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edgeray · 7 months

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“LATE NIGHT DEVIL, PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME

and never never never ever let go”- Teeth, 5 Seconds of Summer

Mafia AU! Arlecchino x Reader Oneshot

Author's Note: It's been a while since I've actually published anything on here. Well, my gay ass is back with another oneshot. This one has been in the works for at least a month. I'm considering making a Part 2, but that will definitely take at least a couple weeks for me to publish (if not months). I wish I was kidding. School literally hates me and my teachers are incessant on killing my GPA. This is also a gift for @megistusdiary because it'll be her birthday when I post this. Please go check out her blog for amazing genshin wlw content (especially Arlecchino content!) Would you guys like this on AO3 as well?

Content Warning/Info: This is a long af oneshot (6.3k words), long af descriptions and kinda long intro, Arlecchino is referred to with they/them pronouns, implied female but no usage of feminine pronouns for Reader, general dark-ish content, pet names, Arlecchino is a lil scary, I've never been to a club so I apologize for the very inaccurate information, nor have I ever been apart of the mafia so also inaccurate, a bit suggestive but otherwise sfw, if I'm missing anything feel free to tell me!

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Monsters are said to have lied underneath beds–waiting to ensnare an unknowing victim–or stalk hidden among the depths of a closet–awaiting an opportune moment to strike its next prey. Monsters are fabled entities that are used to scare off children from bad behavior and are quickly eased from the mind by coddling parents. The mere notion of a monster shooed away like a pesky fly, swept underneath the subconscious like forgotten specks of dirt.

You know otherwise. Real monsters don’t lurk on the undersides of mattresses; no, they lurk both in the skies above and the depths below. They do not stalk dark closets because they instead stalk alleys in daylit streets. Monsters are very real, that you know is true since you’ve seen your fair share of them. You’ve met monsters in person–they’ve come to you before. Terrifying is an understatement for them, and each time one has appeared as a client, you’re no less scared shitless.

You’ve learned that even inhumane demons find themselves in need of entertainment; like the sinful creatures they are, they seek self-pleasure. And that is how you found yourself in this particular circle of hell, meant to serve and please demons, devils, and monsters alike. Perhaps it was a revolting job, working at a strip club run by a criminal organization but it paid decent money for being danced on the fingertips of whoever you were unfortunate enough to be assigned to.

If it was a regular strip club, being an exotic dancer would have been fine. It wouldn't be so bad. Lustful and prying eyes can be accustomed to quickly, and so are the flattering compliments and the awkward flirting by middle-aged married men. However, there was a difference between lecherous and predatory gazes. Here, you aren’t even viewed as a person, no, the clients here, those that come in reeking of smoke or blood (though sometimes both), armed with knives and guns on their person, see you as nothing more than a toy or prey for them. Even in the eyes of your employer, you're less than human in their eyes.

‘You harm our merchandise, you’ll pay for it,’ is the warning given to every guest when they first enter. Merchandise. That's what you are. And that single line of words is the only thing that assures you of your safety among mafia members, gangsters, crooks, and whatnot. You've heard that the organization behind this strip club does well in enforcing that rule according to other dancers, but you personally don't want to see if the statement is true. You've been here for a little over a year, and besides bruising grips and pulled hair you’ve surprisingly yet to be seriously injured in any way. So maybe monsters do have a little humanity in them.

You're quickly growing to be a fan favorite as of recently, which means more money goes your way, but you're not sure how you feel about all the attention on you. It's most likely because of how often you offer private dances and private rooms to clients. Whatever gets you the most money; the faster you make money the faster you can pay off your debt and be out of here.

Tonight is supposed to be no different from other nights. You perform on stage, you rile up the crowd, you get showered in tips, and if there is a customer that looks mentally sane enough not to murder you in private, you take them to the back. Except, tonight, you're approached by your boss, who informs you that the entirety of the club was reserved by the Fatui, a well-known mafia more powerful and larger than the one that backs you up, for some celebration. These kinds of occurrences in the club rarely crop up, but when they do, they're often the most opportune time to bag in an abundant amount of money. Big shots like the Fatui pay and tip well, but there's one unsaid risk that comes with this: as a mere dancer like yourself, your life quite literally dangles in the Fatuis’ hands tonight. The organization that owns this establishment can't retaliate against the Fatuis if they so choose to dismiss the warning. They can't even compare to the might of the Fatui.

Simply put, if a Fatui kills you tonight, no one could do more besides bat their eyelashes. You're not at all pleased with this predicament of practically bordering on death, especially when you know one wrong move with one too hot-tempered Fatui could land you at the pearly gates. Keep pleasing the crowd, keep entertaining them, keep racking in the money, you remind yourself as you continue your dance, twirling around the pole sensually, and the customers devour every movement with their eyes. The only comfort you're given is that you've heard the Fatui are quite reasonable and diplomatic most of the time. This is especially true for the Harbingers, you've heard, the twelve most elite members that serve under the Tsaritsa, and the ones that are the most exclusive customers this night. That doesn't mean the Harbingers are any more humane than the average crook. Having worked in a strip club run by the mafia and surrounded by criminal organizations, the more rumored something is, the more dangerous it is. They can be considered devils amongst demons even. That's simply how vile they're supposed to be.

The most concerning problem about the Harbingers is that you don’t know what they look like, only the occasional whisper has alluded to how to distinguish between the twelve. Perhaps, you can survive through the night if you try not to draw too much attention; let the other dancers shine instead and hope you don’t get requested for a private room or dance. That way, you can ensure you don’t end up dead.

Your time to go upstage comes sooner than you’re prepared for. Your hands are clammy, and your form trembles in a way that only happened during your first month. Both reactions don’t make for a very good combination when your survival relies on you not fucking up and disappointing criminal customers. As you approach the pole, just like every time you’ve done, you make sure that the crowd’s gazes are in the backdrop of your mind, and instead, fixate on repeating the movements you’ve been taught and have mastered with your experience. Bet your survival on the provocative sway of your hips, the practiced showcase of your legs, and the allure of your dancing form. Beguile the crowd, but not too much, just enough to wow them. From what you can tell by the volume of the crowd, you’re doing a good job pleasing the Fatui enough. Your body stops tremoring after a few minutes on stage, and with one last final push of courage, you focus your eyes on the crowd before you.

Unsurprisingly, the makeup of the Fatui are men, though there are notably quite a few women. Either way, all of their attention is on you. As your eyes scan across a crowd, for one reason or another, you stop at a particular set of eyes near the back of the crowd. Intent, pitch-black abysses stare back, like they were trying to bore into your soul and devour every single motion of yours. They don’t quite hold the same ravenous desire as many of those before you right now, you mentally note with curiosity. It feels like your form is being calculated, in the way a predator would cautiously observe their next prey, a sensation you’ve experienced a few times, but each is no less chilling. The weight of their engrossed gaze causes you to shiver momentarily, and you snap away from their disturbing gaze to prevent any fumbling or faltering while you’re on stage.

Tonight marks the first time you actively seek out the same viewer while on stage, or even, during your entire time here. For some reason, you feel awfully bold, or curious, whichever two comforts you more, and unlike the meek little rabbit you usually are, you instead search for the viewer’s gaze. You find the pair of eyes with relative ease, as you remember that above their eyes are distinctive snow-white strands with streaks as black as their orbs. You take a moment to study them, and they remind you of a lion–or lioness–among hyenas. The aura they exude varied quite a bit compared to the other Fatui in front of you: not rambunctious, or arrogant; it's apparent they held an aura of indomitable authority just from the way they held themselves. Perfect posture with their clasped hands nested in their lap, with one leg raised over the other. They’re an embodiment of perfected elegance, however, much like a porcelain doll, they’re also expressionless, their appearance unmarred. You don’t examine the Fatui’s form for much longer because their scrutiny on you pricks at your skin irritatedly.

You don’t look for them again throughout your performance. In fact, you hope you never meet those charcoal pits again. You’re afraid that if you do, you’ll be ensnared by whatever beastly claws or fangs you know that Fatui hides underneath that impenetrable mask. The moment your time on stage ends, you rush back to the changing room to shake off your nerves. You sit down at a nearby chair, taking in deep sighs as you attempt to forget how you were stared down like a you were cornered, defenseless animal. And that is what you are, as much as you hate it. There’s nothing that can protect you from the Fatui. Maybe if you hide, never show your face for the rest of the night, they’ll forget they ever saw you and they’ll target another dancer. Surely, that will work, won’t it?

You’re able to steady your breathing before you can delve into a panic attack. Tonight, you decide, you’re not going to take any customers to any private rooms or take any private dances. You’d be missing out on a lot of money, but your life is more of a priority as of currently; not after the ‘encounter’ with that individual, you don’t want to think about how many more are just like them, hiding in the crowd like they were awaiting an opportunity to pounce on your vulnerable form.

Unfortunately, it seems like someone else has other plans for you because your manager storms into the room asking for your whereabouts before his eyes narrow on you. You immediately sit up, stiff as a board when he practically marches his way towards you.

"Someone wants you."

You sigh and shake your head. You should have known. "Not tonight."

He clicks his tongue. "You know I can't allow that tonight."

You bite your lip. "Just pass them to someone else."

"They're not someone you or I can refuse."

"Who?" You question with a shuddering breath, your nails digging into your thigh.

"The fourth one. The Knave. Lord Arlecchino."

Fuck your life. You might as well pull the trigger now. You’ve heard faint whispers of each Harbinger from the customers audacious enough to speak of them. The youngest, the eleventh, charming and boyish. The ninth, money-obsessed but a pretty looker. The eighth, elegant and cold, yet no less alluring. The seventh, as human-like as their robotic creations, which to say isn’t very. The sixth, is hotheaded and mysterious. The fifth, unknown. And the fourth?

Insane. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. That’s how the fourth is described. You shiver at the horrors that appear on the forefront of your mind when imagining what may come for you. If you're lucky, you'll be alive at the end of the night, more than likely clinging to the edge of living.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get ready as soon as you can.”

And you do. It’s not long until you stand in front of the private room’s door, your guest is already inside more than likely. The Fourth Harbinger is waiting, you remind yourself, fruitlessly trying to swallow down your stress. You can be dead the minute you step inside, this room could be marked as your grave. Whatever he tells you to do, you’ll obey wordlessly to survive. Just nod along, smile, and do whatever it is that he tells you regardless of the demand. You inhale deeply, regaining some ease of mind, before you bring your knuckles to the door, knocking.

“Come in,” comes a deep, flat voice, slightly muffled by its distance but what surprises you is how feminine the Harbinger sounds. Maybe you got the wrong room. You glance back at the room number plate on the door, and it’s the room you remember your manager mentioning. It’s the right room. Maybe someone else? You don’t have time to wonder, however, as you enter the room, knowing that if it is the Fourth, it wouldn’t be wise to keep him (Her? Them? You’ll just stick with ‘them’ now.) waiting.

“Lord Arlecchino?” You inquire as you enter the room, closing the door behind you. Sucking in a harsh inhale, you instantly recognize their distinct hair. It’s them. Your sight is immediately greeted by the figure sitting on the couch before you, sitting in exactly the same way you discovered them–crossed-legged and lounging back with unfaltering confidence. The Knave wears a scarlet blazer over a black compressed turtleneck, with a matching set of crimson leggings. Upon closer inspection, you’re able to make out red irises in their jet-black eyes. Despite the blatant and literal red flag, something about their appearance draws you in even when they scream danger. They’re… you’re not quite sure how to describe them. You admire the unblemished and pale skin, their elegant and rugged demeanor is like the perfect balance between femininity and masculinity. Are they beautiful, or are they handsome? You think both.

Arlecchino stares back at you like they’re considering devouring you then and there. You can’t suppress the shudder that runs down your spine. You’re a sheep before a wolf. There’s something so chilling about them that even with your experience with other clients, none has ever made you feel this way with just their mere gaze alone. This is what separates the average crook from one of the most powerful mafia members you've ever heard of.

You wait for a response but they only continue to observe you. You take the silence as confirmation to your question and that they’re anticipating something from you. Biting back a sigh of resignation, your hands hook underneath the band of your bra top and you lift it just the slightest amount before a cutting voice makes you freeze.

“What are you doing?” the Harbinger demands, their tone chilling and apathetic, making you want to shrink in yourself immediately. Your blood pumps loudly in your ears and your hands tremble a bit. Something about how designing their gaze makes you suddenly self-aware in a way you’ve never felt before another client–you’re practically half-naked in front of them with your skimpy bra top, undergarments, and fishnets and now is the only moment that you've actually considered how little covering is on you.

Why are they stopping you? Isn’t this what they wanted you to do? Or maybe they just want to do it themselves. Those types of customers always have the most bruising of grips and suffocating of holds. You stiffen at the notion. How are you going to survive this night with a Fatui Harbinger of all things? How many of your limbs are going to be fractured and how many of your bones are going to end up broken?

“I…I’m undressing,” your meek voice sounds out and you hate the crack in your speech. The Harbinger continues to scrutinize you. You don’t dare continue disrobing yourself.

There are several beats of wordless response before they then stand up from the couch.

Oh shit. You’ve fucked up. Are they going to kill you now? Is this your end?

Every thought is telling you to run in the opposite direction as they stalk up to you, but you're petrified as you realize with a chill that they’re taller than you. You’re not short by any means, a bit above average height, but they tower over you, looking down at you from above and casting judgment on you like a god. Once they stride toward you, you avoid eye contact by looking straight, observing their neck and clavicle that protrudes from underneath the fabric. You tense when they raise a hand, their manicured fingers placing themselves underneath your chin and long, carmine nails dig into the underside of your jaw, making you wince. They forcefully tilt your head, raising your focus onto their face.

It’s like they plunged their hands down your throat and ripped out the oxygen from your lungs, leaving you unable to breathe. Up close, the first thing you notice is their lips, plump and red from their lipstick. Briefly, you wonder what color their lipstick would look on your skin. Then your eyes travel up, red-crossed eyes gaze back at you and you gape quietly at the distinct shape of their pupils. You swear that their pupils flash red as you finally lock eye contact with them.

“Did I tell you to?” Their tone is cold compared to the strange softness of their handsome (beautiful?) face.

Something in your gut coils inwardly and you want to look away, but their firm hold on your chin prevents you. You bite your bottom lip to repress a whimper. You’re delicate glass in their hands, and they can break you so, so easily.

“No, sir.” Only the numerous times you’ve said this phrase ensures you don’t stumble over your words. They don’t answer promptly, but as they observe your features, their lips quirk up the slightest amount.

“You know how to address me. Very good,” Arlecchino purrs after several beats of silence, in a low, oh-so-sultry tone, and oh. Oh.

You’re not sure why, but their last two words make your stomach churn, but not in a discomforting way. In the way that lights a fire underneath your skin and spreads heat to every part of your body. You’ve never quite felt this way with another customer. You couldn’t believe that your body reacts this way just from a single praise but it doesn’t stop the pooling heat in your bowels. The chill down your spine still remains in place, but there’s an off-putting equilibrium of iciness and fervor generated from the client.

The Fatui’s eyes stay fixated on you wordlessly until the hand on your chin turns your head, finally breaking you free of their intense behold. Their grip slackens so that they can trace their nails gently down your throat, every inch of surface their fingertips brush against ignites a blaze on your skin. A shuddering exhale leaves your lips and it seems like they take notice because from the corner of your eye, the small uptick of their mouth grows. Despite how sensual and probing the Harbinger’s touch feels, there’s nothing lecherous about it–purely just intrigue and fascination. It’s a touch you both have and never experienced before. Cold nails rake against your throat, not enough to mark or scratch, but enough to invoke shivers.

You’re aware you should be terrified, but for a reason you can’t pin down, you can’t jerk away from their touch. You try to reason with yourself it was only because you’re one upset away from getting yourself killed but that reasoning falls apart when their hand gingerly traces your jawline and you make the softest of groans, a barely audible noise of content. Unfortunately for you, the sound seems to have reached Arlecchino’s ears and their expression softens slightly: their eyes narrow less and their brows aren’t as creased. And that smirk–if you could even call it that from how faint it is–becomes a half-smirk.

They pull their hand away and your trance is broken, reality returning back to you as you remember that the person before you is still a Fatui Harbinger, no matter how bizarrely melting their touch was. They turn on their heel and walk towards the couch in front of you; the slightest bit of heaviness is placed on your heart. You remain stationary where you are, observing them as they seat themselves gracefully on the couch, and their attention encounters yours again. Their black pits hold expectancy in them. At first, you’re clueless as to what the criminal desires from you, but then their legs spread apart, an inviting gesture that beckons you and every rational thought leaves your easily swayed mind. Your heart skips a beat, and you're sure this time it's not out of trepidation.

Even if you didn’t command them to, your legs would take you to their seating figure. You stand before them, feeling blatantly disrespectful to look down at Arlecchino, but you await their order. They lean back, lounging laxly against the couch, their posture never lacking their usual self-assurance. It only ties the knot in your gut tighter. You’re aware of what they’re instructing you to do, but the absent confirmation makes you hesitant. It seems like the Knave picks up on this because the room echoes with one definitive spouted word from their lips, authority and dominance ringing through their husky voice.

“Sit.”

Your legs buckle underneath you from the one-worded response, the demand only stoking the consuming fire inside you. Eager to please, you perch yourself on their lap, straddling them, your knees pressed into the furniture below you and encasing both of their thighs between your own.

Oh, you think to yourself as your legs make contact with their thighs. They're firm. And for some reason, that provokes your stomach to churn in itself even more. You're so close to them, enough to feel their breath cascade against your skin.

As you seat yourself, you nearly clumsily topple over, instinctively grasping onto their shoulders for support. Their shoulders are remarkably broad, you regard, well-muscled as well. Their hands creep up on your hips, steady but gentle hands grasping on each bare side of yours to stabilize you. The heat that radiates from their hands is infectious, regardless of the nails that burrow into your plush waist. For the first time, you flush considerably, a sweltering inferno forming in your cheeks and your head fills with dizziness. Their touch is gentle–something you rarely experience with customers–so, so gentle that you would describe it as heavenly. How can someone so inexplicably vile have heaven on their fingertips?

It's not a position you never found yourself in. In fact, it's far from the first time you've been like this with another client. But here, as you're sat on top of the Fatui Harbinger, and red x-pupils search yours, a foreign feeling passes through you. Placing your finger on it, you dubiously think it's bashfulness, but the heartbeat that sings in your ears and pulses underneath your fingertips tells you otherwise, tells you it's something more. Against that, you remove your grasp on their shoulders and place your palm flat against the couch’s surface behind the Knave.

You squirm a bit, nervousness in your form as you remain as still as you possibly can, waiting for any more instructions. All you need to do is act like an obedient doll for them in order to survive; compliance is the best way of ensuring survival with people like these. You feel like you're merely eye candy from the way that their attention flits across your body, but you're immobile throughout the entirety of their observance. Being looked at is much better than any physical interaction. Their hands still cup your hips, but slowly, they descend to the side of your thighs, making your skin feel tingly.

Impulsively, you mumble out a quiet "Sir…" as strange sensations brush against your skin.

The sound surprises you and you feel on edge as their eyes travel from your lower half to your face. You gulp considerably. From their stare, they expect more of a response, a reason for their addressment, but even you don’t know yourself; it seems like an unconscious calling that just rolled off your tongue. You cow underneath their gaze, even when the two of you are at eye level. When you linger in quietude, their hand releases one of your thighs and lifts to your face, supporting your chin while their thumb rests on your bottom lip, unfurling it just the slightest amount to implore an answer from your now parted lips. Gleaming scarlet pupils grip your regard sternly, piercing into you and instilling you to spew something out. Except, you still can’t, now too entranced and lost in the crimson.

“Doll.”

Despite the pet name, it's devoid of any affection or warmth. It's a word that drips of command, a reminder of your place: simply a toy that they can play with however they want, a manipulated and decorated plaything for their amusement. That means you answer to them, and so when they request a response, you're under the obligation to please them. Your survival is in their palms anyway, if they wanted you to dance, you would just so they wouldn’t strangle the life out of you.

However, its implication doesn’t prevent the tingling shudders that wrack your body nor the involuntary clenching of your thighs around theirs. Was it the gravelly voice that aroused your behavior? Your cheeks flare at the knowledge that Harbinger sensed the physical reaction. It shouldn't be possible. It shouldn't be possible, your thoughts repeat, but then they're interrupted by:

"Oh?" Arlecchino inquires to themselves, a stark amusement in their speech. Their red glare illuminates slightly, replacing the lost darkening with a faint glow in their pupils, and the corner of their mouth curls up. It is only then that you discover something entirely new: that monsters can be sinfully, cataclysmically, terrifyingly beautiful and the sight before you is the most exquisite example. A devil has you wrapped in its claws and its fangs readied for devouring but it’s disguised as an ethereal angel; blinded by their perilous allure, you mistake their snow-white hair, their lustrous piercing rubies, their flawless porcelain skin, and their burning, fleeting touches as traits of a seraph. From a measly smirk, you forget the atrocities lying underneath their fingertips and dismiss the hazard their presence holds.

The hand on your thigh rakes its fingers up, red nails trailing across the surface of your fishnet, wrenching out a breathy gasp from you as they travel inwards. Tingling pleasure injects into your veins as you subconsciously lean in, imploring for further sensual contact. A plea sits on your tongue and nests in your eyes as you beg them through your pitiful expression. They drink in your desperation with a slow swipe of their tongue over their lips, and that single action is debauched enough to elicit a soft groan from your throat.

“Well, aren’t you an amusing toy?” They drawl out with a preposing rasp and dark abysses glint with an insatiable hunger.

They smirk enticingly, their thumb running across your bottom lip and smearing your lipstick on their thumb pad. Their grip on your chin tightens a bit, pulling you even closer to them before a shadow casts over you when their face nears. Before you can even fathom their intentions, they descend upon you, closing the distance between the two of you. Your lips are greeted with something pillowy soft and fervently warm, and you sharply inhale from the sensation. Every one of your nerves sings frenziedly, your muscles tense all over, and your heartbeat drums deafeningly in your ears–all of this as your body is engulfed in a fervid tornado of heat that makes you lightheaded with pleasure. It takes you several beats to realize the reason for this is that Lord Arlecchino, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave is kissing–no, kissing is far too intimate, devouring–you voraciously like they're trying to rob you of any air, trying to imprint themselves on your mouth. Their mouth dominates yours, pushing against them with a deep fervor and famished urgency, eager to swallow every bit of shocked noise you make.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to indulge.

You first taste lipstick with a waxy flavor hitting your tastebuds. It’s cold against your lips, yet warm at the same time. But the physical texture and flavor of their lips are irrelevant; there’s only one true manner you would distinguish their taste:

They taste like sin.

The type of sin that’s chocolate coated and sprinkled with colorful toppings; depravity so sweet and charming it makes you reconsider the bounds of right and wrong. Degeneracy is far, far tastier than anything you’ve indulged in before. How can something so evil be so heavenly? Cushiony soft, placidly warm, flatteringly zealous, it’s like having a dance with a devil; so unequivocally immoral but no less gratifying. You question if they really belong to the Fatui because how can something like this come from such? You want to engrave the texture of their mouth onto your memory, feel this faux intimacy even when you’ve long parted. The Fourth Harbinger, you surmise as you surrend your will to them, is decadent–the only word that can be defined as both wicked and delectable at once–the perfect word to describe them.

The last remaining bit of reasoning comes to the backdrop of your thoughts and begs you to not be swept away in the heavenly embrace. You discount it in favor of accepting this godsent gift by leaning further with a weak imitation of their ravishing lips and pressing back. It’s a feeble attempt to match their insatiate nature, far too domineering and forceful than you can manage but they display a token of appreciation when they squeeze your thigh, indenting your skin shallowly with the burrowing of their nails. The action exposes just how sensitive you’ve gone underneath their touch and you reward them with the sweetest of sounds.

“Arlecchino,” you mumble with half-lidded dazed eyes in between ravenous exchanges and it evokes a depraved throaty growl from the Fatui, like provoking a call from a starving beast. They lean deeper to indulge in your taste. The gruff sound reaches your ears and it’s like a psalm–you shudder from its musical melody.

Their clutch on your jaw releases and their fingers outline your jawline before snaking to the back of your head. Well-manicured digits entangle themselves in your hair, and there’s a gentle shove against your skull that forces you deeper into the kiss. Your hands clutch onto the couch underneath you as tight as you physically can for any sense of grounding and your knees attempt to close in even more to feel more of their body against yours. The hand on your leg, in turn, caresses the length of your thigh.

Every graceful touch, stroke, and brush exudes an unyielding and infectious warmth that only adds to the stoking fire in your gut, and you’re bathed in so much swelter from the ecstasy that you feel dizzy. Yet, you never want it to end, you grow more addicted and drunk with each encounter of their lips. That, paired with your strained breathing, prompts your stamina to falter much sooner than the Harbinger’s. You let out a soft whine to signal your depleting oxygen, and their mouth unlatch with yours, pulling away despite your ache for more. With the separation comes a small string of saliva attached between the two of you, evidence of the shared intimacy that’s snapped when they lick their lips. The hand behind your head detangles from your hair and you silently mourn over the loss of contact.

You heave for air, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You’re a little perturbed when you notice that they’re not even out of breath, a small but firm reminder that they’re as inhuman as humans can be. That knocks a sense of reality back into you. Customer, mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, it comes back to you like a train. Here you are swapping spit with them while in the lap of potentially the most dangerous criminal you could ever meet, but fuck were they a good kisser–you’ve never experienced anything that came close to this in your lifetime.

Any foolish doubtful contemplation of the morality of this interaction is swept away just like that when you hear:

“Greedy little thing that you are,” they regard with the most cunning and handsome of smiles, discrete amusement dripping from their words. Their dark pits behold you entirely, the same way they have always done when it seems like they were contemplating what part of you to savor the most. Only this time, you’re not so disturbed by the notion. If anything, the swirling heat in between your legs suggests the opposite.

Greedy wasn't a word often associated with you, yet you couldn't more correctly describe yourself in that moment. Greedy. Greedy for a Fatui Harbinger no less. As ashamed as you should be, there's no use denying that you crave for their touch, for their gaze, for anything and everything they're willing to give you. You want everything and more. The more you contemplate, the more it seems obvious why you wouldn’t. Are they a devil disguised as an angel, or are they an angel that fell from grace? Regardless, they bring nirvana to you. An incessant desire bubbles inside you, your throat swelling up with an urgent request on the tip of your tongue. Would they allow such a thing if you plead? Would they be offended by your impudence? Would they punish you for such? But the necessity outweighs any reconsideration of your insolence and the supplicant beg tumbles out of your loose lips.

“Can I… touch you please, my Lord?” You croak out, wincing at just how wretched it comes out. The response from them is not immediate as the two of you stew in silence, a building sense of dejection inside of you. The expression on their face noticeably contorts, smile lessening, their brows furrowing, and their red x’s glinting dimly. Their free hand raises to near your neck and you suck in a harsh breath as their fingers enclose around your throat. The mere action sends a stinging reminder to your lust-dazed thoughts about their position, and a chill pierces you.

Mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave–the labels cycle through your thoughts. Though their grip is lax, not exactly suffocating and giving ample space to breathe, their fingertips does acutely jab into your skin, a display of their impressive grip strength. You have no doubt that they can suffocate you with one hand alone, snap your neck, or, as your mind ventures into more harrowing territories, crush your skull. Those thoughts alone has you breathless with anticipation. A heavy weight suddenly appears in your gut, so heavy that you feel like you can’t move so much as a muscle.

Did you just go too far? Was that too much to ask? Was this how you were going to die?

The reflex to gag and inhale combat each other in your throat, a discomforting sensation that crawls up your spine while you tremble. You’re almost certain that the nails have penetrated the layer of skin, drawing beads of blood that’ll trail down your mark. You whimper at the prickly pain. Yet, in all your unease, the most masochistic thought arrives briefly at the forefront, and you can’t help but consider: this position is just as intimate as all the other interactions. You’re already so vulnerable in their lap, does the hand around your neck change your peril in any way? No, you’ve been a defenseless lamb to a slaughter the moment you’ve stepped into the domain of a menacing wolf.

Ah. Even now, you can’t dismiss the warmth of their fingertips.

“Do you still want to touch me when I do this?” They demand callously, their voice harsh and reverberating through the room. Their grasp closes more around, and you feel your supply of oxygen inhibited. Tears begin to brim your eyes, but you’re undeterred. Unlike Arlecchino’s, your answer is instant and breathless. Your eyes intently lock on theirs, the hardened expression enough to satisfy their question. There’s no need for contemplation. Danger, you determine, is addicting.

“Yes.”

The previously small smile stretches across their lips considerably. Content, or dare you say it, thrill writes itself over their face and the boulder previously pressed against your shoulders is lifted. Your throat is freed from their hold, but their touch doesn’t halt there. Instead, they rotate your head for you to face to the left, exposing your side profile to them. From the corner of your eyes, you watch as their face draws closer to your skin, hot breath cascading across the small dents her nails created. The one on your thigh finally leaves, moving to one of your hips, tender strokes across your flushed surface. They lean forward, and moist, plush skin meets yours. Lips traverse over the length of your neck, teeth scraping against, making you weakly groan. It takes all of your will to still your body, only allowing for the Harbinger to do whatever they desire to your form. Their touches are burning, burning, burning–so hot that you wonder if you’re experiencing a heat wave. Peppered kisses follow the edge of your jawbone, all the way up to your earlobe. A wet kiss graces your ear and then the most sinful of statements dignifies your eardrums, like a devil whispering hymns directly into your ear.

“I think I’ll keep you to myself after this.”

A short hum follows afterward.

“If you want to touch me, you’ll have to work for it. You’re only mine for tonight, aren't you? Entertain me. Give me a private dance, doll. After all, you have me for all night.”

---

Link to M-Alexa's amazing art and how I imagine Arlecchino to look like in this oneshot.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact fanfics #guys I'm so tired it's 2AM rn #i have school tomorrow guys #i chose to finish this tonight despite the shit ton of homework I have to do #arlecchino brain rot does that to you #def worth it #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact arlecchino #genshin arlecchino #genshin fics #arlecchino smut #edgeray.writes #edgeray.blog

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becauseicantthinkwritings · 2 months

Text

Teeth

Part 22

Werpanther! Billy Russo x Reader

Masterlist

Warnings: Smut, smut, and more smut. Pool sex, and a sprinkle of a dominance kink. There is also actual plot I'm not insane.

A/N: I'm in so much pain right now.

You move up to him quietly, a gentle hand to the smooth skin of his back.

He turns his head to face you, eyes still closed, a sleepy smile curving onto his mouth.

You kneel in front of him, your fingers moving up to delve into his hair, hearing him groan makes you smile.

You stay there like that for a while, memorising the feel of his soft hair, the bristle of his beard along the backs of your fingers, and when you feel like you’re about to burst, you finally open your mouth to speak.

And then you pause, what if he just denied it? This was probably a big secret for him, something he might not be ready to reveal to you.

Should you wait?

Could you? Knowing what you know now, could you honestly remain quiet about it?

What would be the harm in keeping what you know to yourself?

You can’t decide on what to do, but you know you at least have to try now, or else it would affect the way you acted around him.

If he denied it, you would just let it go.

“Billy?” You finally say, soft and calm so that he gets an idea of how not upset you are.

His eyes remain closed, but his eyebrows raise as he makes a sound of inquiry at the back of his throat.

You study his gorgeous sleepy face, still not completely sure you want to speak.

“I know your secret.” You rush out.

Surprisingly, he makes a sound of amusement, a short laugh that has you questioning yourself.

“What secret is that, sweetheart?” He asks huskily, his low voice barely above a whisper.

You rub your fingers against his stubbled jawline.

“That you’re… the panther.”

His eyes open.

His eyebrows scrunch in confusion, turning his head to get a better look at you.

“What?”

You bite down on your lip for a long second.

“I know- I know that you’re the panther.”

He sits up, confusion fraught in his eyes. It makes you feel a little crazy. Was there any chance that you could be wrong? What if you had dreamt the panther coming to you? What if you were going insane from stress?

“I’m not sure what you mean. Is this code for something?” He remains calm, reaching for your kneeled form to bring you to sit beside him.

“It’s you. It has to be. When I first told you about the panther in the woods, you never- you never questioned me or tried to tell me that it was impossible. You knew, because it was you.”

“The panther that saved you? It’s not impossible, someone could have smuggled an exotic pet into the state, it’s rare, but not impossible.”

“N-no, it wasn’t an animal, it was a person, it was you.”

“Me?” He says incredulously.

You feel like you’re going insane. You close your eyes, gathering your thoughts.

“I get it,” You say calmly, “It’s something you probably never planned to tell me. And I don’t mean to try to force a confession out of you. I guess I’m here if you ever want to talk about… anything you want to talk to me about.”

You look up at him, hoping to earn some sympathy with your soft expression.

You watch the crease between his eyebrows smoothen out, he reaches out to cup your face in his hands.

“I appreciate the invitation.” He murmurs softly, leaning in, his lips brush yours, a slight tease before he presses his mouth fully to yours.

Like every time before, sparks explode in your head.

You sigh into his mouth, tension leaching from your shoulders.

You weren't sure if it was an admission or not, or if he was merely entertaining your accusation to keep you calm, but all of it is washed from your mind at the first touch of his tongue to yours.

God, he kissed like sin, wicked and delectable, threatening to devour you with the very mouth you adored.

You brace your hand behind you for support, to help you press your body more securely to his, his hand against the back of your neck, encouraging you to get as close as you can get.

He makes a small sound, as if he wants to say something, and you part your mouth from his to hear him speak.

“Sure about this?” He checks in.

“You have to ask?” You tease, leaning in to kiss the spot right below his ear.

He groans, tilting his head to give you space.

“I like hearing you say it.” He explains.

You grin into his neck feeling the need to worsen his desire for you.

“Yeah, Billy?” You tease right at the base of his ear, your voice light and flirtatious, “You like hearing me beg? Telling you how badly I want you to bend me over the nearest thing, and fill me with your cock?”

You sigh, kissing his skin, feeling him tug at your hips until you’re sitting in his lap.

“Just thinking about you makes me so wet, I can’t stop thinking about how right you feel when you’re inside me.”

He makes a low sound of frustration, before he grips your ass, rising to a stand.

You gasp, hands wrapping around his shoulders in surprise, your legs doing the same to keep you steady.

You want to ask so many things, like where, and how, as he approaches the door, you wonder what’s the likelihood of him tumbling down the stairs with you in his arms.

He manages to keep you steady with one of his hands, using the other to bring your lips back to his.

“-See, this is what I mean,” You pull back to say to him mid-kiss, “There's no human way you can be holding all of my weight with one hand and going down stairs.”

He laughs.

“I was in the marines, sweetheart, I've carried heavier for longer.”

You groan, frustrated at his lack of admission, leaning in to kiss him more.

At the bottom of the stairs, you're surprised when he doesn't stop at his bed.

“Where're we going?” You ask softly, kissing at his neck and collarbones as he walks, rubbing your body against his happily, after a moment, you tug the shirt of his you were wearing off your body so that you can feel his skin.

“Pool.” He answers, “Been wanting to fuck you in there for a while.”

It makes you giggle, gazing your teeth against his skin, listening to him grunt in pleasure.

A soft cry of bliss leaves your mouth, your head tips back against his chest.

“That's it, sweetheart,” he hums, kissing your cheek, “Take me deep like a good girl.”

His words only make you whimper more.

Your hands grip the pool's edge, he's right behind you, one hand plucking at your nipple below the surface of the water, his other hand sliding over your stomach on its way down to most likely touch your clit.

The room is dark, with only the auxiliary lights on, a soft atmosphere all around you.

You say his name, a broken moan as he just keeps filling you, rocking himself deep, taking your thoughts away with each glide of his cock.

You shudder when his fingers finally touch your clit, gentle, almost featherlight, you move one hand from gripping the edge of the pool to delve it into his wet hair.

He breathes roughly against your cheek, tongue darting out to caress the shell of your ear.

“Do you want to come on my cock?” He asks sweetly, tormenting you.

You sigh, nodding vigorously.

“Words.” He scolds.

“Please- make me come.” You beg.

“Is that all you want?” He pushes.

You fight to find sanity enough to respond to him.

“N-no. Want- to feel you come in me too, I want, oh god, I want you.”

He lets out a shaky breath.

“Me?”

“Uh-huh, all of you, everything, please.”

He growls, his both hands move to grip your hips, fingers pressing into your soft flesh, telling you everything you need to know about what he's going to do.

“Hold on.” He says, but you're not really sure where he wants you to hold, and you don't really get a chance to think about it before he pulls you down on his cock while simultaneously pressing up into you. The result is a sensation so full it reaches up to your throat.

The groan that leaves you is uncontrollable, and then he does it again, and again, a small, delicious seed of aching when he fills you to the very brim, your cervix no doubt protesting his length. It's completely overshadowed by the pleasure, the way your body tingles from the tips of your ears to your toes, you shiver, his breathing and the sound of sloshing water in your ears, your shared sounds of pleasure fill the room.

You grip his hair, tugging at his wet strands, toes curling beneath the surface of the water.

It comes slowly, but violently, even the feeling of being on edge makes you mindless. Your body trembles as he keeps going, filling you immeasurably from the inside, promising that this would not be the only time you feel this way.

Your body tenses, clenching around him, your hand curls tighter into his hair, your eyelashes flutter.

A low sound leaves his chest, you can almost feel the vibration of it on your back, a pure, unrestrained sound of desire, downright animalistic in its undertone, pushing you over the edge.

Your body trembles as you feel your center clench tightly around him, your body shaking as your vision darkens, pleasure erupting in your head, spilling past your lips in mindless pants and whines.

You can feel his entire length with the way you squeeze him, and after a few moments, your orgasm triggers his, and his warm cum spills into you, deep, right against that primal spot inside of you that aches for it.

You try to move, to slip off of him, but his hands grip your hips tighter, keeping you in place. When you turn to him for an explanation, he simply pulls you into a slow kiss.

He tries to keep you still on his cock, despite your restlessness, his instinct to stay inside of you for a few minutes after he's come overrules his body. You're aching, he can tell, and if he were more predator than man, he would bite your neck to keep you still while his seed takes.

You're soft and sweet and unbelievably human, his kiss distracting you from moving too much while he continues to fill you, everything about him is fixed around you in these small moments.

It's a little easy to keep you distracted, that spaced out look in your eyes makes you more suggestive to his whims, and you go pliant, kissing him softly while he waits for his body to be okay outside of yours.

You were growing to learn the things Billy liked about sex, things that made him lose control, things that he always did. For one, he loved hearing you ask for it. You could feel his cock jump in response sometimes when you gave him your explicit consent. It wasn't something you'd encountered before- but there was not much about him you had ever experienced with other men. He was special, in so many ways. The second thing was his desire to stay inside of you each time he came. Each time he filled you up, he held you still on his cock for minutes after. It was strange, But definitely not unwelcome. You thoroughly enjoyed the way he would hold you still, always wanting to squirm a little bit just so he would use force to still you, or find a way to distract you from noticing he was still inside you.

As he kisses you now, you stumble over the thought of, what if it was a panther thing?

He'd denied being the panther, but the things you'd seen- you knew it had to be him.

You draw back, looking over your shoulder, into his eyes for a moment, smiling up at him as your noses brush. It had to be him, it made perfect sense, he'd been trying to protect you this whole time, maybe even from himself.

Your heart warms, something endearing fills you. He was probably afraid to show you who he was, maybe even afraid of your rejection of him.

You needed to show him, that you would never turn away.

Smiling deeper, you tilt your head up.

“You've got a lot of endurance. We've been going at it for a while.”

He hums.

“Tired?” He asks, “If you can't take anymore, just say the word and I'll stop.”

You grin, shaking your head.

“I'm just saying- people don't usually… go for as long as you do, based on common knowledge. It's almost, dare I say, supernatural.”

There's a short pause, before he lets out an amused laugh, the sound sending shivers through you, making you clench around his cock that was still buried deep inside of you.

“I'm very flattered, sweetheart, but I shouldn't get all the credit, you literally make me so hard I can barely think straight.”

“Really?” You say in amused disbelief.

“Course,” he hums, “The way you look at me, the way you act, the way you talk to me- literally drives me fucking insane, and your body- fuck I love your body so much.”

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief that this was the way he was spinning this.

“You don't believe me?” He asks, misinterpreting your laugh, one hand raising from your hip to run over your stomach, he huffs, blunt nails scraping at your ribs below the water.

“You're so- fucking soft, sweetheart. All I can think about is how badly I want you.”

Your breath hitches turning to look at him.

He smiles down at you, before you feel him tug you gently off his cock. You gasp in surprise when he spins you, and lifts you effortlessly onto the pool’s edge.

“Spread your legs, I want to see my cum drip out of you.”

Your mouth parting in shock, You do what he says without thinking.

You watch him, as he watches you with rapt attention, you feel his cum begin to slowly slip out, you clench to stop it from happening, but it's a little too late.

His eyes darken as he looks between your legs, and then remains dark when he looks up to meet your eyes.

He approaches you slowly, hands pressed to either side of you, his arms flex deliciously as he pushes himself slowly out of the pool, until he's at eye level with you.

You inch backwards, giving him space to climb out, his eyes are so dark, and predatory, fixed on you.

“Alexa,” he says out of nowhere, “moderate rain, please.”

Your mouth drops open as rain begins pattering over your naked skin.

He studies you, inching closer, grinning when he finally towers over you, water cascading down his skin in haphazard rivulets.

“If you let me,” he hums lowly, “I would fuck you on every inch of this house without break, just to feel the way you squeeze my cock when you come all over me.”

With shaky breath, you can only find one word.

“Please.”

He'll never get enough. He knows it for sure now. He kisses gently at the soft curve of your thigh while you sleep, your sweet body exhausted from how many times and how many positions he'd made you come in. He reaches up to your hips, eyebrows furrowing in concern as he notes the beginning of a light bruise from him gripping you tightly. He makes a note to get you some ice for it later. He smiles as he rubs his cheek to the soft of your stomach, his own back littered with scratches from your nails, body still swimming in pleasure.

He rises, giving a satisfying stretch, wanting to continue kissing you, but knowing you'll wake up soon and be very hungry. He places one final kiss to your forehead, before tugging on some clothes to start preparing an early dinner.

He's calmly freaking out about the fact that you know he's the predator now, he knows his act of denial isn't fooling you, he's not sure how you came to discover his secret, or how far you plan to push him in your efforts to discover the truth.

He knows that if he really wanted to, he could deny it vehemently, call you crazy, gaslight you into thinking that you'd made it all up- but that would make you hate him, and Billy couldn't bear the thought.

He couldn't come clean either- the more you knew- the more likely it was that you could get hurt.

His best option would be to avoid the topic altogether, switch directions any time you brought it up. He knew though, the first sign of you pulling away from him because of his avoidance would make him crumble.

It would kill him to hurt you.

When you wake an hour later, you grab the first thing you can find- a washed out t-shirt of his- slipping it on with a lazy yawn.

You grin when you remember the last 24 hours, the way you went at each other until you were nothing more than sated and exhausted bodies.

You can hear him in the kitchen, moving around, the smell of something delicious and garlic infused wafting through his apartment.

When you catch sight of him, you can't help the smile that pulls onto your face. In an old shirt, similar to the one you were wearing and a pair of sweatpants, he turns when he hears you approach.

“Good evening, sweetheart. How was your nap?”

You hum, smiling.

“Soo good.” You breathe, reaching out to slip an arm around his body, tilting your head and rising onto your toes for a kiss.

He obliges, soft and warm, he presses his lips to yours easily, laughing into your mouth when you don't seem to want to let go.

“What're you making?” You ask, between kisses.

“Honey glazed salmon.” He answers into your mouth.

You hum.

“Excellent meal for cats.” You tease.

There's a small pause before he lets out a low laugh, smacking the cheek of your ass gently in warning.

“Only the best for my favourite pussy.” He jabs back.

You try to ignore the pleasure that goes through your body as he spanks you. It's too gentle to give you a big reaction… but the idea of it…. the possibilities make you shiver.

You can't squash the smile on your face, the happiness you feel as you lean against him, it's the best feeling in the world, to be with him, there’s nothing that compares to it, like everything has been to get you here, beside him.

He says something, and you smile up at him, turning your head to watch him flip the salmon.

You're lying down, looking up at the sky. The trees surround your field of view, swaying in the breeze.

You let out a slow breath, relaxed, you turn your head to see that you're lying in a field filled with flowers.

“There you are,” a voice comes from somewhere in the distance, you turn your head the other way to see him slowly approaching. When he gets to the spot you're in, he takes his time sitting beside you.

“I've been looking for you everywhere.”

You wait patiently for him to look over at you. His eyes are dark, nervous, you feel the need to soothe him, dressed in a white shirt tucked into his pants, you notice there are no shoes on either of your feet.

“You found me.” You answer.

He blinks, some of the worry leaves him as he gives you a lazy smile.

“I did.”

He leans over you, a kiss to your cheek, one beside your ear.

“Now I have to figure out how to keep you.” He whispers, and your breath hitches, a slow burn working its way down your body.

“Keep me?” You ask softly, turning to meet his gaze, “Am I worth it?”

He blinks, A look of confusion spreads across his face for the smallest of seconds before he's smiling again.

He leans in, kissing your cheek, your neck, trailing a path over your shoulder. You find yourself tilting your head, allowing him the space to continue.

He pauses, right at the juncture between your neck and shoulders, hesitating before he speaks.

“Nothing on earth could stand against how badly I want you. From the second I found out you were real, I have been bleeding for you. It’s me, who can't hope to be worthy of you.”

You sigh, running your hands through his hair, admiring the way it feels catching on your fingers.

“Do you have a plan then? I know your secret. Would you lose me to keep it?”

He raises his head, meets your eyes, you bring your hand down to cup his jaw, lost in the haziness of the dream.

“I know your secret,” You emphasize, “I saw your teeth with my own eyes, you can’t hide from me, you can only lie.”

He blinks, parts his lips to speak.

You jerk awake when your phone makes a loud alarming sound.

He wakes at the same time you do, his body warm against yours, you reach for your phone as the notification continues to sound.

Your eyes hurt, forcing yourself to look at the screen, to read the words and try to figure out exactly why you’d gotten this alarm.

You grunt angrily, tossing the sheets back and stumbling out of bed.

“You have a security breach.” You grumble, leaving him in search of your laptop.

It’s hard to focus but you force yourself to, settling at his kitchen counter, opening your laptop and logging into the VPN that gives you access to his server.

You keep trying to wake yourself up as you log into the base software of his system, waiting patiently to see what’s going on.

Billy stands on the other side of the counter, looking a little concerned from his place across from you.

“They’re in the system. I can see the files they’ve accessed.” You mumble sleepily, “They’re downloading Project Medusa.” You glance up at him over the screen of your computer, watching as he reaches for his phone.

“Wait,” You call out to him, distracted by your computer, “Don’t call anyone yet, I’m going to trojan horse them.”

You embed malware into the folder as it’s being saved, turning your head to watch him come around to your side, looking into your computer screen, trying to see what you see.

“Medusa is a recon mission we set up for the government. We’re providing security at events they infiltrate in case things go south as an added layer of protection.”

“Why Medusa?”

He gives a little shake of his head.

“Case names are random, we’re not going to name them something that gives away the mission.”

“Then you have a leak.” You murmur, “They know what they were searching for.”

As you watch closely, you grunt in displeasure as you see the hackers attempt to download all the cases they can see, probably as an afterthought to sell the information to the highest bidder. The files they think they download are empty, you set it up that way for this exact reason, so no one person has access to everything.

“What’s happening?” He asks, and you can hear the worry in his voice. You glance up at him over your shoulder, heart tugging at the look on his face.

“Call someone you trust, tell them to do a sweep of Anvil. I can’t do anything about the information they got, but I can find them now once they open the file. If you have anyone on the field right now on this case, find a way to get them to withdraw without giving away that we know.”

He studies you for a long moment, you glance back at your computer warily, assuming that he doesn't trust what you're saying.

“I don't have time to explain, you just have to trust me. I'll have their location in a minute.”

You see him nod in his peripherals, turning away to type a number into his phone.

When the hacker opens up your file, you grin, snapping a photo of the location with your phone and sliding it across for Billy to see. You press a finger to your lips, a sign to keep whatever he'd planned to do as subtle as possible.

You get access to their system without them knowing, and you take your time, searching through bits for anything important. The system is clean though, a burner system that only has the essentials, but you have their general address, and you use that knowledge to hack something basic.

“I'm in his smartfridge.” You say, accessing the microphone built in and pulling up the audio for him to hear.

It's a little garbled at first, Billy moves to stand over your shoulder, leaning in while you activate background noise suppression to get cleaner audio.

You feel warm, almost sweaty with the level of concentration you've had to put out, heart pounding in your chest as you listen.

“-Other files are empty, she's smarter than I thought…”

You turn your head so that Billy can see you roll your eyes dramatically.

He huffs in amusement.

“-Are the agents listed there?” A deeper voice speaks.

You glance up at Billy, wondering the same question.

“They're coded,” he says, “The case handler is the only one that knows it, but it's related to their badge numbers.”

You assume if they know the code then the handler has been compromised.

“-I've got numbers, no names.”

“-No pictures either?”

It's Billy’s turn to roll his eyes.

You laugh.

“-At least we know when this is going down, and we know which Anvil guys are involved. We can set a trap.”

The other voice agrees.

“We're not going to get anything else, I think.” You murmur out loud.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “Is there a way for you to kill their systems? You mentioned it a while back, have you got it running?”

You give him a sharp grin, sharing a look of complete understanding.

You isolate the computer first, overclocking everything you can while slowing the rpm of the laptop’s fans so that the system overheats with almost no cooling.

“-Do you smell that?” One voice says, right before there's a small popping sound, followed by aggressive swearing.

You make an evil chuckle, right before corrupting everything else connected to the network. A software reload would technically fix it, but it would take time and effort to get everything working again. Your connection is interrupted, your screen going blank as there's no more information to display.

You lean back, taking in what you've just done.

“Anyone ever tell you that you're kind of hot when you’re causing trouble?” Billy asks.

“Kind of?” You say with mock surprise.

He laughs deeply, turning your body to face his so that he can lift you off your chair. You gasp, gripping his shoulders for leverage.

“Very.” He corrects, pulling you in for a kiss that makes your toes curl.

You gasp, lips parting for a moment, looking into his eyes, trying to read the emotions running through his head.

You hesitate, wondering if you should explain more about the events that just happened, worrying that he might blame you for not building a secure enough system.

“We should-”

He stops you with a shake of his head.

Hand cupping your cheek delicately, feeling him take a slow step.

“We’ll talk about it later. Right now, you need to be rewarded.”

“Huh?”

He smiles, eyes on your lips as he moves with you in his arms effortlessly.

“You're such a good employee, sweetheart, you deserve a reward for a job well done.”

Desire tugs low in your stomach at his words. You look up at him curiously as he sets you down on his couch, a mysterious look of delight on his face.

“Take your clothes off. I want to see you.”

Fuck, you were almost dripping with the way he spoke to you, eagerly ripping off your shirt and shorts, looking up at him as your body is exposed to the cool air.

He hums, tilting his head as he looks at you.

“A very good girl, always going above and beyond to make me happy.”

God, this was turning you on more than you'd care to admit.

“Get comfortable, sweetheart, open those legs for me.”

Fuck fuck fuck, you shakily spread your knees, exposing your wet cunt to him, swallowing the desire you have in hopes that it stops you from begging.

You watch a smile pull onto his face, locked in deep appreciation, he sinks to his knees in front of you, eyes on your cunt.

“Very pretty,” he murmurs, raising a hand to calmly pet at your thigh, after a moment, he inches up until this thumb is pressed lightly to your clit.

You gasp, body eagerly melting under his touch.

“I know I'm not supposed to have favourite workers, but honestly baby, I can't deny it, you're very special to me.”

Your lips part, head hazy with pure want, you watch him take a deep breath, eyes rolling shut as he makes a deep, raw sound of appreciation from his chest.

It makes you breathe faster, the way the sound rumbles over you, making you clench.

“You're such a good girl.” He growls, before tugging your hips into his mouth.

You tremble when his lips press against you, reaching down, your fingers tangle into his hair almost immediately, back arching up, head pressing deeper into the soft velvet cushions.

He moans against you and you can feel the soft vibration on your clit.

“I'm breaking so many HR rules.” He says into your pussy and you don't know whether to laugh or pull his head back to your cunt.

You cant your hips up against his mouth, sighing happily when his tongue finally swirls over your bud.

He does something new, using the very tip of his tongue around your bud instead of directly on it, making your body burn with the superposition of pleasure.

“Oh, God, Please.” You whine desperately, squeezing your eyes shut automatically as you beg.

You feel him pause and you open your mouth to beg again before he interrupts you.

“That's not very professional, now is it, sweetheart?”

You raise your head, opening your eyes to look down at him quizzically.

“What?” You ask.

He gives you a small smile.

“You need to look at me when I'm rewarding you.”

Your mouth drops open.

You're unable to speak for a moment before catching hold of your thoughts.

“Yes… sir.”

His eyes darken, you can almost feel the energy shift in the room to something so much more heady and seductive.

He presses his face in, no longer going gently, using his tongue with purpose, gliding it over your clit easily. Your breath catches in your throat, pleasure exploding under your skin like a fire that just keeps spreading. Your body tingles, relaxes, tenses, trembles and through all of it he keeps his tongue exactly where you need it.

It's kind of embarrassing, how fast he works you up, but you're not surprised, because it's him, and he's unbelievably good at making you come.

You moan his name loudly, and he makes a sound at the back of his throat in response.

“Already there, sweetheart? You really are a good girl, hmm?”

You pant, nodding eagerly, whining when his mouth meets your wet cunt once more.

You keep your eyes on him, watches as he reaches up to gently rub his fingers against your bare nipple.

Your fingers tighten in his hair, head dropping back and he lets you without complaint, writhing on his tongue as the pleasure builds and builds until your body is begging for release.

Breathing shallow, body trembling, you can't suppress the cry you let out when you finally tip over that edge, body stiffening for a moment before moving from trembles to sharp jerks as bliss overtakes every muscle in your body.

You squeeze your eyes shut, focused on your breathing, feeling the air move in and out of you as hypersensitivity takes over.

You feel him move, lifting himself from between your thighs that had been clamped momentarily around his ears when your orgasm had hit, but were relaxed for the most part now.

He presses his hand to your cheek, smoothing away some of the hairs sticking to your face, while he studies you, his bearded chin glistening with your arousal.

You sigh, reaching nearby for your discarded shirt, offering it to him to clean himself up.

He gives you a gentle smile, accepting the shirt, wiping his face with it, before using it to clean you up as well.

When he's done, he picks you up, cradling you close as he begins walking to the bedroom you assume.

You yawn against his neck, enjoying the smell of him as it lulls you.

You're pretty sure you fall asleep before you even reach his bed.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #werepanther! Billy Russo #billy russo x female reader #my writings #the punisher #werepanther!billy russo #billy russo smut #monster!billy russo

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gor3-hound · 9 months

Text

silver lining

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, hybrid!reader, very brief suicide mention, p in v, creampie, daddy kink, a LOT of pet names

a/n: hiii! throwing out some (kinda) fluffy smut for once lmao. mainly picturing vendetta leon, but any older leon works tbh. i'm so tired, so if you see typos, no, you don't >:[ hope you enjoy !!

word count: 1.7k words

Raccoon City was something that Leon would never forget. It's been years since the incident, and he still wakes up in a cold sweat some nights with nightmares of the things he'd seen.

It's fucked him up in more ways than one. He would have killed himself a long time ago if he was sure that Sherry would be safe. The “top secret programme” the government so lovingly initiated him into isn't the way he saw his life going - but if it kept her safe, he'd grit his teeth and bare it.

Sure, he's made his peace with it, but it doesn't make it any less difficult. He runs around like the government's personal lap dog and then comes home and drinks himself half to death. It's a routine he's gotten used to, and he doesn't plan on changing it anytime soon.

But it gets lonely. He's not a stranger to flirting with a pretty girl in the bar, but he never manages to get them to stay. He's not sure he's capable of forming a relationship anymore. Work always comes up, and no woman seems to want to stick around when he disappears for weeks or months at a time.

When he was younger, he always wanted a dog. That was another thing Raccoon City took from him. He still flinches when a dog moves too fast near him or gets too close. He's never been a cat person, either. Thinks they're grumpy bastards at the best of times.

He leaves it at that for a while. Looks like he's destined to be alone. Whatever. He's used to it by now. Or he thinks so, at least, until he starts to hear about hybrids becoming more commercially available as pets.

They've been around for a while, sure, but they were the type of exotic pet rich assholes buy to show off. He hears about the new hybrid adoption center opening in his city and spends one of his only weekends off doing a shit ton of research. He's not entirely convinced, but he figures there's no harm in taking a look. As soon as he spots you, he knows he's smitten. Bat your pretty lashes at him, and he'd do anything you asked.

You're the cutest little puppy girl he's ever seen. Fluffy ears atop your head, your tail wagging so fast behind you it's practically a blur. He doesn't even think about it when he calls a worker over, paying for you then and there. He doesn't even blink at the amount of money you cost him. He'd sell a kidney to be able to afford you if he needed it. At least the government pays well.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It's been a few months since he brought you home with him. You were a pain in the ass at first, constantly bouncing around his apartment. Your tail was a hazard, always knocking things off his table and breaking things.

He wouldn't change it for the world, though. You've become the highlight of his day. He finds himself smiling as he opens the door to his apartment, hearing you thunder towards the front door as he walks in. He can't help but chuckle as you wrap your arms around his waist, leaning up to lick at his face.

“Alright. Easy, girl. Easy.” He says with a smile, pushing you off him and ruffling your hair as he steps past you. He shrugs off his jacket, hanging it up and settling on the couch. “I had a long day, y'know? Could at least let me through the door before you jump all over me.”

“But I missed you.” You whine as he pushes you away from him, following him closely as he moves to sit on the couch.

“Yeah, yeah. I missed you, too, pup.” Leon says with a grin, patting his lap. He waits for you to jump in his lap, leaning back comfortably. “C'mere, then. Don't you wanna come sit with daddy?”

Your tail wags lazily behind you as you shift closer, straddling his lap happily. His hands settle on your waist to tug you closer, and he rubs small circles into you with his thumb.

“Missed you.” You repeat softly, cuddling close to him.

“You’re a sweet girl.” He nuzzles his nose into your head and caresses your hair. “A good girl…”

Leon hums quietly and his hand starts to wander along your side and up towards your chest. “And beautiful, too. Can't believe I got so lucky, baby.”

You giggle softly at that, tail wagging just a little bit faster as you press your chest into his hand, shivering as his thumb brushes your sensitive nipple over your shirt.

“D'you wanna play with me, daddy?” You ask softly, trying to press as close to him as possible. Your hips start moving on their own, rutting your aching pussy against the hard muscle of his thigh. You bury your face in his neck, inhaling his scent deeply. He always smells so good when he gets back from work, sweat clinging to his skin.

“I just got back, baby. What's got you so worked up, huh?” He teases softly, grabbing your hips and adjusting them so you're grinding down onto his steadily hardening cock over his pants instead. He groans softly, reaching around to pet the base of your sensitive tail.

That gets a twitch and a whine from you, making the corner of his mouth tug up into a lazy smile. He rocks his hips up into you until he's fully hard and leaking.

“Alright, alright. C'mon, puppy. Let's get you to bed.” He grunts, trying to act like he isn't as desperate as you. His voice is low and gravelly, brows furrowed in concentration as he lifts you up, carrying you to the bedroom.

He plops you down on the bed, kicking his shoes off and pulling off his jacket. His hands roam your body, tugging off your clothes as he runs his palms along your curves. His eyes take you I'm greedily, his hands working to undress himself instantly.

“Fuck.” He groans as you shift on your hands and knees, ass up in the air as soon as you see his cock. His cock twitches, pre-cum leaking and staining his stomach. “Always so eager…”

All he gets is a whine and an ass wiggle in response. You lift your tail straight up, presenting your glistening pussy for his hungry eyes. “Daddy, please…”

“Yeah, yeah. I got you.” He murmurs, settling between your legs. He runs the pads of two fingers between your glistening folds, dragging them from your clit to your entrance, gathering the slick dripping from you before pushing them inside.

He thrusts them in and out a few times, letting you get used to the intrusion. Not that you need it - your pussy is always so drippy, sucking him in greedily every chance it gets. He curls his fingers, earning a low moan from you, your cute ears pressing firmly against your head.

“That's it.” He coos, repeating the action every time his fingers are half buried inside of you. “There's my good girl. You want my cock, don't you, sweet thing?”

All you can manage is to babble please repeatedly, already so desperate for him. He's not sure how he ever managed without you. You always make him feel so wanted, and not just when he's buried balls deep inside of you. It's nice. Makes an unfamiliar warmth build in his chest, something he hasn't felt since he was still a bright-eyed kid in the police academy.

“Don't worry, baby, I got what you need.” He says softly, pulling his fingers out of you and rubbing your juices onto the sheets before grabbing your hips. His breath hitches as he slides his length into your tight heat, his head tilting back in pleasure before he lets out a low moan.

He leans over you, pressing some of his weight against you as he starts to thrust slow and deep. He presses his lips to the back of your neck before leaning back, his thrusts picking up in pace.

“Such a pretty puppy.” He groans, gripping your tail to pull you back against him every time he fucks into you. The room is filled with your needy moans and the sounds of your sloppy pussy.

“Daddy…” you whine, drool spilling past your lips and onto the pillow your face is smashed against. He can feel you tightening around him, so he knows you're close. He adjusts his angle slightly so he rubs up against that sweet spot that makes you see stars every time he pushes in.

“C'mon, cum for me, pretty girl.” He grunts, hand tightening on your tail as the other slides up from your hip to your waist, giving him more leverage ti rock you back onto his cock.

“Fuck, daddy… cummin’!” You moan, your walls clenching so tight around him you almost push him out. He presses his hips against your ass and thrusts shallowly, keeping him buried deep inside of you as his tip grinds against your cervix.

His mouth hangs open as he feels you gushing all over him, his breath caught in his throat as his cock jumps and kicks against your cervix, the feeling of your pussy fluttering around him making him shoot ropes of his cum deep inside of you.

You whine softly again, slumping against the crumpled sheets. His breathing is slightly heavy as he drops his weight on you, pressing you against the bed.

You grunt at the feeling of him dropping on top of you, wriggling yourself free with a soft huff. You cuddle up to him after, ignoring the feeling of his cum leaking down your thighs. You give him a few locks to his stubble cheeks before cuddling up to him with a smile.

“Sleepy.” You huff softly, nuzzling into his neck with a content sigh, your eyes fluttering shut. He lazily wraps an arm around you, tugging you closer to him and petting your back.

“I bet. C'mon, baby. Think we deserve a nap.” He murmurs, kissing your forehead before letting his eyes shut, too.

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy #resident evil #hybrid #resident evil smut

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ikkosu · 4 months

Note

Humans are so appealing to many cybertronians as both pets and partners. Incredibly friendly and capable of pack bonding with pretty much anything going so far as to anthropomorphize inanimate objects. So small compared to even a minibot or cassette bot and so fragile. Squishy organic bodies that are so easy to fold and bend to a Cybertronian’s whims. It’s insane how much a human’s body can stretch for their Cybertronian lover. Plus the insane libidos that humans have means that their lovers will never be unsatisfied.

However there have been reports of malfunctioning spikes and dangerously low transfluid levels from just how frequently humans seek out their romantic and sexual partners.

Many Cybertronians who have been to earth have been numbed to the exotic charm a human might have while those which haven’t been to earth can’t help but coo and prod at the humans they find

ABSOLUTELY

l absolutely love the idea that somehow despite having a more demure stature compared to the behemoths that are the Cybertronians, human libidos can pack quite a crazy punch. Given their 'fluids' aren't as fuel-like the way Cybertronian has theirs, they're not at all in any case harmed by that prospect.

But of course, that doesn't mean there is no any ramifications on the human's part at all — it's just less severe. While the bots themselves, worn out from their spikes wrung dry extensively could land themselves a delicious spot on a medical berth.

I can imagine professional doctors drafting up warning notices or leaflets about this particular problem.

With corny hospital slogans like : "Check your Tank before you bank it!!" Or "Those fluids arent going to fill up themselves!!" and some well known mech celebrity is giving them a thumbs up from the health poster.

Can you really blame them, though? Humans are known for their softness. And once you're shrouded with the slick tight warmth of their hole — it's not so easy to snap out of it.

They get too lost in the moment, frames shuddering with pleasure, overlords after overloads, they don't notice their energon dwindling down and once it's all gone they just suddenly fall limp on their human. Like someone had pulled out a plug. Said mech would never live the embarrassment down, a firm reminder of everyone witnessing a limp spike hanging off their panel as they're dragged across to the medical bay.

It would also be interesting. Since Cybertronians spike are naturally very hard? (No pun intended) And even after two overloads, it's still kind of bricked up. So, continuous overloads would render the spike flaccid ( energon keeps it pressurized) and a soft spike isn't a good sign since it kind of hinders the pathway of the transfluids.

Just imagine Ratchet chewing out a mech for being so horny that his spike is a literal water balloon, now. Said mech also wailing in pain, not because his dick hurts, but because his human is confiscated and he's banned from having sex for at least a month if he doesn't want his robot cock amputated.

#ikkoasks #anon #transformers #maccadam #transformers x reader #transformers idw

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thecapricunt1616 · 4 months

Text

Pink Pony Club (Richie Jerimovich one-shot)

♡ One-Shot Inspo: Pink Pony Club by Chappell Roan "I'm up, and jaws are on the floor. Lovers in the bathroom and a line outside the door. Blacklights, and a mirrored disco ball Every night's another reason why I left it all" ♡ Summary: You're an Exotic Dancer / part time house mom at The Pink Pony, and end up falling for a man that is probably old enough to be your father. ♡ W/C: 2.9k ♡ Poste Date: 06/10/2024 ♡ A/N: Hello all! again, for the asks that are atp starting to mold in my inbox - imma get to you. This specific dirty old man in a suit has been making me feel things lately, so naturally I had to write some porn about it. Asks are still open even though I cant promise it'll be done snappy. Hope everyones week is off to a great start so far!! Tagged those who commented on the post saying this would be a good idea just so you could see how it came out, hope you like :) ♡ Warnings for BTC: Age gap relationships (R is in her mid-to-late 20's, mentions of sex work, Club environments, swearing, smut, rough sex (Richie likes to be slapped around sometimes, kay?) lowkey simp!Richie, no use of Y/N - pet names only, readers stage name is Pixie Polestar , unprotected sex, not edited, we die like men!

♡ 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 ♡ ➵ 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 / 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵 ♡ ➵ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 ♡

You had met Richie just about 2 months ago. It was safe to say, life had chewed him up and spit him out lately.

If he was being honest with himself, the dating pool wasn’t exactly rich at 46 years old. He could count on almost two hands how long it had been since he got his dick up for more than just the binightly pornhub browser.

That led him into the Pink Pony Club one fateful August night. You were working your usual shift, Pixie Polestar. You - unlike some of the other girls - really enjoyed your job. At least, the aspect of having fun on stage, doing cute, sexy little acrobat-like tricks on the pole while horny men paid you to take more of your clothes off?

Yes please.

You weren’t a back room kind of girl, usually. That was because the amount of money you made from tricks on the pole was more than a lot of the girls you worked with made in a whole shift while you just worked the 45 minute trick-filled stage set then would give a few $400 lap dances depending on your mood, before skipping on home, taking a hot shower, and slipping in your silk sheets with your air conditioner turning your bedroom something akin to an ice box.

That was how that night was supposed to go.

How the night really went, was some loud borderline obnoxious man at least 15 years your senior, had found his way into the Pink Pony. He was wearing a pressed navy blue suit, that complimented his pretty blue eyes. That was the second thing you noticed about him while he loudly whistled for Krystal who was currently doing her set.

You weren’t really supposed to be here anymore - well- you didn’t have to be here. You had found yourself a solution, a real career path if you will. But you enjoyed your time on the pole because it was art, and dancing was a confidence booster for you. In any regard, you were going to get older, you were going to pass your prime as the house mom was always telling you girls, so you needed another stream of income.

Of course, being a … *eh-hem* - exotic dancer was the word you preferred, stripper just sounded trashy to you, did come with its negative stereotypes, one of which being no where will rent to you - because you had terrible credit. So, naturally, being the resourceful woman you are - you walked your happy ass to the open house of a for sale by owner showing, and told the nice realtor you’d take it.

Boom. Done, you had a place to live in 3 weeks, when you closed on it. Then, it dawned on you. The other girls you worked with had the same issue you did. So, you found another house, saved another 25k for the amount to put down, and rented it to your coworkers.

It was the perfect system, because you knew you’d get your rent. You knew exactly how much money each girl made because you watched them make it, you knew where they lived, and they had to look you in the eye every night. So it’s easy to say no one ever tried you. The only real reason you hung around The Pink Pony anymore was because you wanted to keep an eye on your girls and dancing was fun too.

When he first laid eyes on you, it was something akin to a cartoon character when their pupils turn into hearts. It wasn’t too abnormal, you were one of the more bombshell-esc dancers at the club, and that isn’t to say that you outdid anyone it was all based on preference. Some men loved plain Jane’s, and the plain Jane’s were just as beautiful as any of the other girls, but the reaction of men basically tripping over their feet to try and come talk to you was more likely going to happen to you then anyone else.

But he…didn’t come over, that was interesting to you. So, you being the master of customer service you were, took your drink and kept your eyes locked on his as you made your way across the room, and plopped right in his lap. “Never seen you here before sweetheart” your manicured hand found the back of his neck, gently caressing over his skin.

He tried to play it cool, but your tits we’re basically in his face, he could smell your perfume perfectly, fuck he genuinely can’t believe that a girl so beautiful just sauntered over and sat in his fucking lap. Was he dreaming? He found his mind racing, and for once in his 46 years he was dumbfounded and couldn’t find anything to say.

“Cat got your tongue honey?” You smirked a bit, gently cupping his stubbly cheek and rubbing your thumb over his bottom lip, pulling it gently before letting it snap back into place. He swallowed thickly, his hand resting on your bare thigh, just below the white glittery mesh coverup you were wearing.

“I’m Richie.” He blurted out, his cheeks felt like they were on fucking fire, any blood that wasn’t rushing there was rushing to his cock and he found himself wondering when the last time he’d gotten hard so easy was.

“Well hello Richie. I’m Pixie, what brings a handsome man like you in on a Friday night mm, no big plans?” You absentmindedly played with his chain, pretending to pay no mind to the long length that was hardening in the curve of your ass. All you would have to do is shuffle just a tiny bit and his cock would be nestled between your cheeks and the itty bitty powder pink g string that you wore beneath the tiny mesh piece of fabric that was basically for show and no use to cover anything.

“I guess I was lookin’ f’some entertainment. Think I found it” he spread his legs more, causing you to sink further into his lap and his hand found the curve of your waist, his thumb rubbing little up and down strokes over the smooth skin. He never believed that the sheer triple x rated porn movie he was creating in his mind would become a reality that night but man did it.

It was also his first night taking the dreaded viagra prescription his doctor had given him when he got real about his … shortcomings as of late. The man isn’t what he used to be stamina wise, okay? Nonetheless - he still rocked your shit - well, more like you rocked his.

Who knew this foul mouthed, old school, borderline toxic masculinity-entrenched motherfucker would get so much pleasure from your palm coming across his cheek just hard enough it left a yummy sting and telling him “My eyes are up here you old pervert” as you bounced on his cock with a rhythm he couldn’t bring to the table himself anymore, and that in turn causing your tits to bounce like a fucking hentai film less then a foot from his face.

Something about a younger girl calling him old and smacking him around all while using his cock to get herself off, babbling about how good he makes her feel made him more confident then he had been in years.

He often would find himself feeling a little pang of sadness after you started seeing eachother, in moments where you two were laughing a way he only ever did with Mikey before you came around, and making him feel like he was in fuckin’ High school again with how giddy he was to see you after every shift. All of it would just remind him how bad he wishes you could have met Mikey, and how bad he wishes he could tell Mikey.

Richie knows, he would be so jealous, but in a brotherly way - that such a young hot piece of ass, a young smart, hot, funny, piece of ass was calling him daddy, told him he was ‘her mans’ whatever the fuck that meant. He assumed girls today call their boyfriends that, there were a lot of little phrases and lingo you had to explain to him and would always make fun of him for being old after doing so.

He would tease you too, having some late 80s early 90’s radio station on (because the old head didn’t understand what streaming was) while he drove you around of course since he had learned from you that you were his ‘passenger princess’ and saying something like ‘oh babygirl this is before your time, this is from my day” before cranking up the radio and serenading you with Bad Girl by Madonna, belting it in such a silly, dramatic way between drags of his cigarette you couldn’t help but burst into giggles and kiss him at the next red.

You had told him that when you used to do private dances that Like a Virgin was one of your favorite to dance to for the ‘older’ gentleman, he spanked you playfully when you said his crowd was older as he usually did, and of course later that night he had you perform for him and you ended up getting your back blown out to material girl since you had been streaming the song from your phone and didn’t care to find it and turn it off.

When Tina had played it jokingly at family dinner one night, he couldn’t help the smirk that came to his lips at the memory. Funnily enough, she was the first person to find out about you. Of course, he didn’t divulge anything other than he was finally seeing someone consistently, nothing about your age or profession. Based on the way Tina had reacted with clapping and kissing his cheeks, gushing “I’m so proud of you papa! That’s so good, this is so good for you! You need to get out there more” he was reevaluating his social life or lack there of and telling himself he needed to get out more, which lucky for him you were young and bubbly so you could get him out of the house.

The next person he told, he really told, was Carmy. Well- technically Syd too, but she just happened to overhear.

“W-wait wait” Carmy pinched the bridge of his nose how he did when he was baffled and confused, brows knitting together as he shook his head. “Lemme- lemme just get this straight - y’datin a…..”

“Ex-o-tic dancer, cousin. It’s 2024, fuckin hell. Women dance and get paid for it - no big deal.” He repeated, emphasizing each sound as if what he was explaining was the most casual thing in the world, which - you had explained to him it should be so he took that and ran with it.

“You’re fucking…a stripper- a stripper that’s what they’re called when they dance naked - and how old did you say she was?” Syd questions.

“Hey- she leaves her panties on she’s only naked top up, and plus she doesn’t even have to anymore she does it for the art.” He points the spoon he was wiping down at Carmy “this new NOMA bullshit we’re doin’ here isn’t the only art, Cousin. Shes an artist” he dropped the spoon in the bucket with the rest of the pristine ones he’d worked on.

“Sure- and she’s fuckin younger then me” Carmy replied. “She could be y’fuckin-“

“Yeah, yeah - whatever she could be my fuckin daughter where’s your girlfriend huh? I don’t see anyone linin’ up to fuck you. She’s nice, and into me - and - and she’s funny and smart. So see already 2 qualities named that I don’t see much of around here so excuse fuckin me f’wantin to be happy when I’m not in this shithole” he teased

“So- this not even 30 year old, she is gonna be y’date to the thanksgiving friends and family night - the one your daughter and ex wife are attending - and you think that will be a good idea considering tiff’s track record with girls you bring around” Syd questioned.

“Yup” was all he said before taking the now finished bin of spoons to be put away, glad for the conversation to have finally been over.

He rehashed the whole conversation with you later that night as you slowly rolled your hips into his, your skin sticking to his, both of you covered with a thin layer of sweat. You had his hands pinned next to his head, fingers interlaced with yours, practically speaking into your mouth as you kissed him sloppy and open mouthed, obsessed with eachothers taste. You always tasted of bubblegum, a habit you’d carried with you since childhood, he always tasted of cigarettes, a habit he had carried since high school.

“Baby with my job I’m used to people not understanding me - I didn’t expect your friends to like me. My job - it can make people uncomfortable. But fuck them. You know how we feel huh?” You picked up the speed of your hips, using the curly deep brown patch of hair at the base of his cock to cause the most delicious friction with each thrust on his cock as you chased your orgasm.

“Ye’ fuck em baby- shit- so fuckin tight- all mine right?” He breathed, mouthing over the bruises he’d left on your breasts a few nights ago. That was one thing about your job he had a bit of difficulty getting past, but you assured him you had no feelings for any clients and that you weren’t doing lap dances anymore only your stage set and otherwise you were just there to be more of a second house mom. But still, he was a man after all. He was possessive, a little jealous sometimes. So he loved to hear that you were only his during moments like this.

“Yes daddy- all yours. You own this- you own me” you kissed his hand before bringing it to your breast and then using his shoulders as leverage to bounce further up and down, the action causing his head to fall back and jaw to fall slack.

“Just like that - god- fuck - holy shit baby- shit-shit- y’fuckin close? How fuckin long has it been?” He pinched your nipple lightly, causing your pussy to clench around him and a pornstar like whine to leave your lips

“It’s been 15 minutes- Christ you’re like a teenager. Can’t even last 30 minutes?” You teased, leaning in and kissing his neck, biting and nibbling the skin as you circle your hips, essentially jutting the tip of his cock into your g spot and that floaty feeling sneaking up on you as you feel him shoot rope after rope of arousal, painting your pretty, gummy walls a milky white and his stomach muscles clenching at the overstimulation.

The grunts and moans that left his lips when you got him here were some of the hottest noises you’d ever heard a man make before, you were always sure to file them away in a special little folder in your brain for a rainy day he wasn’t able to get you off himself. “Feel good daddy?” You asked sweetly, sitting up and resting your hands on his hips so you could look down and watch as your mixed arousals gush out of you and around him, thick strings breaking with each slow, purposeful roll of your hips

“So fuckin good baby- Jesus gonna finish soon? Dunno how much more I can do” he said, voice breathy, blissed out, nearly whiny.

“Mmhmm few more minutes daddy- god we’re so pretty, I bet we taste so good mm?” You swipe the pad your forefinger over your clit, gathering the sweet and bitter white, making a show of rubbing it over the hardened bud of your nipple “feels good, too, wanna tell me how it tastes?” You leaned in and he nearly groaned as he took your breast in his mouth, crystal like eyes seeding into your own gaze as he flicked his tongue gratefully around the sensitive nub.

You whined hotly, the sight of your tit in his mouth mixed with the feeling of his pants huffing through his nose and fanning over the swollen flesh as his tongue swirled and licked and flicked and drove you over the edge. You cried out, hips stuttering as you rode out your orgasm. His hand found your heat, rubbing with scissored fingers over your clit and meeting around his cock before dragging his fingers back up to repeat the assault.

The action had you gushing around him, the contractions of your heat getting stronger causing him to groan into your skin and that vibration just added more stimulation. “Fuck yes- god daddy- always make me feel so good, no one understands how good we make eachother feel hm? Nothing else matters, baby, as long as you feel good, right?”

You pulled him in for a sloppy, hot, passionate kiss. A kiss that made his heart do flips, and his stomach flutter, and made him feel way lighter.

Richie thought to himself in that moment he may be falling in love again, and he was equal parts fucking terrified, and excited to see where things with you went.

He just had to get over ripping off the very last bandaid, and then you could really be together -

And that bandaid was Tiff.

@aestheticaltcow - @myszie - @wtfsteveharrington

#CapriCarmy Oneshot #the bear fic #the bear #borders & banners by saradika #the bear 🐻#the bear fandom #Richie The Bear #richie jerimovich x fem reader #richie jerimovich x you #richie jerimovich smut #richie jerimovich #richie jerimovich x reader #Richie Jerimovich x fem!reader #richie jerimovich imagine #Richie Jerimovich blurb #Richie Jerimovich drabble #Richie Jerimovich fanfiction #Richie Jerimovich the bear fanfiction

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i-yap · 4 months

Note

hi!! could you write for tim with a reader that just gets him. like they both understand each other, dont have to communicate (verbally at least) to know how the other is feeling. also, she works at damian’s school as an intern/assistant for an art teacher (and brings her pet to school every day. maybe it’s a more exotic animal that piques damian’s interest.). so her and damian are close before tim introduces them (which he really didnt want to do LMAO. he probably let it slip that he was dating someone and now all his brothers want to meet them) so now every time you’re at wayne manor damian barges into tims room to tell you to hang out with him instead. basically fluffy tim x reader with platonic damian. sorry this was a long ask… 😭💞

I love this ask so much!

Tim drake x y/n x platonic! damian

y/n has a gecko as a pet named fluffy ( ik gecko's arent fluffy)

you prolly brought fluffy as an optional muse for your students. And since you are an art teacher at such a prestigious school means you are an amazing artist so damian for sure has a lot of respect for you.

in a couple comics its mentioned that dami is a loner at school so a loner art kid who loves animals hits close to home for you. You guys start bonding really strongly and for once dami has an adult figure who isn't cold as ice or hates his guts ( at least pretend hate) . You become his Didi (I'm indian and I couldn't find the proper arabic term for older sister so I'm just using hindi term for older sister aka didi).

Now when Tim finally opens up about the whole batfamily and how he is like "adopted brother" sort of to Damian, and the whole dynamics between the batfam, you are a little worried. Tim probably has seen you interact with Dami and realized how close you guys are ( dami didn't stab you when you patted his head)

Tim wants to keep you away from the whole batfam , maybe he tells alfred but nothing beyond that. He says its for your safety and he doesn't want you involved in such dangerous vigilante work but it's also because he wants to keep you to himself and being an rich single child...he sucks at sharing .

But nothing remain hidden in a family of detectives and ofc everyone finds out that tim has a secret girlfriend .

Damian probably invited you over to the manor a couple times because you are one of his favorite persons and he wanted to show you his art work or his pets. Everytime you came over, Tim obviously acted like an idiot. Sneaky ( but not sneaky enough glances), innuendos, inside jokes and secretly pulling you away for a mini "tour " of the manor even though Dami insisted he has already shown you everything(non batman related). Maybe everyone found out you were dating when you guys got caught on one of your tours? Damian for sure chased Tim with one of his Katanas till you stepped in.

Damian also doesn't know how to share- rich single child

since the batfam already knew you so well, you were over much more but ofc tim expected it to be for him. He is the boyfriend , the love of your life so why is damian getting your attention huh? Why are you doing an art challenge with dami when there are other more fun "challenges" you could be doing with tim?? WHY ARE YOU WATCHING A DUMB ASS FILM WITH DAMI WHEN YOU SHOULD BE WATCHING DUMBASS FILM WITH TIM?

to be fair, tim does love watching the soft motherly-ish side of you( makes him wanna give you more kids that steal your attention from him) But babyboy wants his cuddles and how dare you deny him of that. you think you are being fair and you are really good at reading tim's feelings so you are able to tell when he needs you attention and therefore excuse yourself politely from damian.

But one day tim is just feeling extra needy and damian and you are in a middle of an activity. you give him a look saying you'll come to him as soon as this activity is over but tim has no patience that day so he just runs into the room, throws you over his shoulder and runs away to his room and locks it. He has installed strong wind blowing thingie so when dami tries chasing him, he just turns the wind blowing things and he cant come close to the door. It then becomes a whole ass hiest while the rest of the batfam just watches and eats popcorn. you obviously have to step in AGAIN.

So you divide up a schedule and ground rules, (steph helps you dw), both tim and dami complain but you just give them both a look and they accept their fate.

Tim likes how much closer you have gotten to his family and damian likes the idea that you guys could actually become sort of related once you marry tim. The rest of the batfam love you ofc but they also love that fact that tim and dami don't try to kill each other( at least not as much as before) because of you. so it all works out( sort of)

I havnt gone exactly by the request and Ive changed up some stuff, I hope that's okay.

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pursuitseternal · 8 months

Text

Fly through “The Fifth Day” in a new Batstarion update to “Antics of the Newly Ascended”

Ascended Astarion x f!Reader | M | 1.2K of fluffy bat fluff

Summary: You wake not quite yourself… and your Lord will be the one to guide you this time into the night

CW: cuteness, fluff, toothrotting fluff, bat sex teased, garden ruins, one Ascended Vampire that’s really just his idiotic, ambitious self.

Previous ch | Ao3 link | Masterlist

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

It’s a quiet evening for once… you decided to lounge in your rooms, leaving Astarion to have to mingle bereft of your presence. He had pouted, but having you beg so prettily for a moment to yourself, he granted it to you. When you are happy, he is too. And of course he wants you rested, eager and willing for your nightly activities… You had scoffed at the implication in front of the rest of your party, even as your thighs grew hot and your body quivered with the promise of his adoration.

Your body had grown exceptionally heavy, the pull of sleep too great, despite your vampiric powers, your own as his consort that seemed to grow more every day. Your dreams are sweet and soft, like you are wrapped in the plushest of furs, cloaked in a blanket of your bond with your lord.

You can feel his approach even in your dreams, his silken voice tickling your ear as he speaks to you.

“How adorable you are, my pet,” he rasps right in your ear. You yawn and stretch, his caressing touch weaving through the top of your head…. But as your eyes open, your stomach drops.

Your world hangs upside down… or you do. You flail your arms, body shaking as you realize Astarion’s smirking, sharp and handsome face looms below you. It isn’t his hand in your hair… it’s his single digit scratching at the top of your head.

Suddenly, you plumet, arms… no wings flapping wildly as you fall.

Until he catches you in the palms of his hands. “And just when I thought you couldn’t get any more darling… my darling,” he croons quietly, your sensitive ears thankful for his consideration. “Seems the extension of Mephistopheles’ gift has granted you even more abilities as well, my love.”

You try to reply, but all that comes from your little throat are the same squeaking chitters your love has made in this same… form.

“Hush, my treasure,” he smirks. “Now it seems to be my turn to guide you in how to use your powers. And one who has supped on my blood, it seems only fair I be your teacher.” He sets you tenderly down on the bed, careful to let your feet settle first. It’s a strange feeling, claws for feet and wings for arms and fingers. You stretch them out, looking to see the thin skin pulled between your fingers, a soft blue-grey, the same color you see down your belly.

Your fur.

He cocks one hip, his expression one clearly savoring your discovery. Amused. “Think of all the possibilities this adds, my consort… all the new positions and forms we can… experiment with that might just bring us together in new and… exotic ways.”

“No way,” you push your voice into his mind, irritated. “I’m trapped as a bat, and all you can think of are the endless possibilities of fucking in this form?” Your annoyance takes over your body, your wings flapping in rage as you suddenly feel yourself lift from the bedding.

Flying.

“I will not be allowing you to fuck me as a bat… my lord.” You add his title just for formality, just to emphasize you vehement opposition.

Astarion gives a low, rumbling chuckle as he watches you dart around his face. “Well, my pet, we have an eternity for you to change your mind. But at the very least, I’ve spurred you to take flight.”

He crosses to the window, opening the lead-paned window into the cool night. Flashing that look of purest seduction, of ravenous desire in the twist of his smirk and the cant of his brows, he crosses back towards where you fly. A tingle of power pierces the air as he shifts. He swoops at you, the fluffy white bat you have held and pet and chided for being naughty. “Shall we?” he smirks on his pointed face, his voice like velvet even inside your mind.

He flits around you, running the claws of his feet through the fur on your back. It makes you… tingle—warm and molten.

“Dammit, I said no…” you dart away.

“Just a little flight, once around the City, my love. And I promise to be on my best behavior. No fangs or cock until we’ve returned, I swear.”

You give a high-pitched huff, flapping out the window and into the starry sky. You swoop and swirl through the air, following his fluffy white tail and outstretched wings. Diving through garden after garden, park and park, you can’t help but feel the rush of these powers, the way your bond with Astarion hums, vibrating like your membranous wings do as you fly. Flapping, he banks quickly to the side, you follow as best you can, realizing he’s led you back to the Lower City walls, and you instantly recognize these outer palace walls.

The Crimson Palace. Astarion’s old… new home….

He slows himself, an ancient garden enclosed by the palace’s walls, your destination it seems. A grand, stone arch, shadowed by the moonlight, is where he stops. Flipping himself around, he hangs from his own clawed feet in its pointed pinnacle.

You try to do the same, missing it by that much as you stop, fingers and toes clinging into the stone so you can scramble beside him. His body is still bigger than yours, wings wrap tight around you, his white fur that warm blanket you recall from your restful dreams. Nose twitching he holds you just so, the night darkening before dawn now. The garden is derelict, rotting bushes and broken stone figures. You wonder how anyone could think that C— that the former owner of this palace held any affluence.

Though you know the legers in the Counting House speak otherwise.

“Once the brain is defeated, this will all be ours, my treasure…” he purrs wistfully. You can feel the centuries of longing seeping into his thoughts. As if he had stared into this same garden countless times before.

Longing.

Begging for freedom. For light. For growth.

“Needs some work,” you hum in reply. “Some improvements, to be sure. Blooming flowers for one would be nice.”

“Whatever you desire, my love.”

You feel just a tickle, a brush of his head between your twitching, pointed ears. His little snuffles of breath warming your fur and making you spine tingle to be so close to him.

He seems to pull you tighter, wings clutched hard on your body to make you face him once more. “Now, unless you’ve changed your stance on experimentation… I would very much like to… return to our bed, little love.”

“Camp it is,” you laugh into his mind, pushing off him with your little claw feet to launch you back into the night.

“One day…” you hear him chuckle into your thoughts, distantly. Half to himself.

A series of flashes cross from your mind to his…

One day, this will be yours, your palace… One day you’ll fly home here, not some Inn with rooms to share… One day, this garden will bloom, and one day he will fuck you in it. Bat or no, you will be his in his palace. As he will be yours.

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

For @marimosalad and @snowfolly

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quotidianish · 8 months

Text

ANOTHER human au art compilation! Here’s the first! More info about the AU and their cultures under cut ~

Groundwork:

-Abilities which stem from things inherent to dragon biology (fire, venom, frostbreath, gills, etc.) aren’t present. More traditionally supernatural gifts (mindreading, oracle, animus magic, etc.) are still present. In retrospect this makes the Nightwings completely op but shhh

-Each tribe is inspired off a mishmash frankenstein of different real-world cultures

-Dragons are an endangered species, just a hum in the background and nearly hunted to extinction. They’re hardly considered a threat, especially when most humans haven’t even seen one in their lives. Once the centre of each people’s culture and civilisation, they’re now nothing more than Bigfoot sightings or exotic pets.

Culture:

-Sandwings are the least homogeneous tribe and take inspiration from various cultures in the Indian subcontinent and Arab nations (most largely India and Palestine). Many subcultures exist within the larger Sandwing kingdom. Common identifies (not present in them all, but there will usually be at least one) include gold accented accessories, darker skin, and clothing with light, desaturated, yellow/orange tones. They’re renowned for their abundance of poison, excellent street food, musical talent, and stereotypically maliciously intelligent. Regardless of class there’s a nation wide pattern (you can find the reference for it by Qibli’s headscarf) symbolising trade routes, oasis waters and dunes. It’s a symbol of national pride (included on thorn’s dress, and ostrich’s headband/headscarf).

-Nightwings are, on the contrary, the most homogeneous tribe due to their small population. They’re based on Japan (spanning multiple eras). I like to think the Nightwings lost a lot of their culture after migrating to the volcano, for they were once the most religious tribe, worshiping the moon alongside the Icewings, which I’ll get to later on their cultural similarities. I promise it’ll make sense. By now, all their deeply religious traditions have been relegated to superstitions. It was said they were blessed by the moons, but the connection has been largely severed. Only old dresses follow the tradition of embroidering in the moons they were born under. Moonwatcher’s dress is something akin to a hand-me-down, as are her silver earrings, it’s by coincidence it lined up with her actual birthday. Moon’s family was an exception because she came from a long line of seers (or alleged seers) who have done their best to preserve a crumbling culture. Common identifiers include near pitch black clothing and skin as pale as the moon.

-Icewings have some of the largest populations, however, are surprisingly homogenous. Most sub-cultural differences are as a result of class. They’re based on Mongolia and Manchuria. Like Nightwings they are also deeply religious, maintaining their beliefs through rigorous scholarship. Hair has intrinsic religious value as a gift from your family- therefore it cannot be cut. The same goes for ear piercings and any other physical alterations to your body. IceWing jewellery as a result is very distinct because of its lack of need for an ear piercing, hooking around the back of the ear instead. Common identifies include long/braided hair, and light, cool-colored clothing suited for the cold.

-Skywings are loosely Scottish inspired, and I do not have a lot to say about the rest of the tribes. Most of their clothing have feathered accents. The peregrine is a sign of luck and wealth, with their feathers being adorned on the upper classes. Geese and chickens, being common farm animals, are found adorned on working classes. The second richest tribe, employing silver, gold, lazuli, and about any gem they can find in their clothing. Common identifies include curly orange/red hair, taller statures, feathered accents, a tartan like pattern, and clothing ranging from yellow to magenta.

-Seawings are loosely based on various Polynesian cultures, most prominently that of the Māori. The sea has an intrinsic religious value to them, with all children learning to swim, sail, and/or fish. They live off the sea’s resources, rarely consulting the surrounding land for supplies. On rare occasions albatross birds and seagulls are plucked for headdresses. These are reserved for high ranked royalty. Their clothing is loose and well adapted for the warm beach setting. Common identifiers of Seawings include ta moko like tattoos, olive skin, and clothing ranging from lime to purple.

-Rainwings are loosely based on Thai, Indonesian, and Cambodian cultures. They’re colourful and have the second largest poison reserves (bested by sandwings). Having once been a trade centred tribe, now they’re isolationist, albeit not intentionally. They have many history records, almost as detailed as that of Icewings, but the art has been lost to a changing cultural atmosphere. Once too religious, now their intrinsically religious practices are more cultural. Their clothing is similar to sandwings in the fact they cover as much of the body as convenient but remain loose and breezy. Common identifiers include bronze tan skin, vibrant pigmented clothing, and flower motifs. Nightwing villages don’t follow that guideline, they build on the ground as a tribe with a focus on hunting. I’m assuming everything in this universe is made proportional to dragons, hence why the trees are so large. This assumption is based off that specific panel of Bandit in the book six graphic novel eating a blueberry as big as his head.

-Mudwings are sooo underdeveloped in my au (following in the steps of Tui herself) but they’re based on southern Chinese and Vietnamese cultures! They live in cities akin to Chinese floating villages, Vietnamese floating markets, and Tulou (architectural style of the Chinese Hakka) made of mud bricks. They're a very agricultural based people. Many of their villages are isolated communities- their emphasis on family extending to their towns. Common identifiers include umber skin, straw conical hats, and practical clothing in shades of brown.

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madelynraemunson · 7 months

Note

You can answer this privately, but a few weeks ago I was thinking about if Reader was trying to make Eddie jealous with the song I kissed a girl in the background making out with some girl on the stage you know. Or tryna make him want her more lol.

def need to catch up tho

ooooh a lil toxic lovin’ i see i see 😏💋 thank you for helping with the possessive!eddie dirty talk and reactions, my sweet.

from the CMWYW universe

timeline: shortly after chapter 013

𝐈 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐈𝐭 18+

a collaboration with @emsgoodthinkin 💌

modern!strip club owner!eddie x modern!fem!exotic dancer!hargrove reader

CW: jealous!eddie, wlw, possessive!eddie, boyfriend!eddie, biting, degrading kink, eddie calls us a slut lmao, bratty shy girl, dom!eddie, sub!shy girl, lmk if i miss anything

[WC: 2.0k]

“I just think you’re getting a little too into it.”

It’s crazy to think Eddie would draw the line at Gareth and not Steve. Yet here you two are, arguing in the dressing room mid-shift because Eddie realized his D&D friends — who are regulars at his D&D themed strip club — have eyes and money.

“Babe, this is GARETH we’re talking about here,” you emphasize. “Gareth!”

You’re talking about the Gareth who’s gamer tag is ‘Gareth the “Gare Bear” Emerson’. The same Gareth who still uses the bunny ear method to tie his shoes. The same Gareth who gets upset when his food touches. Aside from his now relatively toned build, clear skin, and knowledge on self-care and personal hygiene, Gareth Emerson is still the same guy. And that guy is a fucking dweeb.

“Yeah, but Gareth is conventionally attractive now,” your boyfriend points out. “And somebody who’s had no choice but to build their charm from the inside out is a dangerous person.”

Projecting, are we Munson? You think to yourself. You couldn’t believe the audacity of your boyfriend. Ever since you two became exclusive, Eddie has become extra protective of you. You didn’t mind it. You actually preferred it because it means he cares. But really, at work? The place you clock in every day (not only to see him but) to make a living?

“You left scratches on his back last time.”

“He paid me to make a girl jealous.”

“And let’s not forget whatever the fuck that was that you did with Creel,” Eddie adds refusing to hear you out.

“Henry PAID me for a lap dance,” you hiss. “He was lonely, I was doing my job. He came in and spoiled me and your business on his off day, babe.”

The heat dissolves from Eddie’s cheeks when he hears his pet name. Albeit flattering, this conversation between you two wasn’t over just yet.

Eddie knew what he saw. He knows that blank, fucked out stare from anywhere, and it was prominent when you were giving Henry a lap dance, using the crinkle of his pants to get yourself off.

There’s no arguing there. But you were single when that happened and Eddie at the time made it really seem like he didn’t want anything with you. None of this was taking away from how ridiculous Eddie was being.

“Okay,” you sigh, still choosing to honor his wishes. “No more dances for Gareth.”

“At least for tonight,” Eddie barters, issuing you a fake pout. “Feeling a little bit jealous, but I’ll get over it.”

Stay away from Gareth, or men in general tonight. You can definitely do that.

Eddie’s a happy camper now. He watches as you do your thing at Vecna’s Lair, cock twitching eagerly in his pants as you swing down the pole and sink your pelvis onto the stage. The men douse you in ones, fives, tens, twenties. And you let it rain down on you with ease.

But why is Eddie still so jealous? He can’t help but turn green with envy when he sees you smile at your patrons. When you lock eyes with them as you speak. And the way they gravitate towards you and your pheromones like some magnets on a fridge.

You seem to be unbothered by everything, unbothered by his presence in a room full of other gentlemen. Eddie needs to test the waters. Eddie needs to know you care.

So he decides to grab a beer and approach the first customer of the opposite sex who happens to spiral into his periphery. It happens to be good ol’ Stephanie tonight.

A regular during the beginning days of the week, this kind hearted, very approachable redhead welcomes Hellfire’s owner with a smile, offering her beer bottle to Eddie for him to give her a clink, hello.

“Hey!” he chimes. “How uh, how are you doing?”

“I’m doing well, and yourself?”

Eddie grins. “Not too shabby.”

Performatively studying her with his eyes, he decides to ask her an innuendo-filled question. “You enjoying yourself tonight?”

“What’s it to ya?”

“I always like to make sure my customers are satisfied.”

Her brow does a fruitful quirk upwards.

“So you’re the owner huh? Already so young and successful. That’s quite impressive.”

“D’aww,” your boyfriend’s hands clutch his chest. “I appreciate that.”

You can’t help but look over, stomach warped into knots.

Eddie told you to stay away from guys. So why is he flirting with a girl? Specifically a customer you’ve interacted with before. Not that Eddie would know that, since he’s always in his office when Stephanie is here.

Eddie knows you see him now and that’s all the satisfaction he needs. Knowing he got the reaction he wanted, he excuses himself from Steph, strutting back over to his office to disappear for a while and let your mind wander.

But your mind is already two steps ahead. When Stephanie catches a glimpse of you, her eyes sparkle. You wave her over.

“You just keep coming back for more, don’t you?” you infer as she strides towards you.

Stephanie chuckles. “You just can’t seem to keep me away, Shy Girl. I owe Vicky and Robin one for putting me onto this joint.”

You swing your legs over so you can divert your attention to your stunning regular. She seems to be receptive to your flirtatious nature. And conveniently, the DJ transitions into a very fitting song:

“How are you doing tonight?” you assess her.

Stephanie shrugs. “I’m doing okay. The chick I was telling you about last week stood me up. So I’m here just trying to make myself feel better.”

“OMG I’m so sorry dude.”

But she brushes it off. “It’s okay. The loneliness will die down. I just gotta feel sorry for myself first.”

You rest a consoling hand on your shoulder. Before becoming exclusive with Eddie, you knew the feeling of rejection all too well.

“You’re welcome here anytime. Even if you just wanna talk. Girl to girl, we can even do a private room for an hour.”

Just then, Stephanie reaches into her bra and pulls out a twenty dollar bill with the smuggest look on her face.

“What about center stage? You tryna kiss it all better?”

You could’ve… and would’ve done it without the money. But knowing Eddie is in for the plot twist of his lifetime, you’ve rendered the deal priceless. Happily obliging, you accept the money Stephanie insists you take from her and extend your arms out.

“Bring it in, chica.”

It’s not what I’m used to. Just wanna try you on. I’m curious for you…

And then it happens. It starts with a timid smack of the lips to feel out both your comfort levels. The feeling of safety and trust propels you both further into realms of intensity you wouldn’t have thought of exploring with one another before. She tastes of cherry, with a hint of minty coconut.

You let out a satisfied hum. It registers as a vibration against her full, vivacious chest. Dancing your fingers in her wavy hair now, you pull her closer to your chest as your lips lock in tandem.

“WHEW!” you can hear Argyle shout all the way from the kitchen. “GAH DAMN!”

…I kissed a girl and I liked it. The taste of her cherry chapstick…

The uproar creates a chain reaction and soon all the gentlemen at Hellfire are hooting and hollering at the relatively unscripted act of affection in front of them. Soon, the money follows. Grinding your hips against her torso now, you chase the feeling of self-indulgence as you unravel yourself onto Stephanie. Right in time for Eddie to see.

I kissed a girl just to try it. I hope my boyfriend don’t mind it.

Floored, confused, and just a tad aroused, your man stands at the foot of Vecna’s Lair with his hands curling at his sides.

It felt so wrong. It felt so right. Don’t mean I’m in love tonight.

His stiff cock protrudes at the posterior ends of his zipper, boxer briefs shamefully laced with the salty spouts of his leaky tip. Fuck, he’s so hard. But still, oh so very pissed.

I kissed a girl and I liked it. I liked it.

Standing where you knew he’d be, you shoot him a wink, letting him know that you’re well aware of his foiled plan. And after you and Stephanie thank one another for each other’s time, you prance off to the dressing room with mountains of bills in your hands.

———

“You think Eddie’s gonna like this green set?”

There’s an itch to burn the cash you got tonight, so you find yourself browsing the internet for lingerie on your phone.

“Oooh,” Nina coos in approval. “Yes girl. You’re gonna look like a sexy dragon of sorts.”

“Mm. And what about this g-string?”

“Yes, get it. I have the same one and it’s so flattering and comfortable. Look!”

Just then the door shoots open.

“Eddie, what the hell?!” Nina shrieks, quickly donning her cloak to cover up. “Knocking, fucker. Ever heard of it?”

You turn towards the entrance to find your flustered man at the door, scowling at you briefly before turning to apologize to Nina.

“Sorry, Neens,” his gaze softens sincerely. But Nina is already storming out. “I was dumb for that.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” you tsk.

You two wait until your colleague is out of range to engage in what you both know is about to be some pretty reckless behavior. When all is clear, Eddie wastes no time, pouncing on you, pinning you by the wrists to the drawer of your vanity, leaving love bites at the crook of your neck just keen enough to draw blood.

Pathetically, you love it. Your dripping cunt swells for the intensity — the fury of his rough hands — the vampiric blows to your hot pulse points — the rugged buckling of his hips as he digs his claws into the tender indents of yours.

“Eddie…” you whimper.

“This familiar?” he demands between breaths.

“Rings a bell,” you muster, tracing his large display of excitement with your trembling palm. “Though it seems like you don’t necessarily…have a problem with it.”

A sinister laugh escapes his throat.

Eddie huffs. “Think you can be a smart aleck with me without repercussions?”

As swift as they come, Eddie flips you around, easing you safely onto the desk portion of your vanity by the your neck. You squirm around like a brat, whining and kicking at him with your heels in playful retaliation. His fingertips then tightly enclose around your thin lacy bralette, causing a minor tear of the sparkly chrome fabric.

Too far. Grabbing him by the wrist, you eye him in disapproval.

“Eds!” you hiss at him, seriously this time.

“You’re buying new sets anyways,” he shrugs indifferently. “You know, with the money you got for being a needy little slut.”

You issue a low grumble as Eddie sinks his body atop the small of your back. The softness in Eddie returns again when he presses delicate kisses around the tip of your chin.

“Mine, remember?”

He spins you around again, ordering you to your knees with an authoritative snap. You oblige a little too quickly, but you don’t care. You’re at the mercy of him tonight and always.

“Yours…” you breathe, knowing he’s about to fuck you and your mouth to spit and tears. “Yours only…”

He smirks, satisfied with himself. You bite your lip eagerly as you watch the King of Hellfire — and your heart — unbuckle his belt, ushering his pants down to line his pulsing cock up against your lips. Desperate for more already, your tongue peaks out to say hello. The deep lines of his snarky face concave further.

“Pucker up, sweetheart.”

💞 valentine’s divider by @saradika-graphics 💞

happy valentine’s day, sweethearts 💌

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smuttysabina · 1 year

Text

A Day in the Life

(Chaeryeong x ITZY x Staff x You?, 1900 words)

Curious about how Chaeryeong and the rest of Itzy spend their days training? Well listen in then on this little secret!

"It takes a lot of hard work to be an idol. To master the arts of song and dance, to build the charisma to rule the stage, to navigate the intricacies of sensual activities. To some, it comes easy, a natural fit for their innate abilities, but for most it requires rigorous daily training in all aspects of their job. For Chaeryeong, her day starts at around 7 AM..."

"Chaeryeong is woken up by her alarm, which she then proceeds to snooze while she dozes for some time. Eventually, she gathers the energy to face a new day, and spends a few minutes scrolling through her phone while she fully wakes up. By this time, her roommate Yeji is generally awake, grumbling as she shoos the night's bed-warmers away. Chaeryeong tends to ignore the cavalcade of ravaged interns filing out of her room, even if she may have enjoyed some of them during the evening. Finally, she emerges from her snug cocoon, stretching and yawning as she prepares for yet another busy day of training. First up of course is breakfast, which she enjoys in common room with the rest of Itzy, those that can manage to be awake by then at least. Yuna in particular enjoys sleeping in, still cum-drunk from her late-night escapades with her pillow-pets. Then comes the morning stretches, done wherever the girls prefer to be; Chaery generally ends up doing hers in her room. After limbering up her well-toned body, she then moves on to limbering up her equally well maintained holes.

For this, Chaeryeong has a vast and varied array of sex toys of every conceivable form and function. From the most mundane ordinary dildos, to bizarrely bulging and fluted dongs, to enormous or length hole-wreckers; all have a place in her morning routines. She always makes sure to begin with a normal sized dildo, it doesn't do to rush things, slowly working her pussy until it is nice a wet. Then she moves on to more strenuous objects; some days she goes for depth, prioritizing training her anus with long slipper gut-fuckers, other times she goes for width, stretching her pussy until it gapes so amply she could give birth with ease. A particular favorite of Chaery's is a board with gradually increasing dildos attached to it; the dongs are placed close enough that she is forced to use both of her holes to proceed, until by the end she is forcing gargantuan phalluses into her gushing holes. By the end of the first half of her workout session, Chaeryeong is almost guaranteed to be rather stretched out, with both pussy and ass worked to such a degree that even triple penetration from lusty fans wouldn't bother her in the least. But of course, capacity isn't everything. Any slut with blown-out holes could accommodate several cocks inside of her, so long as she dallies on occasion with larger toys. However, the cocks shoved inside of her would be sorely disappointed by the lack of sensation they would encounter; such holes would be unable to grip their lovers with any sort of enthusiasm.

So after stretching herself to the limit, Chaeryeong proceeds to work her way back down the size chart. Using modified inflatable dildos, she clenches and squeezes them, crushing the air out of them repeatedly until her holes grow tight once more. After this exotic Kegal exercise, Cheary's pussy has grown snug enough once more that she can hold her tiniest toy within her without worrying about it falling out. Such an extreme exercise is what gives her holes that special quality that makes idol pussy so greatly desired: its capability to devour even the largest cock, while still being able to grip the smallest hard enough to drain it in seconds. After Chaeryeong is finished with this morning sexual exercise, she has enough time left in her schedule to relax for a little while; she may even take a shower. She often passes on that though, unless her training was particularly messy, there's no reason to clean off when she will soon be getting dirty soon enough. Plus, stinking of sex and sweat is the norm in Itzy.

Chareyeong then rejoins her fellows in the mirrored room familiar to any dance studio. Her fellow idols would have engaged in the same morning routine she had, with varying levels of enthusiasm; Yeji and Yuna barely even bother with dildos anymore, greatly preferring to hone their skills on flesh and blood cocks. But such activities must cum later, since Itzy first have to spend time honing their more mundane occupational duties. Guided by expert choreographers and instructors, the girls hone their excellent dancing skills that have given them such a fierce reputation on the stage (as well as in the bedroom). Of course, several hours of intense and often erotic exercises leave passions running high, and management is always sure to have attractive interns on hand to spare the more expensive personnel the rigors of getting fucked by lustful idols. Chaery is quite sparing and picky in her choice of sexual partners, preferring to take her time with a couple lovers, rather than rapaciously ravaging a dozen. After exhaustive training, and equally exhausting love-making, Itzy take a break for lunch and relaxation, chattering and bickering with one another as they feast upon a hearty lunch. Following that the girls have the rest of the break to themselves, spending it however they wish.

After an hour or so has passed, Yeji rounds the scattered girls up and herds them to their next station of the day; vocal training. While strong vocal talent has become less important in the 4th Generation, it is still important for the girls to maintain their skills; and even improve upon them. Itzy therefore spend a couple hours training their voices, before moving on to training their throats. Depending on the severity of the lesson, the oral skills being practiced are adjusted according for each girl. Lia, with her natural talents, finds herself practicing her deepthroating techniques far more often than say, Chaery, who commonly hones her tongue and lip skills. Which is not to say that Chearyeong is bad at singing, just that she has to put more effort into it than the others. It doesn't mean that her oral skills are lacking either, she is surprisingly good at tenderly milking her assistant's loads out of their cocks. Chaery and Lia are even generally preferred by the staff for this exercise; Yeji and Yuna have the unfortunate habit of using their teeth a touch too much...

After the girls get their sore and aching throats sufficiently well-lubricated with soothing semen, they move on to their final (official) training of the afternoon; Pilates. Muscles tired from a day's worth of exercise and debauchery, Itzy finish things off with some relaxing stretching. Their bodies lithely coil and strain, to the arousing chorus of sighs and groans as joints pop and crackle. Of course, to those watching it is an incredibly sensual sight, five gorgeous idols putting themselves on intimate display for all to see. Is it any wonder that many require erotic release? But this is Itzy's most important workout of the day, and intimate interruptions would ruin their purpose; so none are allowed to touch them in any way. Which doesn't stop the assistants from ejaculating and squirting all over them. Their experienced instructors nimbly ply their gushing pussies, moaning unashamedly when they are unneeded as they spray girl-cum all over the idols. Meanwhile the water-boys stroke themselves in a frenzy, spewing long ropes of semen all over the stretching girls. Sometimes the employees even copulate right next to their charges, vigorously mating while Itzy calmly go about their routines. Well, not entirely calmly. By this point certain girls will have their crotches soaked with their own fluids, pussies dripping with lust at the sight and smell of sex going on around them. Ryujin usually orgasms several times without touching during this period, squirt puddling around whatever equipment she is currently using. Chaeryeong meanwhile is generally unimpressed by the debaucheries, stoically receiving the sticky offerings of her assistants as she works the day's kinks out of her muscles. When the Pilates session is finally over, all of Itzy are quite literally drenched with sexual fluids; this also marks the end of their structured day.

By now slathered in sweat and sex, Chaery almost always heads to the showers to clean off; unless she is feeling particularly lustful. The rest of Itzy generally joins her, their delays dependent on how much arousal they had to fuck out of themselves before they could shower in peace. After hosing the worst of the day's dried semen out of her hair, Chaery quietly retreats back into her shared room with Yeji; munching on chocolate and watching videos on her tablet. She lays there undisturbed, cheerfully enjoying herself until Yeji drags her out of the room to enjoy a family dinner with the rest of Itzy. After scarfing down her meal, Chaery washes it down with some alcohol, to help smooth out the rest of her evening. As the lover's hour approaches, Itzy pick their paramours for the night; often grabbing several to better satisfy themselves. Many nights, there are even rowdy orgies in the main living area, before the girls retire to their rooms for more... intimate attentions. Unless someone looks like her type, however, Chaeryeong often avoids the gangbang outside; instead patiently waiting for Yeji to return as she idly masturbates. Once things have suitably died down, Itzy's leader rejoins Chaery in their room, hauling along a clutch of appetizing bed-warmers. Yeji is always sure to save the most adorable and kind boys for her darling Chaery; she deserves to have only the most romantic of guys to lay with her. And of course, if Chaeryeong isn't in the mood for more sex, Yeji is always more than happy to satiate herself with them; she does love breaking the good ones in..."

"...And so, either curled up with an exhausted lover, or just by herself, Chaeryeong drifts off to sleep, lulled by the mewling of Yeji's drained pets..." You finish writing and look up from your laptop, seeing Chaeryeong patiently smiling at your from the chair opposite yours. She stretches languidly, and asks if there is anything else you wanted to ask her for your article. You watch her lithe form avidly, before blinking and assuring her that you had all the information you needed. Chaery pouts playfully, well in that case...

Chaeryeong smoothly approaches you, and upon moving your laptop aside, glances down in teasing surprise at the massive bulge on your crotch. Her hand gently touches your quivering member, stilling your embarrassed protests, and she pretends to be shocked by its size. It seems like you still need to ask her some hard questions don't you think? Chaery moves to straddle you, gently pushing her breasts into your face as she beams down at you; she can tell that all that talk made you very excited. So relax, take your time, and enjoy yourself.

Let Chaeryeong show you in-person, how she enjoys spending her nights...

#kpop smut #itzy smut #chaeryeong smut

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