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falsepirit · 3 days

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sleeping beauty 🪷 [lifeweaver]

content warning: yandere, medicinal drug use, somnophilia, oral fixation, unsafe sex, sexual content. ao3 version.

“I think all this schoolwork is finally getting to me.”

A confession you make to Niran. It's three in the morning, but the both of you are wide awake, hunched over your shared desks with various materials littered around. Niran’s, his personal project and odd tinkering; yours, unturned essays and scrapped hard-light concepts.

Niran redirects his attention towards you, setting down his latest biolight prototype. You're not wrong, he realizes. It’s been taking a toll on you both seemingly mentally and physically.

Natural beauty is something he's learned to appreciate more than anything else, not just on humans. Yet, despite your pretty face, the deep bags under your eyes, exhausted expression on your face do nothing but keep you from flowering at your fullest potential.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Niran offers, frowning. He hates seeing a precious friend of his look so… lifeless, drained of all the passion you once held when you first transferred.

Even more so when it was seemingly Vishkar’s fault. Your dream school nonetheless, according what you had told him when you first met him. Another reason to despise this prison that dared to disguise itself as a prestigious school for wonderkids like him and you.

“Actually, yeah.” You show a smile, but it doesn't look genuine enough to reassure him. “It’s somewhat related to your specialty—I wouldn't want to ask anyone but you.”

He wants to see a genuine smile on that cute face of yours. Pull your body away from the exhaustion the academy’s been drowning you in.

“Are you looking to make use of my genius and have me do your schoolwork?” he jokes, leaning back into his chair. “While I appreciate the compliment, I barely want to do my own work as it is.”

A wave of relief passes through Niran as you finally do smile—a real one this time, with your tired eyes crinkling in delight—and giggle at his little quip. He laughs alongside you, internally wishing the desk lamps would illuminate more of your loveliness.

“No, silly. Something else. Something to do with botany.”

You reach your hand out across to his desk. He watches as you delicately pick up a lotus petal, fingers toying with the soft pink. “Do you know of any plants that could help me sleep better?”

“Not even sleeping pills work as of late, and I'm afraid of upping my dosage. I was thinking my body needed something more natural.”

“And”—you bring the petal up to his face, pressing it against his nose playfully—“who else to ask about botany in this place, if not for the flower-boy of Vishkar himself?”

The lotus petal descends gracefully onto his lap, with your finger still on the tip of his nose. Niran’s eyes wander from your long fingers, down the sleeves of your pajamas, up the trail of your neck, and finally meet your eyes.

Your poor, sunken eyes that no longer held the same fiery essence he saw you move into his dorm with.

Niran clears his throat, looking away. Not when there was a chance he’d get lost in you for hours. “You do know that’s not exactly what people mean when they call me that.”

“I do, and that's unfortunately on you, Casanova,” you say, chuckling and pulling your hand away from him. He almost reaches for your wrist, to have your hand on him once more, but he stops himself through sheer will. “So, is that a yes or no? I don't mind if you wanna focus on your personal projects. I was just wondering.”

“No, no!” Niran says, maybe a little too fast, a little too loud. He can’t help his enthusiasm when it comes to you.

From across the room, Satya stirs under the sheets; you and Niran freeze up, then share a knowing look, and sigh in relief when she doesn’t awaken.

In a softer tone, Niran offers, “I’d love to be of help. I have some plants in mind, but not on me right now—I can most likely procure them over spring break.”

Your expression shifts from weary to something gentler, something akin to ease. “Thank you, Niran. This means a lot to me.”

This means a lot to him, too. In so many ways even his own cleverness couldn't comprehend.

And that was okay with Niran. He was never the type to put logic before his own feelings, not when the things you make him feel are more intense than anything his heart's ever felt before.

But for now, all Niran cares about is coming home from his trip to Japan as quickly as possible, hoping to become the single solace you need in this terrible, terrible place called Vishkar Architect Academy.

❀

Japan was wonderful; the cherry blossoms were in full bloom for spring, the food was exquisite, and Niran got to participate in various tours, both technical and natural. With the guidance of a famous horticultural engineer, he finally felt like he could find a way to stabilize his biolight technology.

But he didn't forget about you during his time in Japan. No, not in a million years. He would never!

Niran knew you must've been busy, still trying to keep yourself afloat amongst all the exams and projects you had to prepare for. Yet, you still found time to return his messages, to ask how his trip was going. You even went as far as setting your profile picture to a photo of a lotus amongst koi fish he had sent you.

The thought of that being a photo he took, on your profile, for everyone to see makes his heart swell.

It's only natural Niran decides to come back in advance. He had acquired knowledge needed for his personal project, eaten delectable treats, went sightseeing, and gotten the plants he needed for your insomnia.

It wasn't his first time in Japan, anyway. He could visit anytime he wanted to, maybe even with you alongside him.

He'd like that. He would like that a lot.

On the plane ride back home, Niran ponders if he could fund a second ticket for his next trip without his parents questioning the bank transactions.

❀

“I’m back!”

Niran slams the door open and strides in with his suitcase in tow, ready for Satya to tell him he should've never come back. His other roommate was visiting home for spring break, and you were supposedly in the middle of applying for internships, so he at least expected Satya to be there, ready to chastise him as she always did.

Instead, it's only you.

Looking much worse for wear, hunched over the dining table with your disheveled head in your arms. Papers, textbooks, and stationary scattered around you. A teacup from his china collection, one he insisted on you using, sits right beside you, the half-drank tea inside gone cold.

It's only natural Niran drops everything at once. He rushes to your side, gently resting a hand on your shoulder to check on you.

With a heavy heart and a mind full of worry, Niran calls out your name. “Bpen rai mái?”

“...Niran?” you rasp, before you lift your head to look up at him with bleary eyes that held more stress than someone as beautiful as you needed to have. “Why are you back so early?”

Niran lets out a sigh of relief seeing you conscious, but it's not enough. He's brought what you need and he's going to have you in bed, having a proper good night's rest.

“Have you missed my presence already?” Niran tries to say lightheartedly, hating how he has to pull himself away from you to reach for his bag.

He didn't expect an honest answer in response, however.

“Yeah,” you mumble, yawning. Niran’s heart races at the thought of you missing him and he hurries, grabbing everything he needs. “I found out all-nighters aren't as fun by myself.”

Got everything. On his way to the kitchen, Niran picks up your teacup and leaves it in the sink. He tries not to focus too much on the way your words are affecting him; right now, he had to take care of you before you ended up any worse.

“What about Vaswani? I thought she'd at least be here for break.”

“She's out on a field trip with a professor as his assistant. Hasn't been here for a few days now.”

Solitude was no stranger to him—exactly why Niran’s heart aches for you, wishes that you had mentioned it in your texts. If he had known, he would've flown back as soon as he could.

“What about you?” you ask, watching him as he maneuvers around the dining table with grace. He doesn't miss the way you smile as he sets down a new, clean teacup for you as he waits for the kettle to boil.

Niran returns the smile with his own dashing charm.

He says, “Maybe I missed a certain someone as well,” and chuckles at the sight of your eyes darting away to avoid his gaze, lips pursed together.

Deciding to spend the next few minutes of comfortable silence unpacking, all while making sure to keep an eye out on you. Your eyes follow him shyly, too—you pretend to look away when he winks at you, but your gaze returns to him every single time.

It's not long before the water’s done boiling. It takes a few more minutes to steep the chamomile tea, but in those moments, he has the table cleaned and all your belongings moved to your desk.

“Here, you should drink this.” Niran slides you a plate of matcha financiers he bought in Japan, alongside the cup of chamomile. “Chamomile; acts as a marvelous relaxant.”

You glance at the tea, then back at him. He's missed you, if he had to be honest. Not even Mt. Fuji could compare to your beauty, even in your weary state. “And the dessert?”

With a sharp inhale, he holds back the urge to brush away the stray strands of hair from your face. Too pretty. You were too pretty for your own good. “Who on earth in this world would dare to complain about free dessert?” he quips, praying his voice didn't sound too taut, too controlled.

“Not me, that's for sure,” you answer, giggling.

Niran laughs along, like he'll always do. Even when he feels like he’s slowly losing control of himself around you, because of you.

The tea goes down easily, thankfully. He's glad you liked the financiers, too; he makes a mental note to have someone pick up more from Japan to give you.

Upon Niran’s insistence, you move from the dining table to your bed, but he doesn't let you lay down just yet. He can feel your droopy eyes bore into his back as he double-checks the bottle’s ingredients, even though he's done so several times on his way home. Just to be safe. For you.

He turns to face you, chest tightening at how more at peace you looked than when he first saw you today. You looked more beautiful like this—hair loose, pleasant smile on your pretty lips, shoulders eased.

And the thought of you getting even more impossibly prettier, finally free from the clutches of insomnia, thanks to him, has his blood rushing somewhere it shouldn't be right now.

“What’s that?” you ask, tilting your head at the bottle in his hand. Your voice is gentler, less raspy after the chamomile tea. The honey did wonders.

“Valerian root,” Niran answers. With a soft hum, he squeezes a few drops of it into a dropper. “I picked it up while in Japan.”

“Will it make me sleepy?”

“It should, in theory. Are you worried about the side effects by any chance?”

“Not really. I trust you're smart enough to know your stuff.”

Niran chuckles and steps closer towards the bed. “Why, thank you,” he says, blissfully aware of how close he is to you. “Now, could you please look up at me?”

You obey, head tilting up to face him with those charming eyes of yours. The speed you react to his words is a little too quick, a little too obedient—it makes Niran’s breath hitch and his imagination run wild.

He unwillingly thinks of how much more pliant you'll be once you're finally asleep. How it'd be so easy to ravage you then, to savor your elegance himself.

Niran swallows hard, tries to remember he's not here for that. He just wants to help you get some rest. Nothing more.

His hand reaches up to cup your jaw, thumb hovering over your lips in an act too intimate for just friends to be doing. Your eyes never attempt to shy away from his heavy gaze, but your eyebrows knit together, puzzled at his intentions.

“Open wide,” says Niran. When you don't obey immediately, he presses his thumb against your lower lips, and you let him pry your mouth ajar.

Bringing the dropper to your mouth, he smiles down at you, at the scenery the two of you have created. He knows he’s getting ahead of himself. Knows that any wrong move now could forever damage the way you perceive him.

Feeble attempts at trying to keep his mind clear only work for now. But he's not sure how much more of you he can take, not when you're this vulnerable below him, not with his finger practically in your mouth.

“Lift your tongue up for me, would you?” He wants to pat himself on the back for not stumbling over his own words despite the dire situation.

You blink up at him, partially in confusion, partially trying to fight away the sleepiness. If you had anything to say, you don't; you keep your mouth open, tongue slightly curled.

He reiterates for you: “Tinctures are often quite harsh-tasting. They're best taken underneath your tongue, where it'll be easier to let it soak.”

The spit on your tongue glistens as it coils back, almost enticingly so. Niran feels his face heat up at the sight of you, grateful for the light overhead concealing his tinted cheeks.

Just a few drops. That's it.

Despite his earlier warning, you wince as the bitterness of valerian root is still strong, even when administered beneath the tongue. Your mouth snaps shut on instinct—Niran just barely manages to begrudgingly tear his hand away.

His fingers twitch around the dropper as he watches you lick your lips, leaving a glossy finish on them that does dangerous things to Niran’s heart.

“Eugh,” you groan. “That didn't taste so good.”

Snap out of it, Niran. He has to force himself to turn his back to you, to ignore the blood rushing down south. “That's herbal medicine for you,” he manages to grit out. Don't think about it. “Works wonders, but never pleasant on the taste buds.”

He sets down the bottle of tincture on your desk, leaving the used dropper in the sink alongside your teacups. He takes his time washing his hands, focusing on the soap suds and his fingernails in an attempt to simmer down.

Doesn't bother washing the dishes, though—Satya can yell at him later for that. Dishes were the least of his worries right now.

By the time he gets back to you, the valerian root is already kicking in, to his surprise. You’re no longer sitting up-right, but rather with the wall against your back, eyes fluttering shut every few moments in a daze.

It’s an abnormally fast response to tinctures, of all things. It piques his curiosity in a way more twisted than he wishes it to be; Niran files a mental memo to ask about your experiences with other sleep aids later on.

“Let’s get you all tucked and comfortable in bed, shall we?”

All too docile for him, you let his hands maneuver your body until you’re flat on your back, head resting comfortably on a pillow and with a blanket pulled over at the right height. Despite his wealthy background, Niran’s not completely clueless when it came to these sorts of things—even as a middle child, he was still an older brother to his younger sibling.

The rational half of his consciousness tells him his work was done here. He had no reason to sit by your side, to brush away your hair from your peaceful face. Tries to justify that he had more important things to work on, like his biolight, with you now drifting off to dreamland.

But the disgustingly hungry, more desperate half of him wants more out of this. Out of you.

Your chest heaves in short, small breaths underneath the blanket. He’s ashamed his gaze lands there first, but he can’t help it—the low cut of your pajama top barely leaves anything for imagination, not when your collarbones stick out so enticingly for him.

He swallows hard. The desire to reach out, to have his teeth on your bare skin, is almost suffocating; even more so when he knows it’s going to be just the two of you for the entire night.

It takes all his will to tear himself away from your side.

Practically throwing himself into the bathroom, Niran locks the door and lets his body crash against the wall. Through rushed breaths, he manages to unbuckle his belt, nearly crying out in relief when he finally has himself in hold.

Niran prided himself on being a gentleman his entire life, a far cry from all the other uncouth boys. But the beauty you held was slowly whittling away his self-control, turning him into a ticking time-bomb. You were no good for him.

For the first time in his life, Niran lets himself fist his cock like a degenerate teenage boy to the thought of your pretty, spit-stained lips. To the thought of your tongue pressed against the head of his cock, those demure eyes of yours looking up at him in approval.

It doesn’t take long for him to come, not when he knew you were just outside this door, dozing off and completely unaware of the effect you were having on him.

Coming down from his high and faced with his sticky release dripping off his fingers, Niran comes to a horrible realization. One that has his stomach churning with an amalgamation of guilt and lust.

Chìp hǎai. He’s too far gone.

❀

Niran doesn’t sleep a single wink that night. Spends every hour until sunrise working on his new biolight prototype to keep himself from thinking about your sleeping form across the room.

He manages to make further progress on this version of biolight compared to his older prototypes. The rest of the work would have to be completed with the equipment in the labs, but he's glad he sought advice on how to go about incorporating plant life into hard-light technology while keeping its healing qualities.

With his focus completely on everything but you, he doesn't notice when Satya gets back.

“Do you not ever tire?” she asks, greeting him with a frown. Then, her head turns to the other side of the room, to you. “Huh.”

Don’t ask me about her. Don't make me think about her. Niran’s silent pleas go unheard.

Satya makes a sound of amusement. “I suppose you’ve finally stopped dragging her along for late night company.”

“It wouldn't be very kind of me to take away her beauty sleep,” Niran replies coolly, much more composed than he thought he'd be. Maybe throwing himself into work was all it took for common sense to return to him.

“And yet you continue to take away mine with all that snoring of yours.”

“Not many get to hear it, even in their entire lifetime. Savor the privilege, Vaswani.”

“You and your flowery words.” Satya clicks her tongue. “Whatever. I just came here to grab my belongings; I'll be away for the rest of spring break. Try not to ruin the place while I'm away.”

After she says her farewells, Niran runs his hands through his hair in distress the moment Satya’s out the door. His eyes dart towards your side of the room—still so peacefully asleep, so defenseless right now.

He needs to get a hold of himself, quick.

❀

The lab becomes his haven.

The clinical white interior keeps him sane, in a way, alongside all the familiar machinery and various plants he's allocated here. No matter how much he detested Vishkar, he was also thankful for its easily accessible high-end facilities.

A little too easily accessible, now that he thinks about it.

It's been around five days, give or take, since Niran’s cooped himself up in the lab. He's left instructions on how to take the tincture yourself and how many minutes to steep the chamomile; he had no reason to insist on staying by your side now that you could sleep soundly at night.

And yet, you still come searching for him.

The soft hum of the laboratory door sliding open catches his attention all too easily. No one's usually walking in and out of the facilities this late at night.

What he doesn't expect is for you to walk in, plastic bag in hand and tired eyes unchanging from a week ago. You were clearly planning on going to bed, dressed in your sleepwear with nothing but an oversized parka to cover up your exposed legs.

Niran’s the first to speak. He says your name in surprise, immediately rushing to set down whatever he was doing to welcome you in properly. “What brings you here?”

You scratch the back of your head, awkwardly chuckling. “...couldn't sleep.”

“Are the tea and valerian root not helping?” he asks, careful with his tone. He didn't want you to think he was irked if they didn't work—hell, he'd even find a way to create a remedy for your insomnia if he had to.

“The tea helps me relax,” you tell him. “But I don't think it's enough.”

“Are you not taking the tincture?”

“Well, about that…” You navigate around his lab towards him, gracefully avoiding stumbling into the larger plants decorating the room.

Niran’s breath hitches when you stand right in front of him, close enough he can smell the scent of your body wash and shampoo. He forces himself to look at the plastic bag you've set on the island instead of your chest.

“I haven't actually been able to bring myself to take it.” An intricate dessert box is set down, alongside the small bottle of valerian root and a dropper. Had you brought him sweets? “My mouth seizes up immediately at the taste, so…”

“I see,” he says, unsure if he wants to know where you're trying to go with this. He watches your small hands slowly untie the ribbon on the box before you open it and hold it out to him.

You pick up a biscuit and raise it to his mouth with a charming smile that has his heart racing. “Saw these in the cafeteria today. They reminded me of you.”

Niran looks down at the confectionery more closely. “Kleeb lamduan,” he recognizes. Biscuits made in the shape of white cheesewood flowers, a childhood snack of his. “You didn't have to.”

“I wanted to, Niran,” you tell him.

The tenderness of your voice, your smile has him weak in the knees. Even in casual dress, there was an air to the gentle way you carried yourself and your movement. He felt as if every inch of your beauty was laid out for him to observe in moments like these.

But the moment doesn't last long. His train of thought is interrupted by a biscuit being rudely shoved into his mouth and you giggling playfully, the amusement in your laughter a stark contrast to your sunken eyes.

Niran’s heart skips a beat at your gorgeous smile. It takes him a moment to snap out of it, but soon he lets himself laugh alongside you, lets your infectious joy overcome him.

“Oh, two can play at that game! Come here, you!”

Lying to himself was never his forte. He admits he's missed your presence, missed hearing your angelic voice right beside him as the two of you worked. The nostalgia that comes with the kleeb lamduan you've brought him only makes him want to savor the moment longer later on.

With the amount of delicate equipment in the room, he's a bit cautious as he chases you in circles. A few times you trick him out and manage to dash the opposite direction of him, even taking a leap over a patch of cacti he's been neglecting lately.

Your energy isn't finite, however. Soon, you end up resting yourself on an empty counter, out of breath and with sweat trickling down your forehead. Too exhausted to even scamper away as Niran stalks towards you with the box of dessert in his grasp.

Your own hands shoot up to defend your mouth from Niran’s crafty hands. It does nothing to stop him; he swings his body towards you in a way that cages you in between his arms, his taller frame encapsulating yours.

Stunning. You look absolutely stunning beneath him, eyes wide in mock fear.

With one arm, Niran wrests your wrist away from your face. “Open wide,” he drawls sweetly, not missing the pang of déjà vu that strikes within.

The sweet drops into your mouth, rests pretty atop the heavenly pink of your tongue. Thrill overruns his senses as he watches your mouth close, tongue running over your lips, leaving a sheen of viscous spit over it.

He could press his finger against the bed of your tongue right now if he wanted to. Prod at your teeth with his fingertips, see if you gag when he pushes his fingers deeper to the back of your throat.

Your mouth always seemed so awfully small. Niran wonders if you'll even be able to fit the entirety of him in that tiny mouth of yours.

“Niran,” you whisper. You fidget with your fingers, your face and the tip of your ears flushed.

Niran’s own words spills out as a rasp, voice heavy with budding desire. “Yes? What is it?”

“...could you help me take the tincture?” you ask, teeth latching onto your bottom lip in an uneasy manner. Almost as if you expected him to say no.

Only a fool would say no. And Niran was the farthest thing from a fool.

“You don’t even have to ask, gardenia.”

❀

You weren't lying. Your mouth did seem to instinctively gag the moment the drops of valerian root hit. But this time, with Niran’s hand gently caressing your face, you manage to seemingly keep it in without spitting it out.

Just like last time, it takes no more than five minutes for your head to start nodding off in place. He wonders if it was your smaller physique that made the tincture work faster, or if it was simply just because your body wasn't used to herbal medicine—whatever it is, Niran’s going to continue keeping a personal note on it.

He still has you seated atop the counter, but your entire body weight is draped against his chest, your arms entwined around his neck for support. Niran can feel each and every rise of your chest, your soft breaths on his neck.

Having you so close to him is like a dream come true. Having your unconscious, pliant body on him is like heaven.

He's tried to keep his hands to himself, really. It's just so hard trying to keep you from tumbling backwards; it's not his fault his hands settle on your hips, thumbs ghosting over your pelvic bones.

The rational half of his consciousness tells him to haul you out the laboratory, tuck you into bed back at the dorms. That’s the kind of compassionate devotion a beauty like you deserves.

The despicable, ravenous half of Niran’s consciousness, however? It wants to make him devour you whole, right here, right now.

A low groan spills from his lips as his hard-on brushes against your thighs. Whispered apologies immediately follow after: I’m sorry, dear. I’m so, so sorry.

Niran knows he's better than this, but there's just something about your allure that drives him up the wall and makes him lose all common sense. And it doesn't help you're completely oblivious about it, either.

It takes all his self-control to stop himself from rolling his hips against your legs. Tries to convince himself he won't do it again so his guilty conscience doesn't eat him alive.

But he knows better. Knows that for as long as the two of you keep this dynamic up, it'll lead to either of your ruin—and Niran has a gut feeling it'll be entirely his.

His own breath has gone ragged from arousal, arms trembling as each inch of your skin that mapped his own felt like it was leaving searing marks for him to remember for the rest of the night. Niran’s careful as he rests a hand at your back, letting you fall backwards and successfully separating you from him.

You’re absolutely mesmerizing, he thinks, tentatively running his other hand down your waist. You have breathtakingly gorgeous features that deserve to be sculpted and preserved in museums for centuries to come.

The oversized parka on you drapes past your limp arms, showing off enticing shoulders that are practically begging for Niran’s mouth on them. He tries to keep his one-arm hold steady, his other toying with the hem of your top.

All he needed was a little taste. Maybe then, once he's savored it, this carnal desire for you will finally disappear. Just a few light touches should be fine, right? Nothing more than that.

With a rush of heat coiling in his body, desire devouring him whole, Niran rushes to unbutton your top with a single deft hand—

—and he’s met with the mouth-watering sight of your breasts, laid out for his eyes to see.

What were you thinking, running around the school facilities without a bra on? Niran wants to be furious on your behalf, chastise you for being so reckless, but the way his dick throbs in his pants has him throwing all sensibility out the window.

Such pretty peaks, he thinks. Completely exposed for him and only him.

Niran keeps his touch featherlight, only withdrawing when you stir in your sleep. Nothing he has to worry about—just your breath hitching when the tip of his fingertips brush against your perky nipples. You have such a sensitive body; it only makes him want to experiment more.

But unlike other crass perverts, he doesn't have to grope and knead roughly to enjoy this precious moment. He has too much respect for you to even dare think of doing so.

Your divine, eager body wasn't meant for just any horndog of a man; it was meant for him to worship and ravish, to observe and study. There’s no one in this world who understands your beauty, your body, like he does.

And if you were truly made for him, why blame him for taking what’s his?

His restraint wavers.

Niran’s mouth is on your body in seconds. Teeth scraping against supple skin, threatening to leave red marks. Leaves sloppy kisses down from your neck to your tits.

One hand works on your breast as he takes the other in his mouth, pressing his tongue flat across your perky nipple before flicking against it. His dick twitches in the confinement of his slacks when your lips part open just the slightest, breath unsteady.

The thrill is what makes it more addicting, Niran realizes. Wanting to see how far he can go, how much you can take before you wake up and he’s caught in the act. Are you feeling it? Are you feeling everything just as intense as he is?

Niran tugs at your nipple with both his teeth and his fingers; he’s rewarded with a quiet, unstable whimper from your sleeping form. He’s so painfully hard it hurts, but he promised himself—just a little taste. Something to satiate his desire for now.

It pains him to force himself to pull away, it really does. He can feel his own desire grow furious at him, his groin heavy and begging for release. If it weren't for his own dignity and respect for you, he would've taken you on the counter right then and there.

But someone has to stop him from doing so, and it clearly can't be you.

Peppering a few final kisses to your chest and your collarbones, Niran leans back to admire the way his spit glistens on your cute tits, nipples hard from both his mouth and the cold air of the laboratory. He almost wishes he had a camera with him.

With a sigh, he buttons up your pajama top and lets your weight fall on him again. Niran’s just as careful as he was earlier, shifting your limbs around him so he could successfully lift you off the counter and into his hold.

“Oh, the things you do to me,” Niran murmurs into your ear, voice still thick with want. Naturally, he receives no response in return but soft breaths from you.

But it only makes him want to say more, to say the things he couldn't bring himself to say to you when awake. The herbal medicine was his and your little secret—and this was his own little secret, between himself and your sleeping self.

Niran presses a kiss to your forehead, smiling fondly at the way your lips twitch in response to his touch.

“Sweet dreams, my gardenia.”

❀

Classes begin again (not that he cares— he’d rather spend his time staring at you from his desk) and the two of you fall into a routine: Niran helps you take your medicine, you fall asleep only with his company, and then he lets himself have a taste of you. Just a tiny taste.

It starts with light kisses and cautious caresses only, but before he realizes it, it always diverges into his tongue licking stripes across your bare skin and his hips grinding against yours with fervor. You were just irresistible—so pretty when you're unconscious and vulnerable.

Not to say he hasn't been trying to be careful. He’s had an uncountable number of close calls from biting down a little too hard, moaning a little too loud. Yet nothing ever seems to actually jostle you awake.

Niran later comes to a conclusion relating to your body: the onset of action your body had for sleep aids was unnaturally quick, even for someone your size. Something that should’ve taken at least thirty minutes to kick in would have you knocked out cold within five and trapped in deep sleep.

A side effect Niran’s personally grateful for, but also increasingly wary of as he realizes the severity of it.

With your current arrangement, Niran’s the only one who’s aware of your insomnia treatment—and the only one aware of how truly vulnerable you are when knocked out cold. If any other crass pervert were to come across you asleep, though…

It sickens him. The thought of anybody else but him taking advantage of your supple, pliant body in your sleep makes his blood boil, makes him lose his senses. He knows he has to do something about it, one way or another.

With the recent stabilization of his biolight technology, Niran has the spare time to design and plan a prototype. An idea for a tool that could aid with your insomnia whether he was there or not, while also allowing him to externally monitor you for your personal safety. Something that you wouldn’t exactly realize was a way for him to watch your each and every move, either.

Weeks pass as he focuses on the development of his new side project. It comes with the con of having to forego a few nights with your body in order to focus, but just having your pretty sleeping face besides him was enough to motivate him through almost anything. Not to mention, it was easier to work without a raging hard-on.

He goes through a few scrapped prototypes before finally setting on one he thinks you’ll appreciate just as much as he does: a gold and ivory necklace that settles just at your collarbones, with pink accents decorating down towards the small budding biolight lotus charm right in the middle.

It’s not perfect, but it’s magnificent as it is. And he knows you’ll appreciate its beauty, too.

❀

“Niran, this is… this is amazing.”

Your eyes are filled with whimsical wonder, hands holding up the necklace to observe it in the light. Your enthusiastic smile grows wider as the lotus shimmers pink, petals swaying as if it were a genuine flower.

Niran’s heart swells with joy. “I figured you wanted a way to administer the root by yourself without going through the tincture.”

“But how does it work?” you ask. “I can barely comprehend the fact you've managed to incorporate plant life into hard-light as it is!”

“It’s just simple engineering,” Niran says slyly. He laughs when your face scrunches up into a dissatisfied pout at his answer.

He reaches for the necklace, and you gently hand it over to him without a word. The act of being able to wordlessly understand each other makes him feel like you're truly made for him. Just when he thought you couldn't be any more perfect for him, you always found a way to bypass his expectations.

“Would you mind if I put it on you?”

“Only if you want to,” you tell him, flashing him an awkward smile. Were you embarrassed?

There's nothing to be embarrassed about at this point of the relationship, Niran wants to say. Memories of his mouth on your body and his fingers in your drooling mouth come rushing. He's seen every bare inch of you, mapped it out with his own hands—why be embarrassed about jewelry?

But that's what makes you so precious to him. You were sweet like molasses, so compassionate and hardworking. In a world full of people who wanted to do nothing but hurt, you're practically an angel in his eyes. His own personal angel.

“I wouldn't offer if I didn't want to,” Niran says, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. He chuckles when you squeak at the touch, the tip of your ears turning red. “Turn around and face the mirror for me, would you?”

You nod, turning around slowly, your eyes meeting his in the mirror. There's a glimmer of excitement mixed with shyness in your gaze that he feels like he could get lost in forever. He gently pulls the necklace around your neck, the cool gold resting on your neck.

His hand brushes against the nape of your neck; the way you visibly shiver at his touch is addicting, makes him want to see what else he can do to elicit the same reaction out of you.

Niran's fingers work deftly to secure the clasp, his touch light but deliberate. He’s hyper-aware of the slight tremble in your shoulders, the way your breath hitches when his fingers brush your skin. The necklace sits perfectly on your collarbones, the gold and ivory contrasting beautifully with your skin.

He lingers for a moment, his fingers tracing a path along the back of your neck, marveling at how soft your skin was. Your teeth nervously latch onto your bottom lip—a small, involuntary motion that sends a spike of thrill through his blood.

Niran meets your eyes in the mirror, smiling to himself when you quickly look at anywhere but his reflection. Everything about you, from your face to your reactions, was just too charming.

“There,” he says, his voice a smooth timbre, filled with unspoken emotions. “Well, doesn’t somebody look gorgeous?”

“Pack it up, Casanova,” you try to reply coolly, but the blush on your face says otherwise. “Are you finally going to tell me about the secrets of your biolight tech?”

“Why not experience it yourself instead?” he says, reaching around your chest to toy with the biolight lotus charm on the necklace in between his fingers.

Niran knows he’s being impatient, knows that he should let you take more time to admire his craft, but he can’t help it. Your safety was practically guaranteed; he’s only tested it on himself so far with successful results, so that must mean something.

He knows it just isn’t the same when his body isn’t as reactive as yours, but like he said. It had to mean something. “Just pull a petal and it should kick in, maybe albeit a bit slower than before.”

You hesitate, glancing at the delicate lotus charm. “...as long as you stay with me for the night.”

“Of course,” he says reassuringly, just loud enough for the two of you to hear. He lets himself rub circles on your neck gently, a soothing gesture that sends warmth through your body—and he can feel it right against his chest, with you pressed against him. “I’ll be right here with you the whole time, gardenia.”

The sincerity in his words seemingly melts your apprehension. Slowly, you reach up and pull a petal from the lotus. The biolight technology shimmers shades of gold and pink, the light pulsing gently as it flows through your veins.

You don't panic or flail. You clearly trust him, trust his skills enough that you simply watch your reflection in the mirror with a bated breath. Niran continues to massage your back in wordless gratitude: Thank you, dear. Thank you for trusting me enough to let me do this.

And just like he thought, drowsiness begins to overwhelm you not even ten minutes later.

It doesn't take long for your eyes to completely flutter shut, for your weight to crash against his chest. Within a few moments, Niran has you knocked out in his hold, completely vulnerable for him and only him.

He delicately lays you down on his bed and rushes to lock the front door. Neither of his other roommates were supposed to be coming home tonight, but it's a risk he'd rather not take. Your natural beauty wasn't meant for just anybody's eyes, his own friends or not.

Niran swallows hard as he caresses your face with slow strokes. All the stress and exhaustion that's piled up from your insomnia has disappeared within the past few months of your arrangement with him. You were absolutely stunning before, but now, looking healthier and at ease than you’ve ever been, your smile alone could knock a man off his own feet.

His hand runs down from your jaw to your neck, fingers running over the necklace’s design. With this, you were his, and everybody would know the moment they laid their eyes on the lotus sprouting elegantly on your clavicle. You, your beauty, and your body were his to worship.

And his to ravage, as well.

Not a single moment is wasted. Niran leans down to get a taste of your lips, hurriedly attempting to rid you of your clothing. Top first, then your bra—he takes the time to admire the cute little pink frills, completely convinced you were wearing it for his sake—and then he’s on your chest within seconds.

He’s been holding back too much these past few months, he realizes. His lust for you grows wild, leaving him a reckless shell of a man. Niran’s teeth scrape and leave marks on your cute tits, tongue licking at the red sores in an unsaid apology. How would you react to them when you woke up? Would you cough it up as something else, or would you know it was him?

“I hope you know how much I adore you,” Niran whispers against your chest, more to himself than to you, knowing you can’t hear him in your deep slumber. But a part of him still wishes that maybe, just maybe, you were awake and enjoying this as much as he did. “You make me feel like the luckiest man alive. I hope I make you feel the same way.”

Niran leaves kisses trailing down your torso, buries his face into your soft tummy. “So cute,” he says, his dick aching with need when your waist squirms at his touch. He skims a hand over your stomach, fingers prodding at the enticing flesh.

Every part of your body left him with an agonizing want. He could feel his own arousal throbbing stronger than it ever has in his entire life, desperate to feel you around him. You had him in the palm of your hands—and to make it worse, you had no idea about it at all.

Unlike before, Niran doesn't hesitate to tug down your shorts. He's spent the past few months on nothing but samples of your body; after all his hard work, he deserved a reward, didn't he?

The sight of your panties elicits a low groan from him. Heat coils inside of him as he pries your thighs apart wider, showing off a dampness that makes Niran lick his lips. He leaves a chaste kiss against your clothed sex before he slides them off, pocketing them for personal reasons.

Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.

It's everything Niran’s ever dreamed of; the pretty pink of your pussy, the way it glistens from your own arousal, the way it means you’re feeling it just as much as he is. Your legs tremble in his hold when he leans in closer, close enough to plant a kiss on your budding clit.

He wants to devour you whole right now, ravage that cute little cunt of yours with his mouth until you wake up squealing his name. But he can't wait any longer, not when he's been depriving himself of your warmth for the past few months.

Fumbling with his zipper with one hand, Niran’s other drags his fingers over your pussy, marveling at the slick that coats his fingertips. Turns out scrapping his aphrodisiac idea wasn't such a bad thing after all; your body's sensitivity was out of this world if you were getting this wet from just his touch.

Niran’s cock lays hot and heavy in his hold. He hesitates for a moment, eyes darting between his painfully hard dick and your serene, unconscious face. A pretty face he would never want to hurt, not ever.

The rational half of his consciousness tells him to stop right now, for your sake. His heart aches at the thought of you sobbing in pain, begging him to stop—he loves you too much to go against your wishes, to put himself first before you. He doesn’t want you to think of him and his love in the same category as all those other creepy bastards, not when his love for you was pure and filled with nothing but good intentions.

But the other half of his consciousness, overrun with carnal desire, tells him otherwise.

Niran whispers broken apologies under his breath, leaning down to cautiously grind his cock against your wet folds. The pleasure both hurts him and makes him feel alive, the slick noises of your pussy echoing in the room. “I’m sorry, gardenia,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t stop.

Doesn’t stop when the head of his cock rests against your tight entrance, doesn’t stop when your body squirms and tries to twist away from him. Your expression contorts into something akin to discomfort; I know, I know, Niran says to himself. I’m sorry, dear.

A raspy moan is torn from his throat when he pushes in. The warmth around the head of his cock is everything he imagined—tight, wet, and all for him. Your breath hitches the further he forces himself in, lips parting in a frown, yet you don't stir awake.

He knows better, though. He should. Niran leans down to kiss your cheeks, whisper apologies that meant nothing with his cock throbbing inside your wet walls. Guilt is eating at him raw all while lust is driving him crazy—he knows he can't keep running back and forth between shame and delight.

The biolight lotus around your neck pulses with light. Niran tries to focus on the necklace showing off his claim on you, tries to think of anything but how he's violating you like a wicked man. A last resort at reclaiming dignity he should've lost long ago.

And yet it feels so right to be buried inside of you, hips rolling in slow, steady strokes to keep you from waking up.

Niran grits his teeth when he sheathes himself fully inside your cunt, the tip of his cock pressing directly against your cervix. “So pretty,” he groans, grinding his hips down against yours, attempting to thrust deeper into you. “So beautiful.”

Your pussy’s so warm, so tight. Almost like you don't want him to leave with each careful drag of his cock. Niran hands dig into your velvety thighs, spread your legs further apart to admire the sight before him.

His cock slides in and out in dragged-out strokes, your walls visibly clenching around his girth. As much as he wants to push your legs over your head and drive into your sopping wet cunt, Niran doesn't want your first time with him to be such a feral, animalistic act.

He wants you to feel him. Feel his love. Feel his devotion for you. Hates the fact you're still wincing, hips trying to pull away from his own. Loathes how his pace fastens, the addictive rush of pleasure jolting through his body overtaking all pity he feels for you.

He loves you so, so much—so why does it seem like you aren't enjoying this moment as much as he is?

“Such a pretty flower,” Niran practically growls, teeth scraping against your shoulders. He bites down cautiously, eyes observing any reaction out of you—all he receives is a sharp exhale, your cheeks blooming red. Pretty. So pretty.

Self-control is no longer a word he knows. He ruts against you unabashedly, mouth exploring every inch of your bare skin. The bed’s creaking blends with the wet pops of his mouth on your nipples, the slick squelch of his cock pushing into you.

Niran knows he's pushing it, playing a little too much with fire. With the speed and desperation he was making love to you with, it'd be no surprise if you woke up any second now. But he can't help himself, not when you feel so pliant, so soft in his hold.

It only takes him a few more uncoordinated thrusts before he feels himself come undone inside you in thick, hot ropes. The pleasure of his release is almost disorientating, makes his head fog up and turns him incapable of thinking straight. His head dips low to muffle his moans, breath heavy against your neck as his white hair entwined with yours.

But all good things must come to an eventual end. One way or another.

As enticing as the reality of his release filling your insides up is, Niran knows he can’t risk this happening again. With his lust finally satiated, all that’s left is an overwhelming pool of guilt in place of his heart, threatening to drag him down to the point of no recovery. His own abhorrent, lecherous desires lead him to doing what he despised the most: forcing himself on you.

Shit. Wait. You.

In panic, Niran pushes himself up and gently holds your jaw, tilting it to face him. You don’t make any particular reaction to the sudden movement, breathing at a steadier pace compared to earlier. Not to mention—you’re back to sleeping just as peaceful as you were before Niran gave into his own personal pleasure, almost as if nothing ever happened between the two of you.

Thank goodness. You seem to still be asleep.

Niran’s not sure why he’s not entirely grateful, but it’s better than having you thrash beneath him and bawl big, fat tears into the sheets as he took you. Breathing a sigh of relief, he leans back down to press a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose, to your lips, to your chin.

His lips trail down your neck to your clavicle, pausing above the necklace he made for you. Niran swallows hard, staring at the budding lotus, a symbol of his creation. It declares you as his own, warding off anyone who might dare to take you from him.

As he gazes down at the marks he’s left on your skin, illuminated by the pink biolight, a sense of disturbing tranquility washes over Niran. If you belonged to him, then he had no reason to feel guilty about claiming what was rightfully his, right?

He loves you. Worships your existence and beauty itself as if you were his religion. Nobody on this dying earth could treat you the way he could. Why would anyone as dedicated as him have to feel bad about making love with the person he cherishes the most?

Niran’s hand reaches out to caress your jaw. Your eyes remain shut, mind lost in deep slumber as the rest of your body was completely vulnerable to him and only him. His thumb settles on your lower lip—he’s reminded of how this arrangement began in the first place as he runs his finger over the plump pink.

Leaning down for a good night kiss, Niran whispers to you, “Sweet dreams.”

In that moment, surrounded by the quiet of the night, Niran finds solace in the simple truth that you are his, completely and utterly his. And for him, that realization is enough to quell his guilt.

#overwatch #lifeweaver x reader #niran pruksamanee x reader #yandere #noncon #nsft #mine

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falsepirit · 15 days

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undeserving 🏹 [hanzo]

content warning: drunk sex, unhealthy coping mechanisms, one-sided attraction, ambiguous relationships, sexual content

Hanzo’s drunk; of course the both of you hook up. You two always do.

It's almost routine at this point. Ever since the incident with his little brother, Hanzo’s taken up on drinking his woes away and screwing you to cope.

A part of you feels pride in knowing you help him pull through the worst days. Another part of you wishes he'd touch you when sober, too.

But he doesn't, even going as far as pretending he doesn't spend his sorrowful nights shitfaced and in between your legs. You would've taken offense at the way he turned a blind eye to the passionate nights you've shared—if only you hadn't simply gotten used to it.

Or the fact Hanzo eats you out really, really good. Like he's doing right now.

“Must you always be a tease?” you ask, a little breathless and dizzy from all the pleasure. It takes more energy than you expected to form a coherent sentence and speak clearly. “You always do so much for me, why won't you ever let me do the same for you?”

Hanzo has you laid on his futon, blanket and pillow thrown across the room during an ardent makeout session beforehand. He was insistent he kept his yukata on, whereas you were left exposed, all for his viewing pleasure only.

From in between your thighs, Hanzo’s hazy eyes dart up to meet yours. “That is not necessary,” he murmurs, breath hot against your aching cunt. “Let me do this for you. You do not have to worry about returning the favor.”

(You pay no mind to the redness of his eyes—eyes that belong to a man who has wept in solitude.)

Before you can even think of what to say back, he doesn't let you. Hanzo’s mouth is back on your desperate sex, tongue running up from your hole to your clit. Eyes fluttering shut, he dedicates himself to forcing you over the edge.

Humiliating moans are all that leave your mouth when Hanzo digs his face deeper into your folds, his saliva and your wetness coming together with each acute lap of his tongue.

Your legs tremble from the neverending sensations, hips writhing to chase after the pleasure Hanzo’s blessing upon your cunt. You call his name, stuttering over each syllable as you feel yourself near your peak.

“Hanzo-san,” you cry out. Tears begin to well up in the corners of your eyes out of sheer bliss. “Oh, Hanzo-san.”

Through teary eyes, you see him looking back at you with a heavy gaze. You try to convince yourself his flushed cheeks weren't just from the sake, and that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way about you as you did about him.

“You sing my name like a beautiful song,” Hanzo says. “Let me hear all the other ways you sing as well.”

(Poetic as ever, you think to yourself—the thought is quickly washed away when his mouth is back on your sex; this time, with more fervor, with the intent of absolutely wrecking you with his tongue alone.)

All while devouring you with the force of a hurricane, Hanzo’s hands rest around your thighs, keeping them in place around his head. When you cry out, back arching, he holds you closer, close enough his facial hair scratches at the soft skin of your legs.

Lewd noises fill up the room. It's a consonance made up of your high-pitched whines, of the slick noises belonging to your cunt, of Hanzo’s low groans.

You were slowly coming undone.

And he seems to notice that, too.

Hanzo zero-ins on all your most sensitive areas, ravaging the pretty pink of your pussy with newfound exhilaration. You're too far gone to even say anything coherent. With each suck, each lick, he leaves you a babbling mess in his hold.

His tongue swirls against your clit mercilessly, persisting in doing so even with your limbs trying to thrash and pull yourself away from the stimulation. Tears roll down your cheeks as you whimper loud enough that undoubtedly, all of the guards could overhear from the outside.

It's all too overwhelming, too much for you to handle for the night. You’re sure this man was going to be the death of you, one way or another.

Each unrelenting flick of his tongue adds to the pressure building up inside you, more and more—and when Hanzo finally pushes you over the edge, he does it with a hard suck to your clit that has you seeing stars.

You feel yourself fall apart in front of Hanzo, hips twitching against his mouth as he keeps up the pleasure throughout your orgasm. He hungrily laps up everything your cunt feeds him, only finally pulling away when exhaustion hits you and your legs fall to the side.

You look back at Hanzo, both of you breathless for different reasons. A blush crawls its way onto your cheeks when Hanzo licks his lips in a tantalizing manner, almost as if he refused to waste a single drop of you.

“Hanzo-san,” you manage to say, showing him a weak smile. “You're insatiable, I swear.”

Hanzo huffs in amusement as he maneuvers himself to lay beside you. He presses a kiss against your neck, parts of his beard still damp from earlier. “It seems I lose all control of myself when I'm with you.”

(You bite back the words resting on your conscience. Not because you only ever come to me intoxicated out of your mind?)

You bring a hand up to cradle the side of his face, brushing back his hair with your fingers. “And will you finally let me please you, too?” you ask, humming at the way Hanzo leans into your touch.

“No,” Hanzo says. The curtness of the way he says it stings a little, but you simply sigh it away. “You must be exhausted. I pushed you too far. Let us get some rest for toni—”

You repeat his words, “No,” and push yourself up by your elbows. Hanzo eyes you with an uncertain expression as you swing yourself on top of his body, straddling his hips. “Don’t tell me you’re satisfied just from that.”

“I know you, Hanzo-san.” Your hands reach out to undo his yukata’s obi. Hanzo’s breath goes unsteady, eyes following each deft movement of your fingers on his clothes. “You're an insatiable man. You know what you want and you take it.”

With the top of his yukata off, you try to work on unraveling the rest of him. “And yet,” you say, peering up at him through your eyelashes, “you never seem to take me.”

“I have my reasons,” Hanzo says, voice taut. He sits himself up but doesn't push you off him: instead, he shrugs off the sleeves of his yukata, letting it crumple onto the futon behind him.

You swallow hard, unsure of what to say, despite your earlier confidence. Was it the alcohol? Was it the alcohol that made every single thing he did seem like a mixed message? He had spent so many nights ravaging you, but never let you have him. He speaks of you in prose belonging to a lovesick poet when drunk, but seldom utters a word to you when sober.

And here he was, telling you that this was going to be the end of your night together all while you're completely bare for him on his lap.

“Please, Hanzo-san,” you whisper, despising how your voice faltered. You hesitantly wrap your arms around his shoulders, bringing yourself closer to him until your breasts are pressed against his chest. “I want to make you feel good as well. Won't you let me do at least that?”

Hanzo stays quiet, but everything else about him is loud: the way his eyes flit everywhere but you, the way his hands grip onto the sheets tightly, the way his chest staggers from his unsteady breaths.

Finally, he acquiesces.

“You are an insatiable woman,” Hanzo says with a groan, eyes squeezing shut for a moment.

And yet, there's no hint of malice in his voice.

You smile, giddy, and lean down to kiss him. He returns it with a chaste kiss to your lips, opting to pepper kisses down your jaw after. “It’s a good thing we have each other then, don't you think?”

Hanzo’s muscular arms wrap around you and pull you closer to his body. You let out a squeak of surprise when his still-clothed groin grinds up against your bare cunt, the sudden jolt of pleasure unexpected.

“Yes,” Hanzo tells you, dark eyes meeting yours. His teeth scrape at the skin on your shoulders, leaving marks for you to admire later on. For when he inevitably leaves, and you are left alone once again.

He pulls away from your neck to face you, but this time there's something different about the way he looks at you. Hanzo’s hand reaches up to brush a few stray strands out of your face; a gentle act that has your heart racing.

“Even if I am undeserving of your existence.”

(It's not the confession you expected. It feels like a little more than just a confession, even. But you know, that despite how tonight has developed, it will be long forgotten in the morning. Just like all the other nights you've shared with him—and will continue to share.)

#overwatch #hanzo shimada x reader #nsft #mine

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falsepirit · 15 days

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nsfw alphabet 💣 [junkrat]

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Usually cracks a joke or mumbles incoherent words before passing out while curled up against you. He can barely take care of himself, so don't expect a typical aftercare course from him. At most, he'll pull a blanket over the two of you if he remembers to.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Doesn't particularly like any part of himself, but it doesn't stop him from joking about his nubs being his charm points—or on a more vulgar note, his cock. On the other hand, he adores all and any soft parts of you. Thighs, tummy, breasts... Loves groping and squeezing at it. It's a softness that Junkrat's not used to being able to hold, so he often spends an annoying amount of his time with you getting handsy.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Quite messy with it, preferring to cum on you most of the time. Loves seeing his cum ooze down your face down to your collarbones and chest. If he's feeling particularly ravenous though, he'll cum inside you and go for a second round to fuck it deeper into you again. Adores it when you cum around him, tightening around him, all warm and soft; makes him feel like he's on top of the world knowing he can get you to orgasm just from his cock.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

It's not much of a secret considering the type of person he is, but Junkrat's an unapologetic panty sniffer. When caught, he'll feign ignorance at first, then apologetically glance at you with puppy dog eyes. But in the end, his horniness will catch up to him, which results in him bringing your used underwear up to his nose to inhale hard when he thinks nobody's looking. Sometimes the scent of you smells so good he finds himself groaning in pleasure as blood rushes down to his dick.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Has a considerably low amount of experience; most of what Junkrat knows about sex comes from what he's learned from various resources, not what he's actually done himself. I like to think he's been with a few hookers before, in the context of some of his commissioners bringing him to one of... those types of establishments as either a place to discuss the job or as a reward well done.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Loves having you on top of his lap, straddling his legs as he either thrusts up into you or lets you ride him. It's arguably the most enjoyable position for him when he has both his prosthetics off, while also allowing easy access to grope at your tits, to pull you into a hot and messy kiss, to murmur dirty nothings in your ear, to bite down on your shoulder...

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Come on, it's Junkrat. As long as his dick isn't painfully hard enough for him to lose the last of his senses, sex with him usually consists of him joking around and stupid giggling between the two of you. Though, once he starts getting close, he'll find himself chasing his own pleasure, leaning down in your ear to tell you how much he needs you, how he wants to have you in every way possible...

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Doesn't particularly care too much about grooming it, so it's coarse and rough. This man has probably singed his pubes just like the hair on his head. How? Don't ask, he'll do it again somehow.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Surprisingly, he can be loving during the act in his own special ways. While he wouldn't necessarily drop L-Bombs often, Junkrat does run his mouth with other sweet nothings. I'd steal the moon for ya, darl. Make you mine, make you feel like you're on top of the world with me. Won't let any other bloke have a doll like ya, you'd just be a real waste on 'em.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Only jerks off when he thinks you're asleep, but usually moans loud enough that you wake up and deal with his erection yourself, much to his surprise. Doesn't see the point in jerking off much once he knows you belong to him and you're willing to let him have his way with you.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Fucking adores it when you let him bite you and when you bite him back. With his tendency to get a little feral during the act, he subconsciously finds himself leaving marks on every inch of your soft skin, digging his canines into your flesh to the point he sometimes draws blood. Loves it when you do the same to him; Junkrat parades around in his usual shirtless manner afterward, unapologetically showing off every mark you've left on his body the night before.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

While Junkrat doesn't particularly care where he's doing it with you, his possessive side does care about letting others see you drunk on pleasure. He'd have no hesitation doing it outside in the wild, but would rather not do it in the company of others where they can see the way you gasp and writhe. Doesn't really care about others overhearing though, leading to spontaneous acts of exhibitionism.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

It's the inconspicuously innocent things that make him feel hot and heavy. You bending over to reach for something on the ground, your pretty little lips wrapped around a lollipop, your damp clothes clinging to your frame... He's a sucker for all the million ways you can look so goddamn attractive without even trying.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Junkrat's not too into dom/sub dynamics or roleplay in general. Thinks it feels too stuffy with the whole etiquette thing, when he has to stick to a certain character to his best ability. He's not very good at giving orders either, often forgetting rules he's tried setting himself. I mean, he'd try if you asked him sweetly—but it just wouldn't go how you wanted it to.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Junkrat's a bit clumsy and messy with it at first, but his enthusiasm makes up for it. He dives in with no hesitation, tongue running against every part of you, prodding at all your sensitive areas, lapping up your juices like a thirsty man needs water. As for being on the receiving end—Junkrat's a complete mess the moment your mouth is around his cock. His hand will find its way into your hair, curses and low whines spilling from his lips as he bucks his hips to chase his own pleasure. By the time he cums, he's panting from the sheer bliss of having had your cute lips around him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Sex with Junkrat is almost always hard and rough. He loses control of himself in your tight, warm cunt too easily. Before he even realizes it, he's rutting against you like a complete madman, hard enough that he knows you won't be able to even stand once he's done with you—and the thought of that makes him go even faster, harder until you're wailing and begging him to slow down.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

With how quickly Junkrat gets caught up on fucking you, quickies are usually out of the question. A fast fuck could end up lasting an hour once he loses track of time, wanting nothing more than to savor every single part of you and the way you keen into his touch. Most of the fucks that you can even consider a quickie weren't intentional.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He's willing to try out almost anything at least once, but when he's decided something's not for him, Junkrat gets stubborn about it. Almost childish, even. Sometimes he needs a little convincing and a little something else on the side to get him on board with an idea of yours.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Lasts for maybe a maximum of two rounds most of the time and reaches orgasm pretty easily. If he's feeling particularly voracious, he'll try to last longer, wanting to stay inside your warm cunt for as long as he'd let himself.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

You do not want to use any toys Junkrat suggests, not unless you want a severe infection and unknown rashes all over your body. On the other hand, Junkrat isn't too averse to having toys used on him, but he'd much rather the real deal than cheap vibrating plastic.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

As playful as Junkrat is, he is also very impatient. The most teasing he'll probably do is when he forgets and gets caught up on kissing you, running his hands all over your soft skin for what feels like hours, until you tell him you want him inside you now.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Loud. Very loud. This man can't keep quiet at all, even more so when pleasure courses through every inch of his body. Lots of grunting and cussing, as well as incomprehensible sentences hissed under his breath. Groans your name with a rasp when he really starts feeling it.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Likes seeing you as messy as he is, especially if he's the cause. Soot marks left on your skin where he's last touched, the smell of gunpowder clinging to your hair, oil smears on your clothes if you've been in his little shoddy workshop... Junkrat's not very picky about his partner's hygiene—hell, he finds it hot when you have no qualms getting down n' dirty like him—considering who he is.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Standing at around 6'5", Junkrat has a pretty lithe but lean body, with long limbs to go with it. The same goes for his dick; it's not the thickest, but it's comparative enough to his height that it has you seeing stars when he effortlessly pounds into your cervix. Despite his looks, he's plenty strong, enough to manhandle you in bed if he wanted to.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He has a pretty strong libido but knows how to hold it in if needed. Do expect him to get very, very handsy whenever you're within his reach. The hornier he gets, the filthier his mouth gets; at some point, the only thing spilling out of his lips is him talking about every way he'd love to fuck you until you screamed your throat raw.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Almost always falls asleep before you unless you pass out during the act. It's not that he exhausts himself to the point he loses consciousness; you just feel so comfortable against his lithe body, so warm and soft. He can't help falling asleep with his limbs entangled with yours and his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

#overwatch #junkrat x reader #jamison fawkes x reader #nsft #mine

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