#and also the word mistake is being tied to powers!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

adventuringblind · 8 months

Text

Sharing is Caring

Lando Norris x Reader X Oscar Piastri

Genre: Smut

Request: no, this is purely practice and experimental writing

Summary: Lando has always lived by the rule that sharing is caring, this includes his girlfriend… and maybe also himself

Warnings: filthy smut, Lando and Reader are menaces, PinV, dom/sub dynamics, fingers, anal,

Notes: alright listen here, I am a whore for these men and I’m not to proud to admit that. This is experimental because I want to write a scene for my series where the group is three bisexual males a female, but have never attempted majority of what that would entail (more then one partner, actual gay sex and not whatever the hell that thing I wrote with Daniel was). Y’all are not allowed to judge me! My information is coming from Ao3 and I blame that on whatever this spirals into.

Masterlist

The following media is not intended for anyone under the age of 18. Minors please do not interact with this post!

You and Lando had been together since he started at McLaren. He was clueless and you were meant to be an assistant or intern or something along those lines. Both of you barely over the cusp of being adults.

You describe is as clueless and horny.

He says it was sexy and necessary.

You’d become fast friends, but then friends turned into benefits after a party one night.

Your were both buzzed but definitely coherent. You knew every part of your mind hand wanted him as he licked stripes up your neck. You knew at as he took off your clothes. And you definitely knew it while you came undone on his tongue.

Your situationship turned into a relationship soon after that. You couldn’t keep your stupid feelings for him tucked away in secret. You slipped when he was cleaning you up after you both went hard one night.

It was messy and you stumbled through your relationship clumsily, but soon you found your footing.

Lando had grown up on a common rule in his house: sharing is caring. Though he hated it then, now it seemed to be his motto.

You’d learned this after he had you tied to the bed posts and sent his saliva down your throat. He’d smirked at you and uttered the phrase.

Lando found it endearing how easily you submitted to him. Your entire job was being told what to do and when to do it so he thought you’d be less into it. He was sorely mistake.

He’d had you drunk on his presence alone. His voice the only thing filling your pretty little head. He got off on the power you gave him over you.

Lando had noticed one thing over his first year in formula 1: everyone treated him like an innocent child.

First it was Carlos. His teammate joked about him being a virgin still and Lando was fuming. He knew he should’ve watched his tongue but he could help himself.

“You could always come see for yourself that I’m not.”

That was the first time you’d invited someone in with you. Carlos lost a bit of his pride that night as his younger teammate and girlfriend practically had their way with him. And when Carlos asked him why he would share their bed with him, he’d only responded with “sharing is caring.”

Lando’s next teammate was older and even more frustrating. Daniel picked on the two of them relentlessly. Lando, being older now, held his tongue. But when he started saying things about you, vile derogatory things, he snapped.

“Say it again and I’ll make you regret it.”

Daniel showed up at their room that night expecting a mediocre threesome at best. What he got was the best damn blowjob of his life from you and Lando making him regret every word he’d said from behind.

Daniel also lost a bit of his pride that day and Lando couldn’t help but smirk every time Daniel shifted uncomfortably during the press conference.

You both teased Daniel that day with the “sharing is caring” line.

Now Lando has a teammate younger then him, and he’s a rookie no less.

Oscar is quieter then his other teammates and a stark contrast to Lando in personality.

It didn’t take long for Lando to catch on to his staring at you. The lovely blush that spread across his cheeks every time you touched his shoulder in a friendly way.

“I like him.” Announced Lando one morning.

“Who are we talking about exactly.”

“Oscar, I genuinely like him.”

You’d brought up the idea of adding a permanent third to your relationship. Both of you very open to the idea, just not with someone who likes to tease you two because your young.

Your not to prideful to admit that you’d both brought up Max as an option at one point.

“He’s very sweet and I think you go well together.” You admitted. “To bad he wouldn’t be into it.”

“What makes you say that.”

“Doesn’t peg me as the type.”

Lando choked on his breakfast. “I could make a dirty joke but I’m not going to.” He thinks for a moment. “I actually know he is because he got drunk one night after a hard race and admitted that he’d fuck us both.”

“Does he remember that?”

“Unfortunately no and I’d rather be the one fucking him anyways.”

“How about a game.” You propose. Lando can see the mischief in your eyes. “First to get him to crack wins.”

“Wins what exactly.”

“You already have me so bragging rights I suppose.”

It started small. Lando with his hand on Oscar’s knee during briefings, you making sexual comments underneath your breath causing him to choke on his air.

Then it escalated. You were wary that you might be making him uncomfortable, but as lando slips his hand on Oscars thigh, you can see the satisfaction on both their faces.

Ultimately Lando won in the end. The same stupid line he used in everyone coaxing Oscar into your hotel room.

“So we use the traffic light system for safe words just because it’s easy to use and remember.” Lando led Oscar into the room and sat him down on the bed.

He’d already had you in your undergarments and kneeling because since he won this was his prize. Not that you could protest anyways, you’d just make it harder on yourself later if you did.

Oscar was confused for a moment, his eyes raking over your half naked and waiting body while Lando went over some ground rules. “I didn’t realize you guys were into this stuff. Like- where you would need safe words, I guess.”

“Are you okay with that.”

Oscar hesitates for a moment. Unsure of how he should respond. “Can I be honest first?”

“Honesty is better now then us doing something to hurt you later.”

“It’s just that- I’ve done this before, but never with people I actually liked.”

“You like us?” You pipe. Genuine shock shooting across your face.

“It’s not something most people expect of me. Wanting to date more then one person feels weird to talk about I suppose.”

“But it’s not weird because we like you to.” You smile. Grateful that Lando isn’t shoving a gag in your mouth for speaking without permission.

“That being said,” Lando smirks, “how about we show just how much we like you, if you’ll let us?”

“Hopefully I can do the same for you.”

Oscar has suddenly found his confidence and pulls Lando down to his lips. It’s a hungry kiss. Their hands explore each other while your left on the ground. Although waiting obediently, you can’t help but squirm.

Lando pulls away and lands his gaze on you. “Why don’t we show Oscar what the pretty mouth of yours can do.”

You nod your head at him and crawl your way in between Oscar’s legs. Your fingers tugging at his waistband and eyeing him for permission. “I would be sad if you didn’t.” He chuckles. His fingers already finding your hair as you pull off his sweats and boxers in one go.

He’s already very hard and admittedly very pretty. Lando sets himself behind to Aussie and chuckles darkly. “Go ahead love.”

You take the permission and start with just your tongue. Attempting to wet his length before you take him down your throat.

The guttural moan that leaves Oscars lips only encourages you to keep going. You practically shake at you watch Lando strip both himself and the other male of their shirts.

“You can be rough with her, she likes it that way.”

The Aussie takes that as his cue. One hand forms a makeshift ponytail and the other lines himself up with your mouth. You barely get a chance to breathe before Oscar is shoving himself down your throat. You hollow your cheeks as he bucks his hips up with an unrelenting speed.

You hadn’t even noticed you left yourself in a waiting position. Oscar slows for just a moment as he sees the tears roll down your cheeks and the absent placement of your hand on his leg. He pulls your arm up and sets your hand on his thighs. “One tap to keep going, two to stop.”

You tap once and he’s back at slamming himself into your mouth.

Lando’s fingers are running up and down Oscars body, his mouth giving you the praise you so desire. “Good girl, just like that, isn’t she good Oscar?”

“Fuck- yes, so fucking good, your mouth is amazing.”

There isn’t much warning from him verbally, but the twitching in your mouth and sloppy movements tells you everything you need to know. He’s finishing in your mouth seconds later and you take every drop. Not that you had much choice to begin with anyways. Lando drops down to your level. You hold your mouth open for him, as it routine, and let him inspect. “So fucking good. Such a perfect slut for me.”

Oscars catching his breath. His body still twitching. “I think that’s the best blowjob someone had ever given me.” He pants

You smile proudly at your handiwork.

“It’s not the first time someone has said that.” Laughs Lando. He stands up again leaving you planted on the floor.

“They’d be stupid not to.”

You eye Lando expectantly, assuming he’ll want to make use of your mouth next. “Not tonight love, I have other plans.” He helps you up off the floor and lets you stretch your legs before tossing you on the bed. “I think you’ve done so well that you deserve to be rewarded.”

Oscar doesn’t hesitate to let his fingers dance across your body. He’s watching your face and looking for your most sensitive spots.

You haven't let out a single noise, and you're proud of yourself for it. For as much as Lando loved to tease, he had to admit you are really good at doing what you're told.

Lando is quick to remove the rest of your clothes while Oscar makes it his personal mission to make you moan. Something you intend on not doing. At least until your given permission.

With you now being exposed to the hungry eyes of the two males, you can't help but feel a tad overwhelmed.

Though it doesn't last long, though, as two mouths are hungrily sucking and nipping at the most sensitive parts of your breasts. Leaving marks as they go. You bite down so hard on your lip that it bleeds.

Lando can read you like a book. He knows you're focused on behaving and not enjoying the moment. "Moan for us love, tell us how good you're feeling." And with that, you're a whining mess.

Lando detaches himself from you. "You can return the favor if you want Oscar." He's smirking. Lando has always known exactly how to play this game. How to get then exactly where he wants them.

"Mmm think I'd rather take you."

You almost choke at the look the flashes across the Brits face. He's never been in this position before. Sure, he's had the other guys suck him off, but that was on his instruction. This is new territory.

Oscar is crawling over the top of you and sliding himself down Lando. The Brit is still too shocked for words.

He tests the limits, taking a few kitten licks over Lando. Then, makes direct eye contact and slips his mouth over the entirty of Landos dick.

It's weird to watch them. Normally you have a job. Without one you just go back to waiting.

Oscar pulls his mouth off for a moment and looks at you. "You know his body better than me. Why don't you show me where he likes being touched."

Oh this was definitely new territory. You didn't know what to do in this situation. You look at Lando for some sort of idea.

"Guess you get to listen to two people tonight." Then, without hesitation, you let your hands roam freely.

It's funny, you think, that Oscar had moved your hand earlier but now his hands were placed on wither side of the Brit.

To mimic the action he did earlier, you put his hand on Lando's thigh. He looks at you with appreciation and then continues taking apart the Brit underneath him.

You attach your lips and your teeth to places you know he's sensitive. Dragging your tongue from his pec all the way to his ear lobe.

And as his lips landed on yours, Lando was shaking underneath you. Oscar managed to suck him through his entire high, leaving him in an exhausted heap on the bed.

"Hey Lando, I think our girl has been waiting patiently, yeah?"

The was he says our has you trembling. They are both eyeing you now, and you have no idea what to do.

Lando reaches for your frame and pulls you into his lap. His fingers lazily dance over the one place you ache to be touched.

You sigh as he slips a singular finger into you, moving in and out so slow you think you might cry.

Oscar leaves kisses all over your thighs, working his way up to your needy heat. Lightly flicking your clit with his tongue when he reaches the top.

The two boys are steadily picking up the pace. Lando is gradually adding more fingers. The coil is getting closer to snapping.

Your writhing and panting in their hold. Oscar has his arms hooked under your knees to keep you from moving away. Lando's free arm is pressed firmly under your chest. His teeth sucking marks into your neck and collarbone.

"Please." You beg.

"Please what?"

"Please- fuck, can I come?"

"Go ahead, you've been doing so well, your such a good girl."

The coil snaps, and the ecstasy floods every inch of your body. Your body spasms, flailing your limbs in every direction.

The boys hold you firmly in place, determind to ride every second of your high out of you.

You're left panting as you come down. Sweat now glossing over all three of you.

"Wanna keep going?"

You and Lando look at Oscar. His face was completely unfazed. Who know the Aussie could be so insatiable.

"You know, we don't normally do this, but if y/n wants to, I'm okay if you fuck her."

Your mouth drops in shock for the umpteenth time that night. Lando had never let anyone else fuck you and you were okay with it.

Again, new territory.

Oscar looks over at you. His eyes questioning. "Or I'm very willing to take you both at the same time."

Good grief. The stupidly shy bashful Australian boy has the sex drive of an animal in heat.

Normally, it's Lando in charge, but there seems to be a change. He actually likes Oscar. This isn't some attempt at teaching someone a lesson or proving a point. This is a genuine attempt at inviting him in.

You were glad that you got to keep the spot on the bed. More on the edge of the bed now, but still the bed nonetheless.

Oscar is still lapping at your skin like it's a drug. You can feel the marks covering your skin from where he's been sucking at you with his teeth.

Normally, the two of you didn't use lube unless it was an occasion like this. Even then, it wasn't much. Lando thought is would be amazing to use the entire bottle over the three of you. Because apparently, the sweat isn't enough.

Oscar's moans are steadily increasing as Lando continues to work his ass. The Austrian is using you as a human gag to hopefully keep his volume at a reasonable pitch.

Lando likes a stripe onto the back of the Male in front of him. "Do you think you're ready?" He's looking at both of you for confirmation.

It all happens far too quickly for your liking. The fact that all your bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. The way the pace was a speed you'd yet to experience (how these boys could snap their hips so fast was beyond you).

Oscar has practically fallen on top of you at this point. Lando is doing his best to keep the Australians full weight off of you. He's not even moving anymore. Lando is moving in and out of him and you by proxy.

It's a weird feeling having the weight of two body's between your hips. Your close and desperately chasing your second high of the night.

Unlucky is the only word that comes to mind as Oscar and Lando reach theirs in sync. The feelings of watching them together are damn near indescribable, and it makes you wish you joined them.

You are also someone who likes to please. This means that faking it seems like the best option.

As you'll soon come to find out, this is far from the a good plan.

Both Oscar and Lando are panting and trying to get resitiated. Both of them eyes you cautiously. Then they look at eachother, then at you, then eachother, until finally they say something.

"Pretty sure I know a fake orgasm when I see one." Comments Oscar.

Lando was unfortunately not able to see you very well, so not only is he glad Oscar was able to read you, but now he's received to know he can see when you're obviously trying to please.

You feel yourself flush and curl your knees over your chest. Guilt? Shame? Lust? All at once? There are too many feelings for your foggy brain right now.

"You should know better, love. Did you think we weren't going to be happy with you?"

You feel yourself slipping into the lovely fuzzy head space and the sound of Lando's almost condescending tone.

"I don't know, Oscar. I think now we need to make sure she can be honest with her body." Lando smirks at the Australian whos still out of breath and supporting himself of the Brit.

Their eyes find yours, and you're met with that hungry look once again. At this point, you've resigned that this night is never going to end, and if you're being perfectly honest, you don't want it too.

"Color?"

"Green."

Then they're pouncing on top of you like they've caught themselves dinner. Hands are everywhere and nowhere all at once.

It's hours later when you're spent. They drew at least five more out of you. All in various different ways.

Now came the most intresting part.

You're a mess lying on the bed. Limbs a twitching pile of mush. Your hair stuck to your skin. Eyes glossed over and head heavy with a thick fog. So deep in your damn head space.

Their mixed words of shame and praise somehow set every one of your nerves alight. You'd been calling both of them a title usually reserved for just Lando, but he hadn't corrected you.

You whine as the pull away. Your body already missing their touch.

"Gotta get you cleaned up, beautiful. Don't want to you to get sick."

A slurred 'yes sir' makes its way out of your mouth. Other words are far too difficult right now.

"Mmm need to know you're here with me."

"I'm here, I think."

Lando is mildly impressed that the two boys managed to put you so deep into the blissful state of mind. His hands stroke your stick thighs as he hums words of praise. Slipping in the occasional gentle kiss to your hand.

Oscar comes back cleaned up first. Still without a shirt, but his sweats are back on. "So aftercare, is there a routine you guys normally have or does it very? Do you want me to go?"

Oscar doesn't miss the frown of your face when he suggests he leaves. "Stay. Please." Again, it's mumbled and slurred, but both boys can tell what you're trying to say.

"No worries, I'm right here." Oscare slides into the bed next to you.

"Wanna stay with her, and I'll clean up? I'll get some rags and things as well. Normally, our third has left without helping me take care of her. Had to take her to the doctor once after Daniel bruised her throat with his hands, and she couldn't talk for a week. So I won't lie, this is new."

"Well I like you both and if you'll have me I'd like to stay around awhile."

There was a knowing look shared between all three of you that even your your state you recognized. Oscar wanted to stay, and you and Lando wanted him to. For more than just the sex.

Lando tossed Oscar a wet rag. To cool damp feeling of the towel felt nice on your skin, making you shower with the sensation.

Lando came back a few minutes later, freshend up, and a hair brush in hand. He slides in behind you and gently threads the comb through your locks.

Eventually, you're able to make it to the bathroom on your own, albeit with shaky legs. Lando gave you one of his shirts to change into with the promise of Oscar bringing some of his clothes for you the next time around.

You're still a little shocked that he wanted a next time.

Carlos had admittedly come back for a few more rounds, but there were never any strings attached. Daniel came back, but that always felt competitive. There was consent and communication involved with both parties but it never felt this... intimate.

The two boys made sure you had water and food, so you didn't feel sick after all the energy you'd exerted. Then you slid into bed between them. Sleep hitting all of you in minutes.

The three of you got away with a hidden relationship for about four months until Lando slipped up in an interview. Your first paddock appearance with the two after that was mildly controversial, but they were quick to shut down invasive reporters and toxic fans.

It was a press conference that Lando finally got to use his signature line.

"Lando, you've recently announced your relationship with your teammate and longtime girlfriend. What sparked this into effect?"

"Well you know what they say, sharing is caring."

You and Oscar can only laugh at the Brit and his stupid catchphrase.

1K notes · View notes

harrysonlylover · 4 months

Text

Checkmate (Part 2)

Summary: The tension between Poppy and Harry gets cut. What really happened a few years back and do assassins have hearts?

Trope: Assassin H/ LHH

WC: 11k

Warnings: Assassins’ stuff…? Murder, injections, angst.

A/n: This is NOT a Standalone Oneshot. Part 1 must be read first.

Part 1

In all her years, Poppy never made a mistake or went out of line for something less than perfection. She is both beauty and brains. Everyone she ever came across envied her starting from the girls at the institute during her childhood, to random passers in the street who got struck by her charming aura.

Her moves are well calculated to aid her in any mission or even plans concerning her personal life.

Gaining a reputation in the Assassination field was barely an obstacle for her. It is not the clients that ask for her, it’s quite the opposite. She knows how to catch someone’s attention and when to do that…

It wasn’t long before she got one phone call after the other, postcards, and letters begging her to take their offer.

But this. This is nothing close to sanity or well thought plans. This is madness, the forbidden apple, her heart’s dominance.

It is her Harry.

Harry whose lips touched hers at the ripe age of sixteen, taught her how to throw a deadly punch and gave her the name she goes by.

Out of all the assassinations she’s done, she was never taught to look at someone who had a piece of her with him and pretend to be fine.

She held an ache in her heart for years and years, never even dared to scratch at it—but the mere idea of being Harry’s crime partner has her vessels bursting.

Poppy; strong, resilient, poisonous, turned into an ordinary soft tulip in the presence of her angel.

The angel of death.

The name accredited to him was not a coincidence nor a fun passive nickname made by friends (not that they had any).

He earned it with both the sweat on his forehead, and the blood of a stranger that painted his hands, more often than it should’ve.

In the same year, he lost his soul and took another. First, when he pressed his lips to Poppy’s, she snatched it out of his body and rumor has it that she would keep a hold of it until eternity. Then, his first mission came. With a confident posture, increased heartbeat, and a lucky charm, he took away a life for the first time.

The angel of death is invincible, untouchable even—yet his soul does not belong to him. It is hers.

After that, not only did their circumstances change but their fates as well. Harry grew hungry for power. The praise he received from everyone at the institution deemed him a successful young assassin who was highly requested.

They had him training day and night, sent him to missions with more experienced assassins, and strengthened his stamina in unimaginable ways—but the cruelest lesson of them all was separating him from Poppy. The keeper of his soul.

The mentors were intellectual and observant. They knew beforehand that Harry would have a successful path, but they also knew that his attachment to Poppy would render him weak.

The loneliness that haunted assassins was nothing but a protective shield, as ironic as it may sound. Love someone and prepare to experience loss. It even stretched as far as not having partners to avoid emotional ties. This is why they were considered solo ravens.

In the present day, Poopy and Harry do not belong to any organization or institution. Therefore, no one can stop them from being partners.

But in the past, their separation was orchestrated by older mentors who believed that it was for Harry’s benefit. And the twisted truth? They made him take the blame for it.

10 years ago, somewhere in London.

Poppy was told that she wouldn’t know anything at a young age. She agreed—to some extent. She knew her life path and who she was destined to be, she knew that there was something out there waiting for her in between baths of blood. But to word it correctly, she’d say waiting for the both of them.

She wouldn’t consider herself gullible, Harry also included her in everything as they confessed fantasies and dreams.

Except that it felt like a lifetime ago since he used the word “we”.

She liked to think of him as her guardian angel, of course, this thought came from an incident back when they were barely ten years old. She was new at the institution after her parents died in a car accident.

It was cold, bitter and dull. No one warned her of what was to come, no one asked her if she wanted to hold on to a photo or a toy. She was resting at the hospital and the next thing she remembers was being picked up and dropped into a huge institution.

She didn’t know where she was, no one responded even when she kicked them and hit the door repeatedly. But during one night, she saw the shadow of an angel outside of her locked room. A kid wouldn’t realize that the light bulb had a role in making him appear as an angel—and even though she put two and two together throughout the years, it didn’t make him less of an angel. Especially when he opened his mouth.

“I’m Harry. Do you want to be my friend?”

The next eight years were ones for history. But looking back, she should’ve known that sneaking out of rooms isn’t easy. She should’ve anticipated a lot of things. That some traits stick with someone till adolescence. So maybe, she isn’t so knowledgeable.

It wasn’t long before Harry took her under his wing and explained everything to her. It felt like a lie at first, but that lie soon turned into reality.

The board of mentors relied heavily on the children’s education and physical strength. However, all the cruel acts and brainwashing did not start until they turned 14. Despite that, she liked to remember that age as the time when she sneaked away with Harry to the rooftop to gaze at the stars. After all, he was good at escaping.

“Look up—do you see it?” Harry whispered in her ear, making her heart beat faster.

“No!” Frustration began to fuel her body. They’d been looking at the sky for a while now and she still couldn’t see the stupid constellation he was pointing at.

His fingertips found her jaw that he held so delicately as if one of the stars above them would explode at the action. He slowly moved it toward the constellation despite his body begging him to direct it towards his mouth.

“There, that’s Cassiopeia. Isn’t it pretty?” He asked while looking at her.

Their stolen moments under the stars were precious, she would learn to hold on to them like a dove clings to its tree in winter. Yet, no matter how hard she tried, the storm would inevitably arrive.

Harry’s wish came true two years later. It had its price of course, but for her, he’d pay anything including his freedom.

During one of their star-gazing nights, he sealed their lips under the protective eyes of Cassiopeia right as he surrendered his soul to Poppy. Maybe that’s why he’s so cold-blooded towards others—because his soul is with her and for her.

As soon as the news of Harry’s first mission spread, Poppy knew nothing would be the same anymore. She felt an innate desire to keep him safe, they were both just kids.

Resources were scarce at the institution, they couldn’t obtain whatever they wanted, but Harry made sure to at least try and steal something for her every time he sneaked out. He was unbelievably valuable to the mentors—so instead of killing him or throwing him away on the streets, cruel punishments did the job.

Still, the scars on his back and the growling of his stomach after being forbidden from food were nothing compared to seeing her smile. He’d promised to give her a Poppy flower and he did.

Realistically, she was no witch. She could never guarantee his safety out there but a good luck charm wasn’t a bad idea. She spent weeks collecting spare pieces of fabric, threads and stole a scissor to make it work. A small dried petal—left from the flower he gave her tied to a thick thread that would be wrapped around his wrist.

Harry grew a habit of kissing it before every mission—from his first one to all of the upcoming ones.

They were young and unaware of the evil that was awaiting them, even when they were subjected to torturous training and brainwashing, it was nothing compared to what they would endure over the years.

Poppy chose to be softer around him but she was unbelievably resilient and powerful. She had a visual memory that was perfect for missions, physical strength that outpowered all her female colleagues, and a high IQ. By all means, Harry and Poppy were it for each other. No one really knew that they were in love, not even them—but a small observation done by a mentor had the board acting quickly to stop something dangerous before it developed.

“15, you’re wanted in the main room.” One of the gym trainers announced loudly, making everyone’s attention shift to Harry. That was his number. They didn’t have names.

He dropped the equipment from his hand as he tried to regulate his breathing and process the order given to him at the same time. No one was requested to the main room unless something was on. He wasn’t even sent there when they told him about his first mission.

He moved with unwavering confidence as everybody’s eyes zeroed in on him till he was out of the room. The same trainer who gave him the order accompanied him to the main room, where he was left to knock on the door before being told to enter.

The room would forever be engraved in his mind—he walked in like a lamb to the slaughter as he was met with the board of the institution, waiting for him in high chairs. There were four men and one woman.

“15, you have been a great trainee. Quick-witted, amazing stamina with a thirst for blood. Perfect characteristics for an assassin.” One of the men spoke to him while others stared. Harry stood with a fixed posture, looking straight ahead as a sign of respect.

“You are one of our best trainees and we wish to keep it that way. Of course, you are aware that whatever we ask of you is for your own good.” This time it was the woman speaking.

“Your new order is to stay away from trainee number 20. Under no circumstance are you allowed to approach her, speak with her, or think about her.” Harry flinched from the invisible slap that went across his face. His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared in response.

They want him to stay away from his Poppy?

“I do not understand—“

“In here you do not understand, you obey!” Her voice echoed in the room.

“You may leave now. Continue your training.” One of the other men spoke, noting Harry’s pale face and clenched fists. He wanted to use the skills they liked to praise him about and rip their skin off their bones for this stupid order. But instead, he turned around with shaky knees and headed towards the door.

“Oh and by the way…” He stopped in his tracks and tilted his head to the side.

“Dare to disobey this order, and she’ll be dead.”

That moment tipped his entire world upside down. The clock forgot to tick, he forgot to breathe and his soul would forever be away.

He would learn what it actually meant to be an assassin the hard way. Over the years, he’ll look back and wish he had been braver—his courage only stretched as far as punches and shots.

He willingly twisted a knife inside his heart by letting a certain series of events unfold. In some way—he played a role in shaping Poppy’s personality as an adult.

The coldness that he projected on her warm heart fired back at him every single time. He almost lost it when he saw her tear up for the first time. The second would be ten years later, as they reopen the wound.

“You’ve been ignoring me lately.” She leaned her body against the door with her arms crossed. He could see from his peripheral vision that she had a few loose hair strands, a look that he adored on her.

He couldn’t even look at her.

A part of him would remind him of what he had done and the other—would urge him to burn the world for her.

She stood as calm as a dove, pleading him with her eyes to say or do something. The response on his end was the same as his previous ones, cold, bitter, and dark.

“Harry! Why are you doing this?” He allowed himself to catch a glimpse of her this time, only because his heart cracked like her voice.

“Stay away from me. I don’t want anything to do with you.” He uttered with a thousand needles prickling his skin.

“Why!” She couldn’t find any reason as to why he despised being around her.

“Because I said so! You’re weak— and stopping me from going forward.” That moment could’ve been an audition for some movie that would grab him fame—but due to a series of unfortunate events, no one said “cut”. And if not for the burning flames of his heart, one would believe that he meant his words.

The look in her eyes was embedded in his brain like a tattoo inked on skin but with an immeasurable amount of pain.

“Maybe I really didn’t know you—” A single tear fell from her eye, slid down her rosy cheeks that he loved to kiss, and onto the floor where it left an echo that only he heard.

She left him standing alone with darkness closing in on him, as he felt the meaning of loss for the first time in his life.

A trainer had observed his interaction with Poppy which he immediately reported to the board. Harry obeyed his order.

Poppy would be safe but at a huge cost.

Harry’s actions did not make sense to her. She felt like something was off, he wouldn’t turn into someone else in between nights. She tried to reason with him but he only fired back.

It was something that would happen sooner or later, a trainee would get a taste of power and act almighty. It wasn’t a dilemma because no one was close with anyone, they were encouraged to hate each other. It would benefit them to be emotionless in the field.

No matter how cruel her upbringing was, Poppy couldn’t bury her emotions, leave a flower then walk away. Harry was her everything, she never expected him to turn into someone hideous.

The gap he left in her heart would remain open for years, yet she rose like a phoenix in just a few days becoming Harry’s number one competitor.

She offered him the same coldness and did not forget to make it sting.

They became competitive in everything—martial arts, shooting & aiming skills, critical thinking skills, physical stamina skills, programming & hacking skills, and archery.

She threw snarky comments at him, gave him bruises if they were instructed to fight, and showed him that she was better off without him.

But behind all this facade, they fooled everyone except themselves—Harry bit back with a rough exterior, turned into a cold-blooded man, and almost stabbed one of the trainees once. But in their world that was nothing—just another training, just another day.

He slowly accepted his new life, her hatred for him, and the mask he’ll be obliged to put on forever. All of that—just to protect her and she was completely clueless. He couldn’t blame her for how she changed, but he was proud of her improvement and he would always admire her for anything she did—but in secret, when no one was watching or listening, not even himself.

Assassins were considered to be ready at eighteen, some needed an extra push until nineteen or twenty, but Harry & Poppy were more than ready.

At this age, they’re sent out for missions. Harry was the only exception who had his first mission before eighteen.

They are allowed a little more independence, to roam the streets but never interact with people. They are aware of how different their lives are—have been taught sociology and psychology but an assassin is always a solo raven.

Above all, they would remain tied to the organization. Something that had Harry overthinking.

His little trips outside of the organization always had consequences, but they also knew that he would go out and they had let him.

Was it the known assurance that he would return? Or the “independence” they liked to boast about just because he was one of their top trainees?

And then there’s Poppy. Within less than five minutes and an order, they forced him to give up eight years of attachment. The hold they had on him was concerning. The same hold they have on every single assassin. If they ordered him now, they will not hesitate to do so for years to come.

He never asked for this life, but he’s too tangled in it to leave. It’s not the killings that he despised, not at all actually. It’s rather the control the mentors had on him that knew no boundaries.

He may not be able to get the assassin out of him, but he surely can leave everything behind. Even Poppy would stand tall with a million emotions going through her body, having found out about his disappearance. She felt like Cassiopeia was laughing at her foolishness from above, but what can she say or do? He had always been good at escaping. She continued her training normally like a good assassin, unaware of the letter he left behind for her that she would never find or read.

Present day, Vienna.

Poppy hasn’t felt this restless in a very long time.

She’s been everywhere and adores travelling even if there’s a dark purpose behind it. But she is unable to immerse herself in the delight and comfort of it.

It’s been a few weeks since that fateful night in Paris. One that brought an unexpected alliance, painful memories, and a twisted fate.

If it had been her first time seeing Harry in a decade, then she wouldn’t have said yes or handled the situation perfectly. But she encountered him more than she would have liked across the years, intentional or not.

Their first encounter was accidental, yet it confirmed two facts: Poppy had fled the institution and is now his competitor in the assassination field.

They both changed personality-wise, which explains the bickering and narcissistic behavior. She became a charming young woman, even more intellectual if possible and he, a rigid irresistible man.

They sometimes sabotaged each others’ operations for fun, chased one another, or crossed paths in missions just like their last one.

The “hatred” lessened, slowly merging into a playful form of poking into each others’ lives instead of saying what was on their mind.

Harry was drawn to her feisty attitude, he loved entertaining it, especially when she talked back at him or gave him a mark or two. He’d tattoo them if he could.

And while they refused to admit it, under the rough shells of their protected hearts, the yearning was pressing on their blood vessels, warning them of its upcoming explosion.

His yearning was less patient than hers. The proof would be the night of their supposed “mission” weeks ago. He tried to seal their lips—needed to. But she backed away before he could. She left him standing alone in the hotel room as she gathered her stuff and fled the country.

Ignorance is a bliss that she can’t have. As much as she would like to stay away from him and pretend that everything is under control—she can’t.

Their mission is due tonight which gives them enough time to discuss and plan since she actually decided to show up early.

They sat in a café, pretending to be a normal couple. They played their roles so elegantly that no one would suspect they kill people for a living. Even the adoration in his eyes was way too good for “pretending”.

She acted like nothing had happened and swiftly sat in her designated chair, tugging down her classy YSL dress, before crossing her bare legs and fishing out a file for him.

“Obviously you already have a copy, but this is a file about the plan.” She explained, not allowing him to understand her facial expressions or eyes that she hid behind Prada sunglasses.

Surprisingly, he wasn’t as chatty and playful. She figured that she hit a nerve that night, but ideally, she had every right to do so.

Their encounters over the years and recent partnership do not erase his actions in the past. She may not hold a grudge for long but she remembers everything.

“Sounds good to me.” He returned the file to her and fixed his posture. He straightened his back and flexed his broad shoulders that could barely fit his tailored suit. The motherfucker was a piece of candy.

His calmness took her by surprise—was it because she pulled away from the kiss? He can’t be that petty, right?

He suddenly stood and fixed his blazer, signaling that he would be on his way. He lowered his body so that their faces were at the same level. His cologne drifted in the air, invading her nostrils and playing with her pheromones. She’s thankful that she had sunglasses on, or else he’d know how much she enjoyed his scent.

“See you tomorrow Poppy darling.” He whispered in a low tone, offering his smug grin before pressing his lips to her cheek—planting barely a peck.

By the time she processed what he had done, the table was empty with only cologne in his wake and a single Poppy flower in front of her.

The day after, 8:30 PM

This was her first mission since Paris and somehow it feels so similar. She’s getting ready in a hotel room again, a red dress hugging her frame—cherry red to be specific since it’s her color.

Something feels amiss, like a piece of a puzzle that isn’t fitting well. Maybe it’s the fact that this is her first non solo mission. She won’t be snatching a soul alone—the angel of death will be present in flesh and blood.

The same angel happens to be someone that she can’t pinpoint her feelings toward. And who’s also knocking on her door.

They bought burner phones to contact each other, along with other supplies she secured during her travels.

The seconds it took to open the door were few, could be counted in milliseconds—but the moment their eyes met lasted for a whole lifetime.

This time was different, away from sudden meetings and glares, Poppy willingly opened the door as they took in each other’s attire shamelessly.

He couldn’t even say hello nor hide his bulging eyes or how they were undressing her. Cherry red looked so fucking good for her—actually, he believed that it was made for her. Everything was, including him.

Her hair, a simple 90s blowout secured with a Poppy flower brooch, cascaded down her back.

Her chest area was covered with white fur to meet the occasion—but he wanted nothing more than seeing her beautiful collarbone, and neck.

She couldn’t be any more beautiful.

How could he focus on being her partner? Do his job that entails killing others when she already killed him with her beauty?

His clothes were simple but radiated power. A tailored black suit that screamed rich and the same cologne that had Poppy’s knees buckling. And while she may not admit it—the way he looked at her like she was his dinner had her heart pumping.

Author’s note: While the staring can last a lifetime, we must move on because we have someone to kill.

“Do you need an invitation to come in?” Poppy raised her eyebrow at him.

“Begging is more of my preference.” He strolled inside with a confident posture.

“Yeah… right.” She rolled her eyes at him, making him smirk and observe her.

As a woman, she was ready but as an assassin—she needed a few touch-ups. She quickly gathered a few items to place in her purse. purse. Two lipsticks, one of them authentic while the other was actually a burning laser, a mini perfume bottle that holds a sedative, an undetectable gun hidden behind the inner fabric of the purse, mini golden binoculars, and most importantly—the weapon she’ll be using for the night.

“Are you gonna keep staring at me?”

“I can’t help but feel like you’re forgetting your knife—isn’t it your favorite?” He was relaxing on the bed, elbows holding his body up as he stared.

“Yes, but if I bring it I won’t be able to resist stabbing you.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time love.” His voice was laced with a flirtatious undertone and a promise—but knowing him, he definitely was not joking.

“Do you have your role memorized perfectly?” She ignored whatever was going on in his dirty mind.

Nothing more than a hum was elicited from his lips. Why bother and focus on replying verbally when he could stare at her bare legs, and the way the cherry red dress fits her perfectly?

“Will you stop ogling my body?” She wasn’t even a bit uncomfortable, in fact, he might be the only man she felt safe around—even if he put a knife to her throat.

But she needed to act uninterested, Harry was like a moth to a flame and hell would set loose if she gave in.

After a loud sigh, he moved away as she finished getting ready. He wanted to push further, maybe play it sweet for a while before reopening the sensitive subject.

He almost had her—was so close to earning his Poppy back but she resisted and rightfully so.

“So, shall we hit the road partner?” Her question had his ears perking, mainly for the last word she used.

Partner.

He could get used to it.

Vienna State Opera, 8:45 PM

Poppy booked the nearest hotel to the Opera house to avoid any kind of delay. She liked being practical and straightforward—besides she doesn’t want to handle being on Harry’s motorcycle again.

It was barely a five minute walk, the cobbled streets of Vienna and the evening breeze brought back memories, the same way every detail of nature does. Vienna was her escape whenever she felt suffocated—if she wished to recall it, this city knew her better than anyone.

“Do you remember that one time you called the FBI on me when I was here?” Harry broke the silence not even one minute into their walk.

“Don’t give me ideas that I can reuse.” She rolled her eyes, preferring to focus on the click of her heels against the pavement instead of his perfume floating in the air.

“Oh c’mon, you said it yourself. We’re partners now.”

He remembers that day quite vividly. It was another twist of fate—he had a mission here and she was spending her time. They crossed paths at the same café they chatted in earlier, where he got on her nerves and teased her.

Next thing he knows, the FBI was outside his hotel—realistically, they can’t catch him. He doesn’t really have a record, everyone at the institution is unidentified. The only record that would show up is the fake name he has on his passport, which is in fact, a John Doe.

He didn’t hate her for what she did, he considered it to be an upgrade of their game. After all, she’s always been so smart.

“Would you ever rescue me if the FBI catches me or something?” He messed with her, no one can get a hold of him. No one.

But the night is long and he can’t help teasing her.

“No. Good riddance.” She scoffed and crossed the street leading to the Opera house. Her walk was so elegant yet powerful. He followed her with slow footsteps to ogle her as she walked no matter what, despite the increasing honking of cars.

He was ready to hand himself in just to know what she’d do. But for now, they have a mission.

As soon as they were inside, their new personalities got to work. Mr & Mrs. Styles had their arms linked together as they walked along with all the prestigious and rich socialites attending the night’s Opera performance.

Good assassins fool others by fooling themselves first. The way Poppy’s body leaned against Harry with a smile on her face—the same one trophy wives display, along with everybody’s eyes on them was a sign that their mission had started and was going well.

It was impossible to not be astonished by the Opera house’s interior, but it’s also funny how Poppy and Harry are always found in artistic historical locations.

Poppy’s eyes darted over every single detail; from the stairs to the high columns and golden chandeliers. The ceiling was another wonderland, spacious enough to hold a universe and decorated with art all over.

The statues stared at them as they walked—as if they knew their secret and what they came here for.

Harry wasn’t exactly impressed, he was here for a purpose and while he does admit that the interior is unique—he’d rather stare at her.

She was more deserving of his attention than any form of art.

The guests moved like a herd of sheep, women with their polite giggles and men with their egos. The stairs welcomed them as Harry tightened his grip on Poppy out of caution.

“Can’t we just skip to the mission ?” He rolled his eyes in disapproval. If things went his way, then he wouldn’t have bothered to orchestrate this whole thing. A simple shot to the head from a roof would have been just fine.

Poppy has always been extra and more precise.

“No. This is the plan and you will stick to it.” She sneered, looking around to take mental notes.

“What will you do if I don’t?” He pressed further, aiming to piss her off at a very wrong time.

“I’ll cut you to pieces and feed it to the stray dogs.” She replied with a stern expression, as she continued her observation.

“So romantic!” He chuckled, admiring her.

She wasn’t being paranoid or overly cautious. The reason behind them becoming partners was to join their power to take down other assassins. The assassination they’re here for can be done by only one of them.

The other will have to observe like a hawk, lurk around, and detect suspicious activity. Assassins can identify each other as if they are a wolf pack.

Arthur and Henry—also known as their bosses, who somewhat persuaded them into becoming partners sent them to get this mission done.

It should be a quick in and out—right?

“We should go from here.” She pointed at the right flight of stairs.

These stairs were narrower than the main ones, while socialites supposedly have class, they didn’t mind squeezing each other or pushing lightly and hiding it with a gracious smile.

Harry’s eyes darkened when a middle aged man bumped into Poppy’s elbow. She wasn’t hurt at all, if anything she was disgusted but it wasn’t that big of a deal.

It certainly was for Harry who was about to launch forward at the man.

“Behave.” She glared at him, sending daggers with her eyes. He unclenched his jaw and took control of his facial expression. His breaths were ragged, and he avoided eye contact with her.

This wasn’t a good sign—this is why assassins don’t have partners. Emotions must never interfere, let alone two of the most dangerous assassins with a past. Just like fire and water.

But that also meant that he cared for her, that it went as little as not wanting someone to touch her. All the little actions and remarks were suffocating, and they ought to explode soon enough.

Poppy let out a quick sigh once they reached the 1st floor, Harry’s arm was still linked with hers, tightening at certain moments.

“This is our room.” She reached out her hand to open the door leading to the balcony she reserved for them. It held the perfect view of their target. She hacked into the Opera’s system to figure out where he sat.

“Oh, you reserved a room for us. I knew you wanted me.” He teased in a sarcastic tone, clearly enjoying this more than he should.

“Can you be an adult for a bit? I don’t know you’re a ‘skilled’ assassin.” She quoted with her fingers before scoffing and taking off the fur and hanging it.

“I can definitely give you examples darling. On both, being an adult and assassin.” His voice was laced with mockery and hunger—hunger for something that she couldn’t quite figure out yet.

It is during times like these that she wondered if agreeing to be his partner was a sane idea if they could actually agree.

The anger is visible through her face, and yet he’s still smirking. She dreamed about wiping his smug grins and smirks off his face—but they suited him.

She sat on the chair in the first row, there were five chairs. Three in the first row, two in the middle, and one at the back. She reserved them all for only the both of them.

The balcony was perfect for observation. It had a clear view of the stage and the first five rows. But most importantly, where their target was placed.

Everyone was getting seated as she watched them like a hawk. Harry sat next to her with a sealed mouth and a lingering cologne. Since she took the fur off, her collarbone and chest were uncovered. Her skin was glowing, complimented by the blood red dress that pushed her cleavage.

Harry wasn’t a creep by all means—but his childhood love was sitting next to him looking as beautiful as a blooming flower. Fuck the mission, he thinks.

“Half of the seats are full now.” She glanced at the expensive watch on her left hand. “They’ll begin in five minutes.”

Harry may be playful with her but he’s serious about his job. They don’t have to do much now—in fact, they can enjoy the show. Poppy just has to glance at the target now and then, to notice his movements, his plus one, and how he’s acting.

The real work begins at the afterparty. Parties like these do not happen often, and when they do—only the elite are invited. Mainly it contains champagne expensive enough to end world hunger, and bratty rich people. The fake identities Harry made were easily placed on the invitation list.

Et Voilà.

Despite everything she planned, she didn’t anticipate the uncomfortable silence between her and Harry. It was so loud that even he didn’t throw a snarky remark.

They only pretended to be normal about it, with glances from their peripheral vision now and then. Poppy felt like a weight was moved off her chest when the orchestra came on stage.

They were going to play Mozart—which she learned is their target’s personal favorite. As soon as they started, she took out the mini golden binoculars from her purse and pointed them in a way that seemed to be directed at the stage but was pointed at the target. Their seating was indeed perfect.

As expected, there wasn’t much to take in. The target seemed to enjoy the musical pieces with his wife by his side. He ought to though, he’ll be dead soon.

Poppy’s sharp focus never wavered, she decided to continue watching his every act, and pattern of breathing. Until—something burned at her skin.

It made her flinch, rose goosebumps all over her body, and parted her lips in abrupt shock. The burning sensation traveled through her arteries and formed a clot inside her heart—making her choke silently.

She looked down willingly and spotted Harry’s left hand intertwined with her right one.

She swallowed down her throat and fixed her sight on the audience as if her eyes weren’t threatening to glance at their conjoined hands like it was some sort of instinct.

She couldn’t pull her hand away—even if she wanted to. They were role-playing as a couple, so holding hands should be the bare minimum.

Yet, there was something else stopping her that she dismissed. She only credited the excuse of being a “couple”. Digging memories she buried ages ago was of no use, even if the grief still lingered by.

Call it an exaggeration but the life line on his palm was digging into hers, funnily enough, she knew how it looked better than her own.

As for the heart line, his was straight with the tiniest curve to it, and hers branched out like a blooming flower—as if it was reaching for his.

How long has it been since they held hands like this?

Again, it didn’t change anything. No matter how perfectly molded their hands were—even the greatest sculptures were destined to crack.

The clapping and standing ovation of the crowd pulled her back to the present. The burning sensation was gone and emptiness took its place. A void bigger than the black hole.

Harry was clapping as well, with his stupid smile and perfect curls. She looked down at her hand and saw the lines of his palm imprinted into hers.

“He’s on the move, let’s go.” He was so casual and nonchalant about it. It made her sick. How his attitude never changed after doing something out of hand.

She picked up her stuff and walked ahead of him, body flaming with rage and unanswered questions.

The afterparty was set in a ballroom, not far away from where they sat. She didn’t care if Harry followed behind or not, although his footsteps left an echo.

She heard him call out her name many times, but she continued walking unbothered.

He blocked her path with his body, stopping her from going forward.

“We’re fucking partners, Poppy, whether you like me or not.” He spat with furrowed eyebrows and a hint of fury.

“Do you remember your part—“

“I’m not some child in a play, I’ve been toying with lives long enough to know what to do.” He rolled his eyes, reminding her of his skills.

“Well, let’s go then.” She gestured to the ballroom that everyone was heading to.

Whatever she was feeling at the moment must be shoved away. She didn’t even want to think about how furious this situation made her.

She had no choice but to be professional, like she always was.

Their target—Charles Walton was old money. He invested in stocks and was involved in business matters that threatened their bosses.

This time, Henry and Alex’s request was different. Poppy will kill and Harry will observe. Their roles were equally important, as they suspected that Charles hired an assassin. Poppy was also asked to get Charles’ phone as it may contain things relevant to her boss.

A well dressed man was waiting at the entrance. He collected the invitations from all the guests, and checked their names according to a list in his hand. The invitation cards were white and engraved with gold, sealed with a red stamp.

Harry handed their invitations over and waited till they got the usual nod and smile. The door was opened for them by an another man, who welcomed them inside.

They linked their arms together again and entered the ballroom. It was just as fancy as the entire building, which is no surprise given its history. More expensive chandeliers, renaissance paintings, and low classical music playing in the background.

Harry’s body was tense for some reason, he was looking around and observing all the socialites like he was instructed.

They were mingling already with champagne in their hands. The odor of filthy richness reeked off them as they stepped closer. Charles was standing with his wife and other businessmen that she researched beforehand.

She didn’t have to remind him that they must act all lovey dovey, or how he should act. He made it clear that everything was under control, and for some reason, she believed him.

Their legs directed them as they grabbed two glasses of champagne from a waiter passing by. They pretended to be turning around before stopping near Charles and his little group.

“Excuse me, aren’t you Mr. Walton?” Poppy beamed with surprise and happiness(Fake ones obviously).

She became the center of attention in mere seconds because no one could resist her beauty or voice—especially not men.

“Darling, I’m certain these gentlemen are busy—“ Harry faked his politeness which was even more astonishing given his real personality.

“Not at all, Mrs..?” Charles was enamored with her which seemed to irritate his wife.

“Mr & Mrs Styles,” Harry replied on behalf of her. Poppy was still offering pretty smiles to everyone, making them feel as if she was honored to be in their presence.

“Please then, join us.” Charles gestured with his hand, welcoming Poppy and Harry.

“I admire the way you work.” Poppy focused her attention on Charles who forgot that his wife existed.

Harry didn’t like this one bit—in fact, this may be his most challenging mission by far. Getting shot is way easier.

In some sense, he acted like a “clueless husband”. If it was up to him, he wouldn’t let a man look at Poppy.

“My husband and I are doctors for the Royal Family of Spain, but recently we’ve been trying to go into business.” Her demeanour was enough to intrigue all the men standing including their beloved target.

There was nothing better than a woman asking a man about business and finance matters.

Charles’ wife scurried away to mingle with other socialites, including her boy toy. One of the fun parts of being an assassin is learning everyone’s dirty little secrets.

Harry busied the other two men with a discussion about geopolitical issues while Poppy was bewitching Charles.

A tiny slip of the fur on her shoulders allowed him to sneak his eyes into her cleavage.

Men were so easy, weak, and pathetic.

The classical music drifted in the air smoothly, they were both doing an amazing job. Charles was trusting her slowly, it doubled when she batted her eyelashes.

She may love her job—but she doesn’t have to necessarily spend her entire night putting up with rich brats. She pretended to be tipsy and swayed like a clueless woman although she never drank during the job.

One single glance at Harry was enough to give him the green light. She’s sure that if it were someone else, they wouldn’t have understood.

He stumbled towards her, mimicking her “drunk” acts, and slung his arm over her shoulders, spilling champagne on her in the process.

“Oh sorry love.” He laughed and patted her dress as if he could fix it.

“It’s fine. I’ll go to the restroom.” She spoke, making sure to glance at Charles while sharing her location with a pretty smile on her face.

The laughter died out as she made her way through the crowd. The real work begins now.

All ladies and gentlemen around her were oblivious to the crime she would be committing; laughing and chatting in their high society la la land.

She remembered to sway a bit seeing as she should be a bit zoned out. She figured that Charles would be staring at her ass, she just hoped that Harry wouldn’t react and truthfully she doesn’t know why she assumed that.

Every corner of the Opera house is inked into her brain, having memorized its map. Yet, she can’t blow her cover so instead of walking straight to the restroom, she asks a waiter for directions.

She can see Charles staring from her periphery, eyeing her like a piece of candy.

Men, right?

Once she was inside the bathroom, she checked her purse quickly before Charles followed her. She didn’t have to think twice or doubt that he wouldn’t follow her trail like a puppy.

She took out what she needed, hid it discreetly, and glanced at her watch quickly. She’d give him approximately twenty seconds before he barged inside.

She fetched a few tissues and patted her dress, pretending to be busy with what Harry caused.

10 seconds left.

She loved the moments building up to her job, how she made them walk right into her trap—willingly.

The door to the women’s restroom flung open, revealing a way too confident Charles, walking in with a smug smile on his face.

“Oh—what are you doing here?” Poppy chuckled nervously, throwing the tissues away.

“Oh C’mon sweet face, don’t tell me you didn’t want me to follow you.” His Champagne glass was still in his hand as he advanced toward Poppy.

“I—I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” She moved a strand of hair from her face.

Men loved women who acted innocent. It gave them the impression of having the upper hand, the idea that they are more intelligent. Something to feed their inflated ego.

“I saw how you were looking, darling.” He sipped from his glass, leaning against the sink.

“I’m married—“

He laughed as if she just told him a funny joke. “I bet that loser can’t pleasure you as he should.” His voice was becoming more and more irritating with every second.

Her eye nearly twitched at what he spewed. She didn’t anticipate him insulting Harry, nor her response to it. Her hand gripped the sink till her knuckles were white.

Something boiled inside her at the mention of Harry. How dare he insult him and make fun of—

She realized what her brain was doing and swallowed down her throat. What the fuck?

“Ah, speechless eh? Looks like you haven’t got a taste of pleasure in a long time.” He scoffed, daring to get closer.

“Oh well, maybe…” She turned her face away when he became a few inches apart from her.

“I can show you a good time..” He brushed his knuckles against his cheeks.

Half of her focus was poured into his insult to Harry, and how it made her feel. Offended, Furious, Protective.

“You’re married…” She objected with a pout.

“Who cares? Bet you’re sweeter than her.” He scoffed, leaning in closer to her.

She fought the urge to scrunch her nose at his smell. Harry’s cologne was way better. It made her feel warm and most importantly it was familiar.

“You’re just flattering me.” She continued with the innocent girl act.

For the first time, she felt incredibly disgusted with a man. Well, they do disgust her in general—but they never got under her skin. She’s not sure if it’s his perfume, disloyalty to his wife, or his insult to Harry.

It’s most probably the latter, which transformed into some sort of anger towards herself. There was no reason for her to be affected by a stranger making fun of Harry. So why?

A sneaky glance at her watch indicated that it had been three minutes of back-and-forth “flirtation.” Poppy and Harry didn’t wear earpieces, certainly not to missions like this. They felt like it was for beginners and despite uncommon belief—it can be easily spotted.

Instead, they plan according to time. It was something that Poppy heavily relied on because she was never late. Fifteen minutes after Charles followed her, Harry would be waiting at their designated exit. But for now, he’s scanning the area for any other assassin. Charles’ disappearance can urge the hired assassin (if they exist) to come out of his or her hiding place.

She was certainly fed up with this douchebag. It was time for her to have a little bit of fun. Besides, she has ten minutes left, and the clock is ticking.

“Well then, I guess you should lock the door?” She bit her bottom lip earning his attention and compliance. He quickly sealed it shut and strolled to her like a predator.

She balanced the item she was holding between her left hip and the sink, paying attention to not lean in a lot to avoid pressing weight. She pulled Charles in by his tie and slowly unbuttoned his white button-up till a good amount of his skin was uncovered.

“Oh easy there, don’t get so excited—“ He barely got to finish his words. She decided that her ears had suffered enough.

It was barely a few moments of snatching the injection, and swiftly emptying it in his chest. So fast that he didn’t even notice until he felt the sharp sting of the needle on his skin.

Poppy offered him a smile, but not the same as the one she put on all night. No, not at all. This smile was sadistic, vengeful, and powerful. It reflected the real Poppy.

“What—“ He stepped back, hand clutching at his chest where the poison was spreading rapidly. He leaned his body against a stall door as she admired the look of disbelief on his face.

“Cat got your tongue?” She tsked, wrapping the injection in a tissue and placing it back in her purse.

Murder by poison was her favorite. It did the job and left no trails behind—not that her fingerprints would lead the police somewhere. After all, assassins are John Does.

“Inorganic Arsenic. Beautiful isn’t it?” She chatted with Charles who was on the floor, unable to react in any way. She pulled her cherry red lipstick from her purse and applied it to her lips.

“It was used to kill royalty and emperors, and was nicknamed ‘inheritance powder’ ” She rubbed at a smudge that touched the corners of her mouth.

“And do you know who used it a lot back then?”

The arsenic was now traveling through Charles’ bloodstream, she aimed at his chest purposely. She needed a quick death. He was coughing up some vomit, and his hand was clutching at his chest, indicating the sharp pain he was supposed to be feeling along with the rapid heartbeats.

“Assassins.” She smiled at him.

He shot her a look of hate—it was the most he could do, seeing as the large dose of the fatal poison and its symptoms stopped him from fighting back.

“Oh, you’ve got a little something over there.” She glanced at him through the mirror, pointing to the vomit coming out of his mouth.

“Don’t be so dramatic— I showed you mercy and chose arsenic instead of dimethylmercury.” She rolled her eyes and finished her last touches for her lips.

She closed her purse and took one last look at her lips before turning her attention to Charles. His dead poisoned body was flung on the stall door. She liked it when men stopped talking—or breathing.

She kneeled to his level and snatched his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll be taking that, thank you.”

Since he was still leaning—she brought one of her heels to his chest and pushed his body with her leg on the floor. She secured his phone inside the purse , and checked her watch.

Ten minutes had passed and she still had five to spare. The job was perfectly done as usual.

She didn’t worry about someone seeing her—or bumping into a woman because these socialites never let their husbands get away from their prying eyes.

She advanced towards the door to meet Harry at their designated exit. Until a loud band pierced her ears—someone was pushing at the door, and attempting to break in.

Harry is growing more and more impatient by the minute.

He’s quite tempered when triggered, but he was taught to tame it and use it to his advantage. He should’ve objected since she presented the plan to him—should’ve said no to her going alone.

Don’t even get him started on how that idiot was looking at her like she was a piece of meat. Harry wasn’t the best at controlling his facial expressions—and didn’t put an effort into changing that, because he liked his missions quick and fast. Bullet in, and assassin out.

Poppy loved orchestrating her plans down to the tiniest detail. Of course, she could be just like him and finish the job in 10-20 minutes, but she preferred her style.

His urge to protect her never went away, let alone now that she became his partner.

The glass in his hand almost shattered and cut him from his extremely tight grip. He saw how close the man was to her, and how she giggled for him even if it was fake.

It made his throat run dry and stimulated his thirst for blood. At some point, his ears were ringing and he physically held himself back from launching at the man and killing him with his bare hands.

He had to continue conversing with the other two men, which he did surprisingly. As soon as Poppy glanced at him, he stumbled toward her and was quick to wrap his arm around her.

He could tell that Charles thought ill of him and frankly, the feeling was mutual. Poppy’s plan was going smoothly, but when Charles followed her to the restroom—Harry saw red.

Everyone around him pissed him off and all he could think about was her. He excused himself from the men and walked around in the ballroom.

His eyes were trying to detect any sort of unusual pattern between the guests—something that may hint at an assassin.

Physically, he was present but mentally he was with Poppy. He knew her skills and abilities—but that didn’t stop him from worrying about her.

Was the target too close to her? Bothering her? Did she need help?

His mind kept pushing questions at him and urging him to find the answers but his role—

Nothing indicated suspicion at all. His eyes sneaked to every inch of every corner and doted on all the guests. No one was convincing enough for him.

He kept tapping his foot on the ground, gritted his teeth unconsciously, and had his ‘assassin’ facial expression on.

It had barely been 9 minutes—but he stormed away from the ballroom.

“Fuck this.” He muttered under his breath, not giving one fuck to anyone. Poppy was his priority.

If there was an assassin present, he’d kill them. If Henry and Alex didn’t like what he did, he’d kill them. If that douchebag was close to Poppy, he’d give him a real taste of death. Once he reached the women’s restroom, his hand was quick to grab the handle and twist it. But it was locked from the inside—

“Fuck.” He swiped his hand through his hair, and smashed his hand against the wall.

He wasted no time and began pushing the door with his body, his mind was running with all the possibilities. God help everyone if something happened to her.

Thud after thud, the wood started to crack. He didn’t mind the jolting pain he felt nor the bruising that would follow.

Instead of knocking it down, the door was opened on the other side by the one and only.

“What the fuck, Harry?!” He has never seen her this angry before, and she couldn’t believe the sight in front of her.

“Where is he—“ He stormed through the bathroom, and found the dead body on the ground.

“Did he touch you—“

“What in fuck’s sake do you think you’re doing?” She shouted, the anger was heavily prominent in her features and a vein along her neck popped.

“Excuse you? What if he hurt you?” He wasn’t being sarcastic, not in the slightest and it made her light up.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She shut the door to avoid unwanted situations. She knew that he would fuck up at some point but this? This was beyond stupidness and dumb mistakes.

“You can’t follow me. Your job was to watch the guests for five more minutes!” She was shouting in his face, her hands were shaking from anger and his facial expression wasn’t comforting.

“Well fuck them, I was worried about you—“

“You can’t worry me about me. I’m nobody!” That was his last strike. She couldn’t handle his weird antics anymore.

But she wasn’t nobody. Not at all.

“What are you doing?” He was breathing heavily in an attempt to calm down. He watched her open her purse and tear its fabric, before fetching a gun from inside.

“Covering us you dumb fuck.” They were both angry at each other, the tension was high and Pandora’s box was wide open.

Poppy aimed her gun at the fire alarm box and pulled the trigger. In a few seconds, the alarm was off, ringing through the building followed by screaming and loud shouting.

“Let’s go.” He grabbed her hand and opened the door, leading them away from the crowd.

He knew a short exit that he memorized while looking at the maps. Despite what she thought, he took his missions seriously and did his research.

Poppy’s gun was covered with her purse, she didn’t want to put it back inside . Though she struggled to not shoot him.

She could feel herself physically heating up, he fucked up their mission and spewed nonsense. Now, they have to take a different route to avoid killing someone who’s innocent.

He wasn’t supposed to follow her. In fact, she was done five minutes early which meant that he barely did his role. What guaranteed her that an assassin wasn’t following them right this instant?

“This way.” After lots of turns and doors, he led her through an exit that took them to the back of the building. No one noticed them or glanced their way, they were busy with themselves.

Even after they fled the building, and filled their nostrils with fresh air, Poppy still felt suffocated. She didn’t wait for him and stormed away, fast paced towards the hotel. She ignored his screaming, his pleading and focused on the road ahead.

It was an unforgettable scene for people passing by them, including the hotel workers. Harry was ordering her to stop and listen to him but she was out of sight and mind.

She didn’t want to think, didn’t want to face him or listen to his words that will charm her.

He ruined her mission, which never happened. Her ego was bruised, and her brain was throwing criticism at her. She had everything calculated so well, until he came along.

“I’m talking to you!” He grabbed her to catch her attention, just as they stepped inside her hotel room.

“I don’t want to hear you.” She shot daggers at him, before freeing her arm and walking away.

“Now I’m the bad guy because I was so fucking worried about you?” This was her first proper fight with him. He didn’t give her a chance for a fight ten years ago.

“First for all, cut it off with the worrying bullshit. Second of all, you went against the plan!” She shouted back, as she emptied her purse.

“What the fuck do you mean? Is it so hard to believe that I care about you?” His fists were clenched by his side, his shoulders were tense and he felt like the blood wasn’t pumping through his body properly.

“Are you even listening to yourself?” A few hair strands fell on her face due to her rapid movement around the room. She was frantically packing her suitcase.

“I know what I’m—“

“Did you care ten years ago?” She glared at him with pain in her eyes. He parted his lips, tried to conjure something—anything to say but he couldn’t.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She turned her attention back to packing. He didn’t understand why she wanted to leave so quickly. It’s not like they’re threatened—she did her job perfectly and the target was terminated. So what if he didn’t continue his job for a few more minutes? But it wasn’t his lack of professionalism that infuriated her, it was his emotions.

“It’s different, you don’t understand.” He shook his head, with the look of defeat painting his face.

“Of course you’d fucking say that! It seems like I never understand anything. Not at 18 and not at 28.” A sharp pain hit his chest the moment her voice wavered. Harsher than the coldness that he felt upon remembering what unfolded a decade ago.

“It was out of my hand—I couldn’t do anything.” The memory of what went down—his helplessness and escape pained him.

“What the fuck are you on about?” She rolled her eyes in irritation. Most of her clothes were wrinkled as she was quick to throw them in a suitcase.

“You didn’t believe what I wrote you, right?” He scoffed in disbelief. No matter what he did, the organization still left its print, and he would always hold the blame.

His conscience always taunted him and forced him to stay awake on countless of nights, simply rethinking the day he fled. Maybe he should’ve fought back, or even taken her with him. All he wanted was to keep her safe, and in the process he caused her to resent him.

“Are you trying to trick me or something?”

“I’m talking about the goddamn letter Poppy.” His replied in a low monotonous voice with his hands placed on his hips.

“What letter?” One of her shirts slipped from her hand and fell on the bed.

The silence in the room was bigger than the both of them. Harry felt paralyzed, unable to move but he could see the plead in her eyes begging for the closure she never got. All these years, he thought that her “hatred” stemmed from her after she read the letter, and decided how she would feel about it.

That she used the steps he left her so she could flee just like him. He waited for her to find him for years, and accepted her loathe for him once he saw her at a mission for the first time.

He learned how to love her from afar, because he knew she would never reciprocate the feelings back.

“What letter Harry.” He didn’t immediately register that she was now standing in front of him, barely a few inches apart.

She searched for something in his eyes that could give her a hint, buy all she could see was the sorrow and ache hidden behind his emerald irises. She knew that this was a complete turning point—it would either change her life for the better, or make it a living hell.

“I left you a letter that night—I explained what happened.” It took him a while to utter a full sentence. Who knew that the deadliest assassin was weak for her?

“What happened?” Despite clenching her muscles and digging crescent marks into her palm—she couldn’t help the tear that fell from her cheek.

His thumb was quick to catch it, like it was an innate reflex he had in him. His hand shivered upon contact with her skin. He never wanted to see her crying.

“They told me that if I don’t stay away from you, they’ll kill you.” He swallowed down his throat, with a thousand knives going through his body.

“I told you how to escape in that letter and where to find me.” His hand couldn’t contain the silent tears that fell. All this time, she loathed him silently and he didn’t even know.

“No—no.” She shook her head frantically, like it pained her to hear the truth.

“I’m not lying.” He laid his forehead against hers, picking up her tears with both of his hands.

“I—“ The emotions that hit her all at once tired her body. She had been living a lie for ten years now, with no one to tell her.

She always wondered how he was able to look her in the eye and act like everything was just peachy. She envied him actually—she wanted to forget just like him and act unaffected but she always remembered.

Is that why he always doted on her? Every single thing that he had done must have been out of hope while she believed that he simply wanted to piss her off.

“Please leave.” She closed her eyes as more tears fell into his palms.

“I can explain—“ He was quick to answer.

“Not now.” She shook her head in disagreement.

He pulled away reluctantly, before moving his hands away from her tear stained cheek. No one forced him to step back and leave her, she asked for it and it hurt ten times more.

He grabbed her hand and placed something in it. He closed her fist around it tightly, and spared one last glance to her pretty face. She noticed how his eyes were threatening to spill with tears. She never saw him cry before, not once.

He was out of the door in a few seconds, her legs were glued to the ground, unable to run after him and ask him everything she wanted to know. Instead, she opened her palm and glanced at what he gave her.

It was the lucky charm she made him. It was as new as the day she made it, the dried Poppy petals were untouched. Her body fell to the ground, tears staining the thin fabric of the bracelet.

Checkmate.

Feedback is really appreciated!!!

Fic divider from @firefly-graphics

Taglist: @prettythingsworld-blog @slut4marvelmenn @cherrycokeslay @wandas-lawyer @tbsloneely @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @missmielyhoran @harryssideboob @harrysficreblog @itslottiehere @hsonlyangelxo @gem1712 @adachhi @tpwkkkkk @hrryberry @summertime-pills @lhhrryismyhome @marzhshaim @harrystylessslut @keepdrivingkisses @rideeonstyles @matildasatellite @a-strange-familiar @greivingfortheliving @babyyangel111 @soblavk @straightnogayhs @awesomenavy @infinatetatie @be-with-me-so-happily @harrysrockstarsgf @cherrys4suckers @straightontilmornin @stilesissaved Red tags didn’t work!

228 notes · View notes

kooksbunnnn · 2 months

Text

Fuck around and..? JHS

Summary: Being neglected can bring out the brat inside you, little do you know that he loves to be the brat tamer.

Warnings: dom!hoseok × brat!reader. MATURE. 18+ Overstimulation? Edging? It's a mixture. Vibrator. Fingering. Unprotected sex(it's a no-no in reality). Reader cries and begs. THEY ARE DANCERS. Please tell me if I missed something.

Words: 1.7k approx.

Authors note: I am a little rusty and this is slightly unedited as well so please forgive if I make any mistake. Also, you can ask me to add you in the permanent taglist, so when I upload any drabble or story you could be notified🫶 ___________________________________________

"It seems like I underestimated how obidient you are. My perfect disciple."

The most important thing in dance is discipline, Hoseok told you that on the first day you visited his studio. You heard about how much body control he had, you just didn't realize how much you wanted him to control your body as well.

You used to imagine how his hands would feel around your throat or inside you. How would his dick feel in your throat or any of your holes. Never had you felt so out of control around someone. Always trying to get praised for how you move your hips.

Compliments about your dance turned into rewards so quick you didnt realize when he started to praise you for how good you looked riding him rather than at a move he taught.

And soon, you realized why you felt so powerless around him. It was like he stripped you of your powers as soon as you walked in that studio. He didn't have to say it verbally it was just the way he looked at you that made you submit to him.

You did not wanna upset him or disobey him. He made that very clear when you both started to date and get intimate, but getting less attention from him during crowded classes just wanted you to test his patience.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He says with a smile, fake, you can tell, calling you near your camera that was already set to film the routine, while all the dancers take a break.

"Tying my hair?" You say in a tone which makes his jaw tick. He hated you practicing with your hair tied up in front of others. Any other hairstyles were okay but this was his to hold, his to play around with, his to pull on while you got your throat fucked.

It made him want to bend you in front of everyone and tell them whom you belong to.

But as long as it got his attention, you were ready to risk it all.

He just glares at you as you stop letting your hair fall for the moment where you put your band in between your teeth, his gaze now unable to stay still on your eyes. You turn away from him to fidget with the camera's settings, pretending to fix something he told you to.

"Dont test me, doll." He says with his eyes squeezed, head tilted towards his feet.

"Oh yeah?" Stepping away from the camera, you start to put your hair very slowly in a ponytail, your top rising above your navel. He raises his head, eyes slowly trailing over your body.

Looking straight in your eyes, he steps towards you and scoffs. Looking at you, he raises a challenging brow meanwhile you finish your hairstyle by pulling the hair tie from your lips dramatically.

Tightening the hold of the hair tie on your messy pony tail with a raised brow, you tilt your head smiling innocently.

"Whatchu you gonna do about it, sir?" You challenge him with a smirk.

He smiles,"why dont you fuck around and find out, brat?"

A muffled cry escapes you as you feel your orgasm approaching. Once again.

The question, would he let you come or edge you again comes back. Again.

Hands at your back tied with a tie and mouth stuffed with a ball gag covered in spit, your knees were bruising against the satin sheets. You spread your shaking knees apart enough for your folds to touch the mattress and the vibrator that hoseok holds under your pussy.

He had been surprising you with different personas every time you saw him perform, but this? This dominant persona is your favorite, it is overwhelming to experience yet so cunt-clenchingly exciting every time.

"That's it, doll, let it go." He coos mockingly, and his voice sounds so soft against his appearance, shirtless and trousers unbottoned, making his briefs visible.

His voice makes you shiver in anticipation and makes you believe he is gonna let you come but then he can be so unpredictable.

Since he was choosing when to let you come, he has also been randomly edging you, you dont want to believe his words anymore.

You knew the first orgasm would have been a mind numbing one but he just laughed and removed the vibrator away from your pussy, laughing at how pathetically you cried. Surprising you with an orgasm after that by just lightly tapping your clit, soon followed by another one that almost made you blackout of overstimulation.

"Yeah? You wanna?"

Nodding your head slowly, your head falls back with a muffled moan. Tears falling over mixing with your spit your knees shake as he holds you with one hand and presses the vibrator harder on your clit with the other.

"Ohhhhh, feels good, right?"

He lets out at the same time you let out a low groan, making fun of how you shake and moan in front of him.

You nod your head again with garbled sounds coming from your mouth. Leaning in, he kisses your cheek, warm breath fanning your face, and you open your eyes to look at his dark ones, whining and mumbling a plea.

"Did you say something?" He says, pausing when you mumble something behind the gag. When you dont respond to his question, he immediately removes the pressure and puts the device aside.

"Look at me." He says gently holding your face with bith of his hands. "Are you okay? Still green?" You nod but he still loosens your gag.

"Words."

"Yes, green, just needed a sec." You say with a tired smile to assure his suddenly softening and concerned eyes.

"You're doing great baby, so perfect," he says, kissing you, which immediately makes you feel safe. Tightening the gag at your assurance, he leans down to lick a stripe from your tits to the spot behind your ear, making you flinch with sensitivity. Laughing, he grabs your waist to stop you from running.

Switching the vibrating device, he replaces it with his long fingers.

"Fuck baby, you're so wet." He breathes lightly rubbing his hand sideways and shifts his other hand from your waist to your head slowly. Your head falls back as his hand grazes your spine but soon gets yanked back to place by your ponytail in order to make sure you look him straight in the eye.

"I know you wanna cum all over my hands, baby, but have you been a good girl?" You nod almost too quickly at his question making him tsk in disappointment.

"Wow" he scoffs, "you really got some nerve, huh?" He snarls and slips two of his fingers inside you while unlocking the gag behind your head. You gasp as it falls off, and your head lols forward at the way his fingers felt inside you. Pulling your head back by your hair again, he says through his teeth,

"I am gonna ask you again, do you deserve to cum?" He grits his teeth while pulling his fingers out now palming your mound sloppily and slowly waiting for you to answer.

"I-I am sorry. Please-" he slaps your cunt making you gasp as soon as he hears your throaty plea.

"Yes or no!" He says now rubbing your folds with his palm slowly as you squirm with your mouth open in silent moan.

"No, no, oh shit, no!" You cry.

Parting your pussy lips with his index and ring finger he slowly flicks your clit making your body twitch with every movement his finger does.

"Such a good slut, so obidient." He coos licking your earlobe and you shake in his hold. Pressing his fingers in again he groans at how wet and sloppy you are. Letting your hands fall free from the back he opens the knot and pushes you lightly on the bed.

You watch with hooded eyes as he takes his dick out of his trousers and then throws his shirt somewhere on the ground. Rubbing his length all over your pussy, he enters you.

You gasp, feeling him inside you, stretch burning your walls. Your tears fall out as your hands reach to hold him.

"F-fuuuuck so tight- ah shit"

"Oh thats it"

You both moan at the same time. You could feel every ridge his dick had, its head reaching spots that makes you see stars.

"Oh, you're soooo dick drunk, baby," he smiles, wiping away the drool at the corner of your lips, and you moan, eyes rolling back.

"Such a good girl, so pretty. Fucking gorgeous" he says giving sloppy kisses to your neck and collarbones. You gasp when he bites your nipple while almost picking you up from the mattress from how hard he presses your body closer to his.

"Squeezing me so good, baby" he breathes.

"H-hobi," you squirm out of sensitivity, so he pulls out and quickly maneuvers your legs on one side, sliding in once again. The angle makes you both feel each other in a better way, tighter and closer.

Thrusting in and out, he reaches to your hand, which tries to find something to hold, entwining your fingers with his. He holds it beside your head against the mattress, slightly twisting you.

While your other hand goes up in his hair, he kisses you with fervor, grunting in your mouth licking up all your whines. He groans at the way you squeeze him. He pushes in once again grinding and rolling his dick deeper inside you.

"Oh my god," you gasp, pulling on his hair.

"Take it, I know you can." He says, gritting his teeth and sloppily thrusting in and out of you, signaling his climax. You both grunt at how harsh his thrusts are, almost punishing with a bruising hold on your hips as the sound of your skin smacking fills the room.

"Go on baby, ah fuck- tell me, who do you belong to?" He says, holding your jaw with his fingers turning your face towards him.

"You," you gasp, his lips brushing on yours.

"Me who, doll?" He licks in your mouth but pulls back before you can suck on it.

"Hoseok." You breathe out heavily followed by a moan on a particularly sharp thrust.

"Again-" he moans biting your chin.

"H-Hoseok," you moan louder this time.

"Louder." He grunts

"Hos-ohh," he shifts back to spread your legs open once again. Fisting the sheets above your head, he thrusts in you faster.

"Louder!"

"Hoseok- fuck oh my god!" You scream and he groans kissing you.

"Fuck. Cum, doll"

Your back arches and you clamp around his cock making him give a hard thrust followed by thick white spurts released into you. You moan at how filled you feel.

Chests heaving you both try to catch your breath, body sweaty and sticky you both stay in the position for some seconds. Coming back from his high, he peppers your body with small kisses, making your eyes flutter at the warm satiated feeling.

Tiredness take over you and you feel yourself falling asleep. Hoseok tries to slip out of you but you lock your hands over his shoulders, whining sleepily and making him slip inside you once again.

He smiles at how clingy and cute you become post-sex. Kissing you once again, he hums deep in your ear,

"Sweetie, I gotta clean you up." tucking a hair lock behind your ear, he pats your side gently.

"5 more minutes." You mumble, hugging him again.

"Baby-"

"Please," you pull him in tighter and wrap your legs around him, gasping at the feeling of his dick inside you. He teasingly thrusts his softening dick inside you once again, making you whine and bury your head in his neck.

He chuckles giving in, "Fine. Brat."

Date: 18th February 2024

129 notes · View notes

luveline · 2 years

Note

maybe one where steve or eddie are rough-housing with the reader and reader accidentally gets hurt during it so they immediately go all doctor mode, fix their wound if they have one, and comfort them after ❤️

Steve almost breaks your nose and is a loving dork!

1.3k words gn!reader tw blood / nosebleed

Steve is easily conquered.

You take one look at him where he's bent over his clean laundry and know you can likely overpower him. And what use is being somebody's significant other if you can't wrestle? You creep up behind his unsuspecting figure as quietly as you can manage, watching the muscles and planes of his shoulder blades move under his shirt for a greedy moment, and then pounce.

You throw your arms over his front and say, "Boo." You barely raise your voice but Steve is startled anyways by your sudden appearance, standing up tall as you give your weak approximation of a battle cry.

Once he's overcome his fright he grabs your hands where they hang over his chest and turns his head to face you. He's laughing, a warm and chesty laugh that you love. It also has the power to make you nervous.

"You creeper," he says mock-scathingly.

Your feet leave the floor as he bends forward again, attempting to dislodge you by tipping his body sideways. You start to giggle, arms crossing in front of his throat in efforts to hang on.

"Oh, is this how it is?" he asks.

"This is exactly how it is!" you declare.

Steve throws the both of you towards his bed and you finally dislodge, landing on his mattress with an 'oomf'. Steve, grinning like a maniac, brown eyes flared with smugness, jumps on top of you, knocking the air from your lungs.

You start to screech as his fingers find your sides.

"Do you surrender?"

"What? No!"

He tickles harder, his short nails scratching over your skin. Peels of laughter bubble up and spill out, very loud and twice as unattractive. Steve must not think so; the mirth on his face only multiplies, his fingers sliding up into the dip of your armpits.

"Steve! Don't! Get off of me!"

"I thought you wanted to fight!"

"No," you plead, laughing breathlessly as he stops.

His pause is all you need, throwing your chest into his chest, knocking him down so his side is to the mattress as you climb on top of him, thighs spread over his abdomen. His shirt has ridden up and exposed his midriff, his dark, fine snail trail.

"Don't stare," he says mildly, hands reaching for you. You take his wrists into your hands, which is an entirely new war, a battle of who's stronger.

The answer isn't you – as soon as you've pinned his wrists above his head he's flipping the both of you over, making your wrist pin entirely useless.

"Steve," you say. Whine, maybe. Not that you would admit it, but being bested sucks.

"What?" he asks, your faces very, very close.

"You cheated."

"I didn't cheat, I'm just stronger."

"You're stronger? That is so sexist, Harrington-"

"I'm not sexist, idiot-"

"Who are you calling an idiot, idiot?"

"You!" Steve cries.

You scowl at him and go to push up as he goes to lean down, maybe for a pretend angry kiss that you like so much. It's a completely mistimed manoeuvre and your noses smash into each other with an unfortunate sound like wet stone and a worse feeling.

You drop your head back into the sheets and Steve springs away, the two of you twins: a pained expression, a hand pressed to your nose.

"Fuck," Steve says. "Fuck, that hurt. Ouch."

You go to reply but find yourself horrified by the warmth pooling under your hand. You sit up and Steve is quick to climb off of you.

"Sorry, baby. Shit. That hurt so- Are you bleeding?"

You pull the soft part of your hand where your fingers begin away from your nostril. It's a mistake. Hot blood drips down the curve of your lips and you slap your hand back to stem the flow.

"Shit," Steve says again.

"Eloquent," you say, though it comes out funny.

He springs off of the bed and hurries to the bathroom. You'd find it endearing how quickly he made to get you tissue paper if you weren't in pain and bleeding badly.

Steve returns and takes your wrist into his hand, pulling it away from your face to replace it with his own. White tissue quickly becomes red.

You watch him as he does. He's suddenly serious, eyes pinched with worry and shapely brows creased as he holds the tissue steadfast to your face, like any slight movement could be fatal.

He pulls it back periodically to check how fast it's going. Rogue tears crest your cheeks, reactive rather than upset. The face is a delicate system of sinuses and ducts. It's no surprise that you're crying.

Still, Steve takes it for upset. He pouts at you sincerely and takes your bloody hand into his, massaging your fingers until they're warm. "Don't cry, Y/N, it's okay. It's okay."

You blink rapidly. Maybe the tears are a little bit upset, especially when he's taking care of you so nicely.

"I'm okay," you say.

He smiles fondly. "You're good."

He pulls the tissue from your face, pleased when there's no more bleeding to be seen. "You have a clot," he says, relieved.

"It's done?"

"It's done."

You let yourself be pulled into the bathroom where he flushes the bloody tissue and quickly guides you to stand by the sink, wetting tissue to dab at your face. He's achingly careful.

"There you go," he murmurs. "You almost look good as new."

He presses his pinky finger to your nose, the rest of his fingers covered in blood.

"Does that hurt?" he asks.

"A bit," you confess.

He drops his hand and the two of you turn to the sink basin.

"It's gonna bruise," Steve says regretfully. "But it's not broken."

He runs the warm faucet and squirts soap in your hands. You've never had somebody wash your hands for you. It's surprisingly nice. You feel buffeted by affection as his fingers work between yours, pink-orange foam running down the drain. Your nose barely hurts.

He pats your hands dry and then frowns deeply.

"I'm so sorry. I really didn't mean to," he says.

His concern melts you. "Stevie," you say, lightly chiding. "It was my fault."

"It was not," he says.

"It was! I started it."

"And I almost broke your nose," he says, eyes on your hurting bridge.

"Does it look bruised?" you ask.

He shakes his head. "It's still perfect, babe."

You step into his circle of space. Familiar, he presses a still damp hand to the curve of your neck. "Does it hurt badly? I can get you an ice pack."

"Would you?" you ask.

He squeezes your neck. "Sure I will."

Steve moves to leave and you make a small sound to hold his attention. "Actually, can I ask for something first?"

"Anything you want," he says, nodding. He really is pretty.

You try not to sound like a wounded victim but you're feeling sorry for yourself when you ask, "A kiss?"

He grins, almost smirks as he meanders into your arms, bracing his hands at the nape of your neck. His kiss is cautious, a tiny press of the lips that you chase. He rewards your tenacity with a firmer, sweeter kiss the second time around, trailing from the centre of your mouth to the corner, then your cheek, the well of your eye.

He avoids your nose. You're glad for it, though you miss his tip-of-the nose kisses.

"How's your nose?" you ask when he pulls away, suddenly remembering that you'd mashed skulls, and were not the only involved party.

"It kind of stings, to be honest," he admits, rubbing his face roughly.

You lean up and plant the hint of a kiss to the tip of his nose. "How's that, handsome?"

"Feels better already," he says, winking. You giggle.

#steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things #x reader

3K notes · View notes

darlingpwease · 1 year

Note

AAAHHHHANDOQLWM YESS YES YES

I love ur mind omgomg–

Locking him up all for yourself,, cherishing him all the time <33

He trusts you, so he knows this is for his own good, right?? You are the only person he can be with. You are the only person who will take care of him the way he deserves. You are the only one for him. And he is the only one for you. He sees that, right??

Although kidnapping bringing him home might have caught him off guard, he will love it, right? He is where he belongs. He knows that. He must.

And when he indulges you?? AAA fuck it's so cute <333 he just can't help but feel so happy when he sees how much you adore him, even if it's in a... unique way.

He adores it so much that he can't help but only want you, so much so that he hasn't even thought about yelling his friends that he's alright (not that they're here anymore to ask, but that's okay)

The kisses exchanged definitely are more enough for him to happily stay here all for you <333

-panna cotta

SEPARATION ANXIETY

next to you I'm not myself; next to you I'm yours

CONTENT WARNINGS: unhealthy behaviour, established relationship, mild touch starvation, kidnapping, pet names (puppy-like♡), power imbalance, fingers in mouth [once; yuuta], from lovers-but-not to lovers-but-red-flag, mild size kink / size difference, collaring [yuuta], mention of drugging [?] [yuuta]

dubious consent (dubcon), heavy petting, mild somnophilia [?], rough treatment, belly bulge + deep penetration, dirty talk + possessive talk, sex marathon / hypersexuality, unprotected sex / breeding, praise (g., r.), multiple orgasms (g., r.), bondage (tied hands, yuuta), hyperstimulation (g.), fingering (g.), cum inflation (g.), mild orgasm denial (g.)

WRITING STYLE: drabble + headcanons (2sfw + 3nsfw), ±6000 words; yuuta's genitals are ambiguous ('cum', 'juice), reader's genitals are ambiguous but implied as a 'dick' ('cum')

DARLINGS: yuuta okkotsu x reader; dom!reader, top!reader, yandere!reader

NOTE: more a random set of thoughts than something conscious, but you know... you know... also thank you for responding,,,,, mwah♡

Yuuta was small and gentle; anxious, timid, but very caring and affectionate, nervous even if you caught a common cold (anxiously asking if you are dying and what he can do for you), clinging to your hand when you watch a horror movie (under Maki's snide laugh when Toge tries to do the same, together with Yuuta, fearfully hiding with the help of you), — but always finding words and actions to calm and caress, as if you were stroking a cute fluffy puppy that brought your favorite thing and now trying to curl up on your lap to remind that you're loved.

Perhaps, for a bigger entourage, he lacked only a T-shirt with your name circled in a heart, and a glowstick — like those that are waved at idols' concerts to the beat of songs. Even if you could not call yourself an idol or any celebrity, Yuuta made you feel that way from the moment when you've met; he looked with doe eyes, having previously managed to make a mistake wherever he could and only hoping that you came with good intentions — and look absolutely smitten when you only offered help and some food, seeing that he couldn't even enjoy his snack, lying somewhere on the ground.

... Maybe you were too involved with him, especially when even Maki points this out, teasing almost reproaching for how involved you have become with your new, hm, friend, constantly dragging everywhere with you — and not that it was a problem that he became a new member, but that you would rather refuse to meet with them than allow Yuuta to be more than a few hours without you, as if afraid that he might disappear if you stay without him for a while.

But regardless of what they thought, you just couldn't stop being maybe a little too involved with him, even if he no longer needed such aggressive patronage — it's not that you asked him and it's not that Yuuta was against spending almost every free time with you, making you feel more and more fascinated by those little things like how he was doing volunteering, wrapped himself in a blanket almost to nose, was constantly freezing, liked to cuddle and often hid a cold nose in your neck, falling asleep as soon as you hugged him, although on normal days he could write to you at four o'clock in the morning because he could not sleep.

(It's not that Yuuta cares about himself more than necessary at all, preferring takeaway food, energetics and not sleeping until everything is done, always looking as if a little more and circles under his eyes will become bags.)

You start 'dating' closer to winter, when "random kisses", hugs all night, timid contact of fingers and pathetic in its obvious flirting starting to annoy both of you (in addition to others), while the courtship was no longer so satisfying, even if things, which he still brought to you like some kind of gifts to the deity, only got better and better. Besides, not only the gifts became more beautiful: it was pointless to deny that Yuuta was only getting prettier and prettier every day, attracting more attention, like a fragile decorative rose blooming, only thornless — and therefore even more vulnerable to anyone who tries to pick and take with them. And the feeling of him, becoming too mesmerizing, only made you more nervous, even in spite of his appearance, saying that he would follow you anywhere and you just had to whistle for him to come running.

You, however, can't take such a risk, seeing other people's views, even if there is "no reason to worry he's absolutely stunned & would stick to ur hip if could" — and you want to tell Toge that it's a little more difficult, reading words from the phone screen in his hands, but you can't bring yourself to say it out loud, because even if Toge sometimes behaves like a teasing prick, he never writes what he is not sure of less than completely, especially when so psychically guesses thoughts,

and for a moment you think that Yuuta has all the more surely already understood everything from your behavior (this would explain a lot),

but you can't force yourself to relax anyway.

Even when Yuuta reaches out to you, wanting only to kiss until he gets dizzy, ignoring the pain from your nails squeezing him tightly while he moans, fidgeting restlessly from overwhelming sensations that for a moment make him want to cry from how much he adores you, — you can't stop feeling as if under your skin thorns grow; Yuuta hastily kisses your skin, touching with warm lips in blind worship, squeeze so hard that your bones might ache, — but you only feel even worse, knowing that none of this can be long, eternal. Your Yuuta, your kind, sweet Yuuta, with thin red lips, sparkling eyes and the most tender gaze, looking up at you in blissful adoration, will never always be here for you. You still can't call him 'lover' — even after mutually confessed, you still felt so far away from him, as if you first met and are about to get closer,

while irritably kissing-biting in bed until his lips hurt.

In the end, if what you are experiencing is the desire to "infect and be infected", then you are trying to contact the vaccinated, and the thought that perhaps this is not so significant for Yuuta makes you dig into his sensitive skin. He's not so dependent on you anymore, is he? In a sense, you are no longer so important to him — he has new friends, new things to do, new pursuits, and even if you disappear from his life, it will be a blow and a hole, but not to the extent that he will never recover from it.

The only thing you will do is make room for someone who wants to be with him for a long time, being interested in a cute kind boy who is tall enough to make others look up — especially with his affectionate smile and altruistic personality that does not like conflicts or quarrels. It's not that you were so needed or useful; rather, everything that was happening was connected with you more out of pity than out of dependence. Yuuta no longer needs supervision and support; he no longer has a reason to spend all his time with you or to follow like your tail when he can be alone, still attracting people to him.

He is with you simply because wants to; he allows it, but does not need, and when you think for too long that maybe you are too dependent on him, too addicted to the cute, timid boy who does not communicate well with others and likes to hang out with you because you are good, even “cozy”,

then you can't stop the flow of thoughts until bedtime.

“Oh, a trip? No, not really; I thought that, um, it's too long. Even if it would be useful for me, I don't think it's a good idea. I mean, I understand that this is an infrequent opportunity, and it's recommended, but I don't want to be away... uh, away from, from here. Yes.”

“Mh? No problem. I don't quite understand what kind of surprise you want to arrange, but if that's what you want, then I agree to everything... Tell me if you need any help, okay?”

“I know you only want the best for me, so of course I'll wait obediently. If that's what makes you happy, then I'm happy too...”

“The only thing I want is for us to always be together.”

Yuuta has a scattering of freckles on his cheeks and shoulders when summer comes, pale orange kisses of the sun, but in winter they look like little spots that you want to bite, leaving marks, silently convincing him to stop trying to calm you down and accept when you squeeze his hands, continuing to leave your own scattering on skin, looking more like the chain you made him wear.

Your kisses are scorchingly good, as if he is being held on a slow-burning fire, waiting until he understands something important, but Yuuta does not have a single guess even when you do not react to his plaintive quiet whining from the abrupt cessation of affection, only holding in place. But even his heavy breathing and gentle pleas to continue remain unanswered, as if ignoring how needy he remained, excited enough to tremble when you touch his chest, letting him feel your breath on sensitive hot skin. Even his wet puppy-dog look remains without any reaction when you close his eyes, bending down to ruddy ear, forcing him to stop breathing from too close, sweet touch, as if his heart might stop, unable to withstand too much desired proximity.

Yuuta does not know what he is thinking when agrees to everything you say, only wishing that you would not stop, perfectly aware that you would not offer anything bad, you are always so good, so perfect that the only thing that can go wrong is that it was spoiled by his wrong behavior.

Maybe you were wrong sometimes, but harm him? Never — even when fingers touch neck; kissing his wet hot cheeks, assuring that you are doing everything only for him, you are always here only for him, and everything you can, you give only to him. The most dear and precious thing in life that you would like to always have with you, with whom you would like to create a family and a home where you can always return; it would be nice if Yuuta lived as a sweet spouse, wouldn't it?

When he turns his head so sweetly to the side, letting you kiss face and neck, you can't help but think that the most correct thing would be to just keep him in your pocket, hidden from everyone, and know that he will always be there, no matter what happens,

and this makes his head spin too much, as if from euphoria,

but when Yuuta tries to tell you this, you just kiss without letting him utter a word, almost purring about how small and pretty he is, like a toy, and so cute that you would like to bite to cope with all these sensations; but he's already yours, so you shouldn't worry, right? Always and forever yours.

It's all good. He can relax. He's safe. You take care of it.

You know what you're doing,

and when he hears it, he feels too safe to question anything, like how your words sound, or what you're doing besides snuggling up to him.

In the end, it doesn't matter — he feels so tired, warm, wet, so blissful that even an inarticulate whisper that you will bring him home seems like a fantasy created by overexcited brain, so confused and foggy from just a few kisses, he loves you so much, and even when you gently stroke him, assuring that he will soon be good, he wants to say that he is already good, so good, and you are so good, too good for him, and

he loves you so MUCH,

even when his consciousness begins to slip away under your loving touch.

Everything around seems to be a hazy line between reality and sleep, which inflamed tired mind created, looking for something that could make him wake up and be pulled out of the created illusion, but there are no running shadows, no glittering eyes — nothing that would make him wake up from delirium, it's as if he was trapped in this unfamiliar dark room, anxiously realizing that you are not around, but not being able to get up and look for you, unable to move, even when heart starts beating faster from growing anxiety and fear that something has happened to you.

But when your — he knows that your, he feels — hands touch him, stroking his hair, saying that now he is at home, no one and nothing will stop, you will be a family now, Yuuta cannot even mentally refuse, only knowing that you are satisfied with the gentle silence caused by his obedience. Your words sound like through a column of water, and his body is so weak, wadded, and you keep saying something, but he can't even listen, catching the words abruptly, — almost purring when you stroke his face, slowly descending with your fingers to his neck.

But something else is pressing against his skin — what makes him start to come to his senses.

You knew it would look great.

♡ Yuuta lies on the bed, wrapped in a nice blanket, draws in an album, reads books that you bring and leave, and sometimes watches TV; even if there are many more things, lying wherever possible (including a laptop without an Internet connection), which you have prepared to occupy him while he "trying to understand everything" or when you are busy, Yuuta has already noticed that his long passivity is more likely to cause your arrival than the appearance that he is happy, and even if it is manipulative — it is he who is locked up here, isn't it?

Compared to the fact that he can't go anywhere outside the room without permission, the fact that he forces you to come and spend time with him, since you can't see him so sad, are little things that are easy to close eyes to, especially when you sit on the bed, making his heart skips a beat from excitement, and stroke, asking what you can do for him — besides letting out, of course. Why would he leave if you're here, right? He has no need to leave this house, if only here you can always be together, as he wanted. Now it's a new house that you both will make the most cozy and pleasant place, in which you can live together as you wanted, spending all the time with each other, as if stuck together. Wasn't that what he craved, clinging to you and guarding at the entrance, waiting for you to come out to pick him up? After all, he wanted to live together — and isn't this room that you have prepared for him wonderful?

Yuuta shouldn't be too upset; for everyone, he is "on a trip to another country", only you know that he stayed, preferring to be with you, so he should stop being naughty, even if it may cause inconvenience since this is not the room he is used to — but you didn't become different! You still love him and want to stay with him forever, and he will soon realize that, in fact, his feelings have not changed either, even if the situation has become different!

For him, there should be you and only you, even if he could have already weaned himself from this feeling — but when his arms are wrapped around you, poking his nose, curling up around, you know that you are saying all this for a reason. Yuuta hears and listens, knowing that you are doing this for him, and he is not at all as persistent as you thought he would be, saying that 'this is a lie' — rather, it seemed to you that nothing has changed, he will even eat from your hands if you want. And even knowing that it can only be a trap, designed to lull your caution and convince you that he is tame, you can't brush him off, but playing with his hair while he's napping, almost purring with pleasure, like a huge cat, as if his neck isn't chained with a collar with your name on it — and as if he is not the victim who should fight instead of hiding in your hands and calling you just to spend even more time together.

he can only do this to deceive you.

But when you look at his sleeping gentle face, finally finding peace after the restless expectation of your arrival, for some reason you feel too relaxed, involuntarily realizing that yes, he is here, he is at home,

you are at home.

... Yuuta still wraps himself in a blanket when wants you to come, pampering him with your attention and caresses, but you can't help but take a little more things with you than usual, sometimes sitting for several hours, enjoying his measured breathing during sleep or a loving look from somewhere under the blanket while you're working (even if you still can't figure out why everything looks more like living together than semi-forced relocation).

♡ Of course, you spend enough time together every day — besides the fact that Yuuta has to get used to you again and start trusting, realizing that this was done for the sake of your and his love, you just loved to hang out like nothing happened, and Yuuta doesn't mind; putting his head on your shoulder when you speak, offering to play or watch, sometimes just lying on bed and chatting, almost wrapping around you, making sure that you are completely squeezed and caught by him, not being able to escape in any case.

Yuuta is not physically strong, at least not so strong that you would have any problems with it in case of a physical confrontation, but you still can't find the strength to brush him off when he comfortably lies down next to you or on you, poking his nose, as if trying to merge from how insistently Yuuta presses in search of your warmth; when his skin tingles from an unusual sensation, even in spite of how often you caress him, letting him hide face in your chest or hug, holding tight, almost puppy-like poking at you, waiting for you to be able to give him attention. Perhaps from that moment he became even more needy and clingy, even if you can't say that he spends more time alone now than before — but he still whines when you want to leave and diligently prepares for your arrival, just to keep you longer, sometimes trying desperately to convince you to stay with him for the night or hold him until he falls asleep.

And although you can't be too frivolous, knowing that your beloved is more than cunning, you still can't leave the room earlier than a few hours, spending all the time hugging him, kissing his face and saying how good he is, almost shamelessly pampering and caressing, being simply unable to leave until you tell him how glad you are that he is so calm and understanding, especially when he wraps around in response, gently kissing, saying that he is happy to be with you, while your fingers touch his neck, outlining the letters of your name, which Yuuta does not try to hide even if his cheeks are blushing, feeling your slow touch.

Perhaps, he blushes even more only when you start to pamper and cherish him even more fiercely, spending every second to make sure that he feels loved, knowing that only you can love him so much, only you can take care of him and make his head spin with delight, knowing that you are not even planning to stop yet — until you make sure that he definitely remembers something, seeing his dusty look or the rosy tips of his ears when he hides face in the pillow, but does not try to run away or move away.

Not that even running away can help him when you kiss, playing with his hair, whispering about how precious he is, how glad you are that he is where he should be, how good that he is so pliable and affectionate — just like before, when he couldn't live without you, almost crying when you wanted to leave him and clinging so desperately during the goodbye that even if he didn't say anything, you could feel how upset he was. Only now you will not go anywhere and will not leave, just like him — now you will always be together, like the family he wanted so much when begged you never to give up on him, hiding his face in your clothes, drinking too much to even realize that you are not pushing him away, but trying to help, and digging his fingers into your skin so hard that bruises appeared there.

Of course, now you will make sure that this will not happen again — you swear that you will love him and spoil him until he realizes how much you adore him, since you are destined to be together forever now.

And the fact that Yuuta makes your head spin, as if from a euphoric attack, when his thin, hot lips kiss yours, makes you only more intoxicated.

♡ You and Yuuta have never had penetrative sex. Not that it was anything strange, a sufficient number of couples do not do it before the wedding to "be clean", but for Yuuta it was never a matter of innocence or giftedness — your body seemed incredible, exciting, and the thought that you would go even further was connected with something more intimate and deep, which made his heart sink into embarrassment and shame, realizing that he wants a lot; much more than you are certainly ready to give, already overly cherishing someone as needy and clumsy as he is, who might as well spend days in bed with you without getting out. If Yuuta asked for even more, he would simply be greedy, if not desperate, begging you to let him continue and try to take even more even when you are clearly exhausted.

But when your fingers slide over his hips, assuring him to continue rubbing even if his movements become clumsy with excitement, Yuuta is close to drooling, whining your name while you encourage him not to stop, blindly whispering praise and enthusiastic words; when he fidgets nervously, feeling you stop, making him stay a little apart, apologizing in a muffled voice at the sight of his confused, ruddy expression — to immediately pull him on yourself, pressing even harder, hearing only his enthusiastic, amazed moan when your bodies touch again.

Wet, hot, soft — as if every time your fingers squeeze it, Yuuta becomes even more pleasant to the touch, like a cute toy, too pretty to resist temptation, convincing him not to cling so tightly while you hump him, taking care that every movement causes him to moan mixed with whining, every time making you tremble with delight, knowing that it is you who make him feel like this, that it is you who are holding him in your hands now, that it is you who are the center of his attention and the only one he can think of is you.

His arms are hugging you so tightly, trying to move more sharply, more confidently, listening only to your approving words, feeling how his clothes are getting too tight, but not having the opportunity to undress, fearing that you may disappear, slip away, remove him from your hips as soon as he is distracted — almost forcing him to slide on you, making sure that he is not too carried away and moves comfortably, even if you want, need more,

it is not enough,

it's so not enough that you would rather press him down hard and move on your own, but instead say something to make sure that he knows 'everything is fine', even if you can't stop squeezing and grabbing him in a shameless manner, causing him to tremble.

... His waist is easy to wrap around, like a doll's, with unmarked uncovered skin, easily turning red when you press on it — but even if he wanted to somehow hinder you by finishing teasing strokes, it would be impossible. His hands are not tied so tightly that it hurts, leaving red marks, but if Yuuta jerks sharply, he will still experience pain — and it seems more than fair to you, even if he cannot stop twitching from the lightest touch, squirming when you are distracted, trying to attract attention again, almost suffocating when you actually return, carefully exposing his body further and further. But even if his body tries to shrink, hide from the caress, trembling when you deliberately slowly move fingers higher — and immediately grab, changing the tease to a rough grip, until his body relaxes again, humbling, letting you do whatever you want; squeezing and rubbing while Yuuta wants to start squirming again, feeling how everything inside him pulsates and burns whenever you touch.

When you're so focused on him that without noticing (or pretending) gaze, looking into your eyes, wishing to ask you to be more merciful, — but just bites his lips, holding himself in place, afraid that even a hint of a desire to pause will be perceived as a desire to stop everything that is happening "which he simply cannot express openly",

but going insane when you paw his body, squeezing and groping until Yuuta starts whining, trembling from excessive affection, making his eyes water; desperately drooling when you only become even more enthusiastic, as if concentrating on make him even louder; sighs, moans, screams, whining, whimpering, suffocating sounds — everything that can prove what he is now so vulnerable and open to you, afraid only that you will decide to stop when his thighs are so wet and hot. While you continue to kiss, making him feel abnormal with delight, mixed with how sensitive his body is after you play, that even a light breath is enough for him to start wriggling again, trying to crawl away, but being deftly caught by the hips, not allowing to dodge your touches.

Even if tying him up might look a little hasty, you were more than aware of how smart your beloved is and that you can't trust him in this position until you make sure he won't do anything silly or hide dangerous objects somewhere. No matter how much you loved him, being willing to do anything for him, it didn't make sense if he was trying to fight back, luring with false submission and enthusiasm.

However, the way Yuuta whined in frustration when you moved, struggling with the ropes to touch you, awkwardly trying to wrap legs around to snuggle closer — made you feel dizzy, feeling his heart beating feverishly under your fingers from overexcitation and inability to reach the peak. When was the last time you saw him like this? When has he been so horny and adorable in the past, even if he behaved like an puppy? When he was just as desperate to stick in an attempt to find satisfaction, even if you gave him nothing but even more stimulation, from which his body could not stop shaking?

When was the last time Yuuta looked at you like that,

being ready to do anything if only you would start spoiling him again?

He immediately understands what you want when you touch his lips, looking into wet misty eyes and caressing hot cheeks, — and silently agrees, opening mouth, letting you slide inside and pushing fingers further, forcing him to tilt his head back slightly. But when you resume the movement, just so that he feels incredibly good, letting him feel how excited you are, Yuuta gently bites your fingers, urging you not to delay, even when gasps whenever you push it too deep, making adorable sounds mixed with tears from excitement and discomfort, from which he can't refuse, insisting that you don't stop.

If you could, you would capture this moment forever, in this stuffy dark room with Yuuta, for whom you were the center of everything.

And the fact that you whisper praise to him, without ceasing to rub and squeeze, talking about how hot and pliable he is, even better than when you fucked him before, you want to breed him so much right now — it's enough for him to cum in front of your eyes, knowing that you are not taking them away from him.

And Yuuta adores it — even when the ropes dig into his skin again while trying to hug you,

because it doesn't matter so much when you look at him in such a way that he is ready to lose consciousness.

♡ Yuuta has a little belly — such that you can easily cover most of it with palm, especially when stroking, seeing his excited gaze directed at your hand, understanding that you calm him down before start, being ready to stop at any moment. But for someone scared, he is already too wet, especially when your fingers slide lower, getting under his clothes, while lips are gently kissing his ruddy face, carefully preparing him and relaxing under constant caresses that stupefy him no less than your presence so close that he can feel your breath.

Was it his fault that from one kiss he was ready to agree to anything you want? Definitely not — especially when you whisper that you are ready, tearing an intimate touch under his plaintive whining, and slowly spread his hips, showing wet spots and trembling legs; the clothes slip off his legs easily, but you don't let him cross them, stroking soothingly, assuring that everything will be fine, even when your touch is too close to the wet bottom of his stomach, almost teasing, helping him switch from fear to excitement, reminding what you want to give during your first time, letting him feel how serious you are when you snuggle up to the soaked fabric of his underwear.

However, even when your fingers, wet from lube and pre-cum, gently stretch him, carefully pushing and filling; even when Yuuta whines about how 'empty and ready ', shaking again from the orgasm; even when you feel so excited that you are ready to directly make him to turn on stomach, fucking until such a state that he will definitely breed up to the point of losing consciousness — you know that Yuuta is not prepared yet, that you must continue if you want him to feel good, even if he squeezes you so greedily, as if assuring you to just stay inside, enjoying his warm and pliability. So wet that you can hear squelching sounds mixed with heavy breathing and moans when you are too persistent, while he drools, squeezing again only to cum, fighting the urge to roll his eyes as you continue through the orgasm, not even giving him a possible respite.

If it was an ordinary time, you would have stopped the last time, but you just keep fondling and stretching, feeling that he is still too tight and tense.

By the time the fingers disappear, Yuuta no longer understands anything, experiencing the last waves of orgasm with the realization that this is not the end, even if he physically can no longer, only obediently letting you throw his legs over your shoulders, completely trusting himself to you,

even when he is filled again, much more than before, trembling from the orgasm that has not yet passed and from painful pleasure, feeling how every part of body aches from the incessant fondling �� especially when you you lift his hips slightly, making them even more comfortable on shoulders, letting him feel how deep you are, without encountering any resistance from his tired swollen body, sticky with juice and sweat, ideally taking you so deep that with every breath he can see how his stomach bulges.

Some time ago, he didn't even dare to think about how you would fuck him, tying his hands and forcing him to cum until he turns out to be so weak in your arms, — but now the only thing he can think about is how good it feels when you don't stop, gradually becoming rougher, not being shy of wet slaps from which his cheeks seem to blush even more, nor the moans that become loud again every time you drive inside. When he incoherently purrs something, trying to praise, but everything turns into inarticulate screams interrupted by new thrusts, stretching him well and wide for you, like a cute toy, too weak to even help you, let alone 'fight back', not even being able to finish when he shivers from too intense sensations, squeezing you even tighter.

His body is hot, soft, wet, greedy, looking for pleasure even when he has already received enough and should not be so needy, but still trying to make you cum in him to feel good, full, as it should be, even if he can only stick out his tongue, begging you to kiss him, and suffocate while you gently but deeply kiss him, not at all with the same force with which you stuff him, preparing to accept everything you give, forcing him to slide on soaked sheets sticking to the skin from how excited he is, stupidly looking for you in puppy addiction even when Yuuta can't anymore — and when he whines shrilly, choking, seeing stars in front of eyes with delight and painful stimulation while his stomach is filled with you, becoming so hot and rounded that his body relaxes even more, letting the cum flow out while Yuuta blissfully closes eyes, breathing heavily with his mouth open, straining and immediately unclenching.

When you gently press on his stomach, Yuuta just whimpers, begging you not to make him relax and let everything flow when he feels so good with you, filling him to the brim, but you are more than adamant, even when he is still whining audibly, trying to resist, but quickly gives up, knowing that he cannot even remove your hands. Perhaps you just liked to see how his hips and sheets are stained when he can no longer restrain himself, giving you what you want, whining in frustration from resentment, wanting to at least push you away during a rebellious mood, but he hardly even raises head, not that he can express his frustration physically, instead relaxing even more, completely drowning, even when your fingers slide inside, as if checking how well he did, and Yuuta regrets that can't complain about you, but instead tries not to interfere, breathing deeply.

He perceives your turning him over on stomach as something unimportant, but when you push his hips apart, putting him on his knees, the body reacts with a sweet tremor, realizing what you want — but not being able to do anything other than drool, even when he's full again, feeling your hot breath, the way your chest is pressed against his back, so close that he can almost hear your heart beating, so so so close, that he can't help but squeeze you in a last attempt to make you want not to stop, stuffing him anew after everything that has leaked.

And even if it's not normal, even it's absolutely not normal that he gets so intoxicated when you fuck him from behind, the person who kidnapped him and locked him up here, keeping him tied up, leaving him alone and acting as if nothing happened, as if it should be, — then he is even more abnormal, since he is ready to cum only from the realization that it is you who are now breeding him, squeezing and spanking, biting, marking, purring contentedly when he tries to move hips back, even if his whole body hurts, realizing late that you have become even more intense and rougher, whispering something, but the only thing Yuuta hears is the noise of blood when rests his hands so as not to lose balance, belatedly catching himself thinking that he rests his hands, before you press his face into the pillow, lifting his hips higher, getting ready to fill his flexible lustful body again — and reaching a peak when you see how he stretches his hand to yours, trying to intertwine them, cumming when you squeeze his wet palm with your own.

... You don't think you'll be able to get up — not for a few hours, at least. Yuuta doesn't mind — not when you lie on him, pleasantly pressing down on the bed, gently kissing his wet face.

642 notes · View notes

ineffectualbookseller · 9 months

Text

there is something to be said for how much the Metatrons' offer of restoring Crowley to an angel changed things for Aziraphale, even beyond the face value of the offer

Azirphale eventually (and reluctantly) accepts the promotion under the presumption that he will be able to change heaven - "if I'm in charge, I can make a difference."

and obviously, Muriel and Jim/Gabriel are two key narrative players to show us why Aziraphale would think heaven can still be reformed - Muriel who was unbelievably lonely in heaven and, despite all their ineptitude, is so excited to experience earth for the first time (the fondness in Aziraphale's face during their scene together in the bookshop is so touching) - and Jim/Gabriel who Aziraphle once knew to be cold, unsympathetic, and remorseless but after having the memories and influences of heaven stripped away turns out to be helpful, curious, and self-sacrificing (we see Aziraphale come to terms with this change over the season, telling Jim in e2 that he's really not sure if he's still terrible but when Crowley is questioning Jim in e5, Aziraphale's sure he's just being silly)

but even after witnessing this, Azirphale isn't jumping at the offer to run heaven. He says so point blank, "I don't want to go back to heaven," but everything changes when he gets the offer to restore Crowley as an angel

and clearly, Aziraphale is so excited by the face-value offer, he and Crowley would be safe and they'd be together, and Crowley would never be punished for doing good again. Just look at his happy little hands when he's asking Crowley to pause his confession so he can share his own great news. He's beyond thrilled to be able to offer this to Crowley, to live this life with Crowley (before he realizes it's not a life that Crowley wants - those happy hands are devastating in hindsight)

so if bringing Crowley to heaven with him was the selling point, why is he still going after Crowley says no? Because in Aziraphale's eyes, the power to restore Crowley is the power to correct heaven's mistakes. So heaven can make mistakes - Aziraphale thinks the Metatron just admitted that heaven is fallible

that is HUGE

(this is also not what the Metatron was saying - but in this context what Metatron said doesn't matter, only what Aziraphale heard)

and this isn't just coming from some angel - the Metatron is the voice of God. The closest thing to speaking to God we have witnessed since 2500 BCE in the Job minisode (the most recent evidence of God speaking directly to a character). Regardless of where God actually is during this story, Azirphale would be taking the Metatron's word as the word of God

Aziraphale has been acting against what heaven says God wants since the beginning: giving away his sword in Eden to protect Adam and Eve from their punishment (which he then lies to God about but is still allowed to stay on Earth), lying to save Job's children and openly question God's role in the plan ("I… I don’t think… that is what God wants"), and of course stopping Armageddon with his Great Plan vs Ineffible Plan pedantry (and before this, his plan for most of s1 is to get in contact with someone higher than Gabriel because of course, God wouldn't actually want this) - and when he is finally found out, Gabriel and Michael cut his ties with heaven

but now might-as-well-be-God is walking into his bookshop and scolding the middle managers and saying they've been fucking up. And he tells Aziraphale that they were wrong about him and they were wrong about Crowley and Aziraphale's the one that's been in the right

(keep in mind that Aziraphale does not know that the Metatron has been on the same subcommittees as the archangels - after Michael and Uriel don't recognize him, he's probably assuming they have very little contact)

if Corwley falling was a mistake maybe everything else Aziraphale has been internally questioning is too. If heaven can make mistakes than something has been going wrong in heaven - a fault in operations not in design - there must something to fix

Aziraphale is a being of faith and he carries such guilt for questioning that faith. The idea that the Metraton is acknowledging a mistake must be such a balm to him

It's really no wonder he thinks he can change heaven after that offer

#good omens #good omens season 2 #good omens meta #gos2 spoilers #aziraphale meta #obviously there are other things influincing his decision (esp his tendency to still fall into that heaven/hell binary)#also this is all manipulation by metatron #who just needs A and C sepparated #but I dont think metatron realizes what hes done by lighting this fire under As ass #Aziraphale is now a man with nothing to loose and everything to prove #and the metatron is going to end up regretting this

294 notes · View notes

blissfulip · 2 months

Text

—Legion

On AO3

Priest!Viktor x F!demon!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Priest Kink, Blasphemy, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Flagellation, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demon/Human Relationships, demon reader, AU - Canon Divergence, Post medieval era, Dubious Science, Church Sex, Roman Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Shameless Smut, Masturbation

Cw: blood, self flagellation, masturbation

Words: 1.7k

[A/N: extremely blasphemous, but again, you saw the tags. Please read at your own risk! (also, let me know if you want to be tagged or removed in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass @thehistoriangirl @hypocritic-trash-baby

Playlist made by my baby Soln <3 @ihopeinevergetsoberr

Extra ecclesiam nulla salus.

There is a certain comfort in fear. When you see what awaits you at the gaping, harrowing mouth of hell, knowledge of the place you must avoid, ultimately, is power. There was a time when Viktor pitied those who did not know—those who lived despondent lives, unaware and unafraid of damnation. Recently, he had found himself wishing he knew less.

A ravening beast with a thousand bloody teeth, inside its mouth a cauldron, and in it the souls of the accursed with sin, boiling over scorching flames as legions of fiendish demons dragged in multitudes more. This image plagued Viktor’s mind without rest, be it vividly in his dreams, in the colossal fresco at the entrance of his local cathedral, or in the comical props onstage at the theater plays.

The parish clergy that had taken him in as a kid had made the mistake of noticing his outstanding intelligence and awarding him time to dedicate to studying philosophy, a privilege that many of the choir monks and lay brothers did not receive. In university, philosophy had turned into physics, and soon that turned into astronomy, which he had to keep a secret on account of the recent prohibitions put in place by Paul V’s Inquisition over the study of Copernican theories.

After he was ordained and returned to his home cathedral, this once silent yet innocent interest had turned into complete secrecy, and the fear of God that had once given him solace now tormented him. At times he considered giving up on his work; the mechanical objections of Copernican theory should not be of this much significance to him after all; there had to be something of value in what Thomas Aquinas had to say, and perhaps Agustine of Hippo had some good points. Nevertheless, it was the night sky that called to him, and even this far from it, he could not escape.

But outside the church there is no salvation , and Viktor knew that even if he was never to be condemned as a heretic in life, what awaited him in death was a flaming tomb at Epicure's side. Quod extra ecclesiam nulla salus.

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

His parish was a pious one, but Viktor would refuse to receive lithe from the members of his church. The first time he tried this, the bishop was immediately alerted, and he was secluded to live in the small room inside the chapel as a ‘punishment’ for his impertinence. Viktor did not mind; the lands he had been previously allotted were too much to care for on his own, with cleaning being especially hard once his leg would start tiring out, and the presence of the personnel of lay brothers that would follow him around made his studies impossible; thus, the contained space of the church was comfortable to live in on his own.

It had been a particularly cold morning. The week before, he had received word of the imminent visit of his diocesan bishop, and the impending possibility of his stay at any moment in the near future had tied his eyebrows into a permanent knot and his shoulders into a tense bundle of nerves since that morning.

To his dismay, the state of his works had made no decent progress, his journal being nothing more than a few numbers and three words on a painfully empty piece of parchment. He understood Latin; he had studied it at length in university, but when he took a break to read the Bible, the words on it floated around aimlessly, in a messy concoction of nothing.

“Per fidem enim ambulamus et non per speciem,” he repeated to himself in a whisper, and then closed the pages lethargically.

He read the cover of a white volume that had been lying on his desk for over a month now. He was sure he would have possibly agreed with what Foscarini had to say, so the feeling of dread he felt every time he laid eyes upon the title was mystifying to him. Though it made sense after some reflection, he was afraid.

When he read Copernicus, it felt distant, a world he was only a visitor in, but the Foscarini was a carmelite father, one of his own that was now nothing short of a persona non-grata in the eyes of the Roman Catholic Church. Viktor was afraid that what he had to say might make sense and that he might be so correct in his observations that this knowledge would drag him into the same status.

In retrospect, he should not have read it.

In fact, opening the cover was a big mistake on its own. Not even 3 pages in, the door of his room unceremoniously barged open, revealing the full figure of Father Isodore. Viktor and him never really got along; his time in the monastery as a kid was full of rule-breaking and inappropriate questions, and to Father Isidore’s dismay, insatiable curiosity remained Viktor’s fatal flaw well into his adulthood.

Not a single word was uttered as he carried his sunny disposition and rubicund complexion over to Viktor’s desk. There was no use in trying to hide what he was holding; Viktor carried the same guilty look on his face every time he did something he was not supposed to. Once a cute kid trying to hide some innocent misdeeds, his expression had grown into one of unadulterated shame and indignity in the wake of sin, and the bishop knew this all too well. The book was snatched off his hands aggressively.

“‘Epistle concerning the mobility of the earth’,” he read, “would be an interesting read if only as a piece of fiction, and perhaps in a different climate.”

“Your excellence, I eh—”

“Save it. Don’t worsen your sin by bearing false witness.”

Viktor looked down and sighed in resignation, a disappointed sadness creeping up in his throat.

“You are very much aware those texts have been forbidden, but since words seem to slide off you, I hope physical penance can remind you of your depravity,” Father Isidore said coldly as he handed Viktor the whip that usually served as no more than a piece of decoration adorning his wall. “Ten of them, and be intentional. One pater noster after each.”

“Yes, father.”

“It’s a shame; I have come to congratulate you on your work for the community. Repent. ” The emphasis on the last word punctuated his departure.

A cold feeling arose in Viktor’s stomach as he looked down at the whip, something akin to fear but also awfully comparable to excitement.

Three deep breaths are what he allowed himself; it would be better to get it over with as quickly as possible. He removed his vestments unhurriedly, only his bottoms remaining as he sluggishly kneeled by the bed, and the chilled air on his back was, in hindsight, not as bad as he thought at the moment. His hand trembled slightly when his grip on the whip tightened, and his jaw locked into a gritted grin as he sucked air in through his teeth.

The first flick of his arm was swift, like ripping away a bandage to make the pain go away as fast as your wrist could tug at it. It did not help; the feeling of the small metal beads digging into his skin was instantaneous, and it disappeared soon, but the burning that replaced it lingered.

“ Pater noster, qui es in cælis:sanctificetur nomen tuum; adveniat regnum tuum; fiat voluntas tua, sicut in cælo et in terra .”

A swarm of ants biting at the exposed skin on his back was a scorching fire.

“Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie,et dimitte nobis debita nostra, sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris; et ne nos inducas in tentationem; sed libera nos a malo.”

Then it subsided, and the slight chills on his arms were due to something else. He took his time with the second hit, languidly whipping both hands back this time to maintain the same level of strength. The aching this time was different; the burning of his skin was quenched by the few droplets of blood and sweat trickling down his spine. And there was something else—a burning feeling that was misplaced not on his back or wrists but in his lower stomach.

“Pater noster, qui es in cælis:sanctificetur nomen...” He started once again, both hands holding one another around the handle of the whip, closed in prayer as he shut his eyes tightly for concentration. This proved to be fruitless when an uncomfortable tightness in the fabric around his crotch distracted his attention away from the words he was reciting. He tried to continue with his prayer, but an ill-calculated movement tugged at the tender skin of his back, and the brief sting made the already confining feeling worsen, morphing into an odd mixture of ache and delight.

He figured out what this meant soon enough. The conflicting feeling did not originate from any sort of confusion about what he was experiencing; it came with the quandary of his two options: either keep going to conclude his penalty and follow orders, or go against those orders to avoid tainting this sacred act with his depravity.

He unlaced his trousers before going for the third whip. The aching feeling on his back was almost completely gone, replaced by a numb tingling along the wounded skin and an unbearable heat in his groin. The fourth hit was one-handed. Right hand wrapping tightly along the handle and left hand mirroring the grip around his cock as he pumped himself mechanically. When the metal hit the skin, a jolt of what felt like electricity traveled all the way down to his stomach, the member on his hand twitching in anticipation.

There was no fifth hit or anything beyond that. A final tug with a firm hand and gritted teeth culminated in his climax, hot viscosity percolating through his fingers as he rested his forehead on the edge of the bed. His chest heaved up and down as he whispered a string of prayers. Shame washed over him.

“Castigo corpus meum.” He repeated incessantly until he had enough strength in his legs to stand.

#viktor #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #arcane #arcane au #viktor au #priest au #legion #Spotify

96 notes · View notes

cosmicasteroids · 2 months

Text

Qsmp lore hcs and thoughts !

This is mostly character techno based so I’ll use Q!techno and also based around chayanne and some other things.

Phil mentioned that techno helped guide chayanne in the fight against ender!phil that lasted for like three days and I already had some like small lore on where technos been in the events of the qsmp character wise. Techno was a conduit for the blood god due to this the voices and everything onlt got worse with time and even healthy outlets fell through. Techno took this as a personal mission to bring his fight to the blood god in the spirit realm and left his own cloak and a note behind for Phil before leaving to go fight the gods themselves.

Thing is when techno won that fight and the blood god was slain there was now a new champion to take on the rule of blood and war kind of like a, ‘you kill the king you now are the new ruler situation’, you topple the god off his tower and now the realms deem you to be that god. Techno didn’t anticipate this and now is bound to be and become the new blood god and carry out his tasks and deeds and keep the realms in balance as the other gods. Bros just kind of winging being a god he didn’t come out here to be trapped in the spirit realm forever and become a immortal being, tis was not the plan.

In present day techno uses his god hood to watch over Phil and the his new family he has when the fight with the enderking happened between Phil and chay techno stood in to help guide chayanne through the whole fight where to stand how to hold his sword what to dodge when to strike he knew Phil better then anyone after all. Thing is after days and nights of this fight techno accidentally claimed chayanne to be the new blood god conduit a little soldier much how he was his entire life. Techno tried to speak with the gods saying it must be some sort of mistake but the gods told him it was simply fate. So techno took it in his hands to try to make chayanne better, stronger, and of more sound mind then he ever was using his mistakes of his past as simple warnings.

Of course when chayanne says he hears voices and has nightmares of war and slaughter and has this terrible need for violence Phil freaks out a bit. He’s seen all of this before he had a kid much the same toiled by blood and he’s watching closely to help like he did in the past nothing has changed.

Anyways besides story lore there’s also smaller bits of other little fun facts hc lore !

Only conduits of gods can see other gods, Phil is more likely to be able to see techno if he wakes up for a second during ender kings possession, unlike chay who can see him all the time. Phil is less blessed by a god and more being used like a puppet so he doesn’t have the luxury to see the gods as easily as chay would be able too. Chay can see the enderking wrapping himself around Phil and he hates it.

Techno is the new blood god but as such he kind of claimed the blood gods old memories from thousands of years and his powers making techno not the most sound of mind 24/7 he tries to be generally calm and teach about protection and defense but sometimes the voices beg for war and he can’t help the things he’s becoming (aka techno angst is real)

Will emerald duo ever reunite stay tuned cause gods can’t keep promises and even if the gods reach out and hold tight sometimes words can’t be reached by mortals of light.

Anyways I will make concepts of techno and chay for my lil hc lore au qsmp thing lol but I wanted to shout my thoughts into the void even if no one sees them. And if you do hope you enjoyed my ramble hope it made sense. If you have any questions you are free to ask but no pressure.

#asterrambles #qsmp #qsmp rambles #qsmp hcs #philza #qsmp chayanne #technoblade

68 notes · View notes

obsessivevoidkitten · 1 year

Text

Committed to Hell

Yandere Male Demon x Gender Neutral Reader (CW: Noncon, drugging, religious themes/imagery, reader dies but the story takes place in their afterlife, murder, blood, cock sucking, stalking, abduction, general yandere themes, dacryphilia) Word Count: 2.8k (Wow, okay, so this is a very special post, it is in celebration and thanks for getting me to 2.5k followers, and it is also for Halloween. I have been working on this ALL day. This post has a story with a new demon lord OC, AND, for the first time ever, and there is an audio component of the yandere OC speaking to YOU! I had to upload the audio in a separate post which can be found nowhere because I deleted it. I hope you all enjoy this food, your Halloween Feast, thank you all so much for following me. Please excuse any mistakes as this was not beta read.) (The music in the background of the audio is Horror Drone 1, music by audionautix.com. The voice of Ledlam, the demon, was provided by me, artwork by @solariahalsey in exchange for writing. Edit: Art was removed due to being NSFW and I didn’t want to get in trouble and audio was removed because it was cringe and only got 100 likes.)

One late night you had come home from work and exited your car to step into the chilly air. Two hooded figures leapt from the shadows, putting a rag of what could only be chloroform over your face before quickly taking your keys, stuffing you into your own car, and driving away. When you woke from your forcefully induced slumber you struggled to recollect the proceedings of the following night, all you knew was that you had been on your way home and now you were on some kind of stone slab in a large room. The walls were adorned with complex runes and sigils that had been painted with something red and suspicious, the room was dimly illuminated by torches along the walls, and an ominous chanting could be heard coming from an adjoining room. Your limbs were bound with rope and tied to four posts on the cold hard stone block you were trapped on. You thrashed and tried to yell, but your mouth was gagged and your muffled screams of terror only served to let your captors know you were awake. They stopped their chanting, their unholy prayer to a significant demonic deity, and suddenly a set of heavy wooden doors burst open and a few dozen cultists filed in silently and sat in pews laid out before the stone altar. One cultist, who you assumed was their leader as he was dressed in more intricate robes, stood before the altar and looked down upon you before turning to face his flock. “Fellow worshipers of Ledlam, Shepherd of the Shadows, we assemble here today in the house of worship to fulfill the will of our lord.” The cult leader turned back to you, now holding a ceremonial athame. Your eyes fixated on it and tears rolled down your face as you redoubled your yells and struggles. “We now commit this lucky chosen soul to the service of Ledlam.” And in one smooth motion he had cut your throat, your blood pooling into grooves carved into the altar, dark magic sizzled and popped as the cultist chanted and the arcane symbols were filled with your blood. Your life quickly drained away. Now you were in hell, through no fault of your own, in the home of Demon Lord Ledlam. Unbeknownst to you, Ledlam had been watching you for nearly a year. He had used his powers to peer into the mortal realm and find someone suitable to his tastes, that someone had been you. From the moment he first laid his eyes upon you he knew that, on this very Halloween, you would be sent to him. It was the only date that the veils between Earth, Heaven, and Hell all thinned a bit and those using the right magic rituals and using significant power could bend the rules a bit. And so it was that upon your death your soul had been funneled here by the ritual of his followers and by the gravity of his abilities. Otherwise you would have either walked the veil before reincarnation or you would have ascended into Heaven. Now you were confused and in an old style castle. Hell was a lot like feudal Earth had been, society was just often more violent. There were many different territories in Hell and Ledlam was the demon lord who ruled over the largest piece. You could see from the windows outside that you were no longer on Earth, the sky was an angry crimson red, crashes of thunder echoed periodically as flashes of black lightning danced across the tumultuous sky. Understandably you were shaking. Anyone would be scared in Hell, but your soul, your very essence, was not for such a place as this. Under normal circumstances only an impure soul would be here. The effect was that you felt much more uncomfortable here than others would, a creeping sense of unease that permeated every pore of your being. Ledlam, however, was beyond excited. He was putting the finishing touches on a feast in honor of you being here with him. He had all favorite foods, well, as close as he could get to your favorite foods with the type of flora and fauna that were available in Hell, he had his horns polished to make a good impression on you, and he even had the dining hall décor changed to match your favorite colors. You could hear the stomp of his footsteps approach the room you were in as his great hoofed feet hit the hard surface of the floor. Not knowing what it was you ducked behind a chair in a desperate bid to hide from whatever monster could possibly call this place home. What you saw turned your stomach, a beast straight out of a nightmare. A colossal demon, well over 7 feet tall, opened the door and stepped into the room. He had sharp shiny horns protruding from his head of black and red hair, his legs were covered in thick white fur and his feet were mighty hooves, his body was all muscle, and his nails sharp and black. An upside down cross was tattooed on the back of his hand and a spaded tail could be seen moving behind him. The demon was naked except for a bird skull necklace and a loincloth, which was mostly useless, as his large cock and balls swung quite visibly and pendulously below it. His four yellow eyes glowed in the darkness of the poorly lit room, scanning for any sign of your presence and finding you almost instantly. “(Y/N)! There you are, come on, your food will get cold!” He spoke with a deep booming voice, one that echoed unnaturally. Ledlam approached you and grabbed your arm, completely apathetic to your resistance and only silently enjoying your terror. He dragged you into the dining hall and set you down at a small table opposite of him with a large plate of food between you two, evidently for you both to share. You just looked down at your lap silently and awkwardly. Your demon captor just stared at you with unblinking eyes as he smirked at your fear. It was so delicious. You flinched at that wicked voice when he spoke again. “How rude of me, in my excitement I forgot to introduce myself, I am Ledlam, lord of this territory.” He reached across the table, put his hand under your chin, and lifted your head up, your eyes threatening to cry just from the pure fear you were experiencing from him and your situation as a whole. “You need to look at me when we are having a conversation, okay (Y/N)” At this you nodded obediently, too scared to speak, but your acknowledgement seemed to please him as you forced yourself to look at his frightening visage. Ledlam reveled in your fear, he couldn’t help it, he did not meet too many human souls up in his castle and the few times he ventured out the souls were long since hardened and immune to the simple sight of a demon scaring them, even a frightening one with his violent reputation. Your fear was just so cute and pure. He could not help but enjoy it. “Leaving your Earth body behind takes a lot of energy, you need to eat, my little human. You cannot really die in Hell, but you can still suffer.” As he finished speaking he held something to your lips that looked similar to a dish you had enjoyed while living. A little mini quiche. You managed to speak in a small trembling voice, “N-no that’s okay I’m n-” “I was NOT asking. Open your mouth!” Not daring to disobey him, you blushed as you opened your mouth and took a bite of mini quiche that he fed to you. You chewed slowly and took a nibble of food from the plate intermittently to keep Ledlam appeased. “Such a perfect little human, that is why I had you brought here, you will be a wonderful mate!” Ledlam could not wait to hold you and kiss you and make you writhe in pure pleasure, he had been alone for untold millennia. None of the demons born of hell nor the humans sentenced here were what he sought. He wanted you. A sweet, kind, pure being. Unspoiled by the ravages of Hell, who he would protect and keep safe. Though you could not speak after hearing what he wanted you here for, your surprise covered your face. “Don’t worry, I know you are scared, my angel, but I will keep you safe.” At these words you started sobbing. You wanted to be home, safe and curled up in your bed. Instead you had been killed and had your soul dragged into hell. It wasn’t fair. As much as Ledlam loved seeing your face streaked with tears he did not want you to be too upset. The demon lord left his seat and tried to pick you up, but for the first time since you wound up in Hell you found the will to run. You ducked under his arms and ran straight out of the dining hall, running frantically, luckily the way out was pretty direct and you wasted no time rushing out the door. It appeared there were no guards or anyone else around and you rushed towards the forest surrounding Ledlam’s castle. Just as the sky was like an angry wound flashing with dark lightning so too was the forest completely alien. Flora with purple, red, and black foliage, strange animal noises, and grass and soil that just somehow seemed… off… But you could hear Ledlam shouting for you so you proceeded into the cover of the trees anyway. It was not a fun experience for you, some of the bushes lashed at you leaving wounds on your legs, you were getting bitten by any number of horrible insects, and just to make matters absolutely as bad as possible it began to rain. Blood. It was raining blood. To say you were miserable would have been a grave understatement. At least the blood rains dispersed all the insects. You trudged through the forest, trying to put as much distance between Ledlam and yourself as you possibly could. It felt like you had been running for hours, your entire body ached, and this rain was making your skin itch. You found a little cave at the base of a cliff and decided to take shelter until the weather was a bit more favorable. But it was only minutes before you heard the booming voice of your pursuer nearby. “I KNOW you are close (Y/N), did you REALLY think that you could escape from me? This is my kingdom, my playground.” The demonic voice was slowly getting louder, you hid a bit deeper in the cave behind a boulder. “Are you in heeeere my little angel?” “I can smell your wonderful scent even through the blood rain darling~” Now you could hear his hooves against the ground, drawing ever nearer. “I love a good hunt every now and then too little dove, but my patience is wearing oh so very thin. Wouldn’t you rather get out of this scary cave and go back home to bounce on my cock?” Suddenly you saw four glowing eyes peering at you in the darkness. “Ah, there you are darling... mmm… I was going to wait until I got you nice and comfy back at home before mating, but seeing you covered in all this warm blood… mmm… it is really doing something to me. I really don’t think I have any choice other than to take you right here~” You did not know how he could see you so well, but you backed up until your back was against the rough wall of the cave. As he stepped towards you he uttered some kind of spell that illuminated the cave in a soft light for your benefit, you could now see that his uncut cock was fully erect bobbing excitedly with each step that he took. For what felt like the hundredth time today warm tears began streaming down your cheeks. Ledlam smirked, you just looked so irresistible like that. He continued his approach and stopped when his precum leaking dick was just in front of your lips. His intent was obvious. “Pl-please… I don’t want t-” “Suck. If you don’t get it nice and lubed up then what we do next will hurt quite a bit my little angel~” This wasn’t true, he did not and would not actually harm his sweetie, and his cock made enough natural lube so he did not need your saliva. But ingesting his precum would actually help to relax and arouse you and he relished the fear his threat got from you. Your lip quivered before you reluctantly opened your lips and he slid just a little more than the tip of his prick into your wet mouth. You stroked his dick as you sloppily sucked on it. His skin was extremely warm and his precum was strangely heady. Ledlam knew it would take a minute or so before his precum changed your demeanor any, so he had a bit of time to enjoy your clumsy nervous sucking. The demon ran his fingers through your blood drenched hair gently as you continued your task. Such rains were exceedingly rare, to have been drenched by one before completing his unholy union with you was surely a sign it was meant to be. You licked up and down the shaft, trying to get as much spit on his massive tool as possible, he caressed your face gingerly, careful not to hurt you with his sharp nails as he used his thumb to wipe away your gorgeous tears. The drug-like effect of his fluid was starting to become apparent. You slowly stopped crying and your muscles relaxed considerably, relieving all the tension that had been stressing your soul since your death. You found yourself more into pleasuring him as you gradually became more aroused. Nervous sucking and a desire to lube him up to ease future pain were replaced by eager licking and a need to swallow more of his precum. “Mmm, so good and obedient for me (Y/N), but I think we are ready to do something else little angel.” You looked up at him with a flushed face, desperation and confusion obvious on your face, all your previous fear completely melted away. Ledlam peeled off your wet clothing, easily slicing through it with his sharp nails. He leaned you over against a large stone and then kneeled behind you, his rough hands exploring your legs and thighs. Unable to stretch you with his fingers with his large nails he instead opted to use his tongue. It slid into you effortlessly. You moaned in desperate pleasure as he moaned at the taste of you. His serpent-like tongue thoroughly massaged and stretched your entrance, he licked, stretched, and kissed it until you started sobbing again, but this time in needy agony, yearning for more than just his tongue and mouth. “Shhh, I’ll take care of it darling.” Your demon lover turned you around. You draped your arms over his broad shoulders, dizzy with a need that you didn’t understand. Strong calloused hands gripped your waist. Ledlam pulled you into his lap and allowed you to nuzzle your head into his neck as he slowly lowered you and the tip of his cock teased your hole, smearing thick precum into it, before he finally sat you down on it. You moaned, literally drunk with pleasure. Ledlam took you to the base, moving you up and down on him, your stomach bulging from the enormity of his shaft each time you were forced back down, though there was no trace of pain or even discomfort. Seeing you utterly fucked out of your mind as he bounced you in his lap was even better than seeing your eyes wet and full of tears. You leaned against him, nuzzling lovingly against his chest, as he started plunging into you just a bit faster, his weighty nuts smacking your ass with each sinful thrust. Pleasure mounted in both of you until it could be held back no longer and you both came at the same moment, as he filled you up with potent demonic seed the ritual was complete and your soul was irreversibly bound to his. If there was any doubt as to who owned you it was certainly gone now. You were Ledlam’s angel from now and into the fathomless depths of eternity. You were too exhausted from the sex to stand, and too drunk off his cum to think, so Ledlam pressed a kiss to your lips before picking you up and carrying you all the way home.

#yandere teratophilia #yandere terato #yandere exo #yandere exophilia #yandere monster #yandere demon #male yandere x gn reader #gender neutral reader #demon x reader #yandere audio #yandere asmr #yandere speaking #my OCs #my oc ledlam #yandere x reader #Happy Halloween 2022 #thanks for following #Merry Hexmas

871 notes · View notes

sleepingdeath-light · 6 months

Text

hades smut hcs ; 18+

requested by ; anonymous (17/05/23)

fandom(s) ; disney’s hercules

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; hades

outline ; “hiii :] i was wondering if you could write some nsfw and sfw hcs of hades (disneys version) being your s/o? thank you so much!!!! im 19 btw, less then a month from turning 20!”

warning(s) ; sexually explicit content, dom!hades, temperature play, impact play, orgasm denial, edging, punishments, hand jobs, bondage (including with the use of a pillory), pet name kink (sir / my king), dirty talk, public teasing, collaring and leashing, choking kink, oral sex (male receiving)

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

hades is a dominant person by nature because of his desire to be in control and in a position of power over others — which lends itself to him being a very strict dom both in and out of the bedroom who isn’t afraid to punish you for acting out of turn

his go to final punishment (i.e. his last resort punishment after you’ve exhausted his warnings) is putting you in a pillory and subjecting you to all sorts of sensation play: light burning with just his hands combined with open palm spanking whilst making you count each hit, playing with your [pussy/cock] until you’re on the edge of climax before pulling away and repeating that several times over until you’re sobbing and begging for release, making you state your ‘offences’ whilst he plays with you and stopping every time you stutter or make a mistake to make you start over again, etc.

of course he’s mindful of your boundaries and will stop when your safe word is called, but before that point he’s very strict with punishments when it comes to you

he loves it when you’re vocal, especially if you call him things along the lines of ‘sir’ or ‘my king’ — the former lends to your dom/sub dynamic and will cause him to praise you for your obedience, and the latter will get you fucked stupid because he really loves when you highlight the role he is owed

hades is the absolute king of dirty talk and knows exactly what to say to drive you mad and arouse you in front of others without ever laying a hand on you — or what to say when he’s deep inside of you just to make you whimper or sob for him

he definitely gets off on seeing you in positions of complete submission — such as when you’re kneeling with your wrists tied behind your back, mouth open and ready to suck him off as he sits on his makeshift throne (bonus points if you have a collar and leash on for him to tug on and choke you every few seconds just to feel your pulse spike)

for as dominant as he is, hades is also extremely playful with you in the bedroom: teasing, mimicking some of the little sounds you make, joking around with you, and just generally making you laugh and keeping the mood relatively light — he’s still in charge, make no mistake about that, but when he’s not punishing you he’s also got an affinity for having fun in the bedroom

#sleepingdeath #minors dni #ageless blogs dni #ageless blogs will be blocked #minors will be blocked #smut #gender neutral reader #smut hcs #disney smut #disney x reader #disney hades x reader #disney hades smut

103 notes · View notes

stinkyme · 1 year

Text

Hello! This is another Nikolai fic, this time suggested by my lovely Gawy (@gawag ), hopefully you enjoy and I did it justice :) <3

CW/TW: NSFW, fem!reader, established relationship, reader is tied up, gun play (consensual), a bit of spit play, slight edging, perhaps a bit of twisted conversation between Nikolai and reader, countdown/guided orgasm, Nikolai playing russian roulette on you (gun is empty), oral!fem receiving, facefucking, creampie, a bit of fluff, aftercare mentions, if I forgot anything please let me know :)

I apologize for any mistakes in advance! :)

I didn't know you were this desperate || Nikolai Gogol x Reader

Ironically enough, you were the one who suggested or rather hinted to Nikolai how would you like to try new thing in a bedroom. You were a bit shy about it, but that didn't pass with Nikolai. After few silly "threaths" of his how he will dwell in sadness forever if you don't share your dirty fantasy with him and reassuring you there is only few limits of his and there is no way you crossed them, you spat it out. You wanted to try gun play in the bedroom, just to see or rather feel the actual thrill of it since you were curious. Nikolai looked at you slightly shocked with your proposition, but immediately started laughing and giggling the way he always does and said how he had no idea you were such a little, twisted pervert, however told you to rest assured.

So you did and therefore, in this moment, you were laying on the bed, completely naked with your hands tied up above your head. Nikolai was almost fully clothed, walking around and admiring your naked body as he always did before ruining it. You never understood his thought process when he would do this, but you were getting slightly impatient.

"Will you just keep walking like that?" you asked him and he sensed your tone was rather impatient.

"I can also walk out and leave you like that doll, is that what you wish for?" Nikolai teased your impatience, but he enjoyed it deep inside. He knew how much you craved him and how much power he had over you. The fact you even suggested such a dirty fantasy probably meant you spent too much time with him. Both of you loved it, to be completely fair.

"You know what they say is the best part about art, doll?" he leaned close to your face, his lips curling into a sadistic smirk. You shook your head left and right, hesitantly. He chuckled.

"Ruining it right after. Therefore, creating new art to admire. That's what you wish for, right? To be ruined and destroyed by me or did I misunderstood?" he asked you through a whisper. You shook your head once again, slightly intimitated by his presence and words.

"I need you to use your words doll. Did I misunderstood?" he pushed you further, gently bringing your chin up with one of his fingers to look him in the eyes.

"You didn't." you whispered, feeling weirdly ashamed.

"Well then, let me admire my art a bit before I fullfill our desires, okay doll?" he smiled gently at you, his aura awfully sadistic. You nodded and he pulled away from you to keep walking and inspecting every inch of your exposed body. That lasted for a few minutes, his focus and gaze were intense, almost burning into your skin. After he admired you for long enough to satisfy himself, he pulled something out of his coat and right after took it off, letting it drop on the floor. He came closer to you and put his empty hand near your mouth, gesturing you to take his glove off. You bit small part of fabric, pulling it back as Nikolai exctracted his hand out. You dropped it on your chest and Nikolai smiled, throwing it away on the other side of the bed. You repeated the process with his other hand and you noticed whatever he was holding wasn't there anymore. He threw second glove in the same place as the first one and before you could react, you felt cold metal being dragged down your stomach, making you quiver.

"Looking for this, doll?" Nikolai's eyes were on the gun he was dragging down your sensitive skin, his voice was playful but his gaze insanely lustful. He moved the gun between your legs, dragging it from your left knee, down your thigh, then your pussy, going over it slowly and teasingly, cold metal making you twitch, and dragging it back up from your crotch, over your right thigh up to your knee. He was amused with your twitches, reactions and small gasps. He looked at you and your face was unsure, but he could see you were getting turned on.

"If you want me to stop, let me know angel." he said in gentle tone, making sure you were okay.

"I don't, it's okay." you said, returning gentle and reassuring tone. He nodded and looked at your lonely chest. He got closer and let out small amount of spit between them, making you go slightly deeper in the matress, and he quickly used the gun to scoop it and started moving it around your sensitive nipples. He made small, gentle circles; cold and wet metal made you let out a small moan as you watched Nikolai's doing on your breasts. Your nipples were getting harder and Nikolai placed the gun on your stomach to free his hand in order to grab one of your breasts and suck on your nipple. You were whimpering under his gentle teeth and playful tongue and he quickly pulled away to give your other nipple same treatment. Your whimpers and noises made him harder and he let out little whine into your nipple, stimulating it more which made you let out a louder moan. He swiftly let your nipple free and got up to remove his clothes.

"Enjoy the show." he said teasingly as your eyes followed every line on his beautifully crafted body. His wide shoulders; round and puffy chest; prominent abs and nice waist as well as his thick thighs and strong arms. You were almost drooling at sight of almost completely naked Nikolai, even after all this time.

"My, my, you are going to make me shy with all that staring, doll." he said in fakely embarrassed tone, making your cheeks fill up with warmth. He came to you and moved the gun away to his side, kneeling between your legs. He kept your knees spread with his hands and slowly dragged them down on your inner thighs, lowering himself to face your pretty pussy. His arms and hands wrapped around your thighs as he spreaded them, exposing you further. His gaze was burning, not moving away from your sweet face that was looking at him and he teasingly licked your clit, brushing over it like a feather which made you shiver. He started moving his tongue in more secure motion, drawing small circles on your clit making you whimper out. He let go of one of your thighs and brought his fingers near your entrance as he started sucking on your wet bud which made you moan and thight your grasp around his head with your thighs. He teased your entrance, your juices were already long formed and slipping down right on his fingers. He collected them and brought one of his fingers to spread your inner lips, dragging his fingers up and down as his sucking became more demanding. You were quivering, your little, sweet moans were like music to his ears. He pushed one of his fingers inside you, quickly adding another one strecthing you out slowly. His tongue and lips slowly moved away from your clit, leaving small kiss behind as his fingers curled inside you, pressing your sensitive spot which made you arch your back and whimper. He completely raised his upper body, kneeling between your legs again, one arm gently hugging your thigh as his hand left gentle strokes behind, meanwhile his other hand was busy in your throbbing pussy. He started applying more pressure and fastened up his movement, making you moan out shamelessly, earning a satisfied grin from Nikolai. His other hand snaked around and gently pressed on your lower tummy to make you feel more of him. Your whimpers and moans were filling up the room and Nikolai slowed down his movement as he started leaking more precum. He slowly extracted his fingers out and took a gun that was next to him, dragging cold metal over your clit, in slow circles. You gasped out at sensation and he moved gun down, putting it between your inner lips. Your eyes got wide and you buckled up, earning a giggle from Nikolai. He slowly moved gun back up, teasing your swollen clit more. You quivered and whimpered under the sensation, feeling orgasm forming inside you. Nikolai could tell from your hips that you were getting close as you were moving them, trying to get more friction. He pulled gun away, leaving your needy clit alone and desperate and dropped it to the side. He quickly inserted two of his fingers inside you, making few thursts just to stimulate you more.

"I am getting close, I need more Nikolai, please." you whined and pleaded for him. Nikolai's grin got wide as he pulled his fingers out of your wet cunt, licking your sweet juices off and shamelessly moaned while looking at you.

"You need more you say..." he said like he was actually thinking about it and moved himself up to you. His legs were around your upper body, he wasn't sitting on your chest, but rather narrowed his hips just to his liking as he lowered his boxers; his big, hard dick almost touching his abs. He stroked himself as he slowly moved your head up to rest against bedframe as he positioned himself in front of your mouth, slowly bringing his thumb and gently dragging your bottom lip down, demanding you to open up.

"If you need more, let me fill that pretty mouth of yours then doll." he whispered as you opened your mouth, putting your tongue out. He grinned and slowly started dragging his thick cock over your tongue, gasping out in satisfaction. He started moving faster and soon enough your throat was occupied with his needy cock. He was thrusting inside your mouth, not too rough, but rough enough for you to gag and tear up. You were drooling and trying your best to take his full lenght, doing your best to take deep breath before he would thurst into your throat. Nikolai was whining and he grabbed top of your head to give you more stability as he kept thursting. You looked up at him and you could see his face was slightly flushed as you felt his precum melting all over your tongue and inside your throat. He was whining out loudly and praised how good you were and how you can take it.

"Now, keep your mouth open doll." he said and slowly pulled out his cock that was covered in your spit. He went back between your legs, adjusting his cock on your entrance and took a gun. He slowly pushed his cock inside you, making you wrap your legs around him.

"Let's see how desperate you are to cum." he whined out at sensation of your thight, wet cunt taking him fully.

"We will play a game. I will count down and each time pull the trigger inside your mouth. When I say cum, you will cum, that is, if gun doesn't fire before. Are you desperate enough to do that?" he teased you as he started slowly moving his hips back and forth. You nodded, indeed desperate to cum. He whined out.

"Ah, what a blissful or painfully desperate way to possibly have your last moment. I never would have guessed you had that inside you, doll." he kept whining his words out as he put the gun inside your mouth.

"Or rather... I didn't know you were this desperate." he kept teasing as he started moving faster inside you, his cock pressing your sensitive spot inside, meanwhile his pelvic area rubbed your clit the right way. You were pulsating around him and moaned out as Nikolai kept whimpering and whining. You were getting closer, so you pulled Nikolai in with your legs. He whined out.

"Four." he hit the trigger, nothing happened. You kept staring in his eyes. Your heart was beating from incoming orgasm and uncertain feeling was gun actually loaded.

"Three." again, nothing. You were getting closer and you could feel Nikolai pulsating inside you.

"Two." one more chance, you were so close, everything else seemed surreal, tears running down your cheeks. Nikolai thursted harder inside you, stimulating you intensely.

"One." you could feel Nikolai twitching inside you as your orgasm was approaching, making you thighten up around his cock.

"Cum, slut." he whined out and as ordered you reached your orgasm, clenching around him as he dropped the gun next to you to give himself more stability as he reached his own orgasm as well, filling you up with his warm cum. You whimpered, riding out your high as he slowed down his movement, coming off of his high, whining in low tone. You finally calmed down and he pulled out, coming up to you to untie you. You hugged him and he kissed top of your head as his silky braid tickled your tummy on accident. You giggled and looked at him.

"The trick is that gun was empty." he said in soft voice, stroking your flushed cheeks.

"Well, that trick I could see through. There is no way you would be able to make piroshki without me, so you need me around." you giggled.

"Ah, that's right doll. Once I learn how to make piroshki just like you, we can repeat this." he winked, teasing you.

You hit his arm and he giggled at you.

"Joooooking doll. Now let's clean you up in a nice bath and then we can watch something, sounds good?" he asked and you nodded as he scooped you into bridal style and carried you to the bathroom.

The End :) <3

I hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading! :)

I also thank my sweet Gawy once again for sending this idea :D

And huge thanks to everyone for supporting me and being so kind, big kisses on the forehead :D<3

#bsd gogol #nikolai gogol x yn #nikolai gogol bsd #nikolai gogol smut #nikolai gogol x reader #nikolai gogol x reader smut #bungo stray dogs smut #bsd smut

418 notes · View notes