide his smile.

You scoffed, crossing your arms, “I just…” The words fell flat, carefully trying to sort them out before speaking again, “This doesn’t feel right.”

His brows knit together, hand coming up to push the strands of hair away from his face. He sat up a little straighter and leaned forward, “You nervous or something?” He attempted to joke, “It’s gonna be fine.”

The question was all too familiar, something in you snapping as you narrowed your eyes, “I’m not fucking dining and dashing, Nam-gyu.” You spat out, resisting the sudden urge to reach across the table and strangle him.

There was a humorous glint in Nam-gyu’s eyes, the corners of his lips tilting upwards in a small smirk, “You should see your face right now.” He teased, laughing a little around the skinny straw of his drink.

Heat started to bloom in your cheeks, his words making you feel as if you were missing out on a joke.

“Don’t worry about the money. I got it covered.” Nam-gyu’s voice sported a much gentler tone now, his dress shoe softly brushing against your ankle under the table.

Your breath hitched in your throat, the brief touch making your heart slam against your rib cage. Yet, there was just something about the innocent gesture that made you want to scream at him.

---

The waitress cut through the tension that had blanketed itself around the two of you, placing the plates neatly down on the deep red table cloth. Nam-gyu greedily sucked down the rest of his drink, hoping it would dampen the anxious feeling in his chest. Suddenly feeling hot as he glanced up at you, your face so relaxed, lips parted as you looked down at the neatly organized meal.

“Is this it?” You asked quietly, looking up at him through your lashes, “Like- Is this the whole meal?”

Nam-gyu couldn’t help but huff out a laugh, looking down at his own pathetic looking ‘meal’. There was more fancy drizzle than there was food, a pitiful excuse for garnish, and portions that could probably only satisfy a child.

“Is this why rich people are so skinny?” You joked, pushing something around on your plate before actually trying it.

Nam-gyu just sat there watching you for a second, gauging your reactions, hoping that for once he did well. Your eyes seemed to sparkle a little when you glanced back up at him, a teasing glint.

“It’s alright.” You finally said, your tone light, “Kind of bland.”

“Bullshit.” Nam-gyu said, reaching across the table before he had even attempted to try his own meal, your hand swatting at his fork as you let out a quiet giggle.

“Hands off, fucker. This is mine.” That beautiful smile was back on your lips, watching him carefully.

There was a burst of flavor on Nam-gyu’s tongue the second his lips closed around the prongs of his fork. His eyes narrowed at you as you innocently looked back, a small smile adorning your lips.

“You’re such a liar.” He mumbled around the mouthful, relief washing over him as you laughed quietly.

You both continued to eat quietly, occasionally whispering comments about certain patrons that caught your eyes.

Finally, you both stood, movements lacking the same elegance you had been watching all night. Once at the front of the restaurant, Nam-gyu glanced down at the reservation list to see the names “Mr. Nam-su / Miss. Señorita” scribbled three lines above the bottom.

His fingers tugged at the wallet tucked away in his back pocket, a gold card weighing heavy inside.

A parting gift for making it through the games, presenting more like hush money more than anything.

The card practically sparkled under the dim restaurant lights. Your eyes burned into his hands as he gracefully removed it from the sleeve of his wallet. His heart thumped harshly against his ribcage, barely catching your surprised expression.

He held the door open for you as you left, a smile ghosting your lips as you walked past him. A part of Nam-gyu knew it was forced, assuming your mind was probably reeling with questions.

There was laughter and loud chatter that filled the air surrounding the restaurant, the sidewalks practically crawling with tourists and locals.

Nam-gyu was forced closer to you as a way to avoid bumping into anyone, his body tense, instinctively slipping his fingers between yours. He was sure to keep you close to him as he weaved through the groups of people, suddenly feeling claustrophobic.

When the parking lot finally came into view Nam-gyu let out a steady breath, leading you towards his car, his pace much slower now that he wasn’t surrounded by strangers. He had barely registered the fact that you were still holding hands until he went to unlock the door, his fingers suddenly flexing around yours before slowly releasing your hand.

Nam-gyu slid into the driver's seat, glancing at his reflection just as the passenger door opened and you sat down. Fingers playing with a string on your shirt as you avoided looking towards him.

“Well…” You started, “I guess that was a decent dinner.” He met your eyes, a small smile gracing Nam-gyu’s lips.

There was a small part of him that wanted to tell you that it was Su-bong’s idea, but he wanted to cherish this moment. Even if your face softened into something that looked a little hurt, your eyes suddenly averted away from Nam-gyu.

A long winded vibration caught Nam-gyu’s attention, coaxing him out of his guilty thoughts. A picture of Su-bong grinning wildly lighting up Nam-gyu’s phone screen.

“Bro, you won’t believe what I just found.” Su-bong said excitedly, his forehead taking up most of the screen.

Nam-gyu raised his eyebrows expectantly as he listened to Su-bong breathe a little too closely to the microphone. After an agonizing one minute and thirteen seconds Su-bong finally pulled his phone back, revealing the item in his hand.

“Are you fucking serious, man.” Nam-gyu groaned, rolling his eyes, and rubbing a hand across his face. Surprise lost on him ever since this nuisance became his friend.

In Su-bong’s hand was a gaming controller, a light layer of dust on it from sitting untouched for months. In normal circumstances, Nam-gyu knew he would be excited, but not now. Not when you were sitting next to him after a slightly awkward dinner.

“I found it behind the washing machine!” Su-bong smiled, realization suddenly dawning on his face, “I knew you were lying about hiding it.” His attempt at a serious facade quickly broke when he laughed.

“Are you fucking on something?” Nam-gyu asked, suddenly a little worried about his friend.

There was a small teasing ‘aww’ that came from Su-bong’s end, his bottom lip jutting out a little, “That’s so sweet, man. You really do care about me.” There was a flash of pink hair when Su-bong lowered his head a little,

“Nah, I had this uh- you remember that girl from the bar?” The man asked, his words slurring a little, “Whatever, she came over. We did some body shots.” Su-bong whispered the words like they were his dirty little secret. “I don’t know what that shit was… But I think I’m kinda fucked up right now.”

Nam-gyu heard you laugh quietly next to him, peering over at his phone to see Su-bong stumble slightly towards the living room. There was a light sound of clatter when the controller was dropped to the ground.

“Well, anyway-” Nam-gyu tried to talk, only to be cut off by his friend.

“Are you guys still on your little date?” There was a teasing giggle that came from the man, “Wait, let me talk to her-”

The word made Nam-gyu’s breath stutter, fearful that his loose lipped friend would accidentally blurt something Nam-gyu had shared in confidence.

“No man, you need to drink some water or some shit.” Nam-gyu couldn’t help but roll his eyes when his friend groaned.

“Bro please… I have this really good joke I need her to hear.” The pink haired man said pathetically, looking at his camera with wide eyes, “Whatever, why did the chicken cros-”

Nam-gyu didn’t even let him finish talking before he hung up, dropping his phone into his lap with a sigh. His cheeks were getting hot again, the tips of his ears burning from embarrassment.

Date. That fucking idiot. Nam-gyu thought to himself.

“Do you think he’s crying right now?” You joked, “Poor guy, he sounded like he really wanted to tell that joke.” Luckily your voice was light and teasing as you spoke, relieving some of the tension that had suddenly built up in Nam-gyu’s shoulders.

---

The drive back to your apartment was mostly quiet aside from the music on the radio, some playlist that Nam-gyu would occasionally flip through during redlights. You tried to not focus on your own thoughts, finding them much easier to ignore when Nam-gyu was humming quietly next to you, thumbs tapping on his steering wheel.

You glanced over at him, the headlights of passing cars illuminating his features in a dim glow. You couldn’t help but think how handsome he looked, even if he was just wearing a simple button up and black pants.

Just as you were about to look away he caught you, eyes briefly meeting.

“Thank you…” You started quietly, your voice feeling small in your throat, “For dinner- Uh… You didn’t have to.” The string on your sleeve seemed more interesting to you at that moment, avoiding looking towards him.

“I wanted to.” There was a smile ghosting his lips, it seemed like he wanted to say something else but stopped himself.

Finally you pulled into the parking lot of your apartment building, the car rolling to a stop near the stairs. There was a second’s pause before you unbuckled yourself, fingers reaching towards the door handle with a small sigh.

The both of you stood at the same time, looking at each other over the top of the car.

There was a pang in your chest, something inside of you twisting around your heart as it began to beat faster. There was a quiet closing of doors, shoes shuffling on the pavement as you both walked towards the stairs.

“Hey so…” Nam-gyu started, nervously brushing a strand of hair from his face, “I’m uh-” He looked down at his shoes, kicking a piece of gravel, “I’m sorry.”

The words came out so quiet, almost a whisper in the soft wind. His eyes briefly flicked up to meet yours. Seeming to shrink into himself a little, as if the words were completely foreign to him, merely wanting to test them on his tongue.

You didn’t bother responding, not wishing to ruin the mood with a serious conversation.

A small part of you wanted to argue; demand answers to the questions that had been burning a hole in your mind.

Instead you just gave him a small smile, your hand coming up to his shoulder and pulling him in for a hug. The action was impulsive, your fingers tightening around the fabric of his shirt, the smell of his cologne clinging onto the collar. His arms snaked around your waist, his warmth comforting against the cold bite of the wind. It makes you relax, even if your heart begins to race in your chest.

Nam-gyu lifted his head from your shoulder, parting himself from you by just two or three inches.

His face was too close to yours, it made heat crawl up your neck, your stomach fluttering as you looked into his eyes.

Your name fell from his lips, soft, caring, “I mean it,” He spoke in a hushed tone, his hands still resting on your waist, “I am sorry.”

“Nam-gyu…” Your lips parted slightly, immediately catching his eyes flick towards them.

There was a tightness in your chest, a lump forming in your throat as you thought of all of the things he could be apologizing for. Perhaps it was his way of throwing a blanket over the mess, figuring it would be easier to pack it all in one.

You wanted to avoid having that conversation right now.

So instead, you focused on the way Nam-gyu's eyes softened as he looked at you. Face relaxing, lips parting as he drew in a breath.

You slowly inched your hand towards the nape of his neck, strands of his long hair tickling against the back of your hand.

“Stop saying sorry.”

His fingers tightened around your waist, a small sigh leaving his lips just before they graced yours. His nose brushed against yours as he brought a hand up to cup your jaw, drawing you in closer. His lips were soft, electrifying your nerves as his thumb tilted your chin upwards, his tongue teasingly brushing against yours.

Nam-gyu’s fingers were feather-light on your skin, thumb softly caressing your cheek. Your heart was slamming against your chest as you brought yourself closer, fingers weaving through his hair tugging softly at the strands.

Suddenly you felt something brush against your ankle, a small broken meow coming from the cat that sat next to your foot.

You hesitantly parted from Nam-gyu, his eyes swimming with something vaguely recognizable. A small smile ghosted his lips as he slowly withdrew his hands; taking a step back.

The awkwardness slowly settled back over the two of you.

“Well-” You started, fidgeting with your fingers. “Thanks again.”

“Of course.” Nam-gyu nodded, shoulders tense, his movements a little jerky as he slowly stepped further away, “I’ll uh- I’ll see you around.” He gave a polite smile before slipping into the driver's side of his car.

God, I’m so stupid. You internally kicked yourself as you watched him drive away.

Later that night, after a long shower, you finally let yourself relax a little.

A joint was burning between your lips, the orange glow casting a dim light around your face. Eyes barely glancing up at the television, the character's voices hushed as you scrolled through your phone. Your thumb freezing against the screen when you skimmed over the title to a newly published article.

“Hwang In-ho, the man arrested for mass kidnapping and mass murder, found guilty.”

#violet writes #squid game #nam gyu #squid game x reader #squid game x you #squid game nam gyu #squid game fanfic #squid game fanfiction #squid game imagine #nam gyu imagine #nam gyu x reader #nam gyu x you #nam gyu x y/n #nam gyu fanfic #nam gyu fanfiction #nam gyu squid game #player 124 #squid game season 3

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phobiaexists · 4 months ago

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He wonders who this is.

#forsaken #john doe #jane doe #homicidal porkchops #ghrrggrgrgrgr #my headcanon is that yes john still has little to no memory of jane #but somehow hes still able to faintly instinctually recognize this person in front of him as someone positively significant to him.#he doesnt know why though and it kind of aches at him so just #cue a bunch of moments of john displaying so much curiosity and attempts to not appear threatening toward this person as he follows her.#also yes i headcanon john as very much feral/animalistic and incapable of normal speech when hes in his “corrupted state”.#a state where he regains his senses does exist in my headcanons just currently not sure how or when or why or for how long it happens.#jane meanwhile i like to think #shes a little distrusting of john. she knows its him but she also knows that he isnt himself anymore and can snap any moment.#painfully aware of the fact that whatevers happening isnt his fault but also aware that either way hes been harming people in this realm.#she notices how gentle john is with his curiosity but she isnt going to let her guard down that easily.#i like to think she had once made attempts to help john regain his memories after realizing his passiveness. and it has worked before.#but the corruption and the spectres influence would kick in every time and hed end up lashing out even more violently than he usually did.#even getting aggressive toward jane as if she were just like any other survivor.#john would go back eventually to being calmer with jane after but then hed also go back to not remembering anything about her too.#jane also tries to take advantage of johns passiveness toward her to help other survivors.#if shes around when john is hunting down anyone else shell try to intervene and johns usually able to calm down.#survivors know janes shop has a chance of john lurking but they also know he wont attack or get aggressive if shes there.#i feel like some survivors have made a remark on john being janes guard dog now. jane shut them up quickly though.#she understands the others need to do what it takes to survive but that doesnt mean they can disrespect her husband.

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rafesangelita · 4 months ago

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♡ when rafe accidentally snaps on bambi!reader

warnings: a little bit of crying, hurt + comfort

a/n: thank you so much to the anon who sent in this link <3 this little drabble is inspired by it!! i might open up req’s soon because even though i have prompt ideas already, lately i’ve just felt uninspired to write them out..

“are you almost ready?!” rafe called out from the front door, his truck keys hanging from his fingers. you didn’t respond, instead you panicked once you realized you weren’t even close to finishing your makeup. “oh, god..” you whimpered, scrambling to your feet to try and put a quick outfit together while you patted in your blush.

at your lack of response, rafe cursed under his breath before slamming the door shut and making his way to your room. “are you fucking serious?” you jumped when you heard his voice, your head shooting in his direction as you stood there, dumbfounded. your hair rollers were still wrapped tightly in your hair, your robe hanging haphazardly off your shoulders. it was needless to say you looked far from being ready.

“son of a bitch—” rafe’s eyebrows knitted together as he pinched the bridge of his nose, a frustrated sigh falling from his lips. he was already irritated upon arriving to your place. rafe had spent all afternoon arguing with ward over some ‘cameron development’ stuff, he had deadlines he already accepted he wasn’t going to be able to meet, it was like a thousand degrees outside and to top it all off; he was hungry.

“we’re just getting something to eat, bambi. you could honestly just leave the house like this.” rafe grumbled, already moving to get ahold of your elbow and drag you out. “what?! no— ray, can you please just give me ten minutes? all i have to do is put on some clothes and finish my makeup real quick. i’ll even take my rollers out in the truck, okay?” rafe studied you for a moment, his nostrils flaring as he let out a deep breath.

“fine,” he nodded, “i’m gonna go turn the ac on in the truck, then. please try to make this fast.” you muttered an ‘okay..’ before spinning around and taking a seat at your vanity. you worked as quickly as you could, only getting as far as putting on some lip liner and lipgloss before you heard a honk outside. curling your lashes hastily, you wasted no time in slipping on a dress you hadn’t worn in a while.

grabbing your purse on the way out, you skipped down the stone walkway just in time for rafe to roll his window down. “do you have everything? your phone?” you paused. your phone was on your bed last time you saw it. “uhm, i’ll be right back..” you apologized when you saw the scowl on rafe’s face. your boyfriend shook his head when you tripped, nearly sending yourself on the ground as you rushed to go back inside. setting your purse down on the couch, you grabbed your phone and walked back out, your chest rising and falling as you tried to remain calm and collected.

“did you lock the door?” oh, you could just cry right now. “no..” you winced, walking up to the truck so rafe could give you his key. “my, god, what the hell is going on today? it’s like everyone is trying to piss me off.” you ignored his words, quicky making your way to the front door so you could lock it shut. it wasn’t until you were halfway down the driveway when you realized your purse wasn’t on your shoulder. “wait, i forgot one more thing—” that was it. you had definitely pushed rafe past his limits now.

rafe snapped, the vein in his forehead bulging out of his skin as he shouted. “holy shit, just get in the fucking truck!” he waved his hands in the air as if you couldn’t see him standing right in front of you, his volume alone making you jolt. you stared blankly at him, your chest caving in on itself as rafe blinked, both of you sharing a knowing look. rafe watched your face morph as your chin wobbled and your eyes welled up with tears.

“i’m sorry—” he exhaled, instantly wrapping his arms around you, “i’m so sorry, baby, i won’t do that again.” you sniffled, letting him embrace you. it took you having to cry to make rafe realize he’d been acting like an asshole since he got here. “you know that scares me!” you cried, the velcrow of your rollers tickling his neck. “i know, i know,” he cradled your head, pressing kisses along your cheek, “here, we’ll just order something instead, yeah? we don’t have to go anywhere.” he turned off the truck, guiding you inside by the small of your back.

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chastiefoul · 1 year ago

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he finds you crying ft. love and deepspace men

ft. zayne, xavier, rafayel, and sylus a/n: I always feel like mc wasn’t given enough time to grief when chapter 4 happened (or maybe they just didn’t show it or i remember it wrong) but to lose the people you’ve considered family like that in front of your eyes would severely mess on anyone’s mental well-being. mc stronger than me fr i would've had a breakdown every night. so i tried to write the comfort that was long overdue. <3

Zayne

He found you hunched over at the couch, knees tucked to your chest. your shoulder shook as he heard the sniffles and although he’s physically perfectly fine, he swore it felt like his heart was breaking in two.

He would gently put his key on the table, making his presence known in the subtlest way possible so you didn’t get startled.

You quickly tried to wipe your eyes and sat normally but suddenly in no time you were carried as he made you sit on his lap, bringing your head close to his neck as he held you tight.

Zayne wasn’t one who’s great at offering consoling words, as he also a firm believer of actions speak louder than words. As he rubbed your back gently he only said, “Let it all out, I’m here.”

So you did just that. You’ve said this once to him as a joke, but truly, anywhere by his side was the time you felt the most safe.

The doctor continued to comfort you in silence, hoping with every beat of his heart that his arms and hands that’s so used in saving people’s lives, could offer at least some kind of solace for your heart that was in disarray.

Xavier

He’d never hated the sight of a bed so much, until he found you crying atop of it.

Xavier would rushes over to you (arguably faster when he encountered strayed wanderers), determined to do anything he could to help you feel better.

As he put a hand over your cheek, wiping the tears that just kept on coming he whispered, “I’m here, what do you need?”

When you couldn’t even manage a reply Xavier would just stay by your side, his and was diligent in rubbing the side of your face; he never felt so useless, knowing the little gesture gave almost to none help.

For someone who finds sleep easy inbetween every hours, that was the most restless he’s ever been. He stayed with you until you calmed down, offering gentle whispers as you felt your awake state slipping away.

The moment you’re asleep Xavier was keen on wiping your face softly off of the remaining tears, and he tucked you in properly. He brought you to his embrace.

Yet unlike any other nights, he couldn’t find any part of him that was able to join you into the dream state.

Rafayel

Rafayel knew he came at a bad time. Seeing the way you spoke so stiffly and the way you zoned out of the conversation every few minutes.

However, he also knew he couldn’t leave you alone right then.

The silence once again was loud, but he didn’t think you realize that, as he followed your stare to the table, to what’s on the top of the table to be exact. A necklace with an apple charm on it.

He approached your side, cupping your face with both of his hands. “Miss bodyguard, you don’t have to be strong all the time, you know? Especially now, since you’re off duty.”

You chuckled quietly, but what followed after was not your usual easy smile but instead it was tears streaming down your face. And it felt like Rafayel could offer anything he had just to make them stop. And if that’s not enough, he swore to give you twice or thrice of what he had, it didn’t matter if he was to be in debt.

He held you tight, the sight of you crying was enough to make tears made their way to his eyes as well. And it pained him, knowing the best he could do in that moment was only to hold you tighter, as he wished that he could mend whatever broken part you had with one of his.

Sylus

He didn’t even flinch when you climbed on his lap, your usual talkativeness was nowhere to be found.

You rested your head on his shoulder and within seconds he knew that your emotions were in chaos, and if you thought you could find comfort in him, then he was more than happy to be there for you.

“Let me stay like here for a while,” you said weakly, voice all tense and anxious.

He brought a palm to your back, “By all means, darling. You didn’t think I was going to turn you away, did you?”

You stayed quiet, trying your best to get your emotions in order but it just seemed impossible. Sylus then sigh at your another attempt to pretend once again that you’re okay. “Cry if you need. Tears were never a sign of weakness, it just proves that you’re human.”

His rigid sentence somehow brought a strange sense of comfort for you, making your tears escape freely.

Sylus’ fingers felt fleeting on your back, like a touch that could slip away anytime. But he made sure none of that will happen as he stroke your hair gently over and over.

Was he worried of you? Absolutely. Yet he believed with all of his entire being that you that has fallen apart that day, would have no time standing back up again on the next day.

If there’s anything he learnt about you during your time with him, is that you’re a stranger to giving up.

#lads x reader #zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #xavier love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #zayne x you #lnds x reader #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #sylus x reader #love and deepspace #lads angst #lads fluff

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bunnis-monsters · 8 months ago

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NSFW

A/N: another kofi request!

When you walked for a while through the thick forest near your home, you were able to find a meadow full of deer hybrids.

It was a secret place, one only a few human beings knew about. Among those humans was you, a young woman currently being courted by one of those feet hybrids.

“My dear!”

You felt arms wrap around your torso from behind, your neck being peppered in warm kisses as you were pulled close.

This was your current predicament. A few months ago you spotted a deer hybrid struggling in a trap meant for regular deer. You knew if the hunter found them he’d be taken to the city and sold as a pet, so you quickly used your pocket knife to cut him free.

The second he was out of his bonds, he nearly tackled you, rubbing and butting against your neck and nearly impaling you with his horns.

“Mate… my mate…”

And that’s how you ended up at the meadow again, visiting him. If you didn’t come once a week to see the fluffy thing, he’d try coming out of the woods and into your neighborhood.

Of course, that was dangerous. Between cars, hunters, and lots of people wanting a cute deer hybrid as a pet, the human world wasn’t safe.

You made a deal with him. Every weekend you’d come and spend time with him. The first time you proposed this deal to him, he leapt with joy, his fluffy tail wiggling super fast.

So today you brought your picnic basket, setting out a blanket and preparing the snacks as he waited patiently nearby. Sometimes he could be a bit shy after greeting you, quickly retreating behind other deer hybrids and peaking out at you with his big doe eyes.

The second you were done, he trotted back, letting out a happy whine when you patted your lap. He loved laying his head there.

His ears flicked, and he looked up at you through his lashes, batting them. Clearly, he was a whore for your attention.

You always knew the best spots to scratch and rub, always getting behind his ears and at the base of his antlers.

His tail wagged, and you couldn’t help but lift it slightly too look at his cute butt, making his head jerk up.

“Mate? You want to mate?”

The deer hybrid excitedly nuzzled against you, pushing you down on the blanket. He let out little grunts, his tail still going crazy behind him.

“N-not yet, not yet.”

He pouted, but quickly returned to relaxing in your lap, almost purring at every scratch and pet. You knew rutting season was soon by now antsy he had been to mate with you lately… and you were preparing yourself to help him.

The guy always wanted to be by your side, bringing you fresh berries and honey he collected. You were his mate, and he wanted to give you all the sweet things he could find!

And boy was he possessive! He would let out whines and grunts when other males approached, pointing his antlers at them and holding you close. It was just too cute!

For months you came and went, giving him the attention he needed while getting to relax and escape all the stress life had to give.

Curling up with him, playing with his soft puffy hair and watching him get all giddy and excited really calmed you down. His fluffy tail always wagged when you were around, wagging even harder when you scratched a good spot or gave him snuggles.

But his rut had finally come in full force, and you knew he needed you.

This time when you came to visit, he was alone, whimpering softly and pumping his cock. He seemed distressed, and you were quick to lower yourself by his side, your fingers gently glazing his swollen tip.

“Shh, shh… I’m here. It’ll be okay.”

He looked up at you through his thick lashes, sniffling. It seemed he had grown attached and reliant on you.

“Please…”

How could you say no to those big, warm doe eyes?

The second your fingers wrapped around his cock, he let out a moan, his hips bucking lightly. He needed his release, and your hand wouldn’t cut it soon enough.

He came quicker than expected, and soon he was mounting you.

The entire time he mated with you, he was more gentle than you’d think a buck in rut would be. He was constantly nuzzling into you, thrusting just hard enough to satisfy you, but not any harder.

When he came inside, his ears twitched and tail wagged, and he melted when you reached out to play with his ears while his cum shot into your womb.

After mating you, he was a happy little thing, making a sort of purring sound while he nuzzled his face against your neck.

Perhaps being mates with him wouldn’t be so bad after all…

————————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko

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reiderwriter · 8 months ago

Text

☎️ Don't Call Me ☎️

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: After catching your boyfriend cheating, you find accidental comfort in your coworker. With your phone ringing nonstop, you're willing to do whatever it takes to start fresh.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, bug mentions (cockroaches), cheating, exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, slight spanking, mentions of masturbation. Dom! Spencer.

A/N: Haha... hi guys... been a while 😚 Please enjoy the fic I dreamed up over a month ago now, and was finally able to conjure up!

Masterlist

If you were to be asked how you assumed a five-year-long relationship would end, you'd likely say something like irreparable differences. Maybe a difference in lifestyle, growing out of love, or even different plans for the future. Unfortunately, the irreparable difference your boyfriend had chosen at 10 pm on a Thursday evening was being balls deep in an irreparably different woman.

You supposed you should've seen the signs the relationship was drawing to a close and likely you did, but with your job itself being a life or death situation almost daily, you really didn't have much time to worry about the fact that your boyfriend was sowing his oats in other fields. Based on the look of the woman spread across your bed, the oats weren't that great for her either.

Your reaction had been somewhat delayed, but curiously not as much as hers. She'd been wonderfully blasé about the man writhing on top of her before you started screaming and throwing things, and even now you were armed with a vase of flowers (dead - you'd bought them yourself before the case you'd been on for the last two weeks) she still looked slightly bored. But at least her legs were together now, and not gynaecologist level apart.

Your boyfriend - ex-boyfriend? - managed to regain an ounce of dignity with a scrap of clothing, and did his best to shepard you out of the crime scene as you regained the ability to hold coherent thoughts that weren't about strangling him with his own tie.

“Listen to me, please just for five minutes-”

“Listen? I was just listening! To you moaning into that woman's shoulders with your eyes rolled back in your head!”

It was as if in the last few minutes all the love you'd had for this man, all five years of relationship and comfort, and nights spent together had melted away in an instant. The rage dissipated, and you were surprisingly calm again, though that worried you, too. Surely you should be crying, or at the very least upset. You should be feeling some kind of emotion that wasn't a vague disgust at the man in front of you in full pooh bear mode, trying to tug down the hem of his shirt to cover the crown jewels.

“It didn't mean anything. She doesn't mean anything. She's just - You're gone so long on cases, and I just-”

“So you're saying it's my fault you're cheating on me?”

“Yes! No, wait, no, no, no, no-”

“No, heard loud and clear, I'll try not to save lives in the future, I'm sure the BAU will understand I should be on my back 24 hours a day instead, taking all four inches you have to donate to my worthy cause.”

“Y/N, don't be like that,” he said, exasperated. Whatever he had to be exasperated about, you had no idea. Maybe blue balls.

“Like what?”

“Like a bitch!”

The room went still with silence as you let him sit with the words he'd just spoken, willing him to snap back quickly so you could keep even just a shred of respect for him.

No such apology came.

“I'm leaving now. I expect your things packed and out of here by 12 pm tomorrow, including your thing in the bedroom. Don't bother cleaning the sheets. Just burn them. Lock the door and post the keys through the letterbox when you're done.”

“Y/N, I told you it's not like that, I still love you, come on-”

“Well I don't love you. And please go put some fucking pants on.”

You stepped back over the threshold of your apartment - the lovely, nice apartment you'd been living in for the last eight years, your nice safe space - and you shuddered.

The question wasn't exactly what next, but more like where next. What next was sending a group text in your ex-boyfriends family chat telling them what you'd walked in on, and then leaving the chat before you could get any response. The where would be a harder sell.

From this part of the city, it'd take 2 hours to get to Penelope’s apartment, especially at this time of night without a car. Emily's apartment was similarly far. Going through a list of your coworkers again, you mentally crossed off Tara, who'd been injured on your last case and was resting at her girlfriend's apartment, Luke, who despite the promised comfort of a cute dog, you were absolutely sure didn't have a spare bed, and all members of the team with spouses and/or children. Which left just Spencer and Rossi.

Needless to say, you found your way to Spencer's apartment in only 20 minutes, though you were sure you had disassociated the entire thing.

Knocking on the door, you felt a little bit awkward, but not awkward enough to leave and find a hotel at nearly 11 pm. Your last case hadn't been a pleasant one, hotel-wise, and you weren't exactly eager for another check-in.

Spencer opened the door quickly, his eyebrows knitted in confusion as he found you there but only for a brief flash before his face brightened up.

“Y/N? Do we have a case again? I thought Hotch said-”

“Can I stay here tonight?” you blurted, needing to get the words out as quickly as possible before you convinced yourself to walk away.

Spencer took a moment to take in your words, and you took the opportunity to look at him then. He was fully clothed at least, and you were glad to find that his pajamas looked comfortable and clean. A simple plaid cotton pant with a soft-looking white long sleeved shirt pushed up his arms slightly. He'd taken out his contacts and put on his glasses, and you wondered if you'd caught him mid-book.

“Please?” you added in a hopeful voice as he still looked at you slightly confused.

“Oh, of course,” he said, stepping aside and gesturing inside. “Is there something wrong with your apartment?” he asked, taking your go-bag from you without question and guiding you into the main living space of his apartment.

“Thank you, yeah. Something like that. Shoes off or on?”

“I have some slippers. You can take them off. What happened?” he said, placing the slippers in front of you and turning back to bolt the door.

“Invasive species?” You said, trying to sound as nonplussed as possible despite now feeling incredibly plussed.

“Oh, bugs? Yeah, I've had a cockroach or two in the apartment before. Did you know that the average female cockroach can produce up to 10,000 offspring in a single year?”

You sat on his couch quietly, trying not to imagine 10,000 cockroaches and failing nearly spectacularly. Unfortunately, the only image that could surpass tiny cockroach babies was of your boyfriend pounding away at another woman. Which was just a brilliant move for your psyche.

“Spencer, I know I've really intruded here tonight, but do…. Do you wanna drink with me?” You asked, hoping to drown at least a memory or two of the last 24 hours. Hopefully, the cheating one, but you'd take cockroach extermination as well.

A slightly worried look settled on Spencer's face, but he said nothing and nodded, walking to his kitchen, grabbing two beers and meeting you back on his loveseat.

“Oh you really have beer here!” You exclaimed, thanking him for the beverage before cracking it open and taking a sip.

“Morgan came over with some to celebrate 6 months out of prison. These are leftovers.”

“Right… right…”

The first few sips were so painfully awkward that you thought about returning back to your apartment and just sleeping on your own couch.

Vaguely, you felt Spencer watching you, taking a sip of his drink for every sip you took of yours.

“So…” you said, and he raised an inquisitive eyebrow again, already questioning whatever was about to come out of your mouth.

“So?” he asked. You weren't sure if it was the beer, the look on his face, or the crazy implosion of the last 5 years that had you giggling all of a sudden. You were just glad that when you cracked up, he cracked a smile as well, and a little bit of the tension went away.

“Why are you really here, YN?”

You took a deep breath and looked straight forward at the bookshelves Spencer had lovingly filled. Maybe this had taken him half a decade as well, so he'd understand how your life felt a little bit like a wobbly bookshelf at that second.

“The invasive species I mentioned? It was the woman screwing my boyfriend in my bed. Ex. Ex-boyfriend.”

You heard the intake of breath from Spencer before he put his can down and started thinking of something to say in reply to that.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh… Y/N, I-”

A shrill ringing cut him off, and you were almost glad to not be on the receiving end of whatever pitiful words he was about to push on you, until you checked the caller ID and saw your ex's name.

“Don't pick that up,” Spencer said as you hesitated towards the phone. With a hand over yours, he flipped the phone over, locking eyes with you as he let it ring out.

“He's just going to try it again.”

“Let him.”

You nodded, breaking eye contact and sinking back into Spencer's slightly wilted couch cushions.

“In your bed? Really?” he asked, talking another sup as you took a gulp, letting the beer fizz down your throat before you could answer.

“I told him to expect me tomorrow because of how the case was looking. I guess he wasn't expecting me.”

“I think that was a given. Unless he was into that. Exhibitionism is one of the most common kinks among adult males, and-”

“Oh he was not into exposing himself,” you laughed into your drink, propping your head up on your hand and turning to face Spencer more. He shot another questioning glance but didn't push the issue, so you silently explained as well. By pinching your fingers together to the approximate size of your ex-boyfriend's dick.

“Oh. Well, it's not the size that counts?” He whispered almost ironically as he took another sip, now much closer than before. You'd done your best to distance yourself from your boyfriend even as he'd followed you through your apartment half naked, but you didn't seem to find Spencer's proximity threatening at all.

Maybe because he wasn't having sex with a random woman in your bed 5 seconds before.

“You wanna know the worst part?” You said, leaning closer as if to tell him an even bigger secret. “He didn't even know how to use it. I haven't-”

Another phone call blasted through, and you grabbed your phone and put it behind you.

“He's really great at interrupting conversation when it’s just getting good,” Spencer laughed, but you were slightly disappointed that he'd leaned back away now.

“What was it you were saying?” He asked, taking a swig of beer again, can nearing its close.

“I haven't had an orgasm in almost three years,” you said bluntly, watching the most genuine spit take you’d seen in your life. You pat Spencer's back as he coughed up inhaled beer, bringing your feet up under you into a cosier position.

“Okay now?” you asked as his breathing returned to normal.

“No? Three years, Y/N? Really?”

You shrugged and looked away almost embarrassed to be meeting his eyes now that your sexual history was the topic of the night.

“We had sex. He's just… he's just a really lazy lover. It'd be the same stuff every time. Handjob to some clumsy fingers missing my clit, a few pumps and cum on my face. I wasn't exactly initiating seven days a week in the hopes that this time he'd be able to locate it.”

Spencer was somewhere between horror and trying not to laugh, eyes wide with either alarm or the strain of having to keep it in.

“It's okay, you can laugh,” you said, but he shook his head politely.

“Y/N, I was in prison and still had more orgasms than you this year.”

“Hey, I hear prison is a great place to meet new people. Have new experiences.”

Spencer shot you a quickly horrified look as his cheeks flushed with heat. “Y/N, I was not someone's bitch in prison.”

“Why not? You're pretty enough for it?”

You'd meant the line to come across as teasing, just as you'd expected the finger now twisted in a lock of his hair, playing with him, to come off as teasing as well.

But you felt a definite throb between your legs when he looked at you again, doubly so when his eyes darted down to your lips.

You cleared your throat and tried for a teasing tone once again.

“So you made someone else your bitch?” you smiled, trying to drag his eyes away from your lips before you did something you'd regret.

“No. I… I spent a long time in solitary, and there's… there's really not that much to do.”

“So you did yourself?”

The tips of his ears were scarlet when you finally decided to back off, tucking the curl of hair behind his ear and letting him cool off.

“Why didn't you masturbate then?” he asked, pouting slightly still from your interrogation.

“Excuse me?”

“Your boyfriend couldn't make you cum, but a vibrator probably could. But you still haven't had an orgasm in three years. Why is that?”

It was your turn to feel the heat, the warmth from the beer finally reaching your head.

“He didn't want me to.”

You didn't mean for the words to sound as sad as they did. The fact itself was just incredibly sad. Your boyfriend saw anything vaguely phallic shaped as competition and had encouraged “organic” coupling instead.

You waited for Spencer to say something else, anything else as you held his gaze, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and him to start talking down to you as if you were simply a victim of the worst sex in the world.

Instead, he said “so did that other woman look as miserable as you've been for the last three years?” and the spell was broken.

You laughed so hard, you nearly choked on the beer you'd already finished. This time, it was Spencer's turn to land a hand on your back as you winded yourself with laughter.

“She looked bored! She looked genuinely bored. I almost thought it was just a lifelike doll, she was that unphased,” you kept giggling between gasps, forcing the words out as you threw your head onto Spencer's shoulder, hand landing on his thigh as you finally calmed down.

“I'd be horrified if anyone looked bored while in bed with me,” came Spencer's voice, and a little shiver ran down your spine as the rasp of his whisper rang in your ear.

You looked up from his shoulder and caught his eye immediately. If you wanted to, you could lean up by a centimetre and catch his lips with yours. And you suddenly, very much wanted to do that.

A final shriek of your phone behind you deterred you for a few seconds, and you were about to work yourself up to scooting a little bit away from Spencer when he leaned over you, grabbed the phone, and hung up on your boyfriend.

“Do you want to cum, Y/N?” he asked, as quietly as before as his hands traced over you on their return journey to him. He looked down your body, eyes greedily drinking in your breasts, hips, thighs and legs tucked into his side on his couch.

You didn't know what you were going to respond when your head practically nodded by itself. Enthusiastically.

He doesn't immediately pull you in for a kiss, and you're worried for a beat that he meant that only as a hypothetical and not an invite. A final cry from your phone has you standing in seconds, completely detached from Spencer, and the nearly embarrassing moment you pouncing him would've been.

“I should probably take it this time,” you explained, turning slightly.

But Spencer was faster than you, if not more prepared for what was to come. Wrapping an arm around your waist, Spencer tugged you back, pulling you onto his lap. When you were firmly situated - ass over his now evidently firm cock - he grabbed the phone out of your other hand, hung up and put it in his pocket.

“Spencer, I-I don't think that's a good idea,” you gasped as his hands slowly progressed up to your chest, and his lips dropped to your neck, biting and sucking along whatever flesh was easy for him to access.

“You need to cum. You deserve to cum, Y/N. I'm just here to help. Use me.”

You stifle a sharp, quick moan, biting your lips and thanking God that he couldn't see the face you made when his hips ground his cock up into your ass.

“I'm probably not ready for this,” you stuttered slightly, breath departing your body quicker than it could arrive.

“Probably not.”

“We work together, too. It would be awkward.”

“It might,” he nodded. “But you still want to.”

You couldn't help the moan, finally letting it free as you tossed your head back and clawed at his forearm, wrapped around you.

Your ass had a mind of its own, grinding back into him in circles as his hands found their way under your shirt, inquisitive fingers stroking your nipples through your bra.

“S-Spencer,” you whimpered again, legs spreading apart as you felt that familiar warmth settle between them. He didn't miss the longing in your tone, the shift in your core, pushing one hand down your stomach and trailing it onto your thigh.

It was as close as he could get with your pants still on, tight against your skin. He squeezed your thigh, still licking and sucking at your neck before his hand rose to the clasp of your pants.

It took him a long lime to fumble with them, and you thought of helping multiple times but you let yourself get distracted by the tense definition of his muscles, the rigid line of his body as he strained to please you.

Your mind fogged with lust, and you felt the vibrations from his pocket right under you when your phone rang again. You practically jerked up in shock as pleasure hit you in a wave, Spencer's fingers finally dipping into your panties just as the vibrations hit you. They weren't centred, of course, not anywhere close to where you needed them to be for you to enjoy them the way you would a toy, but that's what Spencer was for.

He let the call ring out, tracing small, slow circles over your clit as you jumped up into his hand, moaning and whimpering the entire time.

“What an idiot. I bet he never touched you like this. Nice and slow.”

“N-no, S-s-”

“I'm so glad I'm right. He didn't deserve this beautiful cunt. You're so wet for me, right, baby?” You nodded and he hummed in response, voice low and making you pulse in his lap.

“That's it, good girl,” he whispered as you worked your cunt up and down his fingers, stilling himself so you could find your own pleasure.

“Spencer… Spencer, fuck-”

With his free hand, he turned your face to the side and finally kissed you properly as you moaned into his mouth. He was quick to deepen the kiss, to press his tongue against the seam of your mouth and enter your mouth, quickly dominating you as you let yourself get more and more excited. Your hips stuttered, out of rhythm and out of practice, and you almost whimpered in frustration that you couldn't get off quicker, that your body wasn't finding the orgasm quick enough despite how good, how perfect this felt.

Sensing your growing frustration, Spencer broke the kiss.

“Come with me,” he said, pulling his hands away from your wet cunt and out of your stupid pants and encouraging your hips up until you were stood and he was stood behind you.

Cock still firmly stood against your ass, he walked you all the way to his bedroom, hands on your hips the entire time, memorising the sway of your walk.

“Strip and get on the bed, please, Y/N,” he said, finally peeling himself away from you as you nodded quickly and listened to him immediately. You weren't sure what to expect, so you hesitated, laying down, crawling up until your head hit the pillows. You were almost disappointed when you finally looked back at Spencer and he was still fully clothed, so sure that he was going to fuck you to your climax.

Instead, he approached the bed, gently slid his arms around your thighs, opened your legs wider, knelt on the floor and brought your cunt to his face.

The first touch of his to guess to your clit had you almost beside yourself with lust. You'd been sexually active for a handful of years, and this - THIS - was the first time you'd experienced such acute pleasure.

Your hips were unable to stop, thrusting up into his face as you willed his tongue to engulf you, to be a tool in your pleasure.

Again your phone rang, but he grabbed it quickly, pausing only a second to silence it and discard it on the bed beside you, sitting it further up the bed where it would no longer be a distraction to him.

He dove right back in, and you rewarded him with wave after wave of fierce moan, your writhing body only restricted by a hand snaked up onto his stomach. You still pushed against his face, practically fucking it as he flattened out his to guess and let you chase your high.

“Spencer!” You gasped and moaned, voice dripping with lust and desperation, mouth not even properly forming words now you were so close.

You propped yourself up slightly, looking down as Spencer's eye caught your own, his chin slick with your juices, his eyes dripping with lust. You grabbed a handful of his hair and jumped that little bit faster as you felt that long forgotten whisper of pleasure, that all-encompassing explosion of satisfaction, and you came apart on Spencer's tongue.

“Thank you, thank you, Spencer, shit, thank you,” you whimpered, falling back again into the bed as you rode out the high. When you managed to open your bleary eyes again, Spencer was propped up above you, but instead of paying you attention, he'd grabbed your phone and bought it to his ear.

“You heard that? Good. I'm sure you're aware now that she won't be returning your calls tonight. Goodbye.”

His voice, his words, were like a cold bucket of water to your brain as you sat up, reaching for him and finding him as his hips circled your waist.

“Was that-?” He cut you off with a kiss a sweet, soft one.

“Yes.” He kissed you again and you melted into his touch as he pulled you into his lap again.

“H-He-”

“He knows now what a real orgasm sounds like. He knows you're not interested anymore. He knows you're mine now.”

You shivered at the words, your lust addled brain flooding your senses, and your cunt as you reacted to the possessiveness of his words, his tone. Part of you was turned on by the exhibitionism as well. You'd had to walk in on your ex boyfriend completely exposed, and there was satisfaction in kicking him to the curb with a similar fuck you. A fuck you that you'd enjoyed a lot.

You pressed your lips against Spencer's and rocked your hips against him again, tasting yourself on his tongue as he laid you down once more. His cock twitched against your leg as he propped you up on the pillows, and your hands trailed down to show it some attention as your sighed into his kiss.

He eagerly shed his clothes, first his top, sitting up and pulling it over his head, giving you a deliriously enticing shot of his chest and soft stomach before dropping down to cover your body again. You let your hand find the sprinkling of hair on his lower stomach, though, following it down as you encouraged his pants off. His cock was thick and heavy in your hand, and you gladly stroked it as he kissed the plains of your body again. He found the side of your neck that he'd neglected earlier, licking and sucking until it was almost as loved as the first side, before pulling your hand away from his cock.

You pouted and began to protest when he quickly lined his cock up with your cunt, and slid in deep and soft before you could.

“Needed to be in you,” he whispered in your ear, gripping your hips and sliding your legs up and around him as he pushed that little bit deeper. “Keep them nice and wide for me,” he said, dropping one last kiss to your lips, before his chest rose, and his hips pulled away again.

When they snapped back into you, you let out a generous scream of pleasure that almost had you wishing you'd never hung up. He set a quick pace, a furious pace as he too moaned into the contact of your cunt and his cock, two desperate people searching for release.

“So tight, Y/N, you're so tight,” he moaned, flesh hitting flesh as you dug your nails into his arms, already so wet again, you could feel the sheets under you growing damp. His hand left its perch on your hip and found its way to your clit once again, and you knew that you weren't going to be able to keep to this pace without cumming a second time.

“Keep moaning for me baby, show me how much you want it,” his voice begged, almost a rumble with how lustful he sounded. You let your voice carry, each moan a little bit more unrestricted than the last.

“Louder, Y/N, please. I want to hear how much you're enjoying this, you don't know how much I enjoy hearing your pleasure.”

His prayers were answered when he lowered his head back down and took one of your nipples into his mouth, gently grazing it with his teeth between licks and sucks. You practically screamed his name, pressing your chest up to grant him better access.

You liquefied beneath him, pressure building and building until you felt him rock, lifting his chest as you came. He pulled his cock out, teasing it through your folds as you stuttered around him, your arousal squirting across his cock and sheets as you fell back to the bed, gasping in pleasure. Your hips stuttered against him, and he soothed you gently, still working his cock through your folds gently as your clit went from overwhelmed to calm to quickly overstimulated.

“Spencer,” you whimpered, almost unable to take all the pleasure he was offering you. “Spencer, it-it hurts.”

“Don't you want me to stop?” He asked, stopping his movements for a second as you deliberated your answer. The lack of movement was answer alone, and you shook your head no wanting to feel his cock against you, inside you, one more time.

“Louder, Y/N, tell me what you want.”

“I want to keep going,” you said, as he began slowly rocking his cock against you again, sticky from your cum.

“What do you want me to do?” He asked, teasing a nipple with his hand as your eyes fluttered shut.

“Please fill me up again, please I want to cum again.”

“One more time?” He asked.

“Mhmmm… one more… one more, please.”

You were cum drunk, so horny that you couldn't fathom stopping there. He pressed another kiss to your lips and encouraged you to flip over, propping a pillow under your stomach as he pulled your legs into the right position.

You snuggled into the pillows at your head, pushing your ass up for him slightly as he nudged his cock against your entrance once more.

“Where should I cum Y/N?” He asked, reaching under you to slowly circle your clit again.

“H-hmmm…” you said, eyes shut, focused more on the pleasure than the question. You didn't care anymore. You didn't care where he came, just as long as he let you do it, too.

“Y/N, I expect an answer. Where should I put my cum?”

“Anywhere,” you pouted, pressing your hips back into his cock in the hopes that he'd just fuck you again already.

“That's not an answer,” he said, gently slapping your ass as he pulled his cock away.

“On your back?” He asked, fingers still working your clit underneath, but trailing lower until they found your cunt, two entering you to keep you wet and stretched for him.

“You'd need to shower before you could pass out, but I'm happy to help clean you off. They have communal showers in prison, so I'm not shy.” You moaned at the suggestion but couldn't answer further.

“On your stomach? Again we'd have to shower off, but I would love to see your boobs decorated all nicely.” Your moans were whimpers now as he edged you with his fingers, his words gentle in your ear but dripping with so much lust and promise you couldn't stand it. You didn't want to make decisions anymore.

“On your face?”

“Not on my face,” you snapped quickly, and he nodded and stroked your hair, hooking a strand behind your ear as he agreed.

“Okay. Where, Y/N? Be a good girl and tell me.”

“I-Inside. Cum inside me. Please.”

“Of course. Good job.”

He pulled his hand free gently, and quickly replaced it with his thick cock, and you moaned again at the weight of it against your walls, the familiar stretch of it. In this position, he reached deeper somehow, his thrusts slower, more precise as he drew out his own orgasm as long as possible, maximising his ability to pleasure you.

“Good girl,” he muttered against your skin, dropping a kiss to your back. “Good girl.”

“Wanted to do this for so long, Y/N,” he confessed with each thrust. “Look at how pretty this pussy is, how wet it is for me. I wish your boyfriend could see it. I wish he could see how well-behaved you are for me. How nicely you take my cock.”

His deep, slow strokes, his words, the kisses he pressed against any inch of your skin he could reach combined to push you over the edge a third and final time. This one wasn't loud. It wasn't dramatic. It was a steady shudder of pleasure from your hips and a quiet, satisfied sigh.

You didn't say anything but Spencer knew, he felt it, and he came moments after, cock deep inside as he filled you with his cum.

“You're on birth control, right?”

“IUD. Pill. Yeah.” You say between breathy sighs of contentment.

Muttering something behind you, he pulled out finally, leaving for a minute to grab a washcloth and clean himself off before returning to help you as well.

“What did you mumble?” You asked, as he crawled back into your arms, looking up at him.

“What?” He asked, ears turning slightly pink as you stared at him intently.

“Just now. I told you I was on birth control, and you mumbled something.”

He looked away, refusing to meet your gaze before dropping to kiss you sweetly once again.

“Tell me,” you said, and he kissed you again.

“Spencer, tell me,” you pouted, and he kissed the pout away.

You almost asked again, but he kissed you too quickly, too deeply and you lost your breath again.

“I said,” he started, leaving you panting under him again. “It was good you're on birth control, because I like the sight of my cum dripping out of you.”

The remaining breath left your body as you gasped, your face growing hot. You burrowed your face in his chest and let him hold you as you drifted into sleep, wrapped up in each other.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #reiderslibrary #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #dom spencer reid

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deathbxnny · 8 months ago

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Arcane characters when someone flirts with you. | Viktor, Jayce, Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx, Sevika x Gn!Reader

I am the brain rot. The brain rot is me.✨️

Content: pre season 2 Viktor/Jayce!, Jealousy, pitfighter Vi, established romantic relationships, angst, threats of violence/death threats, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

》VIKTOR

He always struggled with self-esteem issues, mainly due to his sickness and disability that made it difficult for him to do much. A part of him forever will believe that you could easily do better than him, yet that doesn't stop him from getting terribly jealous anytime someone gets too friendly with you. Especially when they can see him standing next to you clearly being your partner as well.

But despite his insecurities, he doesn't allow anyone to harass you either on his watch. He lets you defend yourself for the most part until he has enough and lets his more sassy side handle the flirtatious person for you. He may not be able to do anything in a physical way, something he very much would rather avoid. But his tongue is sharp, and it takes little to make them quickly scurry away with a nervous apology for the disturbance.

He'll never admit to being jealous, however, and denies any teasing accusations you send his way. But he'll secretly ask for reassurance as he starts feeling embarrassed over his insecurities rather quickly after. A couple of hugs and kisses from your side will fix that right up, though.

》JAYCE

He has a reputation to keep up. And so, technically, he should always handle things professionally no matter what. People are watching him after all, and his public image can not be tarnished under any circumstance... or so he says. Things change in his mind when they are about you. In general, people know who you are and who you belong to since he rarely shuts up about it.

But every now and then, someone who is somehow unfamiliar with this concept will come up to you and attempt to woo you right in front of his very eyes. Now, Jayce tries to let you handle yourself, but doesn't hesitate to step in either if the person doesn't get the hint. His rather intimidating frame and position as a councilor help him out Immensely with this. He chases them away with a tight smile and a kiss to your head, as he casually asks how he can oh so graciously help them.

Once they leave, he'll pretend not to hear you, of you teasingly asking him if he was jealous. Him? Jealous? Hah! Impossible... okay, maybe a little. But don't tell anyone that.

》VI

As a pitfighter, Vi doesn't hesitate to get violent with anyone who comes close to the only good thing she has left in her life, which happens to be you. She's extremely protective and makes sure everyone gets the hint regarding who you belong to. But alas, there are always the couple strays that refuse to comprehend that fact and therefore attempt to "steal" you away from her. Something that never ends well for anyone.

Her temper is shorter than it used to be, and that becomes quite clear when she's quick to loom over the person that was pestering you. She knows that you can handle yourself just fine, too. But that doesn't stop her from grabbing their shoulder and asking them if she can help them out instead. Or maybe they want to talk it out in the pit? All the same to her, but the message is clear. She'll win if it comes to you every time, and that's enough to make the person scurry away in terror.

You'll definitely have to calm her down and reassure that you had everything handled. She's just looking out for you, though, and doesn't want you to get hurt, too, like everyone else in her life. The last thing she wants is to mess up again, so her overprotective tendencies will probably never lessen. Not that you kind anyways.

》CAITLYN

Your role as her partner is crystal clear to absolutely everyone in Piltover, especially after she takes over the troops as their new ruler. She's much more cutthroat and cold than she used to be before her mothers death, which made her extremely overprotective of you and your safety. She may even be suffocating at times with her security measures, but she finds it absolutely necessary. This also means, however, that those who try becoming a bit too friendly with you are always at risk of facing her wrath.

She doesn't hold back with her dismay and is quick to stand before you with a dark, stern glare directed at whoever was flirting with you beforehand. Caitlyn doesn't care if you can take care of yourself or not either. She'll take full advantage of her new position and power too, not hesitating to give the person that was pestering you a professionally worded threat that leaves them as pale as a ghost.

Admittedly, it's hard to tell if she's jealous or just worried in her own way. Before her mother's death, it may very well just be her being a bit jealous... but with her current position, she may also just be afraid to lose you too deep down. And she couldn't handle that.

》JINX

After Silco's death, Jinx's temper is milder than before due to her deteriorating mental health (if there was anything left of it to begin with). She's a lot calmer when handling situations and seeming more calculated than before, but that certainly doesn't quell the extreme abandonment issues in her at any rate. If anything, they've become much worse than before. This means that she'll cling to you and snap at anyone who nears you. No one is allowed to steal your attention away from her. No one can take you away from her. She just won't allow it when you're all she has left.

And so, she won't hesitate to use her gun on anyone who is pestering you. A death threat or two usually gets the point across anyway. Jinx will also let you handle yourself first, however though, knowing you can easily do that. But if things do get out of hand, she will step right to scare them away at best. She'd never kill anyone infront of you after all. She doesn't want to scare you away.

You'll have to reassure her of your loyalty a lot afterward, however, as her insecurities and issues can make her spiral fairly easily. Giving her a lot of attention and love makes everything go away, though, luckily.

》SEVIKA

She's very secure in your relationship and trusts you perfectly fine, which is why she rarely ever gets jealous. Why should she, anyway, when you'll always come back to her at the end of the day? Besides, people in the lanes know who you are and who you belong to, and most importantly, what will happen to their faces once she bashes them in if they ever harass you too much.

With that said, though, she typically lets you do your own thing and chase the person away yourself first before bothering to step in. If things get out of hand, then she'll suddenly be right behind you and tower over whoever it is that's not getting the hint. Blowing smoke right into their faces, she'll ask them if they have a problem, and if yes, then they should take it up with her outside. Although everyone knows she's the only one back afterwards. This usually does the trick.

Don't expect her to ever say that she is jealous, though, and hopes you know better, too. She knows you're loyal, as she certainly is for life and therefore doesn't worry about a thing regarding the strength of your relationship.

No one is better than her anyway.

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peachesofteal · 3 months ago

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Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: 18+ explicit sexual content, daddy kink, caretaking.

He expected to find you distracted.

You didn’t text or call after breakfast, or your usual lunch time, but he was too bogged down with work to get off base to physically check in, lay eyes on you, make sure you’re alright. If you’re distracted enough you forgot to text, he’s worried it means you’ve lost track of the day completely, forgotten to eat or drink something other than coffee. Your little blue icon on the map tells him you’re definitely at work, but that’s all he has until he’s able to get away.

When he does, and he slips through the back door of the bakery into the kitchen, he finds a scene he did not expect-

and immediately knows the rules you broke today won’t result in a punishment.

At least, not tonight.

You’re standing at your work table, the rectangular butcher’s block that nearly stretches the span of the room, hands covering your face, hyperventilating. You’re covered in flour and there’s dried batter on your elbows, your neck, your clothes, a chaotic mess strewn across the tabletop.

He calls your name softly and you turn with wide, wet eyes, a trembling lower lip.

“What-” you nearly trip over yourself to get to him, falling into his arms, your tear stained face pressing against his chest, your own heaving. “Shhh, you’re okay, you're okay.” The front door swings open and Mara is there, pointing at the table, you, before making a motion with her hand like she’s cutting air in front of neck with a grim expression. Whatever it was, or is, it’s derailed the day completely, left you in tatters. He wishes you would have just called him, followed your rules so he could have helped, been here for you, with you, supported you. He nods at her, and cups your face, tries to tilt it up into his as you sob. "Okay, shhh, I've got you, I'm here. Let me look at you baby, let me see your eyes." They're laden with tears, broken with stress and anxiety, everything in you shaking and sparking like a live wire.

“I b-b-broke the ov-oven this morning,” you cry, clinging to his shirt, “I tried to- t-tried to fix it but... and I broke m-my rules..” His heart chips a little bit at the raw distress in your voice, the way your chest heaves like you’ve just run a marathon. He has to fix it, soothe it, bring you back and take care of you, of everything, properly.

“Okay sweetheart, you're alright,” Your face turns, ear pressing over where his heart thumps in his chest, and he automatically covers the other one with his palm, blocking out the world around you but continuing to murmur softly so you can feel the vibration of his words as he rubs your back. “You’re alright baby, everything’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry, m-my rules-"

“We’re not going to worry about the rules or what happened with them right now. We're going to get you home and taken care of, and we’ll talk about the rules when you’re feeling better. Do you understand?” You shake your head, still struggling to take a deep breath. “What is your number one rule baby, tell me.”

“Listen to daddy.”

“Good girl. I will tell you when it’s time to think about what happened today with your rules. Do you understand me?” You sniffle, but nod.

“Yes daddy.”

“Left arm.” One of the reasons he bought this house over the other ones is the tub. It’s massive, jacuzzi style with jets, perfect for a soak, or a scrub, which is what’s happening now. He turns your fingers up, runs the washcloth across them until the flour beneath is gone, soaping you all the way up to your shoulders, your collarbone that’s half hidden by bubbles.

“Thank you.” He kisses your forehead.

“Thank you for letting me take care of you, sleepy girl.” Once he got you out of your dirty clothes and into the bath you calmed considerably, exhaustion quickly setting in once you hit the hot water.

“You’re welcome daddy.” A small mischievous smile tugs at the corner of your lips, and he chuckles. Sass.

He trails the washcloth across your chest and you arch your back a little bit, turning into the fabric as it brushes your nipples.

“Alright?” This is not the moment to push you. Emotionally off balance and vulnerable, it would do more harm than good to test your limits.

“Yeah,” your teeth find your bottom lip, and he moves downward, across your belly to your mons. You moan, hips flexing, looking for more between your legs and he rubs your cheek.

“Do you want daddy to make you feel good sweet girl?”

“Yes please.” He lets the washcloth sink to the bottom of the tub.

“Open your knees f’me, like that, good girl.” He takes it slow. He’d ask you to get out if he thought you’d be comfortable, but he doesn’t want to move you, disturb how relaxed you are. When he slides down your pussy to your hole, he’s relieved to find you’re very wet, and there will be enough to last until the water in the tub starts to dissolve it, though he’ll have to be quick. You whine, wiggling as he thumbs your clit, middle finger of the same hand carefully pressing inside you to the first knuckle, the surprised gasp on your lips swallowed by his own. You’re already clenching down around him, trying to bring his finger deeper. So bloody tight.

“Ah-” He works up to his second knuckle, watching your expression, the crease of your eyebrows, the flutter of your lashes. Your grip tightens to the side of the tub, walls squeezing him as he slides all the way, circling your clit and angling upward inside you, dragging along your walls like he’s motioning for you to come here, all of his touch flexing in tandem. Your face is twisting, almost like you’re trying to resist, mentally digging your heels in. You’re getting in your own head, trying to shove your orgasm away, running from it. Punishing yourself.

He knows what you need.

“You had such a hard day didn’t you baby,” you whimper, "you worked so hard today, and daddy’s girl deserves to feel good after having such a bad day.” He passes over your clit in a faster rhythm, again and again as he strokes in and out of your pussy, bringing you to the edge.

“I-”

“It’s okay sweetheart, you can come. Show daddy how good you are and come on my hand.” A lever is pulled, a dam released.

“Oh- oh, fuck,” your feet kick, water sloshes, and your face is like heaven, expressive and euphoric, just for him. “I’m coming, I’m…” your muscles tense and he stays with you, wringing every drop of your pleasure free until you go limp, chest heaving.

After a while, he finds the washcloth. He methodically picks up where he left off, starting between your thighs, and then soaping the rest of you, making sure he gets all the remnants of the day cleaned off. You smile, a little loopy, eyelids heavy. Time to get out. “No sleeping in the tub, c’mon.”

“But-”

“No buts. Up.” You pout. It’s adorable, and he’s a sucker, but the risk of you falling asleep is too great. “I’ll let you stay in until you’re all wrinkled next time, but you can barely hold your head up right now. Come on.”

He gets you dried off and into some clothes, pajama bottoms and one of his t-shirts before settling you in bed with a cup of tea, bare feet sticking out from the blankets so he can rub them, trying to knead away some of the tension in your arches.

“You need better shoes.”

“Mmmh, I know.” You had turned your switch on, but it sits abandoned now as you drain your chamomile just before snuggling down into the pillows, slowly losing your battle to sleep. “Daddy...”

“”I’m here baby.” You sigh and reach blindly, looking for him with closed eyes.

“Can you hold me?” It’s not even a question, you own him.

“Of course.” He slides in behind you and you turn, nestling your nose against his neck. A whole world, right here. An entire life, his, curled up in his arms, the safest place you'll ever be.

“Night.” Half yawn, half sigh, completely exhausted. He brushes his lips across your forehead.

“Goodnight sweet girl.”

#peaches writes #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #raspberry girl fic

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 9 months ago

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Yandere Hybrid Town (1) | Only Human

In a world filled with humans and hybrids attempting to find balance with one another, you are but a simple human trying to integrate into the town on the property your late grandparent bequeathed to you. The town just so happens to have a small population of farming hybrids, with hardly any other humans around.

“So you’re the inheritor…(Y/n)? (L/n)?”

“Yes, I have my I.D. if you want to check.”

“..Right….but the owner of the original property was a hybrid…you are not.”

“Not that it matters. But my grandfather’s partner was a Wolf hybrid…They both agreed to give it to me when they both passed.”

“I..see.”

It might be right to call it racism or maybe more accurately it’s specism and the townsfolk aren’t all that keen on hiding it. They openly sneer at you when you do come to town, whispering loudly about what they’ve heard, and rolling their eyes if you have the gall to ask them a question.

“Can I get these bags of mulch in bulk?”

“...so what are ya talkin’ to me for? Just grab ‘em.”

“Your sign says to ‘ask for more at the front desk.’”

“...Fine dirt monkey. How much?”

It doesn’t bother you…sometimes. You mostly spend your days on your property, having picnics in the open fields you now own. Spending time renovating your cottage with all the custom plumbing and electricity you learn to install yourself. Wouldn’t want some unfriendly technician in town doing it instead. Anyways you get into the routine of sustaining yourself in your lonesome working from home and relying on your savings to help you enjoy your new life. That doesn’t stop until the one fateful day…you’re lounging on your deck when you hear something faint. It sounds like crying.

“Waaaaa!”

It sounds like a child…which isn’t unfamiliar, after all your neighbors do seem to be a little family. Of course, they don’t want to talk to you but that’s fine.

“Waaaa!”

It sounds pretty intense but you’re sure it’ll stop soon.

“Waaaaa! Somebody help, please!”

Now it feels wrong to ignore it any longer. You quickly fix yourself to head over, driving the tractor that you ride across your property to the fence that represents the beginning of your neighbor’s property. It was short work to hop over the fence and hear the crying persisting. Running to the back porch of the house, you see a little dog boy crying his heart out.

“I heard you crying what’s wrong?”

The kid starts blubbering wiping at tears and snot on his face. After some calming pats between the ears and some promises to help you can get a clear picture.

“Mama fell ‘ver and she won’t wake up!”

You run inside to find exactly that. A dog woman face down on the floor while the soup on the stove boils out and whatever’s in the oven beginning to smoke. Stopping the appliances you flip over the woman in search of a heartbeat and breathing. Thankfully you find it and ask the little boy where you can lay her down. He points you to the bedroom down the hall passing by another bedroom and a bathroom.

Once you’ve laid her down, check her temperature, and decide in your not-so-expert opinion that she’s suffering from a fever. Assuring the little dog boy you have him help you carry some cold water and a rag to place on her head. While making sure she drinks some water, you finally get to talking to the little dog boy who’s started to calm down now.

“That was real brave of you, good job for asking for help.”

“Big brother always said I gotta since I’m too tiny to do much myself.”

“Well, I thought you were very helpful and you don’t seem that tiny to me.”

“Thanks!”

“No problem! My name’s (Y/n).”

“And my name’s Titan! By the way (Y/n) I’m real hungry!”

That’s how you ended up cleaning the dishes, Titan’s mother started and using what you could to make something new. You stuck with one of your old family recipes, relying on your memory the best you could to avoid another charred disaster. Eventually, you finish up able to set a plate in front of Titan who is more than happy to dig in.

“More! More!”

“Okay Titan just a little bit more but you can’t eat it all we’ve got to save some.”

“Whyyyy!?”

“Because your mom hasn’t eaten yet and I’m sure your brother will want some when he gets home–”

“But he’s never aroun’ we’ll be waiting forever for him to come!”

Creak.

“Titan who is this?”

The new voice comes from a much larger dog man with a sturdy build, sun-kissed skin, and overalls barely hanging off his shoulders. His ears are narrowed back and his shoulders are hunched as he easily towers over you. With Titan’s help, you explain how you came to help and that his mother had fainted, likely from the fever she had. When you show him to her, his bared teeth and impending growl quiet down. Fussing over her as he checks for any sign that you might be lying. Finding that you’re not, he skeptically accepts the meal you made as you alternate watching over her and entertaining Titan–who’s far too chipper for a pup ready for bed.

“Hey uh, wanted to apolog’ze for earlier”

“For what?!”

“Fer how I acted when you’re just helpin’ out.”

“Oh, it’s okay! I’m just happy no one’s hurt.”

“I’m also sorry for misjudging you. I think I had the wrong impression bout ya.”

As you continue to chat with the young dog man–Tank you both work together to finish up whatever chores his mom would usually do. Between you both Titan is convinced to finally get some sleep if it’s in your lap close to his mom. Tank suggests you stay over bashfully offering his bed if you need it. You decline, encouraging him to get some much-needed rest considering he was working on the farm tomorrow.

“A-a-are you sure you don’t want to stay in a bed? I feel like it’s the least we could do.”

“No worries Tank, I’m going to watch over your mom until this fever breaks. Besides I don’t have the heart to move Titan now.”

“Fair I guess. Hopefully, I’ll see ya tomorrow?”

“Yeah if I’m not still here in the morning you can come to my place anytime.”

His fluffy tail wags a lot harder than he likes at that.

“R-really?”

“Yeah, anytime!”

With another ‘thank you’ he’s off to bed. It isn’t until sunrise that the fever breaks and the dog-hybrid mother is coming to. Assuring her that her boys and the food she left in the oven are not burning the house she calms down to thank you.

“Oh thank you thank you I don’t know what I would have done without you!”

Where you’ll have to fight her off from her barrage of kisses, hugs, and propositions to stay long enough for her to cook something for you to take home, as much as you wanted to stay and indulge in her acts of thanks, you missed your bed and it was plenty exhausting now that you were being spoken to positively. Convincing her that you were such a short drive away that she didn’t need to keep you too much longer and after promising that she and her boys were welcome anytime you could finally go home.

“You promise?”

“Yes, Miss Tiffany I promise, anytime you’d like.”

“Just not now?”

“Yes, not now so please get some rest!”

Back in the comfort of your home, everything is more or less the same except for the recently obsessed friendly neighbors who make all the quiet time you used to have nonexistent.

“Wake Up! Wake Up! Let’s play!”

“Egh Titan how did you get in here?”

“Through your doggy door!”

“But I don’t have one!”

“Now you do!”

Thus begins the first few to fall for the lone human in this hybrid town. Hardly shy about their newly discovered attraction as they fill their dull hours up with time next to you. Lucky them as your neighbors they’re the only ones privy to your addictive affection and comforting scent.

“Oh! I was about to drive over to drop off Titan!”

“What a coincidence! We were just coming over to have dinner at yours!”

“Huh?”

“Well, you did say we can come and thank you anytime!”

“So we figured why not now!”

“In fact, maybe every week we come over to yours and you come over to ours!”

“I mean I guess-?”

“Wonderful Titan, Tank clear the kitchen I’m going to make this dinner the best yet!”

“Yes’m!” “Yes’m

The Dog hybrid family next door is all too eager to take up all of your time. Since the moment you moved in they’ve been eager to truly get to know you, woefully settling with the distant wafts of your scent during a favorable breeze. Unlike others in the town their curiosity for the human was a positive one blaming it on their all too friendly instincts they couldn’t deny the urge they got to close to the distance between you two. But alas everyone in the town was so averse to the idea they were pushed off the desire for far too long but after your sweet words and intentions, they’d be foolish not to return the affection.

“(Y/n) if you’d like me to cut the grass, I don’t mind.”

“That’s really sweet, Tank but I told myself I wouldn’t allow myself to sit back and let others do all the work.”

His tail droops at that. “Ah I see.”

“But you won’t tell me to go away will you (Y/n)? After I made that doggy door and everything.”

“You just chewed a hole in my door and I’m not saying you can’t stop by Tank I just don’t want it to be because you’re doing more work.”

His tail is wagging a mile a minute again. “I don’t mind if it’s for you!”

With your canine hybrid neighbors so close it’s hard to forget you were ever left alone. Now quiet and sometimes confrontational trips are filled with at least one member of the family accompanying you. Willing to bargain at stores for you or impressively growl when the cashier’s being a tad too snippy. It does make you nervous when the tiny Titan politely asks the nosy bird-woman who had the nerve to whisper about you to a ‘nice chat’ in the alley between the store. Returning with tufts of feathers and blood in his baby teeth. Or how Mama Tiff will oh so politely mention her bloodhound heritage at the fox bullies that hang around your car. Or when Tank all too eagerly pulls you into his side when he finds you cornered by the snake librarian.

“Back off my human!”

After any confrontation, you’ll ask your questions. Head on or round about they’ll all only smile at you, tail wagging wildly behind them. As if they’re proud of the slight fear in your eyes when you ask what that was about.

“We just want to protect you! You are only human after all!”

Part 2: It's Here!

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere harem #yandere hybrids x reader #yandere hybrid #yandere hybrid x reader #yandere dog hybrid #yandere dog hybrids #yandere hybrid town #yandere hybrid town x reader #yandere monstober #yandere monsters #yandere monster x reader #yandere monster

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athenalvss · 20 days ago

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WHAT DID YOU BUY? (Bruce Wayne!)

Summary: there is a problem in the surveillance system and Bruce isn't responding to the league's messages, so they go looking for him at Wayne Manor.

pairing: Bruce wayne x wife!reader

note: idk I liked the idea of bruce's wife being a bombshell, I'm seriously thinking about doing some sort of series on this topic

open request - Bruce wayne masterlist - hot wife serie

"You know, I don't think he's in trouble," Hal said, arms crossed, staring at the enormous gate of Wayne Manor. "Maybe one of his kids knocked something over on the computer and made a mess."

"Exactly!" Barry exclaimed, pointing at him as if he'd just solved a mystery. "And here we are, ringing the bell like two idiots."

There was strange interference in the global surveillance system. The Tower's sensors indicated a jammed signal coming directly from the Batcomputer. Diana was the first to send Bruce a direct message, one, two, three times. No response.

"It's weird" she had said.

"It's Bruce Wayne" Hal replied. "Weird is normal."

So they decided to act. Better safe than sorry. In less than a minute, they were in Gotham, standing at the entrance to the mansion.

"And Alfred?" Hal asked, ringing the bell again. "He always opens quickly."

"Maybe he's on vacation? Seeing the Caribbean?" Barry offered. Hal glared at him.

Diana, standing with her arms crossed, said nothing. Her expression was serene but alert.

Soft footsteps echoed behind the door until it opened, was this heaven?

You opened the door. You were barefoot, wearing a black silk robe loosely tied at the waist, the fine fabric leaving little to the imagination. Your hair was loose, a little messy compared to how they usually see you, and it fell over your shoulders. Your eyes were a little glossy, as were your lips, and you had that soft voice they'd already known... but never so closely.

"Is something wrong?" you asked, tilting your head slightly, as if the sight of two League members at your door wasn't at all strange.

It took Hal three seconds to blink. Barry made a sound that didn't sound human. Diana, thankfully, took back control. "Is Bruce available? There was a glitch in the Batcomputer signal. We're trying to contact him."

"Ah... yeah, I guess," you said, reaching up to straighten your robe, which clearly didn't help anyone's concentration. "I was using the Batcomputer... Bruce wanted to get me a present, and the computer there is really fast. Luckily, I was able to buy the lingerie I wanted."

Barry rolled his eyes at the ceiling as if that would save him. Hal blinked twice. Nothing changed. You were still there. In that robe. In that voice. With that damn confidence that made everything feel even worse. How could you talk about lingerie shopping in front of them so casually?

"And you shut down the system?" Diana asked, with the calmness of someone already accustomed to these situations.

"Maybe" you acknowledged with a half smile, lowering your gaze for just a second. "I'm not a big fan of Bruce's operating system. I shut everything down, and well... apparently I blocked an entire global surveillance network."

"And Bruce?" Diana asked, just as calmly.

"He went back to sleep" you replied. "He was up late... work stuff. You guys understand."

"Work, for sure" Hal repeated, without thinking.

You raised an eyebrow. "What else would we do until late, Hal?"

Hal opened his mouth to reply, but Barry jabbed him with an elbow so hard he nearly knocked him off balance. “Nothing! Nothing! You were probably working. You guys… do that. Work. A lot. All the time,” Barry said, his smile strained, his ears red to the roots.

Diana sighed with a hint of resignation and began to enter the house without waiting for further authorization. "We better check quickly. We don't want to interrupt... Bruce's rest."

"Oh, don't worry," you said sweetly as you moved away from the door frame. "He doesn't sleep much."

Just then, Bruce appeared at the top of the stairs. Shirtless. Hair all messed up. And a glare straight at Barry and Hal. "What are you doing here?"

“We thought you were in danger,” Barry said, seeming to evaporate.

Bruce stepped down slowly, crossing his arms. "I'm not in danger. What's in danger is your continued presence in this house."

You giggled, walking casually toward him. You stopped beside him and smoothed his hair, not caring about any witnesses.

"Sorry, love, I opened the door for you. I thought it was Alfred."

Diana, flawless as ever, continued, “The Batcomputer showed a signal of interference. You weren’t responding. We came to make sure you were okay.”

Bruce took another step down. His eyes slid toward you. “Was that you?”

"I'm sorry, love. I accidentally locked everything" you said, your voice so sweet any other man on the planet would have melted.

"So you've decided, what did you buy?" Bruce asked, before his brain could intercept the impulse.

You turned your head slowly, with a lethal smile. "Lingerie. Do you want to see?"

Bruce simply raised an eyebrow. “Jordan, Allen. Three seconds.”

"We're leaving now!" Hal said, pushing Barry toward the door with a desperation unworthy of a Green Lantern.

"Thank you for your hospitality! Sorry for existing!" Barry said, tripping over a rug.

The door slammed shut. The echoes in the hallway hadn't yet died away when Bruce let out a deep sigh, tired but clearly resigned to his fate.

You laughed softly, and before you could say anything, he had already taken you by the waist and lifted you up in his arms with that naturalness that always left you breathless. "Shall we go back to bed, Mr. Wayne?"

"Not until you show me what you ordered from Paris, Mrs. Wayne."

#dc masterlist #bruce wayne x reader #imagine bruce wayne #dc x reader #batman x reader #imagine batman #batman masterlist #batman fluff #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x fem!reader

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bluewxrld07 · 18 days ago

Text

Soap (2)

Lando Norris X F!Reader

Summary: Y/N has always loved hard and shows that through affection. Especially lately. She's a touch-starved kind of lovergirl, and Lando has always been okay with it. At least she thought so.

Guess I better wash my mouth out with soap

Warning(s): angst, possessiveness, physical altercations

A/N: Tag list is completely full!! You guys are amazing wtf😭🩵 The keyboard got away from me, guys. Good luck getting through this🤧. Oops hehe. There's a poll at the bottom, so feel free to vote after reading. See u soon, friends

The world was quiet.

It was calm, especially after all the noise from the race weekend.

Y/N was tired. She couldn't keep her eyes open, her mental state just shutting down the more she stayed awake.

It felt as if she was feeling everything at once, and that brought her to the point of numbness. Feeling nothing at all. Just complete tiredness.

Max looked back from the front seat, seeing her state, fighting the exhaustion from all the crying and debriefs they had stuck around for. He could see her mind shutting down, her eyes lazily following the objects that they passed by.

She had told him she would come out with them, despite the way her eyes were puffy as she assured him.

At this point, he would put a chair in front of the door to prevent her from leaving. There would always be another opportunity for her to go out with them. He couldn't bear to see how she'd try to hold herself while being out at a loud restaurant. Not after what happened.

It was the way Max's heart broke as he heard her sob to herself in his arms.

The last time he had ever seen her cry, let alone cry like this, was when her childhood cat had to be put down. That was almost six years ago.

She's the strongest person he's ever met, ever seen. Especially with what she deals with on a daily basis.

The girl was now slowly letting her eyes close, barely fighting it. Her eyes felt too sore and heavy to put any more battle into keeping herself fully conscious.

When they arrived back at the hotel, Max couldn't help but jump out of the car and quickly open her door.

He didn't hesitate to wrap one arm under her legs, the other around her back, before lifting her into his arms. His security guard scurried over with his arms out to take her instead, Max shaking his head. "I've got her, don't," he sternly orders, the guard nodding slowly before backing away and guiding them inside.

Max felt her grip tighten on his black button-up, clenching and unclenching as she tried fighting her tiredness.

He reached his hotel room, letting his guard swipe the keycard as Max nodded at him. "I won't be long," he says to him, receiving a nod as he holds the door open for the pair.

His guard closes the door behind them, standing outside to give Max privacy, while the driver walks Y/N over to his bed. He sets her body down softly on the mattress, watching her stir slightly to look at him with a furrow.

"Max," she mutters, her eyes barely able to keep her eyes open. "What's-"

He shook his head with a hum, sitting by her side and caressing her cheek. "No," he says. "You need to rest."

Her puffed eyes tried to look up at him through her lashes, and Max rubbed a thumb over the dried tears that sat on her cheek. "What about dinner?"

He chuckles softly. "There'll be plenty more," he nods down at her. "You need to let your body and mind rest after today," he tells her. He watches her softly grab his wrist, only to hesitate before her fingers could wrap around his skin, deciding against it and putting her hand down.

Max frowns as she turns away from him. "Schat?" he asks in confusion.

She shook her head. "Please just don't," her voice sounding shaky. "You're doing enough. I don't want to suffocate you."

Max swears his chest tightens at her words. She had never pushed his touch away. Let alone anyone's. "Schat, you aren't."

"Maybe there is something wrong with me. Maybe I shouldn't be this way."

Oh, he was going to kill Lando.

Instead of saying anything else, knowing if she turned away, that she was truly done talking, he stood up and leaned over her with both of his hands caging her small figure in, holding him up from crushing her. He lets his lips press to her temple.

"You're never suffocating," he assures her. "Your love and affection with everyone is my favorite thing about you."

With that, he stands up slowly and turns around to walk towards the door to leave. He doesn't miss the way he hears her sobs quietly leave her lips, Max fighting with himself to just stay there and hold her the rest of the night.

Yet he knew that when she wanted space, which was a rare sighting, to give her the space she was creating.

Once he let the door shut softly behind him, he kept his head down while his mind raced a million miles a minute. His guard spoke up after a few moments. "Max?"

The Dutch driver clenches his jaw for a second, his head snapping up with a darker look in his eyes.

"Let's go, or we'll be late."

They were both off shortly after that, Max's pace faster with every step he took. He could feel his insides burning. Twisting.

The drive was quiet as they made their way to the restaurant, Max keeping his gaze out the window as he fidgeted with his bottom lip. His jaw was clenching and unclenching every other moment.

He didn't hesitate to whip his door open once they arrived, not giving the valet driver a chance to open it for him.

He was walking like he had a purpose, and in that moment, he did.

Once his eyes found the large table where the other drivers were sitting, he felt his face harden when he didn't see the familiar McLaren driver there.

The drivers all smile at Max when they see him, some of them soon frowning at his glare.

"Where's Norris?" his voice boomed out, not missing the flinches from a few of the guys that were close to him.

Oscar, being the only one who knew what was about to happen, answers first. "Max, don't."

Max scoffs and swats at him. "Geef me die onzin niet, where is he?" (Don't give me that shit, where is he?)

Everyone's demeanor had dropped immediately, knowing that when Max started speaking Dutch, he was not to be messed with. He was already pissed, and when a pissed off Max is near, nobody wanted to be in that damage path.

"Where?" his voice booms, getting some stares thrown his way. He didn't care.

"I think he went to the bathroom. Said something about needing to freshen up," Pierre announces, not failing to watch as Max makes his way over towards the direction of the restrooms.

Once Max found the hallway leading down to the men's room, he pushed the door open, seeing Lando in front of the sink, patting water over his face. His gaze slowly turned over when he heard the door slam open, his entire face falling and turning white.

"Max-"

"Jij verdomde klootzak," (You fucking bastard) he laughs bitterly, stalking closer to Lando, who was backing away slowly as the Dutch driver got closer.

"How dare you?" Max growls. "Hm? How fucking dare you?" his tone getting louder before he pushes Lando hard. Lando put his hands up in surrender, trying to sputter out apologies.

"I give you my fucking blessing for her, and this? This is how you treat her? Are you fucking serious, Norris?" his voice booms, echoing across the bathroom walls. He pushes Lando harshly with every word that leaves his mouth.

"Max, look. I was upset with the race, I didn't-"

"I don't give a fuck if it's about the DNF. I wouldn't give a fuck if you got a disqualification penalty! You don't fucking treat her like she's some fucking scum on the bottom of your shoe!" he screams, giving one final hard push to Lando's chest, the thump of his back meeting the marble walls behind him echoing loudly.

"I didn't mean it, I just was frustrated-"

"Jouw gevoelens kunnen mij niks schelen, Norris!" (I don't care about your fucking feelings, Norris!) Max yells back bitterly, his hands slamming against the wall right next to Lando's head. Lando clenched his jaw, holding himself back as he let Max scream at him. He deserved that. He deserved a lot worse if he were honest.

Before he can even put another hand on Lando, Lewis and Oscar scurry inside, grabbing Max by his shoulders to pull him away from Lando.

"Let's not do this," Lewis says to Max as the Dutch fights his hold. He points at Lando.

"You realize you made her cry, Lando? She rarely does, and you made tears fall from her eyes!"

Lando felt his heart clench, his stomach dropping as he remembered the tears glossing over her eyes. "I didn't mean-"

"I held her there, as she sobbed in my arms. Sobbed! Saying she felt like an inconvenience, like she suffocates people. What did you fucking say to her?"

Lando couldn't get the words out, but Max already knew in that moment. His eyes widened, seeing that just by Lando's face alone, it really was all true. He said she was suffocating. Clingy. Lando said her touch was too much. Max scoffs bitterly, rolling his eyes.

"You're fucking dead to me, Norris," he spat, letting Lewis guide him out of the bathroom. "Verdomd dood!" (Fucking dead!) he yells back once more before leaving with Lewis.

Oscar has his arms crossed, turning back to face Lando, who just stands there in shock. "Mate, what did you do?" he asks in a knowing tone, more so making it sound like a rhetorical question.

Lando lets out a strangled sob as he begins to rub his face, sliding down against the wall. "I fucked up is what I did."

"He's going to have your head," he tuts, walking over to his friend and extending a hand. "Literally and figuratively. He's going to kill you next race."

Lando shook his head, keeping his stare over at the door, waiting for Max to come barging back in. "He's gonna kill me before we even make it to practice day."

Once Oscar had helped Lando clean himself up, looking more presentable, they left the men's room.

They made it to the table, seeing Max's spot was still empty, Lando felt his insides churn. Waiting for Max to pop up behind him somehwere.

"Where's Max?" Oscar asked as they sat down.

Lewis answers this time. "He left," he admits. "He said he'd rather be taking care of Y/N than be here. Said if he stayed any longer, he was going to throw something at Lando or drag him out by his ear."

Lando let out a groan, letting his head fall onto the table with a thud.

"Mate, what the actual fuck did you do to piss him off so badly?" Charles asked across the table. Lando just shook his head.

"He made Y/N cry from my understanding," Lewis reveals, causing every single head at the table to turn to Lando.

"What did you do? She never cries," George spoke up, a frown on his face. Most of the guys agreeing, being just as confused as Russell was.

Oscar spoke up this time, pursing his lips. "He let his anger out on her. Said she's suffocating and clingy basically."

"Oscar!" Lando seethes, snapping his head over at his teammate, a glare on his face. Oscar shrugged while sipping his drink, all the guys exchanging whispers and groans at Lando.

"Mate, you fucked up. Bad," Oscar says, not backing down.

"You're absolute toast."

"Max is going to have your head on a stick."

"I'm shocked he didn't drag you out already."

"Mate, you're in deep shit. Max doesn't play when it comes to her."

Lando groans before raising his hands to stop them from commenting more.

"I know. Guys, I know!" he snaps, making them all go quiet. "I just- I let my anger get hold of my emotions at the wrong time. I regret it with everything in me. I do."

"You don't realize how bad that is. You're lucky he let you even get a chance to be with her. His possessive ass," Lewis scoffs more to himself as he shook his head, sipping on his drink. The entire table looks his way, Lando frowning at his words.

"What's supposed to mean?" Lando sputters, feeling offended by Hamilton's words.

Lewis set his drink down, crossing his arms over the table while leaning towards Lando's direction.

"It means he doesn't share," he admits. "Not Y/N at least."

Lando feels his heart drop to his ass.

No. There was no way. He would've known.

Lando tilts his head, eyes squinting knowingly. He shook his head. "No. He's not, there's no way."

George cuts in, eyebrows furrowing. "What am I missing?"

Lewis leans back in his chair. "Max has been in love with Y/N for years," He says, reaching for his drink once more. Everyone at the table stays silent. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

"When she told him she wanted to be with you, he wanted her to be happy. After everything she helped him through growing up, she was his escape. Especially when his dad was harsh on him. He vowed to always make sure she was happy. He knew you could give her that, but he fought himself a lot with going against it."

Lando feels his insides caving as Lewis reveals every word. "He saw how happy you made her. That's all he ever wants for her, even if it's not him," he chuckles, seeing Lando's face. "He did say if it didn't work out between you two, that he would make that move."

Lando leans back in his seat with a groan, head falling back while he rubs his face out of stress, curses leaving his lips.

"So, if you thought you had any chance to win her back, Max is going to try and beat you to it. You probably have lost your chance," Lewis points out, sipping on his drink.

"And if we know anything about Max." George trails off.

"He never loses. Especially when it's something he wants."

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It was the next morning. Clouds covered the sky as it cried.

Max sat with his back against the headboard of his bed, hearing the door open from the bathroom. Y/N just finishing up a shower.

She hadn't really slept. When she would finally hit a deeper level of slumber, she would jolt up crying.

She didn't even let Max get close to her, not wanting to be touched, which was a new thing she was doing. Max hated it. He hated that she felt as if her needing and wanting touch to calm down was too much.

So he would sit there, feeling helpless, as she just held herself.

He had snuck down the hallway earlier that morning while she was somewhat asleep, packing up all of her things that were in her hotel room, bringing them up to his own. Knowing full well she'd end up doing that in the morning anyway.

She hated being alone when she was hurting. It was rare, but when it happened, Max was always there. He could always pick up on it.

He straightens up slightly when she walks around the corner, donning a pair of her sweats and one of his Redbull t-shirts. Deciding to stick with comfier pair of clothes for the flight back home.

Max had declined going to the F1 premiere, wanting to focus on Y/N as well as just not liking the idea of being stuck in New York around the press. Or having to keep things professional with Lando when he wanted to run him over with his car.

"You all packed up?" he asks softly, watching her nod.

He doesn't miss the way her face was blotched and puffy again, signaling she had cried a bit more while in the bathroom.

"Schat," he trails off in a sadder tone, getting up from his bed to walk to her. Y/N backs away from Max, shaking her head. "Please," she croaks. "Just don't touch me. Not right now."

Max stops in his tracks, feeling his heart hurt at her words. He nods reluctantly, deciding instead to busy himself with gathering both of their bags. His gaze going to see outside by the entry, seeing some fans and paps already waiting by the cars.

"They're lining up outside," he says slowly, handing her a hoodie to throw over her head. She says nothing, only sniffling as she puts it on.

The pair don't say anything more as they finished grabbing their things, leaving the hotel room to head downstairs.

Max would usually stop to take a few photos with the fans that stood outside, but he was only keeping his mind on getting Y/N past the crowd.

The security guards held the front door open as they saw Max and Y/N making their way outside, another guard going over to open the car door.

Max makes his way in front of her to shield the other side from seeing her, keeping his gaze on her figure. Y/N didn't hesitate to scurry into the car, Max pressing a hand softly on her back to help her up into the car. The man ignored the calls and pleas of his name before stepping inside the car behind her.

The door shuts behind the guard who climbs in after Max, soon being driven off towards the airport.

It was quiet the entire way there, Max keeping a close but safe distance from her in the shared backseat. He doesn't miss how her phone buzzes, seeing her peer down at it only to double-click the home button to decline it.

Lando had been blowing up her phone since the night before. Especially after Max had left, her phone wouldn't stop buzzing.

Y/N declined every call, putting his messages on Do Not Disturb. The more she sat with what he had said to her, the more it made her think back to every time he made a face when she would touch him.

She didn't know how long he felt that way with her, Y/N letting her mind overthink to the point it made her feel sick.

It wasn't good for her, and she knew that. She couldn't help it. Not when she had given herself fully to Lando in every way. Thinking he was it for her. That he was all she wanted. She was all he wanted. So she thought.

Max watched as she began to pinch at the skin on her wrists, something she did when her mind wouldn't stop running.

"Genoeg lieverd. Je zult je huid weer beschadigen," (Enough, darling. You'll damage the skin again) he says softly to her. She doesn't acknowledge his words, only pinching harder to try and stop her mind.

Max didn't hesitate in the next few moments, not caring if she yelled or glared at him as he touched her. He reached over to grab her hands, holding onto them. She snaps her gaze away from the window with a frown.

He looks at her. "If you're going to pinch skin, pinch mine. Not yours," he instructs. Y/N doesn't see anything but assurance in his eyes, Max nodding slowly with a hum. "You can't hurt me. You never could."

Y/N bites her lip before nodding. Max has her lean into his body as she begins to fidget again. But this time, with his own hands.

Max lets his head fall onto her own, watching her whole body, for the first time in the last day, soften. The more she fidgeted, seeing how it didn't hurt or affect him in any way, the more it relaxed her mind. She didn't know why.

It brought her a calming sensation, feeling Max's touch against her own body, and it made her whole body begin to relax.

Once they had arrived at the airport, Max didn't release her hands once. He kept his hands laced with her own. He only removed them once to adjust his hold, having her walk behind him as he made her lace her hands with his behind his back. They stayed that way as they walked up into the jet.

Max helped her set her backpack down on one of the cushioned chairs, and that was the time he released her hands.

He thanked the flight attendant crew as they loaded their things onto the jet, then exchanged a few words with his security guard and publicist.

Y/N stood there with an exhausted look in her eyes, just wanting to finally sleep. Let her mind and her body rest.

Once Max was done talking to them, he made his way over towards her figure. He didn't say anything, only guiding her to the back of the private jet. Y/N followed him slowly, Max opening the door to the small bedroom.

A bed in the corner, a TV sitting in front of it, while there was a recliner chair embedded into the floor on the other side of the room with a table in front of it.

This was usually where Max disappeared to when they had long flights, knowing he tried sleeping whenever he could get the chance.

He shut the door behind her softly before crawling into bed and getting comfy. Max turns back to her, seeing her stand there looking absolutely defeated.

"Come on," he assures, motioning for her to come lie down. Y/N shrugs. "I don't want to take up your space."

Max gives her a knowing look, clenching his jaw. "You could never. You know that," he says, his tone more stern. "Lay down."

Instead of her prying and arguing more, knowing she wouldn't win it, she doesn't fight it, not having anything left in that moment. Y/N cautiously goes to climb in, keeping her distance as best as she can. Giving him his space.

Max notices her actions, immediately ignoring the eyeroll he wanted to do, and wraps his arms around her waist to pull her back towards his figure.

She lets out a low squeak at his actions, and Max turns her to lie against him. He doesn't miss the way her body instantly caves into his side, him helping her lie her head on his chest as he laces their hands together in case she begins to pinch and pick at her skin again.

"Je hoeft je geen zorgen te maken, ik heb je lieverd," (You don't have to worry, I got you darling) he mumbles against her temple. He hears her sigh, the way he knows she is fighting with her body in her head. The way she tries to tense, but her body craves every touch that's being given to her. "Sleep."

That's all he has to mutter to her before her eyes finally begin to close, the closeness of another one's body heat lulling her into a deeper slumber.

Max kisses her head, letting his thumb caress the top of her hand as he feels the tenseness in her body falter away. He kisses her head once more.

"I've got you."

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A/N: Me after pressing "Post now"

Sooooooo hehe.... That got away from me, and I'm not sorry. Lando is a dumbass as we know. Are we loving a protective Max? How're we feeling overall, friends? Vote below. I love you guys <3, I'll see you soon ;)

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#lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris #lando x reader #ln4 #lando imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando imagines #lando norris fluff #lando norris angst #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #rosieswxrld #max verstappen #max vertsappen fic #max verstappen x reader

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