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dollfacefantasy · 8 months ago

Text

FALLING FAST ♡

pairing: billy coen x fem!reader

summary: after the mansion incident, billy gets caught and taken to a psychiatric ward for the government's problems while they decide what to do with him. lucky for him, you're there too and more than willing to provide some company.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, canon typical violence, archaic medical practices (shock therapy, manipulative therapists, etc.), psych ward setting

wc: 7.9k

a/n: heyy sorry this is a little late, i got caught up with some irl stuff you know how it goes. disrespectful especially for the man who inspired my blog's name 😓 umm sorry if the ending is a little rushed i've just been kinda struggling. i hope someone likes this tho. reblogs, comments, and asks are always appreciated <3

kinktober slot: day 24 - forced proximity

The day they brought him into the ward, you could barely believe your eyes. You recognized the man thrashing around in the orderlies' grasp. His face glowed on the television every night when the news came on. Bright headlines zooming across the screen would read U.S. MARINE SNAPS UNDER PRESSURE; SLAUGHTERS DOZENS, or after that BILLY COEN, FORMER MARINE, SENTENCED TO DEATH FOLLOWING MASSACRE.

Obviously, the execution didn't take since here he stood before your own eyes, being dragged down the hallway either to his quarters or the "therapy" room. You wonder if they'd give him electroshock or hydro. Most people believed those methods to be archaic by now, but the overseers of the United States' top confidential psychiatric center didn't seem to hold those same sentiments. Outside, the world approaches Y2K, but between these walls, it could feel like the sixties were ever-lasting.

You didn't see Billy again on that day he arrived. You didn't see him for another two weeks after. You almost started to believe they'd carted him to the back to finish the execution, and then thrown his body out into the woods where the roaming wolves could take care of him.

But then on Tuesday, August 18, 1998, you found him in the common room.

You bounded around the corner and spotted him right away. He sat in the chair next to the tv. You knew he wasn't watching it. One, because that chair was the most useless chair you'd ever seen, positioned at an angle where seeing the screen is impossible. And two, he looked off into the distance as though his mind was totally vacant. A battlefield where the war had already been lost.

That day had been going great for you. For once the night before, your roommate didn't have night terrors that woke up the entire block of rooms. And this morning, your scheduled therapy session didn't end with them pumping a sedative into your veins. The occurrence of those two rare victories coinciding told you that today was special. Only good things could happen to you during this interval of sunlight.

You strolled further into the room, scanning over what occupied the attention spans of your usual company. They all seemed to be going about their usual rituals: playing games or watching tv, some reading books or just sitting by the window. None of them talked to this new guy. You shook your head as you took in this sight. People could be so rude, but you intended to change that.

Approaching him from the front so as to not frighten him, you came to a stop and tapped his ankle with the point of your foot.

You didn't get a verbal response, but his eyes casted up to you, signaling that he's still in there somewhere. Up close, you could see the light electric burns on his temples. You wondered if they were just from that first day or if it had been more times since.

"Hey, soldier. What's your damage?" you started, giving his ankle another light bump.

Unamused with your antics, he pulled his legs back and looked up at you. His lips curled into an ugly sneer. The expression matched his rough appearance. His hair was so greasy, you thought it could be styled without any product. He had bruises up and down his arms. Your eyes trailed along the one covered in tattoos for a moment long enough to be noticeable.

You almost assumed you were going to get no response out of him until you heard his voice start to rasp.

"Don't call me that."

He sounded like they hadn't given him a drink since he got here.

Your brows raised at the response. If he wanted you to leave him alone, he'd just made the fatal mistake of triggering your curiosity. You pulled over the nearby bean bag and plopped down in it, the small plush beads parting to support the shape of your body. The way you sat, your legs ended right where his began.

"Where have you been the last couple weeks? I thought they offed you or something," you continued with another few taps to his joint.

Again, a delay came before his answer. You weren't sure if the shockwaves scrambled his brain that bad or if he was trying to mentally size you up.

"They've had me in solitary. I guess they didn't believe I was ready to make friends," he said finally. His voice left his lips low and cool, sounding like he smoked one too many cigarettes to be forever cast as the bad boy in teen romance movies.

"Why? You seem friendly to me," you joked.

"Maybe you should try to convince the suits of that."

His fingers rose to rub the marred skin on the right side of his head. It doesn't look like he's trying to soothe any pain. More-so exploring the new scar to his own body.

"What's it to you anyways? You don't know me," he added.

"I was just curious ," you defended with a shrug, "It's not every day a celebrity joins the group."

He scowled, only a little less severe than before.

"A celebrity, huh?" he asked with disdain, "Didn't exactly feel like they rolled out the red carpet for me."

"Well not everyone gets struck by lightning on their first day," you responded, pointing to the now-faded scars on your own temples.

The mention of something based in your shared reality seemed to ground him a little, as if it served as a reminder that you and him were on the same playing field. He hummed in acknowledgement, sitting up in his chair a bit more.

"They do that to you too?" he questioned.

"They do it to almost everyone. I didn't want to take the meds, so they gave me a stronger prescription," you answered.

He didn't say anything back at first. His eyes fixated on you, studying your features and mannerisms. Assessing you, your place, and your motives. You relaxed your shoulders a little and shook your head in an attempt to appear as non-threatening as you could.

"That was a long time ago though," you said, "Haven't had to do that in almost a year."

"How long have you been here?" he asked.

You held up two fingers and wiggled them back and forth. "Since '96."

His facial expression didn't change though you felt like something about how he looked at you did. Maybe there was an air of surprise now? A hint of pity? You couldn't quite pinpoint it, but you supposed the details didn't really matter.

"What did you do to get put in here?" he said.

"Same thing as everyone else. Saw something I shouldn't have," you responded.

You considered telling him more. More about your past as one of Umbrella's top researchers. About how you dedicated hours upon hours of your life to developing bioengineering techniques for them. How you planned your future around the potential promotions you would earn climbing their company ladder.

But that required that you also tell him about how easily they flung you from the structure entirely. Putting pieces together didn't earn you a private office or cushier paycheck. All you received was meetings that seemed more like interrogations, implied threats, and finally, a new permanent residence at this luxurious institution.

You'd also have to spill what you found. That you found evidence your research was being used in dangerous and unethical experiments that already had a body count. The story you'd managed to string together sounded like something out of a hokey horror movie rather than real life. It wouldn't be one he'd likely believe, and then he'd end up thinking you deserved to be here.

So instead you left it at that. He opened his mouth to ask another question, one that might poke at some of this information you were keeping to yourself. But before he could, the orderlies called the bunch of you for lunch.

You rose from your seat and waited for him to do the same so you could walk side by side to the dining room.

Leaves outside the barred windows shifted in color, fading from bright green to a burnt orange. They clung to the trees in their last days of life as the wind tried to knock them loose and scatter them across the fenced in yards.

However, even with the temperature growing colder, your connection with Billy began warming up after that first day in the common room.

The two of you didn't become automatic best friends after only speaking a few words to each other, but he reluctantly let you linger around him. Close enough to adjust to your presence as a regular fixture.

You had fun hanging around him. This place got so boring after a while. New additions were few and far in between, and most of them didn't do anything but weep and wallow for the first few months before giving up and letting themselves go numb. They didn't make good company to say the very least.

Billy, in muscular, tattooed contrast, did. Despite his dry temperament and cynical outlook on life, he could be funny. Most of the time unintentionally. He had stories to tell you about the marines and boot camp, even the mission that landed him here in parts. While he could get sick of you following at his heels like a puppy, in a way you made things here more bearable for him.

He let you eat lunch seated next to him. When your group was permitted out into the yard for a while, he'd allow you on the same bench. You'd look up at the same clouds and feel the same breeze blow across your skin. You'd tell him some stories of your own, things about going to school or when you first got your job.

His were far more severe though. You remembered sitting on the yellowing grass with your back pressed against the uneven wood of a wide tree. You had been studying and mentally comparing your feet to his. The difference in shoes - neither with laces but yours had velcro and his didn't. The size. The way yours constantly twitched while he remained still.

The two of you were quiet, letting the sounds of nature and commotion closer to the building fill the air around you. But you itched to talk to him, to find out more about the man you spent most of your days with now.

"If you got out of here tomorrow, what would you do?" you asked and looked over at him.

He glanced at you for a moment but kept his head facing forward. "Why? You dreaming up an escape plan or something?"

"No, it's just a hypothetical," you scoffed, "I'm just curious what would you do if you could get out."

A pause bloomed between the two of you, and you assumed this would be another time he openly ignored you and left your question unanswered. But you made your prediction too soon because moments later he spoke again.

"I'd leave this country."

You blinked at the blunt answer. "That's it? North or South?" you asked, trying to get some more.

"Either one," he responded, "It makes no difference to me as long as it's not anywhere with stars and stripes waving around every couple hundred miles."

The words came out drenched with bitterness, but you couldn't really blame him. From what he had told you about that assignment in Africa, you'd probably want to split too.

"I think you'd be kind of cool like up in the mountains in Canada or something. No one around to bother you and stuff. Seems like it'd be a natural habitat," you nodded, trying to brighten things up a little.

His eyes softened a little and he breathed out what sounded like it used to be a laugh. "Yeah? You don't think I deserve a tropical getaway?"

"It's not that. You just don't seem very beach vacation to me," you smiled.

"Yeah, probably not. I guess the mountains would be more my thing."

"Mhm. Maybe we could go together, y'know? There's nothing left here for me anymore either."

"Really?" he asked before tutting and shaking his head jokingly, "Pretty little thing like you running off with a guy she meets in a psych ward. You don't have any family that would send into cardiac arrest?"

You shook your head. "Nope. No one really stayed on my side after everything that happened. If I got out tomorrow, I'd have no one tying me down. No one expecting me home. I could just go."

"No boyfriend pining for your release?" he teased.

"Not at all. I was supposed to get married, but I guess without the vows, there was nothing tying him to me. No reason to try and help me."

Despite the heaviness of those memories, you beamed at him with the dreamy excitement of running away together. It would never happen, but that was part of the appeal. A dream you'd never have to stress about actualizing.

He looked at you with something close to sympathy upon hearing that, but he didn't say anything. He was never really good at getting sappy. Instead he just nodded and turned his head forward again.

"Alright. I'd take you with me then," he agreed with a smirk.

It was after more exchanges like those that you started to really consider him a friend. Better than any you had before you got locked up here. You tried to think of why that was. Maybe it was because you didn't have to put up any of the bullshit facades you did in the real world. There was no reason to hide anything here. You didn't have to dress a certain way or make sure your hair was styled or your lips coated with gloss. You didn't have to awkwardly laugh when something uncomfortable happened or soften your negative opinion about someone.

In here, the worst had happened, and you lived it everyday. Social niceties had dropped pretty low on the priority list of everyone staying here. Even if sometimes you said something too emphatically or disagreed on an irrelevant subject, neither of you could get away. It brought you closer than you've ever been with anyone. Even the fiance you'd vowed to forget by now.

The day you felt something a little more intricate than friendship for Billy still stands out in your memory.

You were sitting across from him in the dining hall, your foot swinging back and forth in a lazy pattern. Earlier in the day you'd caught the end of a news special. You missed the topic, but you sat there watching a petite woman with her hair in a pixie cut give an interview. Despite her smaller stature, she sported a badge. Her voice was chirpy and hopeful, easy for you to tune out until you heard some words of interest, specifically the words Lieutenant Billy Coen.

She told this naive reporter some story about how he was killed a month ago in the Arklay Mountains. According to her, the vehicle transporting him had crashed and been overrun by adversaries. Despite him fighting valiantly, he didn't survive.

You could almost hear the country's collective sigh of relief. Thank God the snapped soldier hadn't made it. He wasn't lurking in the shadows, waiting for another opportunity to strike. You had rolled your eyes when you heard the story, but it still stuck with you all day.

It bounced around your brain, driving you to ask him at dinner, "So do you think they're still gonna execute you?"

He looked up from his food with bewilderment across his features. "What kind of question is that?"

"An honest one."

After a brief pause, he shrugged. He was never one to find your bluntness off-putting.

"I don't know. They didn't give me a rehab plan or anything," he said, "Why?"

"Well I saw on the tv that they think you're dead anyways. So I don't know... just kinda seems like they might," you explained.

"They haven't said anything to me about it," he told you, "They still got me talking to that doctor three days a week so... maybe they will, maybe they won't. Not much I can do about it either way."

It was then that something struck you. It would be hard to even articulate it, but the way he acted so flippant, so casual about something that was literally a matter of life and death. Maybe he'd been out of control so long that this felt normal. As soon as he gained the freedom of adulthood, he shackled himself under the command of his captains in the marines and the sergeants at boot camp.

From across the table, he seemed to recognize that look. The gleam centered between pity and concern in the eyes of every woman he's let get close. He leaned forward, staring into your eyes.

"You'd miss me if they did, wouldn't you?" he asked with a smirk.

Your heart fluttered inside your chest like a bird learning to use its wing again. That small curl in his lip marked the first time you'd seen some fire in him. A bit of his old humanity poking through the unpleasantness of being confined here.

You didn't see a point in denying his accusation either.

"Of course I would. Everyone else here is totally boring. And we wouldn't get to go see Canada," you said, mirroring his position by leaning your weight on your forearms.

"I'll have to stay on my best behavior then. Not give them a reason to leave you stranded here alone," he teased.

And he stayed true to that assurance. A couple more weeks passed, and everyday the both of you met in the common room. Sometimes one of you had a bad day, injected with a sedative that left you slow and sluggish, talked into something by the doctor that bugged you for hours after. Other times it was just the memories of the past haunting you. The ideas of what could have been. What should have been.

On September 30th, 1998, each of you had already been having a shitty day. For you, it had started early. You took the hour sentence on the stiff couch in the therapist's office. Listened to the normal bullshit the doctor told you about false memories and paranoid tendencies. And at the end of the session, they handed you an envelope.

A small, pale rectangle. Crisp edges and totally unwrinkled from its journey here. It was thin, not carrying anything other than another paper. You turned it over in your hands and looked down at the return address scrawled in familiar handwriting.

Your heart nearly stopped when you placed the swirl in the 't' and the little dip in the 'h.' They'd handed you a letter from the man you were supposed to marry two years ago. The fiance who'd left you in the dust.

The last time you'd spoken to him had been the night heavy boots blew your apartment's door off its hinges and meaty hands strapped solid handcuffs around your wrists. He did nothing to defend you. He was the one who informed them of your schedule and when you'd be home. Either he didn't believe you or they'd paid him off. At the time, finding out his motives wasn't important to you. The betrayal cut so deep all you could focus on was how could this be happening to you.

But regardless, you didn't care all those years ago, and you wouldn't care now. You didn't care what he had to say. Whether he was sorry or curious or anything. That on top of the fact that you didn't even know if it was real. You wouldn't put it past the people running this place to try some tricks like this on you.

You decided not to read it. It ended up in the trash can outside the door before you went back to the common room to sulk on the couch. Billy was already there doing some sulking of his own. Neither of you said anything when you plopped down beside him.

It crossed your mind that maybe you should ask him what's wrong, but you weren't in the mood. You didn't think you could offer anything helpful in terms of advice or support when your mind felt so scrambled by the reinsertion of your past into your present.

The both of you remained quiet for hours as you went through other routines of the day. It wasn't awkward or uncomfortable. Him physically being there was enough for you, and you got the sense he felt the same about your presence as well. Brushing fingertips and the warmth of your thigh against his provided more comfort than any words could.

That evening the two of you had returned to the television set in the common room. The news droned on from the monitor. News about the upcoming midterm elections, a few stories about car accidents or trends in crime.

But that all came to a screeching halt before the sun had even fully set. Breaking news alerts flashed across the screen, illuminating the dim room in reds and blues. Snapshots of Raccoon City lit up before your eyes. News reporters spoke in nervous, quick tones; uncertain words about a rapidly spreading virus that turns people violent. Frantic announcements that residents should not leave their homes but help was on the way.

You watched on in amazement. In a way, it felt like a dream. Something you would have conjured up in your teen years after watching a horror movie. Buildings burned and people ran through the streets, weaving around traffic that was so backed up you couldn't see where the line of cars started or ended.

A pit began forming in your stomach, dread at the realization that this was what you had been onto two years ago. This was what you had failed to stop. Rationally, you knew it wasn't your fault. You understood that it was not reasonable to expect yourself to be able to take on a corporation backed by the government. But it still felt icky knowing you had ever been involved.

The images grew more graphic. Headlines flying across the bottom of the screen became more dire. You watched as people, or what used to be people, stumbled around with mangled faces and blood stained clothing. They chased after others and sunk their teeth into their flesh.

You looked over at Billy after a little longer. He was faring worse than you. This was the first time you'd ever seen fear in his eyes. He wasn't shaking, wasn't crying or starting to panic. But you could still see it. Deep in those dark pupils, he was scared.

His eyes were locked on the tv, taking in every bit of horror being broadcast the couple hundred miles to this facility. You didn't know what to say or do or if you should even say or do anything. There was something more to his reaction than normal anxiety.

All you could think to do was moving your hand over a few inches and clasping his own. Your fingers interlaced with his and wrapped around his palm. You gave it a small squeeze, a wordless reassurance that you had him and he wasn't alone.

You felt the faintest squeeze in return. He still didn't directly acknowledge you, but that was fine. As long as you had that little signal that he was still there, you were ok.

The two of you watched until the feed cut due to technical difficulties and the orderlies made the announcement to start moving to your rooms.

Both of you stood up and headed in that direction. He remained quiet while walking through the tiled hall. You reached the junction where the corridor divided into two, and you would have to go your separate ways.

"Are you gonna be ok?" you whispered, turning to look at him.

He looked down at you and paused like he did when the two of you first met. His eyes watched your face, contemplating his answer. He ended up nodding and muttering a quick "I'll be alright." Then he turned away and stalked off to his assigned room.

Reluctantly you continued the rest of the way to yours, but that night sleep didn't come. You couldn't rest as you processed what had happened just hours ago. It wasn't even the actual crisis that was upsetting you, but rather Billy's reaction. Something had bothered him. Some element of what was playing out wormed its way into his mind and prodded at some memory he'd rather forget.

Sighing, you gazed out the window and then turned your eyes to the night table. You didn't want to stay here. You wanted to be with him. He was the only person you had now who was worth anything to you. What were you doing if not making sure he was ok?

As quiet as possible, your hand reached out and pulled the drawer on the nightstand open. Reaching inside, you fetched the little twisted up pin you'd made almost two years ago. You'd crafted the little tool in your first months here, but hadn't used it since then. You made it to sneak out at night and have some semblance of freedom, but upon venturing outside your room during dark hours, you found there was really no purpose. The main exits had higher degrees of security that you couldn't break and there was nothing special around the ward worth wandering around for.

But now there was.

You grabbed the small bent pieces of metal and slid out from your bed. Padding over to the door, you bent down and jammed the little ends into the keyhole. You fished around for the right springs to unlock the door until you heard the little clicks signifying you were good to go.

Your footsteps didn't make a sound as they retraced your earlier path and headed in his direction. You slipped past the single orderly in the corner office and pranced down the remaining space until you reached another door. The pin made quick work of it like it did with your own, allowing you entry.

It was hard to see anything at first. The room was bathed in total darkness. All you could tell was that it was smaller than yours and only had one bed. You felt his eyes on you though. Apparently sleep had eluded him tonight as well.

He rasped out your name before asking what you were doing. A fair question given the circumstances. You closed the space between the two of you and came over to sit on his bed.

You positioned yourself at his side. Your eyes had adjusted by now to the lack of light, and you could make out the most basic features of his face. You could also tell where his hand was. Reaching for it, you took it in your own just like before.

"I just wanted to check on you," you whispered.

A pause filled the room for a few seconds before he responded. "I'm ok."

"It doesn't seem like it," you said back. You scooted a little closer before deciding to climb over to the other side of his body and lay next to his side.

He grunted at you forcing your body to fit beside him, but he didn't move away. The two of you stayed in place on the cramped twin sized mattress, staring at the ceiling and digesting the unspoken part of tonight.

"It's nothing... it's not anything worth stressing about," he told you. His voice fit right in with the surroundings. Quiet and low, implying a sense of something deeper.

"You just looked really worried. Like... you were scared of something specific. I don't know, maybe I'm just reading too much into it or whatever," you said.

Another brief bout of silence took over the space between your words and his response. In that time, the feeling of his skin against yours became more prevalent to you. You were increasingly aware of the fact that your arm was around his torso and that you could feel the definition of his muscles against your forearm. His arm was also wrapped around your back. It was like the two of you were cuddling, and it didn't feel at all unnatural.

"That stuff on the tv... it's not exactly why I'm here, but it's close," he started, "They aren't keeping me here because of the bullshit I was sentenced for. It's because I saw something at that mansion."

That piqued your curiosity, and you lifted your head to look at him.

"I know it sounds insane," he continued as if you wouldn't believe him, "But I swear I'm not crazy. The shit they had in that mansion... it was like it was out of a goddamn horror movie. And I knew it was gonna spread. I knew that night wouldn't be the end of it. I tried running, getting as far away as I could, but they caught me."

"Do they ask you about that stuff?" you interjected with caution, "The doctor's... do they try to make you think you misunderstood what you saw."

He nodded. So the two of you had more in common than you knew.

"I don't think they'll be trying for too much longer though," he muttered.

Your eyes widen. Your fingers instinctively dug into his shirt like a child clinging to their favorite stuffed animal. "What? Why?" you questioned.

"The way they've been talking lately, I just think they might want to finish the job soon. Now that that shit has spread, I'm more trouble than I'm worth. I don't have any information they would need," he offered.

"But they can't," you tried, "They can't just randomly decide to kill you."

"I doubt it's random," he responded.

You sputtered, scrambling for a response to make this problem go away. You knew they could do this, but you wanted to believe otherwise. It wasn't fair that they could let you get attached to this man and then rip him away so cruelly.

"But... they won't. We can get away. We don't have to let them," you said.

He looked at you with some sadness in the dark. Finally, the slightest display of emotion regarding his own death.

"You got some sort of master plan to bust out of here that I don't know about?" he asked.

You scowled and lightly elbowed his bicep. "It's not a joke," you said, "I won't let them do that to you. It's not right. You didn't deserve any of this in the first place."

"Deserve's got nothing to do with it, dollface. This is just the way it is."

"No," you shook your head.

You were insistent about this. Maybe your emotions were fucked up from all the drugs they'd pumped you full of over the last twenty four months or maybe your perceptions of relationships had become warped from the severe lack of social interaction you'd had over that time, but even though you'd only known him for six-ish weeks the thought of being without him felt devastating. It was a rush of anxiety and dread. The kind of stress that made you feel like you had to do something.

"They can't take you away from me," you finished.

The way his gaze softened was palpable. He reached up one of his hands and stroked the flat backs of his fingers down your cheek. He didn't like the thought of leaving you alone either. For reasons he didn't fully grasp, the thought of you being isolated here, without anyone or any hope of a future, made him ache. It was a gnawing sensation. One that wouldn't go away with simple distractions.

"I don't want that either..." he murmured.

But you leaned in and clung to him with more intent. You rested on top of his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart that you never wanted to stop.

"They do the same kind of thing to me," you whispered. He already knew about your past with Umbrella. You'd told him that much, but neither of you really talked much about your current treatment beyond the occasional extreme methods you were subject to. "No one ever believed me before, so at first, I thought they might have been right. That I just misread something or went too far with it."

You felt his hand start to rub up and down your back. He didn't say anything to interrupt your little confessional, but you could feel in the air around you that he was listening.

"When I was... When I was supposed to get married before this, he didn't believe me either. I tried telling him. I even said we should just leave. That maybe I shouldn't do anything, I shouldn't say anything. We could've just left. But he didn't believe me..." you said, "I tried to do something or to tell other people, but it didn't work. And when they took me, he just let them. Just left me to deal with it all alone."

You were aware your thoughts were coming out in a manner closer to rambling, but it's all you could manage right now.

"He didn't deserve you then," his voice broke out quietly from above your head.

Glancing up, your eyes scanned his face upon hearing that. You knew the comment was sincere. He had no reason to lie about his feelings toward a man he never met. But still, the remark stood out.

He saw your silence and responded with a touch before any actual words. He stroked your face, looking into your eyes.

"I don't know if that makes it better or worse now, but you deserved better than that. Pretty girl like you shouldn't be locked up here," he said.

"Well neither should you," you responded.

He hummed in acknowledgement. "I guess. But you really shouldn't be. You were a good girl. A smart one. You can be a little wild, but I doubt you got into any real kind of trouble before this."

Two little words in the middle of that statement had you tensing up on top of his body. He could obviously feel it as his hand applied more pressure to try and soothe you.

"I didn't," you answered, feeling like the words needed one.

"Mhm, I can tell. You're too sweet," he said.

Now you got the sense he may be teasing. With a nudge to his bicep, you scrunched your nose. "Shut up."

"I'm serious," he replied in spite of your attitude, "If we met under different circumstances, I would've really liked you."

"Really?" you checked. You hated the way your voice came out. So curious it almost sounded innocent.

"Yeah. You're just my type. Cute. A little mouthy till you get close to someone. Then you're all soft and sweet."

Heat crept up into your cheeks, and you could only be thankful it was so dark so that he couldn't see the timid expression on your features. He pinched the dough of your cheek between his thumb and forefinger, only making the feeling more intense.

"I can feel your skin getting hot. I know I'm right."

"Well I would've liked you too," you fired back in an attempt to turn the tables.

"Oh yeah?" he chuckled.

"Yup. You're tallish. All muscular. Dark hair and eyes. Tattoos. You look like you can ride a motorcycle."

"Don't make me sound like such a cliche," he teased.

Now it was your turn to shrug before scooting closer. "Then don't act like one."

"Smartass," he chuckled, "Even if we had met before, I doubt you could've handled me. I wasn't winning any boyfriend of the year awards with the women I dated."

"That's cause you hadn't met the right one," you said back, not missing a beat, "I could keep you in line."

"I'm sure. Sweet little thing like you would be the one to tame me, huh?" he mocked, "You don't think I'd ruin you?"

"Not in any way I didn't want."

After saying that, you realized how close you had leaned in. Your face was inches away from his. You could hear his breaths and feel the pulsing of his blood beneath your body. You really weren't sure what compelled you, but you brought your lips forward and closed the small gap between the two of you.

Your mouth landed on his, but he responded in kind, as if he had been waiting for the gesture. His lips pressed against yours before molding to reciprocate any movements you made. You could hear the soft grunts he let out as his arms encircled your figure and pulled you even further against himself.

You let out a soft little moan when his tongue brushed over the seam of your lips, a gentle push for entrance. You granted him access and slid yours forward as well. The two of you lose yourself in the series of kisses. As you made out, he slowly made the move to adjust positions, flipping the both of you over.

Your back hit the scratchy sheets that covered all the beds in the ward. In this moment, you didn't care though. The slight itch of them was easily drowned out by the intoxicating warmth of his skin.

His kisses migrated south, dropping from your mouth down to your jawline and then your throat. A sigh left your lips as he tended to your pulse point and artery. He hit all the little sweet spots. His teeth scraped across them tenderly and arousal bloomed between your legs in response.

"Fuck... you're so soft, so perfect," he muttered against your skin.

Your breath shuddered out of your lungs. His touch felt electric on your flesh. Glancing down, you couldn't help but think he looked even more sculpted like this. His shoulder blades twitched every time he moved his head around your neck. His arms trembled as he held himself above your body.

"Been dreaming of this..." you whispered, sliding one of your hands up to rest at the nape of his neck.

"Have you now?" he asked, "You fantasize about me while laying in bed at night?"

"Sometimes," you breathed.

He reacted to the idea with a soft groan. "Cute."

His kisses on your neck grew more passionate, needier and open-mouthed. His hands grabbed onto you. They slid down your sides to your hips where they groped the soft flesh there.

"I've had a few dreams about you too," he admitted.

A moan escaped your lips, but you made sure to suppress it enough to not alert anyone of your activities. You wriggled around a bit below him, trying to signal that you craved more.

"I need you," you whispered.

"I know, baby. Need you too."

He rose back up to his knees, shoving down the sweats they issued everyone and letting his cock spring free. It was a good size, thick and lengthy enough to attract your eyes. It oozed pre for you already. There was no mistake that he wanted you.

You squirmed on the mattress in an attempt to rid yourself of your bottoms before he reached for the waist and pulled them off with ease. Then he lowered himself back on top of you. His tip dragged back and forth across your soaked folds.

Despite only having known him for a short amount of time, this didn't feel like a casual hookup. It didn't feel random or unattached. It felt like something you needed. It felt like you were doing this out of love. Out of the need to be connected to this man who'd captured your mind and body.

He took as much time as he could in that moment. He glided the head of his cock back and forth, teasing the both of you with the anticipation of what you were about to do.

Then finally, he pushed in. You felt the satisfying split as he speared you open. His hips pushed inside at an exploratory, slow pace. A groan rumbled in his chest at the tight warmth wrapped around his shaft. Once he'd sunk all the way inside, his head dropped to the crook of your neck again. His breaths puffed out against you as he got used to the sensation.

It was an adjustment for you too. It'd been almost two years since you had any type of cock. The feeling now was a familiar one, but still something to get used to.

"Had to have a taste of this pussy before they put me down," he mumbled.

You whined and smacked his arm. "Don't say that," you whimpered.

Lifting your legs, you looped them around his torso and pulled him deeper. "You're still alive right now, so don't think about that stuff. Focus on fucking me dumb," you continued.

He chuckled against your neck, but complied with your request. His hips rocked backwards before popping forward again.

"You got it," he grunted.

His pelvis set into a nice rhythm. One that didn't have you screaming and writhing loud enough to draw attention, but to the point that you were satisfied and didn't long for something more.

Your arms laced around his shoulders and pulled him closer on top of you. Your clothes rustled together with every rock of his hips. His hands stayed tight on your body, keeping you flush against him as well. You could hear him panting right next to your ear in between the small pecks he'd leave on your skin.

With how close he was on top of you, his cock slid nice and deep every time. Every stroke brushed against the internal sweet spots that made your hips buck or another whimper spill from your lips.

"When we make it out of here, I'm gonna want you all the time," you whispered with a broken whine.

For once, he didn't mock your display of optimism. Instead, he played right along. "I know you will. And you'll get me all the time."

Your legs squeezed his waist, and he increased the force behind his thrusts, putting more of his weight into each one. He licked a stripe of your neck before kissing down the wet skin.

"I'll do it right for you then. Won't have to be quiet. You can scream as loud as you need. I'll have you filled up till you're shaking and crying," he said.

This time your walls embraced him. You whimpered at the pictures he painted in your head. Your breaths grew heavier to the point that you were panting too now.

He was so deep now that he didn't have to slide back and forth to make you feel good. He skillfully ground his hips against them, rolling them against your skin and rubbing up against all the places that made you keen.

One of his hands wormed its way between your two bodies. His fingers endured the lack of circulation to get at your clit. The rough pads of his fingertips swirled around it, giving the little bud a few good flicks.

Your hand flew to your mouth to muffle the sounds that broke out in response. The sparks of bliss burned brighter into full on flames in your belly. Your toes curled, and your thighs quivered against his sides so hard it was like they were vibrating.

"Gonna cum soon, babydoll?" he rasped.

You nodded from behind your clamped palm. Your eyes fluttered with the weight of your impending release. The sensation boiling down below was close to bubbling over. Your breaths hissed against your palm as you tried to hold off, but he wasn't having it.

"It's ok. You don't have to wait. I'm right there too," he murmured, "Cum on my cock, sweetheart. Make me feel real good."

And after hearing that, you couldn't hold back. A broken cry escapes your lips, louder than you'd like it to be. Your body melded to his with the force of the high crashing into you. Your hands clung to his back while your legs locked around his waist.

A few more pushes of his hips and he was gone too. Sighing against your neck, he pulled out as fast as he could, spurting warm ropes of cum onto your pelvis. His teeth dug into his lip to stifle a few noises begging to be heard.

You both rode out your highs in tandem before he collapsed next to you. He nuzzled your neck, wordless appreciation for you. A silent reassurance that things would be ok. You brought your hand up to gently stroke his forearm in return, signaling that you knew they would be.

And you had been right.

Things around the ward got worse after September 30th. The orderlies acted nervous, as if this place was on the cusp of collapse. Restrictions became tighter, no more going outside and there were bed checks at night.

That didn't stop your feelings for Billy though. Since that night in his room, you only felt more connected to him. Affection in your current circumstances couldn't be overt. It was confined to brief touches and lingering looks, quiet words only heard between the two of you.

The people running the institute had hushed words as well though. They had lingering looks, specifically towards Billy. Day by day, you felt increasingly anxious about the possibility that they were planning something. Your nights filled with dreams of him suddenly being gone. Of him being taken away and left to rot.

There came a day when they announced half the ward would be "moved" though you doubted their transfer would be a mere difference of wings. The men who came in to facilitate the change were armed, riot gear and all.

You grabbed his hand tight, not willing to let go.

The next part you only remember in flashes.

The way they yanked him away, how he tried resisting but was overwhelmed. Then how your eyes darted around looking for anything that could stop them. You knew you grabbed a pistol off one of the holsters attached to a man's belt. You fired without thinking twice. One crumpled to the ground before you ducked out of the way.

That gave him the opening to the same. Bullets rained down across the common room, blood pooling on the tiles you walked over everyday. You moved on pure instinct. So much of the violence was blacked out to you now.

You must have ran. The both of you must have dashed out the front door, stolen in keys in one of your hands. You must have jumped in the car that matched the double click of the lock button.

Because now you're speeding down the road. The wind blows through the open windows across your face. Your feet rest up on the dashboard while one of your hands covers his thighs. The car zips down the road heading North, heading to a place where both of you would have something.

You turn your head and flash him a grin. He gives you a similar expression before putting his eyes back to the road in front.

#billy coen x reader #billy coen smut #billy coen x you #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #resident evil x you #resident evil imagines #ch: billy coen 💌

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procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics · 2 years ago

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Witchers + someone making their s/o uncomfortable

summary: what if the witchers saw someone making their s/o uncomfortable at a bar?

warnings: unwanted flirting/attention, the witchers doing their thing (slight physical violence), written with afab!reader in mind, technically gender-neutral though :)

tagged: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins @levithestripper @cookielovesbook-akie @lu-in-the-library @sunndust @ghostcatwhiskers (hmu to be added/removed to any taglist)

masterlist | based on this request

Geralt

Bros the standing guy emoji

Except that he’s so so menacing. He’ll just kind of cast a shadow over the person that’s making you uncomfortable

And you best expect that person to scurry back into their hole

“We’re leaving.”

Scolds the barkeep like a little kid

Definitely tries to reassure you by wildly making death threats about anyone who’s ever been slightly negative towards you

Eskel

Eskel makes it very clear that you’re with him, and being a Witcher, that’s usually enough

He puts an arm around your waist/shoulder, and challenges whoever is making you uncomfortable to continue talking

Usually, they leave pretty quickly

If they do not get the memo, best believe that Eskel will make them understand

Happy to use threats in order to protect you

Lambert

Lambert may not be as quick to notice as Geralt or Eskel, as he’s probably busy getting into a brawl

But as soon as he does, he abandons his current fight to start a new one with whoever is making you uncomfortable

He’s a witcher, not a diplomat, no words necessary

You best believe drunk creeps leave you alone for the rest of the night

(unless they have a deathwish)

Coen

Coen is quiet and patient, and so is his approach

When he notices something is wrong, he takes the creep by the shoulder and walks them away from you

Exchanges some friendly, pointed words (read: threats) that have the creep’s knees shaking for sure

They leave pale as a ghost, and you’ll never get a word out of Coen. You don’t need to hear all that

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obsolescent · 2 years ago

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O’s 2023 Kinktober Masterlist

Check here for the full list of pairings and writings for this year’s Kinktober!

Disclaimer: For each writing, gender neutral language is used for the reader.

Day 1 - Playing with hair (Leon S. Kennedy x Reader)

Day 3 - Shopping (Chris Redfield x Reader)

Day 5 - Familiar scent (Trans!Leon S. Kennedy x Reader)

Day 7 - Hand holding (Ethan Winters x Reader)

Day 9 - Embracing (Trans!Jill Valentine x Reader)

Day 11 - Getting dressed (Claire Redfield x Reader)

Day 13 - Back scratching (Jake Muller x Reader)

Day 15 - Bathing (Alexander “Sasha" Kozachenko x Reader)

Day 17 - Shining shoes (Trans!Ada Wong x Reader)

Day 19 - Sharing/swapping clothes (Billy Coen x Reader)

Day 21 - Calling (Leon S. Kennedy x Reader)

Day 23 - Lap pillow (Carlos Oliveira x Reader)

Day 25 - Help with button/zipper (Chris Redfield x Reader)

Day 27 - Napping together (Ethan Winters x Reader)

Day 29 - Showering (Rebecca Chambers x Reader)

Day 31 - Costume/putting on makeup (Leon S. Kennedy x Reader

#o’s kinktober #leon s kennedy x reader #chris redfield x reader #resident evil smut #jill valentine x reader #jake muller x reader #ada wong x reader #rebecca chambers x reader #alexander kozachenko x reader #claire redfield x reader #ethan winters x reader #billy coen x reader #carlos oliveria x reader

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wolves-and-dragons · 3 months ago

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A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 5

Main Masterlist

Chapter 4

Synopsis: As Aemma has captured your own heart as well as Geralt and Ciri's, your daughter has also captured the hearts of the other gruff witchers in the keep, including Lambert of all people. Geralt realizes he and his lover may have been louder last night than anticipated, much to the dismay of Ciri and the witchers, who are still speculating on the Aemma's paternity.

In the past, the tourney is in full swing, though the death of the Queen dampens the mood significantly. In the aftermath, Daemon seeks out his paramour with hopes of finding comfort, but the Lady of Larks won't let him have it so easily, especially when she overhears the disdain the prince allegedly holds for his dead family.

CW: toxic relationship, mentions of sex, Daemon pushing the Lady Lark's boundaries, swearing, some violence, mentions of Queen Aemma's involuntary and very fatal c-section.

-----------flashback: King's Landing, Day of the Tourney-------

It was day of the tourney. Nobles and knights had come in from all over the realm to watch or participate in the spectacle. And based on what you heard, the timing couldn't have been more perfect as Queen Aemma had just gone into labor.

Rhaenyra had asked you to accompany her by her side when the tourney started. You had noticed the princess had been a little on edge, which made sense given the state her mother was in right now. Hopefully this day long event would distract and, gods be willing, her mother would come out of her labors with little to no complications for both her and the newborn child regardless of the sex.

Before joining the princess at her spectators' box with her father, friend, and others from the family and small council, you found yourself at Daemon's tent, hoping to get a sneak peak of the prince before he took part in today's festivities.

"Ooh, look at you," you say as you walk into Daemon's tent. The prince in question just had his armor in place, which included his dragonesque helmet

Daemon heard your voice and turned to face you; he smirked a bit, feeling confident from the look of admiration at your face, "do you like what you see?"

"Oh, I sure do," you nod, approaching him and placing a hand on his shoulder and another on his chest, "I've always had a...certain weakness for men in armor.

"Well then," Daemon leans in, deciding to flirt back, "I may not be able to request your favor during the tourney, Little Lark, but perhaps you may grace me now with a kiss as a gesture of good luck...maybe a little something more to make up for denying me last night after I was so generous with you."

You smirk back and lean in, like you were going to give him a kiss, but instead you stop and whisper, "it was your choice to use your tongue on me, Prince, I never asked you to." Daemon groaned as you pulled away, unable to hide your smirk at the power you currently had over this man, "besides," you continue, "can't have you distracted before the start of the festivities." "I said I was sorry," Daemon pouts like a child. "You actually didn't," you say, placing a hand on his cheek, "but when you win, I'll give you all the kisses you want. ANYwhere you want. It'll be worth it."

Daemon made a small smile, a glimmer of hope in his eyes, "I shall do my best then to earn those kisses." "Good luck, Prince," you laugh a bit and exit the tent to join Rhaenyra at her box.

------present day: Kaer Morhen-----------

You walk into the dinning hall with Ciri, seeing Geralt still there at the table with Lambert, Eskel, and Coen.

To your surprise, you notice Lambert holding Aemma in his arms.

"She really grows on you, doesn't she?" Eskel says, leaning in to make faces at the baby. "Yeah, when she's not screaming for ma in the middle of the night that is," Coen mutters, taking a bite of some bread, "but she is adorable. If only we knew who the father was."

"Well, we can rule out Geralt," Lambert jokes, "given that being a witcher has made him seedless."

"Very funny," Geralt deadpans, sipping from his mug.

"Seriously though," Eskel states, looking into the baby's face, "I don't think I've ever seen anyone with this type of blonde hair, it's almost silver." "And violet eyes," Coen adds, "unusual, unless the father was part elf."

"You people are really that eager to know who the father is?" you interrupt the conversation, getting the wolves' attention.

"Oh uh, good morning, (y/n)," Lambert greets. "Don't you lot have super senses or something?" you ask, taking a seat at the table, "I thought you would've heard Ciri and I walking from across the hall."

The witchers exchanged looks. "We got distracted," Coen provides for an excuse, "you daughter was distracting us."

"Really?" you snort, "far as I can see, she's been quiet this whole time."

"Uh, Lambert, I can see you and Aemma are having a special bonding moment, but I'd like to spend some time with her now," you reach out and the witcher gives you to her, seemingly reluctantly, "Huh, I never would've expected this from you." "To be fair, none of would expected this," Eskel smirks. "Why is this so surprising?" Lambert asks in disbelief. "I may admittedly be a little rough around the edges but I'm not a fucking monster."

"Hey, watch you language," you scold, giving Aemma a kiss on the cheek.

"Why is your face flushed?" Geralt asked Ciri as she took a seat next to him. Ciri straighten up a bit thinking about an answer to give him, "I uh, I was warming up in my room before we start training." "Oh she was warming up alright," you say with a smug look. Geralt frowned at you and her, not sure what that meant.

"Uh, where's Triss?" Ciri looks around, hoping to change the subject. "We were running low on herbs in the alchemy lab," Geralt tells her, "She went with Vesemir to gather some more."

"Knowing Vesemir, that'll be an all day task," Lambert snorts, "they have to be the right height, growth, and some other shit like that."

"Lambert," you scold in a firm tone, "Not in front of Aemma." "How is that swearing?" Lambert exasperates, "I heard you say that over and over again last night!"

"Huh?" "What was that?" you and Geralt perk up.

Eskel, Coen, and Lambert exchange looks, "these walls are kind of thin," Eskel points out.

"Gross," Ciri mutters, taking a bite of food.

You felt your face heat up realizing what that meant. "Uh, Ciri" you ask hesitantly, "did you...?" "Nope," Ciri says quickly getting up, "I thankfully don't have witcher senses." Geralt had a look of confusion on his face. You lean in to ask him, "Geralt, did she ever get some kind of talk from her grandparents before...?" "I did, I don't need to have it again!" Ciri calls out, practically running out of the hall at this point.

The other witchers couldn't help but chuckle at this awkward situation.

Thankfully Aemma started fussing to be fed again, "I better go feed Aemma now," you say, quickly getting up.

"What, you can stay and whip em out for-" Lambert calls out, only to get nudged in the ribs by Geralt and earning a stern look from the white haired witcher.

----------------flashback: Red Keep Post tourney------------

It was late in the night when you roamed the halls, intent on getting some sleep.

It had been a long day.

The tourney, the death of the Queen and her newborn son, the funeral that followed after, it was all a lot to process right now.

You weren't close with the king or queen, but Rhaenyra was clearly grieving from the loss of her mother and newborn brother. When you were called to entertain her, she had you stop in the middle of your first song, which was a mourning song in elven which seemed appropriate for the occasion. With tears in her eyes, the princess had you dismissed early. You couldn't blame her, she needed some time alone to process her grief.

You had thinking about how the queen had died, having heard what the maesters did, cutting the poor woman open in order to save the babe, all without sedatives or herbs to numb the pain. You could only imagine how horrible the procedure it must've been for the poor queen, and how painful her death must've been; if this had been in any of the courts in the Continent, at least a mage would've been there to help ease the pains of labor and have spells on hand to turn the babe or sedate the queen if it came to that.

If you ever found yourself with child, you would pray you would be on the Continent when the time came to give birth.

You also thought about the king, and how he must've felt being in this position. You knew Viserys loved his wife, and to be put in this situation to choose to save his son or risk losing both, and only for both to be lost anyway...

You looked to see the door to Daemon's chambers was slightly cracked open. You didn't know if the man was in there right now, but you had no interest in knowing, especially after what you heard what he said earlier among his men.

Right when you passed though you heard his voice, "where do you think you're going at this hour, Little Lark?"

That moment, the prince came out and approached you.

Before this, you were having a great time watching this man compete.

Daemon may had asked for Lady Alicent's favor at the tourney earlier today, but you knew his gazed was fixed on you when you stood by Rhaenyra's side.

You were about to turn, but Daemon was quick and pulled you back, "you finished earlier then usual this evening," the prince states. "Let me go," you struggle. "Why would I do that?" Daemon asks with a smirk, "have you forgotten so quickly what you promised me?" "You didn't win," you point out, "I'm not obligated to give you anything."

Daemon grabbed your chin so you can face him. "Why put yourself through this hell you created?" he questions, "you want me, I know this."

"Why would I want you, especially after what you just said?" you scoff, succeeding in pulling back. "What I said?" "Your sister-in-law is dead, as is your nephew," you bring up, "your brother and niece are grieving from the loss, but instead of grieving with them you run off to the Silk Street and drink and celebrate your status as Heir. From what I heard, you referred to the dead babe as 'Heir for a Day'." "He was," Daemon points out, "even less then that as he only lived for a few hours."

"You truly have no shame," you say in disgust, "all you care about is yourself. You have got to be the most selfish, arrogant, insufferable person I've ever had the misfortune to come across." "Yet, you've never stopped me or pushed me away before, Little Lark," Daemon points out. "Don't call me that!" you exclaim, "I hate it when you call me that! I am not your pet. And you're not a dragon. You...you..." "I'm what?" Daemon asks, a dark look in his face.

"You're a snake," you spat out, "A spineless, limbless snake." "I'd watch your tongue," Daemon warns, "this is a battle you can't win." "Ha, don't make me laugh," you joylessly laugh, "You come at me like you did Ser Criston, I'm sure I'd be the victor. Especially if you beat your chest and shout to the crowd rather then wait for me to yield like some brainless rock troll!"

Daemon grabbed your hair and pushed you against the wall. You grab onto the hand that was holding your hair and try to yank him off, but he takes his other hand to pin your hand to the wall.

You struggled when to break free while Daemon merely stared at you darkly. You stop when you realized how close his face was to yours.

Next thing you his lips were on yours.

You feel a hand going under your skirts, but this time you slap him away.

"I mean it, Daemon!" you say with a stern tone, "I don't want anything to do with you right now. I would've made an exception after the tourney, but after that display of disregard for the life of your family, I had second thoughts."

"If I wanted lectures about my conduct, I would've gone to my brother," Daemon mutters, making you roll your eyes and turn away, "We all mourn in different ways," he continues, leaning into you, sighing a bit, "I didn't mean it. I'm sorry, (y/n)." "Don't tell me, tell your niece and brother, they're the ones who are hurting right now," you say. "I know. And they're not the only ones right now," Daemon says, voice muffled into your neck, "I kept my word not to stick my prick in other women as promised. Please allow me to keep grieving my way while also upholding my promise. I wish to hear your sweet voice again...please, (y/n)."

You sigh and turn around, ready to scold him again. But the moment you saw Daemon's face, you could see the tired look in his eyes, like he was bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders. You've seen that look before, in the face of another man you once cared for.

The Queen was Daemon's family too, and he had suffered a loss.

You sigh, hands moving to card through his long, soft, hair as you press your lips to his.

He took you to his room and you allowed him to do what he needed, what he wanted, if only to make him forget for a while.

He was fast and rough at first, but as soon as he came inside you, his movements became slower.

When the both of you were spent, you rested your head on Daemon's chest as he pulled you in and gave you a kiss on the head.

"Sing to me, Little Lark," you hear him whisper.

You did as he request, singing the same elven song you sang to the princess earlier today.

Chapter 6

#house of the dragon #the witcher #hotd #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #viserys targaryen #aemma arryn #oc #the Lady of Larks #eskel #lambert #coen #vesemir #ciri

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selia1ailes · 2 years ago

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THE RESIDENT EVIL GAY CLUB GAY CHRIS DRAG WESKER EMO ANGST MASSACRE!!!!!!

The Gay Club:

Chris, dressed in a gray T-shirt and cargo pants flashed his ID to the bouncer at the door. He didn’t know why the man was so insistent on checking it, as his buff shoulders quite literally towered over him. Though he just decided to take it as a compliment, not in the mood to argue. He had bigger things to worry about, like the wondrous levels of intoxication Claire and her friends likely reached. He slipped the card back into his wallet and stuffed it into one of his many pockets, the faint music suddenly blasting as the door was pushed open. Saucy Santana’s ‘Material Girl’ was booming over the speakers.

It took a very long moment to comprehend everything he was looking at, the raving lights not at all helping. The door shut behind him as his eyes traveled the club, the stench of sweat and booze filling the air.

Welcomed with the sight of various flamboyant drag queens and a scandalous crowd, he realized that even though he’d never been here before, he recognized one of them. It was Wesker, glistening in the middle of the dance floor, covered in… body glitter? A tight little skirt hugged his hips, his badonkadonk surprisingly voluptuous beneath the thin fabric. Chris couldn’t help but let his eyes travel his length. The hot pink rhinestone crop top he was wearing was slipping down, now revealing the heart shaped nipple covers stuck onto his chest. His sunglasses were on the ground, crushed. It seemed that they had been stepped on, pierced by a heel. It was the first time Chris had ever seen Wesker without them, the first time he had the pleasure of meeting his sparkling sunset eyes. He now wished that he got to see them more often.

Though that wasn’t all of it. There was also a rainbow wig poorly attached to his head. It matched the magical fairy wings that were sliding off of his back. The man was also dancing, impressively balanced on a pair of red pumps, especially considering the drinks he definitely ingested. Chris was 100% sure that this wasn’t his first rodeo.

As he was admiring the sight to behold, he suddenly felt someone jumping onto his back. Red hair grazed his face, and he recognized her before she spoke. “Claire?!..”

“Heyyy..! Oh my god you’re here! I had nooo idea you swung this way..!” She slurred out, reaching to her head and pulling off a pink bedazzled cowboy hat.

“Hold-.. hold this for me..” She muttered, placing it onto his head. She slipped off of his back with a distracted grin, holding up one finger to her brother as she backed away, symbolizing for him to wait. She was dressed in a blue tube top that he knew all too well. He looked over to the figure she was eyeing, greeted with the immaculate sight of Jill. But what was she doing here? Was she-..?

His questioning thoughts quieted when he realized that she was dressed in a red vest and black crop top. He squinted, double checking to make sure he wasn’t just seeing things. But it only confirmed his fears. That was the crop top and vest that were staples in Claire’s closet.

“I’ll be right back!..” Claire giggled before hurriedly stumbling to Jill and wrapping her arms around her waist, happily burying her lips into the crook of her neck. As the two women drunkenly held each other in lustful awe, the weight of what clearly just happened came crashing down on him. He hated to admit it. It left a sharp agonizing pain in his chest.

Claire took his bitch.

Now buthurt, he began to walk deeper into the club, taking off the hat and holding it in his hand. Despite the upbeat atmosphere, he didn’t feel much other than longing. He originally came here to take his sister, and whoever else was too drunk to drive home. But he had just altered that plan. One drink wouldn’t leave him completely incapacitated, and he suddenly really needed it. He took a seat on a bar stool and slumped over the counter. Moments later he heard someone flop down next to him, sniffling.

He looked over and saw his friend, Rebecca Chambers. Her eyes were filled with tears that she clearly struggled to hold back. Chris took a deep breath, worry grazing his brows.

“What happened to you?” He asked. Rebecca met his gaze. She didn’t understand what he was doing here, but truly didn’t care. She was just glad he was here.

“I should’ve never come to this stupid place..” She whispered, her voice cracking as she fell into her hands, tears beginnings to fall down her cheeks. For a moment he forgot about Jill and Claire. He reached out and placed a comforting hand on the girl's shoulder.

“Becca..” He began gently. “What happened..?

She slowly looked up to him, wiping her face. “It happened again! Again Chris!” She cried. “He said he wouldn’t do it, but he did! He got s-stupid drunk, and he made out with Leon!..” She yelled. “Again!” She emphasized.

Chris’s eyes widened slightly. He could easily remember the first time this happened. It was at Claire's lit house party, when Billy and Leon were dropping it hot simultaneously like there was no tomorrow. Though he genuinely thought that was a one time thing. Then again, it was stupid of him to assume that Billy could resist such a man after getting a taste of paradise.

Did Jill feel that way about Claire? Was she her paradise? Was this more than a repetitive fling between them? He had no idea how deeply they might truly care, or not care for each other. If their relationship was physical, or something more. And if Claire really was Jill’s paradise, then what the hell was he? The hellish reality? His head was spinning as he momentarily disappeared to the scary world of his mind. Though it seemed that by the time he returned down to Earth, it was too late to comfort and sympathize with Rebecca.

A tall woman stood in front of them, her figure hugged by a short red dress. Rebecca's slight confusion with Chris’s zoning out washed away as she stared up at her through teary eyes. The woman seemed oddly relaxed for the environment, a half empty glass of wine in her hand. The rim of the glass was lightly stained with cherry red lipstick.

“Oh darling… Are you alright?” She asked Rebecca gently. They seemed to already know each other. Becca's lips pursed before she simply shook her head no, bursting out into another wave of sobs. The woman replaced Chris’s hand with her own. She wore a soft frown.

“Come on.. Let's get you cleaned up..” She whispered just loud enough to be heard over the blaring music. Becca didn’t make any sort of verbal response this time, just starting to stand. The woman wrapped her arm around her shoulders and led her off. Chris could only watch as they disappeared into the crowd.

He swallowed hard, loneliness burning a hole in his stomach as he slumped back over the bar. “On the house, you need it.” A random bartender chuckled, sliding a Peachy keen over to him. Chris groaned and took a sip.

The Women's Restroom

The music dulled as the door shut behind them. The bathroom was surprisingly empty.

Rebbeca remembered Ada. She was the woman from the house party. She’d been drinking a glass of wine there too. Rebecca sniffled, slightly embarrassed by her tears. She doubted the woman remembered her though. She was assuming she was just helping her out of pity or something, considering that she was sobbing in the middle of a club. Either that or she was just a sweet, …beautiful person. She could never forget the flutters she brought her.

“Ada, right?” She began, watching as the woman placed her wine on the counter and collected a few paper towels, dampening them in tap water. “We met at Claire's party.”

“How could I forget?” She asked, growing a soft smile as she walked back over to her. Her heels clicked against the tile floor. For some reason, Ada’s simple response left a small blush on her cheeks. Luckily, it would be pretty well hidden in the mess that was her face.

They now stood in front of each other, face to face. Only a small gap was between them as Ada gently held her chin, and began to carefully wipe off her face, cleaning it of smeared makeup and tears. The touch was delicate, as though Rebecca's face was an irreplaceable artifact. Her heart fluttered at the closeness.

“I’m sorry that happened.” She began.

“You know what happened?” Rebecca whispered.

“I have to watch, it's a bad idea to leave Leon unsupervised, especially here.”

“You are now.”

“Only to clean up his mess.”

Rebecca's heart sank. Ada wasn’t wrong, she was a mess. An utter trainwreck. But it really hurt to hear that from her. She didn’t even understand why it bothered her so much, though she found her eyes burning with tears again. Stupid. This was so stupid.

“You can go, I’ll be fine.” She managed to get out. Ada frowned, pausing with the paper towels for a second.

“I’m not leaving you here.”

Rebecca simply couldn’t find it in herself to argue. But a question crossed her mind as a loose tear fell from her shimmering eyes.

“Why..?”

No answer.

Ada just started wiping her face again, cleaning the new tear. Though another smile had formed on her red lips. And perhaps Rebecca really was just delusional, but she swore she saw a slight tint in her cheeks.

A long silence passed. Ada finished with the paper towel, leaving Rebecca's face completely bare. She took a deep breath, tossing away the paper. “There you go..” She whispered, though not backing away even a step. She gently cupped her cheek. Rebecca couldn’t help but lean into the comforting hand, the flutters intensifying within her.

“They don't mean it sweetheart.. They’re just messing around.” She assured. This hurt Ada a lot more than she dared to acknowledge. Becca swallowed hard, wrapping her arms around her own waist nervously.

“But he told me it wouldn’t happen again..” She whispered. Ada nodded, but didn’t have a chance to respond further as Rebecca ranted.

“I trusted him. Why would he do this again? He must like it. He must not care about me… He knows how much it hurt me the first time, and he went ahead and did it again..!” She was getting overwhelmed again. “Does he even love me?!..”

Ada sympathetically sighed. “Yes, he does.” She whispered, no hesitation in her voice. Her thumb gently ran over her cheek.

“How do you know?..” Rebecca pleaded.

Ada chuckled softly. She had so many answers to that question. She knew because of Leon. By the way the man always came back to her with more desire than the last. The way he never truly forgot who his real love was. And if Billy truly was hers, he’d do the exact same thing. But maybe her judgment was also clouded by the fact that she liked her. Liked her just a bit.

“Because he’d be stupid not to..” She whispered, slowly guiding Rebecca's hand off her waist and onto her own. She still cupped her cheek, but did nothing more.

Rebecca's eyes widened with a new feeling. One that had nothing to do with Billy. Her heart was jumping out of her chest as gently held Ada’s waist. Slowly, her other hand found it as well, now staring up into her eyes. She didn’t know what was happening, what she was doing. The only thing she did truly know was that she wanted more of whatever this was.

She watched Adas smile warm, felt the careful hand on the back of her neck, the gentle thumb that ran across her lips. It felt like her heart was about to leap out of her chest. She wanted to crumble into a ball and disappear, while also wanting to stay like this forever.

Ada took a small step closer to her, and Rebecca found herself tightening her arms around her waist. She looked down to her lips, and then back to her mysterious eyes. She felt the blush that burned across her cheeks.

They were only breaths away when the door to the swung open. Jill and Claire stumbled into the bathroom in the midst of an intense makeout session. Between kisses they giggled, murmuring inaudible desires. They were too drunk to care for the others in the bathroom, practically falling into a stall together and slamming the door shut.

Rebecca's blush now deepened, but this time with embarrassment. She quickly pulled away from Ada, taking a sharp breath and running a hand through her hair. That must’ve been what Chris was so down about.

“Thanks for the help..” She hurriedly said, nervously fiddling with the dog tags around her neck as she ran out of the bathroom, avoiding Ada’s gaze as she did so.

The bar

After Becca left, Chris was alone for a while. Saldy he sipped his girlie pop drink, propped up against his muscular arm. After a short while, he caught a glimpse of them tumbling into the bathroom together. Caught a glimpse of them in a heated make out.

Seriously?

Again.

At that moment, he gave up on sipping the drink. He chugged it, and ordered two more. He hated to admit how good it was. He wasn’t driving anyone home tonight. They would all be calling taxis tonight. As he slammed the second cup back down to the bar empty, he felt a hot breath against his neck. He froze, feeling hands that slowly trickled over his shoulders. From the corner of his eyes he could see a hot pink manicure on masculine hands. Finally he turned back.

“Wesker?-..” He muttered

The man wore a gentle grin. This close up, Chris could see the carefully done makeup. An array of blues and pinks, complemented with a golden eyeliner that had been painted with a careful hand. Wesker began to softly massage Chris' shoulders.

TO BE CONTINUED??

(PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK!!!)

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rileytwenty · 2 years ago

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Fandom: The Witcher Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Geralt of Rivia / OC Characters: Geralt of Rivia, Eskel, Triss Merigold, Vesemir, Original Female Character(s), Coën, Lambert

Summary: Geralt finds Calypso unconscious outside of Kaer Morhen. Calypso is from our universe, which quickly presents a problem: how she will return home? Geralt must take her with him on the journey to search for a way to transport her back to her own world. Though, in the end, will she want to return home? Will he be able to let her leave?

Repost cause I had to fix a bunch of things!!

#geralt of rivia #geralt x oc #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt z rivii #geralt x reader #original character #original female character #fanfiction #the witcher #witcher #grumpy x sunshine #grumpy geralt #multiverse #au #vesemir #lambert #coen #eskel

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zombiekillerky · 2 years ago

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Check out my new story on Wattpad!!!

I've started a new oneshot book on Resident Evil, go show your support if you enjoy Resident Evil too!!!

#resident evil #leon kennedy #chris redfield #ada wong #piers nivans #jake muller #claire redfield #steve burnside #albert wesker #carlos oliveira #ethan winters #karl heisenberg #billy coen #rebecca chambers #jill valentine #resident evil x reader #resident evil leon #resident evil village

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smutbutoutofnowhere · 1 year ago

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THIS KRAUSER FIC🤌🤌🤌🤌

An Imbalanced Deal

trainer!Jack Krauser x afab!trainee!reader

summary: Krauser can take you far, maybe even get you out into the real world faster than the rest, but you must do something in return for that large favour.

cw: this fic will contain dub-con with the power imbalance; please read the warnings and continue at your own discretion // dub-con, power imbalance, manipulation, thigh touching, thigh fucking, degrading, neck kisses, p in v, unprotected sex & creampie. (word count: 3.3k)

The training facility loomed with its austere walls and regimented atmosphere. You were walking towards Krauser's office as he wanted to discuss your progress. You were the newest recruit, alongside a man called Leon, but you didn't know much or even speak to him to know anything other than his name and that he was in a similar position as you. You were forced, against your will, due to some special encounters you had with Umbrella.

When you joined, you just kept to yourself, wanting to get this training over and done with, and it seemed to be working fine until now with this sudden meeting. Everyone knew how difficult Krauser was on the recruits, no, on every one; this was present in the nicknames he gave to people; you first noticed this with Leon being called "rookie" and further experienced this with him having no hesitation in telling people that they were pathetic, he always went straight for the jugular of people's insecurities. But he never did this to you.

It was different with you; if you made a stupid mistake, he would call you on it, but in a good and constructive criticism sort of way, something the other recruits noticed and developed a strong jealousy towards you. He didn't even give you nicknames; he just called you by your last name. Since then, everyone had isolated you with all the favouritism you had — like it was somehow your fault.

You continued to wait outside, hearing muffled footsteps through the door as you tried to straighten your posture and fix your clothes, gathering the courage to knock on the door as you waited for the clock to hit the exact time.

With a deep sigh, you knocked and awaited his call.

"Door's open," you heard his deep voice through the wooden door.

You entered slowly, pushing the door and stepping into a dimly lit office space. He was sitting in a seat close to the other, the one you would be sitting in by the looks of it, and you were surprised that it wasn't the conventional behind-the-desk setup like most office spaces had.

As you got closer to your seat, you noticed his gaze remained intense; you couldn't help but feel a shiver run down your spine as you remained under his scrutinous stare. You felt your hands tremble while you placed them to the sides of your thighs, but this made an amusement within Krauser as he continued to watch your timid demeanour, smiling to himself when he noticed how you avoided eye contact with your eyes shifting everywhere in the room but only occasionally at him. He just took your nervous acts as an opportunity to steal more looks at you, trapped in thought as he looked you up and down.

You felt that you were almost trapped in this small and dark room, feeling small and vulnerable as you moved closer and sank into the chair next to him, fully aware of how small you were compared to him. For a moment, your thigh grazed against his, and you tried with all your effort to keep your legs together and away from him, your hands neatly placed in your lap, then moving to the sides as you nervously couldn't be able to decide how to make a normal body language.

The air felt heavy and tense, with the looks and unspoken words currently hanging between you two. However, before speaking, Krauser continued to study you. He watched as you looked at the floor, then the bookshelves, constantly at the clock, and he loved how shy you were with him. He knew you weren't confident, with your reserved nature and inability to make friends with the others, but seeing you nervous because of him felt like a little treat only he could indulge in.

"How have you been finding the training so far?" his words finally broke the silence.

His calm and careful speech was strange to you; you were used to the constant anger in his words, and you even heard from other people when you trespassed on their conversation with the casual eavesdrop that he was rude and arrogant. You had never experienced that yourself, and you thought maybe they were overreacting; but now you were starting to understand their disliking further than just the nicknames and insults, more than the description of rudeness or arrogance. You felt intimidated and out of control, and you hated that. You couldn't stop the nerves, getting worse as your palms continued to tremble and be dampened by the producing sweat.

You swallowed the lump in your throat before speaking, feeling like your mouth suddenly went dry as you shifted in the stiff chair, acutely aware, now, of how he remained to give you intense gazes as he awaited your answer: "It's been... challenging, sir," you managed to reply with your tone of voice being barely above a whisper, "But I am learning a lot and c-continuing to try my best," you couldn't help but stammer in your speech.

He nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly as he continued to subjugate you with a stare that lasted uncomfortable long: "I've noticed that dedication," you couldn't help but like the sound of his voice; it was low, smooth but with a hint of grovel in it, it was intriguing, "and your willingness to learn and improve is... impressive."

You let out a half-smile, wanting time to hurry up and stop you from being trapped in these walls. You kept checking the clock; of course, time felt like it was going as slow as possible. On top of that, to your shock, his compliment made a blush creep onto your cheeks, feeling the warmth spread despite the cold chill in the room. That warm sensation was unwelcome; you even felt stupid for blushing at a superior's comments, especially when you have never been interested in him. But while you were questioning and mentally reprimanding yourself for that blush, his seat moved closer to yours, and his leg now slightly touched your side.

"In this line of work, seeing someone with actual potential is refreshing."

Your heart began to race as you noticed the proximity of your bodies; you could hear and feel that pulsating pounding in your ears, complete with the warmth you felt from your heart continuously pounding, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks. You tried to ignore it, but your body wouldn't comply with what your mind tried to dictate. You could decipher the looks he provided; these were ones of longing, but there was also lust in those looks as he examined and continued to have you in the focal point in his peripheral vision.

You were the target of all his desires. You sensed where this meeting was going, as it unravelled before you.

"Is that all you wanted to say, sir? I hate to cut it short, but I must get going; I have training,” your voice had a high-pitched tinge as you tried to make up some excuse and escape the situation. But you were just met with Krauser leaning back in his chair and playing a faint smirk at the corner of his lips. That smirk taunted you, and his facial expression said, 'I do not believe you.'

"Oh, are you now? With who?"

"Um, Kennedy... Yes, he and I want to train together today," you were hurriedly trying to get the words out, praying to yourself that the excuse would be believed, but you could just tell you were going to be dealt a bad hand.

Your breath caught in your throat as he leaned forward, reaching his hand out and brushing his fingers against your thigh. You froze, and your mind continued to race as you tried to process and understand all this. You experienced a jitter through your body as you felt those soft grazes.

"Don't lie to me," fuck.

"I-"

"You... are lying. There's no scheduled time with your name, and you've never spoken to the rookie. Nice try, but that excuse was... disappointing."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"That's better. Now, I will tell you why I wanted you here," his voice became lower with a husk in his tone, "You see... I believe…I know, you have the potential to excel even further, but that will require a level of... closeness between us. I can provide you with a much-needed connection to ensure good things come your way; I can even get you out here quicker... And I know that's what you all want, to get out of his hell hole." He continued to smirk, knowing he had the upper hand as he proceeded to graze his fingers along the clothed plush of your thigh, then turning into his large hand grabbing it; you felt your chest rise for a quick and small moment as your breathing quickened as he continued to squeeze and go upward to your waistband gently.

"S-sir, don't think you think this is inappropriate?" you couldn't help but continue to stammer, frozen by how he freely explored; he wanted to go deeper and rip your clothes off like he always desired since the moment you sauntered over and caught his attention.

But he couldn't help but chuckle to himself softly, and that sound only sent an uncomfortable shiver down your spine as he knew he wouldn't listen to your pleas. "Oh," his voice dripping with amusement, "I didn't know you were so against getting out of here. I guess the isolating, lonely, harsh place gives you an inviting feeling, doesn't it? But by all means, stay. How could I be so silly as to think you wanted an advantage?" he pulled his hand away for a moment as he watched you squirm in thought.

You sat there, thinking to yourself, knowing that this was all inappropriate and that you had never even thought of Krauser in that way, but you weren't going to deny that this place was slowly killing you from the inside out; you saw how it was changing those around you, and he did make a correct observation that you didn't need to stay for all the years of the programme to get far — you weren't only the favourite because of looks, you had skill, you weren't going to be humble about it since how else would you have gotten there?

“So, what do you say?” His hand hovered around your waist, waiting for you to say yes.

“You’ve put me in a difficult decision, and I-”

“Ah, ah, ah, I don’t want to hear complaints… You either let me have what I want or leave… and who knows what will happen to you… Maybe even the worse.”

You couldn’t risk that. You didn’t want to; if this situation had never happened, you wouldn’t even look at him that way; you just thought and tried to tell yourself that it would probably be shit if it were like the other men you had been with, it would be a quick deal, all you had to do was endure those few minutes, maybe fake an orgasm or two, and get everything you wanted. However, you knew you would have to put your dignity on the line for this.

But dignity was a good trade for freedom.

You nodded, continuing to look down as you accepted Krauser’s proposition; he continued to lay his hand on your upper thigh before making his way to your waistband again, freely exploring you like he had given you all the freedom to make a choice, you just stayed silent as he did whatever he wished.

“Don’t go limp on me. Stand.” You did this slowly. "Hurry up.”

You stood and presented yourself in front of Krauser, and his large hands rested at the sides of your hips, pulling you closer and nestling your standing body in between his legs; you could already see a bulge in his pants, mentally preparing yourself for whatever he was going to do to you. Just endure; it’s just a few minutes, he’ll probably be really bad, and you’ll get to maybe laugh about it, you kept telling yourself as a way to calm your nerves.

“Such a beautiful girl,” he whispered to you as he started to unbutton your trousers, pulling them down and revealing your lace panties, “Hm, already prepared, it seems,” you couldn’t help but find it so gross how he was just going to use your body, making it easier to disassociate as you felt the skin of his fingers feel your lower half, moving your body automatically as he continued to take your top off and leaving your standing there with nothing but a bra and panties. “Take it all off me, now, sweetheart.”

His language was slow but eager at the same time, he wanted you more than anything, and all you could do was begrudgingly take your bra off and let it fall to the ground, kicking it to the side, and he watched the flesh of your breast exposed right in front of him; just the sight made him stand up and grab you in a deep and rough kiss, no passion just lust as he pressed the forming tent in his pants against your thigh and your pussy. You instinctively reciprocated the kiss, having your hands placed on his muscular arms, then his shoulders, wrapped around his neck as his hands wandered all over you, first grabbing and squeezing your tits, then grabbing the fat of your ass harshly as he kissed then moved to your delicate neck.

That was when you felt a throbbing sensation, a heartbeat pulsating, moving from your lower body and creating a knot in your stomach; that was when you realised that you liked this; your hands moved to his hair and ruffled it all up as you shared the same energy and pacing in this kiss that was becoming wetter with every interlock, feeling his cock twitch and wait to be inside you. The kiss went on long, but it felt short when you were starting to ease yourself into it, disappointed as it stopped but being met with the delight of seeing Krauser hurriedly taking his pants off, forcefully sliding his boxers down and experiencing a jolt of heated excitement as you saw his large cock spring up, already covered in a dribble of precum on the tip.

You didn’t have long to admire him as he grabbed you by your hips, hard enough to leave slight marks, but you didn’t care if he threw you around like a ragdoll; you were just getting excited as you proceeded to share a kiss, as you moved your hand all the way down to his throbbing erection, wrapping your fingers around it and pumping it lightly — you felt a hitch in Krauser’s breathing as you showed more enthusiasm.

“Aren’t you eager… Put that whole front for nothing, didn’t you, you little slut?” he whispered in your ear as he placed his hand on yours and slowly removed it, “open your legs a little, now.”

You obeyed, following suit and parting them slightly, eagerly awaiting the next move he had to make; you watched as he briefly rubbed his hard member before using his spare hand and placing it on the side of your thigh, slowly pressing his cock in between your thighs, moving back and forth when he was satisfied with how the fat of your thigh surrounded his hard cock. He let out a deep breath as he slowly continued to rock back and forth and feel how wet you were through your panties, pressing his fingers into your hips; you couldn’t help but release small, high-pitched moans as you felt it push alongside your folds, making you even wetter and wait for him to get bored and finally be inside you. Still, you were also not completely opposed to enjoying this sensation.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he thrust his hips and felt your wet heat surround his cock, “god, I need you.”

“Take me then,” you replied, biting your lip as you continued to feel your core tingle for him.

“Why couldn’t you have been this eager at the start,” he let out a small and breathy laugh as he pulled his hips away from yours and tucked his fingers in the band of your panties, wasting no time in ripping them down and making a slight pain as you felt the fabric material rush against your skin, you winced a little, but Krauser didn’t care.

All he cared about was how your beautiful, wet pussy was right in front of him and there for the taking, grabbing your hand and making your way to the wooden desk he had tucked in the corner of the room, throwing you on the hard, wooden surface. You felt pain in your elbows as you made contact with the desk, but your adrenaline was pumping inside you, bringing that sharp spiking pain to a minimum so you wouldn’t be distracted. He looked at your glistening cunt, for a moment: “such a pretty slut,” his words were harsh but alluring as he rubbed his length before rubbing the thick and wet tip along your bare slit, watching as you squirmed with just the mild contact along your core. Krauser couldn’t help but be so proud of himself as he got you begging for his cock like a little whore.

“You want me, don’t you,” he just couldn’t help himself but tease you as he watched you spread your legs for him. You nodded to answer, but that wasn’t enough, “use your words.”

“I w-want you so-so bad,” he waited for the magic word, “please, sir.”

With that, he slowly introduced his cock inside your walls, groaning quietly as he felt your warm and tight walls clasp around his length: “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he muttered as he continued to thrust his hips into yours, picking up the pace as placed his hands on the joint of your knees, his thumb pressing at the back of them and holding your legs that were already trembling.

You arched your back as he fucked you deeper; you felt the tip of his cock roughly kiss and bruise your cervix, whining and getting warmer as he pressed his fingers into your legs the harder he fucked you, getting more turned on when hearing his groans, and his laboured deep breaths. You cried out as he fucked you senseless, thinking how stupid you were in previous thought that you would have to fake everything; Krauser had to clasp his hand over your mouth with how loud he made you, he was slightly disappointed that he couldn’t let you cry and moan out and cum to the sound of his name on your tongue, but he had to keep this all a dirty secret, smirking to himself as he continued to thrust and penetrate your sopping wet cunt that felt like it belonged to him and him only, as you squirmed and let him go harder in your squelching pussy.

That was when you felt it: a warm sensation that was going to roll from your core out to your mouth; you felt yourself reaching a climax and didn’t care how loud you were going to be. Your eyes began to roll to the back of your head, only exposing the whites of your eyes as you loudly released a groan as Krauser pulled one of your legs over his shoulder to get deeper, rubbing your clit with his thumb when he noticed you get closer.

“Fuck… I’m so close,” he spat as he gritted his teeth, not wanting this moment to end but acknowledging his limit was close, “gonna fill that slutty hole up,” his degradation was only adding to how loud your orgasm was.

Accompanied by a grunted moan, you felt a hot, sticky rope flood your walls, filling you so full that the warm sensation started dripping out and surround Krauser’s cock. Then sharing a moment, just looking at each other and breathing heavily.

as promised i am tagging @mrswint3rs (you should defo check out their fics as well)

a/n: i know i know i know i have been going on and on about doing some krauser stuff for ages but i finally managed to get the time and motivation to complete the wip that has been collecting dust in the google docs. so i hope you enjoy it, i begggg haha.

p. s. also i wanted to note that i wasn't sure if i should label this as dub-con since it isn't the traditional dub-con fics i have seen, but after discussing it with some people on disc and my own evaluation i wanted to label it as dub-con since even tho there is some enthusiasm towards the end the reader isn't presented with much choice, and there is a power imbalance. so if anyone is confused that is my explanation for it. i would rather maybe mistag with too much than ignore something and accidentally expose someone who didn't want to see that particular content. anyways i hope you liked this and all engagement is appreciated, hope everyone has a lovely day/evening, mwah mwah mwah.

#resident evil #william birkin #william birkin x reader #carlos oliveria smut #chris redfield smut #jack krauser smut #albert wesker smut #albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #billy coen smut #jack krauser x reader #jack krauser #resideny evil smut #resident evil x reader

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smutbutoutofnowhere · 8 months ago

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when the fanfic famine so bad you gotta use cai

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mypurp1e · 2 months ago

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kiss city

summary: you're the head of a studio that's caught the attention of one of Continental's biggest and brightest directors, causing the team at Continental to scramble as they try to keep her in the fold. relationship: Maya x Reader (established) content notes: explicit smut (18+), light bondage, nipple clamps, clit clamp, vibrator, face sitting, masturbation, AFAB reader, reader is referred to as girl/babygirl/babe/baby/bitch, maya says "fuck" every other sentence... I think that's it.

disclaimer: probably nothing about how i describe the film industry working is accurate lol. forgive me word count: 10.8k (ao3)

It was quieter than usual in the conference room at Continental Studios that morning, especially for having all of the firm’s biggest players sitting around the table for an emergency meeting. It wasn’t a tense quiet—not yet, at least. Just charged, simmering with the news Matt had shared moments before: Bridget Archer was considering another studio for her next project.

“Well, who is it?” Sal asked, not undeterred by the prospect of losing Archer just yet. “Is she thinking Universal? Fox?”

Matt took a deep breath and cast a quick glance in Maya’s direction. She didn’t pretend not to notice, per se, but she was too busy checking her nails to acknowledge him at the moment.

“Adoculos.”

Everyone else’s eyes found Maya then, and the weight of their combined stares forced her to look up from her cuticles. “What?” she asked, even though she knew damn well why she’d suddenly caught everyone’s eye.

“Did you know about this?” Sal asked from his seat across the table.

“I fucking told him about it,” Maya said, gesturing toward Matt with her now thoroughly-inspected hand. “You’re welcome.”

Matt cleared his throat as everyone’s focus returned to him at the front of the room. “We can’t let it happen.” He shrugged, as if there were nothing more to say. “She almost single-handedly made Q4 our best quarter in eleven years.”

Quinn leaned forward in her chair, eager to contribute. ��Dreaming in Violet killed it last year. Critical darling and it did great in theaters. Better than expected. Topped the Coen Brothers project that came out at the same time in its second week.”

Anyone who didn’t know that shouldn’t have been in the room, but it was business, and they needed to lay all their cards down.

Matt took back over, hands flat on the table in front of him. “We need her next project. It has to be us. We need to make it so that people know if Bridget Archer is on a film, it’s coming from Continental.”

No one said anything, but everyone sat in silent agreement.

“We’re meeting with her this afternoon, and we’re going to give her whatever she wants,” Matt said, pointing down at the table with one hand as if it was marked with a play-by-play on retaining your studio’s highest-grossing director. “What we did for Scorcese, but multiply it by ten.”

“We’re going to kiss her ass,” Sal chimed in, translating to the rest of the group who didn’t necessarily need the assistance. “Give her the metaphorical hand job of the century.”

Maya scoffed. “If you’re planning a hand job for Bridget Archer, then you’ve already fucked up your pitch.”

“Fine. The cunnilingus job of the century,” Sal said, exasperated. He let the thought hang in the air for a moment before shaking his head. “Doesn’t sound as good.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow at him. “It’ll sound better to the queer auteur who has at least one allusion to the vagina in every scene.”

“We have the upper hand here. We’ve proved we can be the kind of studio where she can make the kind of movie she wants to make,” Matt popped back in, trying to get the conversation back on track. “But Adoculos isn’t unworthy competition. It’s got that art house prestige—the kind an indie-at-heart director still longs for, even after they’ve gotten the major deal. There’s also that automatic rapport—the sapphic bond. We have to overcome that.”

Maya couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the prospect. “Archer is not going to choose the other studio just because the studio head is gay unless you act like a moron and say something like that to her face.” She thought about it for another beat before raising a finger in warning toward him. “And don’t mention what you did to Scorcese, either. We don’t need to remind anyone of that fucking disaster.”

Tyler snapped his fingers in agreement beside her.

“Fine. No Scorcese,” Matt conceded, a grimace crossing his face at the memory.

“So we keep it director-friendly,” Quinn said, projecting confidence in that junior-exec way of hers. “Creative control. Big budget. Significant upfront and equity—”

Maya’s voice, more brash, cut in. “Offer her the terms that would make a director cream their fucking pants to keep working with us.” Matt looked at her skeptically, given her objection to Sal’s earlier metaphor, but she just shrugged. “Genital inclusive.”

The conversation went on, discussing every possible way they could think of to appeal to Archer in ways they hadn’t already during her last film. Quinn had three full pages of notes by the time the ideas stopped flowing and the apprehension began flowing too freely.

Matt sighed the way he did when he was starting to regret having ever being offered studio head, then nodded in Maya’s direction. “Do you, uh,” he said, voice low and yet, still anything but subtle, “Do you have any idea what they’re offering?”

Maya snorted, leaning back in her chair, elbows perched on the armrests. “You’re lucky we know she’s thinking about leaving at all.”

Matt shrank then, just a bit, the amount of shrinking he did anytime Maya pushed back, more out of respect than fear.

“We don’t need to know what they’re offering,” Quinn said, her voice cool and steady. “We have a plan. We just have to stick to it.”

Matt ran his hand through his hair as he tried to keep calm. “All right, let’s take a lunch. The meeting’s at two, so be here before then.”

-*-*-

The meeting lasted longer than it should have, and yet, by the end, no one was sure they had Archer back on the hook.

“Bridget, thank you so much for coming in today,” Matt said, shaking the hand of the woman—short, but still taking up the whole room. “We are really, really excited for this opportunity, and we couldn’t be more willing to make it happen. Let me walk you out.”

Matt led the way out of the conference room with Archer and her team behind him. When the door swung closed, Sal immediately pointed to Quinn.

“Quinn—go. Don’t let him fuck this up.”

Quinn scurried to her feet and ducked out of the conference room, trailing the group for only a few steps before she was walking in stride with Archer’s publicist, close enough to hear whatever Matt was saying (and to jump in and redirect if needed).

“So,” Maya said after the Bridget and her entourage had fully disappeared down the staircase. She pulled a vape pen from her pocket and brought it to her mouth before cocking her head in the direction Quinn had just disappeared into. “How’s that going?”

“There’s no ‘that,’” he answered, but he wasn’t a good liar.

“Okay, man,” Maya said, raising her hands as vapor rose up in wisps around her, sharing a look with Tyler through the brief mist.

Sal swatted at the disappearing cloud from across the table. “Could you not do that in here?” he asked, the words laced with an irritation he wasn’t fully ready to unleash but needed to make known.

“It’s medicinal,” Maya said in response, but put the pen away anyway.

Matt and Quinn returned minutes later, neither looking particularly concerned, but not too optimistic, either.

“She’s going to decide by the end of the day,” Matt said steadily. “They’ll call.”

“What the hell is Ad-hacks offering that’s keeping her from saying yes? You practically handed over the keys to the studio,” Sal asked, saying what they’re all thinking. Maya’s lips twitched, but she had enough loyalty to not give Sal ‘the look’ at the nickname. “I think we’ll actually lose money on this movie if she agrees to our terms, no matter how well it does.”

Matt grimaced briefly, like he’d been trying not to think about it, then held his head high, resolute. “It’ll be worth it, if it means she sticks with us for her next few features.”

“And if she does one and bounces?” Maya asked. “Or it flops despite my undoubtedly fire socials campaign?”

“We can ask the hypothetical questions after we find out if she’s staying,” Matt said, cutting the conversation off.

They dispersed shortly after, with the understanding that they were all sticking around the Continental building until they got the news, good or bad.

Maya went back to her office to resume OK-ing poster proofs and scrolling through rough trailer cuts for movies that were coming out next quarter in between taking bites of her Postmates order, eyes on her monitor rather than her fork.

It was just past eight when Tyler came sprinting into her doorway, breathing heavily.

“Quinn said Matt’s on with Archer’s agent.”

“Shit,” Maya said, standing up immediately, meal half-eaten and forgotten on her desk, and trailing Tyler out into the hall.

“Did you tell Sal?” Maya asked as they came up on his office a few doors down.

“I did,” Quinn answered, coming up from behind them. “He’s just… taking a minute,” she muttered before taking off, like she wanted to be far away before Maya could ask any more questions. Tyler followed.

Maya looked in through the window to Sal’s office, and found him still sitting in his chair, looking a little drowsy with the imprint of a book slicing a red line down his cheek. He seemed to be in no hurry, and Maya was having none of it.

“Come on!” she called, banging on the glass with her palm.

Sal startled, making a face at her, but standing up to make his way down the hallway after her. The two of them slid into Matt’s office just as the call was ending, crowding around Matt next to Quinn and Tyler.

“Understood,” Matt said, his face locked in a grin. “Well, let her know we’d love to work with her again some time, OK? OK. Good to talk to you.”

Matt brought the phone down from his ear, the beep signifying the end of the call just barely audible to the rest of the group. “Well,” he said to no one in particular, “That wasn’t how I hoped it would go.”

“Shit,” Sal breathed, dropping into the nearest chair. Not defeated, not even resigned. Just quiet shock.

“Fucking shit,” Maya parroted, taking the seat across from him. Her tongue jutted out into her cheek the way it always did when she was upset and trying to hide it.

“I can’t believe we lost her,” Quinn murmured, rounding out the immediate chorus of reactions.

“It’s all right,” Matt said in an attempt to convince them all, and especially himself. “I mean, it’s a loss, for sure, but we still have a whole roster of great directors—Wilde, Polley—“

“Not Scorcese,” Maya interrupted, though the quip lacked its usual bite.

“And not Howard,” Quinn added under her breath, like she was hoping no one would hear.

“Okay, fine,” Matt conceded. “I take the blame for those two, one-hundred percent. But I didn’t do anything wrong here, guys. We just got outbid.”

The room went quiet as everyone took in that truth.

The silence was broken by the buzz of Maya’s phone in her cargo pants pocket, then by the rustle of fabric as she fished it out. Despite it all, a small smirk crept onto Maya’s face as she read the incoming message, which Sal caught onto immediately.

“Tell your poacher girlfriend I said congrats,” he snorted lightly, though he only meant it half-heartedly.

“Hey,” Maya said, her fingers pausing mid-air with her response only half complete. “I’m pissed, too. No cap. I had some good ideas for that roll-out already. Sight un-fucking-seen.”

Tyler nodded solemnly to her left, like it was his greatest regret to deliver the next words to the rest of the group. “They were good.”

“And actually,” Maya continued, looking around the room, giving each person plenty of time to become reacquainted with her withering glare. “I’m offended as hell that everyone’s giving me the corporate espionage side-eye. Like I haven’t been the backbone of this studio for ten years. Be fucking for real.”

Matt cleared his throat again, clearly not recognizing the danger he was putting himself in. “I wouldn’t say marketing is the backbone of the studio. There’s nothing to market without the creative department, and—“

Matt trailed off when he noticed Maya’s fingers flexing against her chin and the wicked smile on her lips. “You wanna finish that?”

Matt shook his head, lips in a tight line. “No. I do not.”

The look on Maya’s face turned somehow deadlier at his response, reveling in the personal victory—a small one, sure, but there weren’t many others to claim from the rest of the day. “All right, chat, today is busted. I’m out.”

She stood from her chair, waving over her shoulder wordlessly at the muttered “goodbyes” as she headed back toward her office to grab her purse and go home.

As she walked out into the cooling Los Angeles evening air, she fished her phone back out from her purse, where she’d tossed it back up in her office. She held it screen facing up between her thumb and fingers, mic closest to her mouth. “Siri, text BBG.”

“Okay,” the robotic voice replied. “What do you want to say?”

-*-*-

Stay calm. Stay calm.

That had been your entire internal monologue for two hours, with no clear end in sight.

You were standing in the video village on the set of a film that you were this close to pulling the plug on, just taking the loss. It didn’t feel remotely worth the time, effort, or money anymore.

That afternoon (evening, really, but who was counting), you’d been called to the set by one of your junior execs who informed you that the crew had gotten approximately forty seconds of usable film in the last three days.

It wasn’t just mismanagement or poor planning causing the dysfunction. That’s something that you, as the studio head, wouldn’t normally be involved in, at least not to the same degree. The situation was just so far gone that there was no other choice but for you to be there. This wasn’t just incompetence. It was tension. It was hostility. It was a lead actor or the DP threatening to quit every other week. And you could link it all back to one person: the director.

You’d once had great respect for the director in question. You’d written papers on him in film school when he was just a big deal on the indie circuit, hiding your outright fangirling behind a thin veneer of academic stoicism to hand in to your professors. But you hadn’t worked with him at that point, and you could’ve never predicted then that, years later, you’d be getting called up regularly to serve as a glorified babysitter and ego-stroker to that man you’d been told to trust with a multi-million-dollar budget and your studio’s reputation.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t just a big name in the industry. He was also a close friend of your founding partner, a.k.a. the CFO of Adoculos Pictures, so wish as you might, there wasn’t very much you could do. You were just going to have to see it through unless someone literally died on set. But God you hoped that didn’t happen. That might be the only thing worse than staying the course.

You could handle it. That wasn’t ever in question. It wasn’t enjoyable, not in the slightest, but you could. You had a reputation for being able to work with the most difficult characters in the industry. A soothe sayer, they’d called you in the trade magazines on occasion. But that didn’t mean you wanted to.

Really, you should’ve been making your partner deal with this. It was his friend, his pet project. (Okay, maybe you’d been a big proponent at first. But not anymore.) Unfortunately, though, he had been spending time at the East Coast office over the last several weeks, so the burden had fallen to you.

At least if you were here, though, you knew something was getting done and the director wasn’t just going to get the pass because he had a buddy in high places. Not a whole lot of progress had been made in the short time that you’d been on location today, but the air did feel slightly lighter than it had when you’d arrived. At the very least, you’d managed to avoid another round of union penalties by firmly suggesting that it was break time—the amount in fees this production had already racked up by delaying or skipping breaks entirely made you balk when you first heard it yesterday.

The other members of the little enclave of folding chairs and video monitors had dispersed quickly after the director had made the begrudging announcement. He was still there though, grumbling under his breath, loud enough for you to hear but not for you to make out the words.

“See you after the break,” you said in as cordial a tone as you could muster in the moment.

He didn’t respond—not even under his breath. You held back a sigh.

As you walked away, you made a silent vow to yourself that, even if the film tripled its budget at the box office, you were going to make damn sure that your studio would never make a film with that guy ever again. The asshole.

After a little wandering around the property to stretch your legs and just be somewhere else for a while, you found yourself tucked away somewhere with trees and evening bird song and no cranky, argumentative directors or actors with bruised egos. A luxury.

Unfortunately, the atmosphere was probably going to be the only remotely relaxing part of the next 30 minutes. You were planning to call your partner, shame him into booking a seat on the first flight out of JFK tomorrow so he could start cleaning up his mess himself, and you knew it wasn’t going to be a sweet little chat.

Despite the chaos, you couldn’t help but smile when you unlocked your phone. It was still on your thread with Maya from earlier that evening when you’d gotten the call about Bridget Archer.

You’d barely gotten two minutes to bask in your success when you were called back to the more immediate realities of your situation, but those two minutes had been good.

As soon as you hung up with Archer’s agent—before you texted your partner, even before you told your assistant to call legal and get everything nailed down, you’d texted Maya.

We got her.

She’d started typing immediately, the three little dots coming up almost as soon as you hit send, but they disappeared shortly after. It took a few more minutes to finally get her response:

That’s my fucking girl!!!!

Suddenly Maya’s name and picture (something perhaps a little NSFW for a public contact photo, but then again, it was Maya) flashed on your screen. A coincidence that you couldn’t be more thankful for.

You answered before the first ring ended.

“You eat?” Maya asked as soon as the call connected. You two rarely exchanged pleasantries anymore. After all, you’d started out your day together, had been messaging in short bursts throughout. The “hello”s and the “how are you”s were unnecessary because the conversation never really ended, so they’d fallen out of your calls.

“On occasion,” you said, shouldering your phone as you leaned against a nearby palm tree, squinting up into the navy blue haze of the southern California sky after sunset.

“Smartass,” Maya said, but you were sure (despite not being able to see her) that the smirk on her lips matched your own. You could hear the sounds of the highway rushing by—she must’ve been on her way home. “Let me rephrase: Do I personally need to feed you to make sure you’ve eaten something in the last 18 hours?”

You didn’t answer right away, knowing the true answer was not the right answer. “…I haven’t had anything.”

Maya hummed knowingly. “God, you’re lucky you have such a loving and attentive and selfless girlfriend.”

“That’s one word for it.”

A scoff came from Maya’s end of the call. “Keep talking like that and you’ll deadass have no girlfriend by this time tomorrow.”

You closed your eyes and let out a breath—one you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in until Maya had given you the tiny amount of room you’d needed to relax. “What I meant to say was, yes, I am so incredibly lucky.”

“Okay, say less,” Maya said with another thoughtful hum. “So what’s your deal tonight?”

You sighed, leaning your head back to thump softly against the tree trunk. “I’m on set. Just taking a break. I’ll probably be another couple hours.”

“That set?” Maya asked.

“Yeah. That one.”

You could practically hear her eyes roll, but she didn’t say anything more about it—a rare moment of restraint in your honor. “You coming here after?” she asked instead, the faint clicking of a turn signal as a backing beat, probably pulling off at her exit.

“You want me to?” you asked in answer.

“If you want to,” she replied, trying to sound nonchalant, but neutrality was never Maya’s strongest suit.

You rolled your eyes this time. “That’s not an answer.”

“You started it,” she said pointedly, then sighed. “But fine, fuck it. I want you here. I always fucking want you here. Happy?”

“Yes,” you said, grinning and trying not to let yourself go soft when you had to be back on set in about twenty minutes. “I’ll text when I’m leaving.”

“You better,” Maya said. It sounded like a threat, but you knew better.

You figured that was the end of the call, goodbyes having fallen to the wayside as well, so were bringing the phone down from your shoulder, thumb hovering over the End Call button when you heard her say, “Hey—“

Your phone was back up to your ear in an instant. “Yeah?”

“I love you,” she said. “You’re a fucking rock star.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, like it might settle the flutter that rose in your chest—not just at the words, but at the way they were said. Maya always sounded so sure.

“I love you, too.”

The call ended a few seconds later, and you sucked in a deep breath through your nose.

That was the easy part. The pleasant surprise.

And now you were about to spring a not-so-pleasant one on your partner.

You navigated to your contacts and tapped his name before bringing the phone back up to your ear.

“Adam,” you said as both a greeting and a warning once the call connected. “We need to talk.”

-*-*-

You didn’t pull into Maya’s driveway that night until nearly midnight.

The house stood on a hill in Calabasas, large, modern, with clean lines and huge windows. Nothing that caught you off-guard anymore, but back in film school, walking up to a house like this would’ve had you feeling like you were in a different world.

You parked your Porsche coupe next to her BMW, then got out of the car and walked up the illuminated stairway, though you could probably make it to the door blindfolded at this point. Water poured in a sheet over a black marble ledge on either side of you, lit from behind by a warm white LED.

When you reached the upper level, you found the door unlocked, like you knew it would be. You had exchanged keys a long time ago, but you’d rarely given each other a reason to use them yet.

The door opened into a brightly lit entryway, and you closed and locked it softly behind you. The air inside the house was a little warmer than out in the night, but just barely, and something garlicky was wafting from further down the hall.

You kicked off your loafers next to the rack where Maya kept her “beater” shoes, then tried to shrug off your suit jacket without taking your leather messenger bag off of your shoulder; you managed, but were grateful no one was around to see.

“Hey, babe,” Maya called from the direction of the kitchen.

“Hey,” you called back, draping your jacket over your arm before walking toward her voice, your fingers working on undoing the second button of your shirt as you padded down the hallway.

She was ready and waiting when you entered the open concept kitchen area, moving into your space as soon as she saw you round the corner.

“Well, look at you, big shot,” she purred, reaching out to grab you by the belt loops and pull you in for a kiss.

“Out celebrating?” she teased, once you parted.

You let out a heavy sigh. “If ‘celebrating’ includes sending emails to people ‘circling back’ to conversations we settled weeks ago and putting out fires on that shit storm set for the last five hours, then yes. Partying really hard.”

Your words were a little harsher than you’d meant them to be. It had been a good day. You’d gotten Bridget Archer to sign with you. That was a big fucking deal. But the rest of the world hadn’t stopped after you’d gotten the phone call—and even if it had, you probably would’ve just taken it as an opportunity to whittle down your workload a bit for when it started spinning again.

Maya’s face twisted from a soft smirk to a stern frown.

“Sorry,” you said softly, resting a hand on Maya’s bicep. “Didn’t mean for it to sound like that.”

“You’re good,” she said softly in kind, thumb massaging little patterns into your stomach over your shirt.

Her eyes studied you, but you didn’t shrink away—you never had. Her gaze softened as she took in the exhaustion that buried the excitement of the day, the relief of finally being able to shed your executive form.

“How was everyone with the news?” you asked, treading a bit more lightly than you usually would. It didn’t seem like Maya felt betrayed by the day’s outcome, but you’d felt guilty for it all day anyway.

Maya shrugged. “They’ll be fine.”

“And you?” you asked.

“I’ll be fine, too,” she murmured. “Just watch your back with Gerwig.”

You chuckled as you leaned forward to rest your forehead against her shoulder. “I think the call of the Barbie might have ruined that for us both.”

She reached up to rest one hand on your shoulder blade, and the other on your lower back, and you in turn wrapped both arms around her waist. Her smell—the spice of her perfume with a hint of mint from her vape—wrapped around you.

Your eyes blinked closed, and your breathing slowed as you finally—finally—allowed yourself to take a moment.

When you finally leaned back, Maya took your chin between her fingers, gentle but firm. “Put your bag and your phone down, and go sit. I’ll bring you dinner.”

You opened your mouth, but she knew what you were going to say before you’d even taken a breath. “Don’t argue with me.”

You relented, not really up for any more fights and more than willing to be taken care of (and bossed around a little bit, why not) by your girlfriend. “And wine, please?” you asked as you took a reluctant step back.

“Already poured,” Maya said with a grin that only a handful of people had ever seen from her. You felt grateful all over again to be one of them.

You passed by the stools at the island, and then by the kitchen table, before finding yourself standing in the living room. You two didn’t normally eat out there—Maya was too uptight about her Restoration Hardware sectional to allow it very often, especially if any red sauce happened to be involved. But she hadn’t said anything when you walked in that direction, a silent sanctioning of tonight’s dining venue.

You flopped down on that very couch, pulled an aggressively-patterned throw pillow over your face (an aggressively-patterned Gucci throw pillow, as Maya would be remiss not to remind you), and closed your eyes. You couldn’t hear anything except the sizzle of whatever Maya had going on the stove and the hum of the air conditioner keeping the place to the near frigid temperatures you always complained about. Peace. At last.

A few minutes later and a power nap, the likes of which you’d perfected long ago, you felt a nudge to your shin. You peered out from under the throw pillow, one eye half-open and squinting up at Maya, who was now standing over you with a plate of some kind of sauced-up protein and a side of roasted vegetables in one hand and two wine glasses precariously held in the other.

You offered up a grateful but weary smile, even though half your face was still hidden by the pillow. “Thanks, My.”

“What else am I here for, the domestic goddess that I am?” she said back, waiting for you to sit up before seating herself beside you, her thigh flush with yours, like she was attached to your hip. Your smile grew a little softer, a little more smug. For all of Maya’s independent spirit, she sure did like to make sure you were close by, right where she needed you.

As you ate, Maya launched into a dramatic retelling of the Continental executive meetings from earlier in the day, punctuated occasionally by sips of wine or by you somehow being silently convinced to feed her a bite off your plate, even though she’d already eaten.

The story wound down in perfect sync with your meal, and when you finished, you set your plate down on the coffee table and settled into Maya’s side. Her arm wrapped around your waist and squeezed.

“You tired?”

You nodded, stifling a well-timed yawn. “But I don’t think I’d be able to sleep. Too much going on. Too much to think about.” Realization dawned on you then—you hadn’t checked your email in an hour. “I need my phone.”

You made to stand up from the couch, but Maya’s hand remained snugly wrapped around your waist like an anchor. “Babe…”

You looked over at her, skepticism clearly visible in your expression. “You know I run a studio, right?”

“Painfully aware,” she said, deadpan.

“I can’t go MIA,” you sighed.

“Okay. Question,” Maya said, tugging you back down to fully sit on the couch instead of the half-hover you’d been doing. “Do you think if I emailed Matt right now, I’d get a response before morning?”

“You’d know better than me,” you said, even though you had an answer in mind. You’d never worked with him directly, but you’d heard enough stories from Maya and others to know that, while he was a nice guy, he didn’t always know how to leverage the position he’d been given.

“I probably wouldn’t hear shit until lunchtime.”

You shrugged. “And that’s why I got the next Bridget Archer project.”

“Okay, bet,” Maya said, nodding, and you furrowed your brow. You’d be embarrassed at this point to admit to her that you didn’t know what that even meant. “But that still doesn’t mean you need to work all the goddamn time.”

“Getting lectured by Maya Mason about an appropriate work/life balance,” you muttered with a shake of your head. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“I have a work/life balance, thank you so much,” she corrected you, knocking your shoulder with her own. “You’re just not around to see it.”

You looked at her sideways, your eyebrows raised in doubt. “I’ve seen enough.”

“You say that, and yet, I’m the one trying to get you to chill the fuck out,” she said, heaving herself backward into the couch cushions, but not lightening up her grip around your waist. “What’s it gonna take?”

You looked at her from over your shoulder. “A miracle. Divine intervention,” you said, then pausing to think of one more. “Maybe an induced coma.”

Maya snorted before narrowing her eyes and looking up at you for a long moment. Her hold on your waist finally relaxed as she began trailing her fingers up and down your spine. “I can think of something a lot simpler than any of that,” she said in a deep voice that went straight to your lower belly. You didn’t let on, though.

“I’m not that easy,” you protested, trying to hold on to ground that was rapidly disappearing from beneath you.

Maya hummed as she sat upright again, her expression devilish, and pressed a kiss to your clothed shoulder. “Yes, you are.”

Jesus Christ.

She leaned in close so her forehead was pressed against the side of your head, her breath grazing your ear for a few moments before she turned her attention to your pulse point, alternately kissing and sucking and grazing her teeth over the spot. Your head lolled automatically to your opposite shoulder to give her better access.

The idea of having sex hadn’t even crossed your mind in the last twenty-four hours… maybe even longer, if you were being honest. It was just about time for Maya to start teasing you for being overworked and underfucked, and, even though you would’ve denied it, she would’ve been right. You could already feel the wet spot between your legs, and she’d barely touched you.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she started, the words muffled against your skin. “You’re not going to get your phone. You’re not even going to take your plate into the kitchen. You’re going to go upstairs take off all your clothes, and kneel in the middle of the bed until I tell you what to do next.”

Both of her hands had drifted down to the waistband of your tailored pants to untuck your shirt and work on undoing the lowest buttons. They weren’t frenzied, just steady. “Is that a deal you can make right now, babe? No directors, no execs, no multi-million-dollar offers. Just you and me.”

“Yes,” you said, voice hitching in your throat.

“Good,” she said, peeling herself away from you with a final brush of her fingers down your back. “Go.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You stood from the couch with a renewed sense of purpose and headed toward the staircase that led to the bedroom. You could hear the soft clatter of plates and silverware being stacked fading into the distance behind you.

You finished unbuttoning your shirt as you climbed, though between the two you’d unbuttoned earlier and however many Maya had just gotten to, there wasn’t much left to be done. You were finally able to shrug it off as you reached the top step. You started working on your pants, then, which you slid off your legs as you approached the bench at the foot of the bed. You placed them there with your shirt, folding them into a neat pile, because that’s what you did, followed by your bra and underwear.

When you were totally bare, you climbed onto the bed and kneeled facing the door with your hands on your thighs, waiting for Maya to tell you your next move.

She took her time coming upstairs—or maybe she didn’t, but it felt like forever to you by the time she entered the bedroom.

She heaved an exaggerated sigh as she closed the distance between you. “Must be exhausting, making all those decisions for everyone all day long, huh, babygirl? Keeping everyone in line?” Her voice was dripping in sympathy—not all of it feigned.

“Yes,” you said, your breath growing shallower just from her proximity.

When she reached the edge of the bed she climbed on and crawled over to you, still fully dressed in her designer lounge wear set. She brushed a fallen piece of hair out of your face, and you leaned into her hand instinctively, even though she’d barely grazed your skin.

“Why don’t you lay down and let me choose for a while, then,” she murmured, placing her hand on your chest and guiding you onto your back. “You gonna let me do that for you?”

“Please,” you said, as if you hadn’t already surrendered control to her in the living room and there was room left for negotiation.

You were fully on your back by now, but Maya was still on her knees next to you on the mattress, towering over you.

“Say it again,” she demanded, placing one hand flat on the mattress next to each of your biceps, bracketing you in with nothing but her to look at.

“Please,” you said again, stronger this time, but it wasn’t enough.

“Louder.”

You let out a frustrated whimper. “Please, Maya!”

“That’s right,” she said, leaning down until she was as close as she could be without touching you. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll make sure there’s nothing in that pretty little head when we’re done.”

She leaned back until she was sitting on her heels and stayed there for a little while, just trailing a finger up and down your arm. “Now do what I say. Understood?”

You nodded as she moved toward the foot of the bed, kneeling close enough to your bent knees that your toes were pressing into the soft fabric of her joggers.

“Spread.”

Your body responded without any thought on your part, and cold air suddenly flowed over your core, already wet and hot from the little you’d done on the couch and the anticipation of what was to come.

“Look at that perfect fucking pussy,” she husked, running one finger up your slit, finishing by pressing firmly on your clit for just a second. “Now close your eyes. Hands on the headboard. Don’t move unless I tell you.”

You didn’t feel her move until you were in position—she was clearly making sure you were following her instructions. When she did move, it was to get off the bed entirely, judging just by the movement of the mattress.

You heard her feet padding across the soft faux-fur rug on the floor, heading in the direction of the closet, then the soft thump of clothes hitting the floor and the opening and closing of drawers.

You could’ve looked, your intrusive thoughts told you. You could get a glimpse of what she was bringing back into the room and snap your eyes shut before she rounded the corner enough to see you peeking. But no. That wasn’t the scene tonight. She’d told you what to do, and you were going to follow her instructions as closely as you could.

No more than a minute later, you heard her crossing the room back to you and felt the bed shift with her weight.

“Lift your hips.”

You obeyed and were rewarded by the brush of something velvet against your lower back and ass. She tapped your hip to signal you to relax, you weren’t surprised to find yourself positioned at an angle, your lower back now supported by wedge-shaped pillow. Historically, that meant one thing: the strap was coming out.

You swallowed—one of the only movements you could make right now without violating the rules.

You were content with that. Maya fucking you with her cock (maybe the thick one—please be the thick one) would do it for you tonight. The only problem was, you hadn’t heard the sounds of her putting on the harness—no clinking buckles and certainly no soft “Fuck” from Maya’s mouth when she inevitably slotted the leather strap through the wrong ring.

You didn’t have time to think about it too hard—next thing you knew, Maya was pulling a soft blindfold over your eyes, then taking one arm at a time down from the headboard to cuff your wrists at your sides, followed by your ankles.

You were startled by the sudden sound of metal chains pooling into a pile near your ear, but Maya was quick to distract you by putting her mouth on your clit, no warning. You jumped, hips thrusting instinctively to meet her, but the next thing you knew, she pulled away and you felt her hands warm on your hips, acrylics digging into the skin, forcing your ass down into the velvet.

“What did I tell you to do?” she murmured in a voice that was only deceptively sweet.

It was a direct question. That meant you were allowed to answer. “Not move.”

“That’s right,” she said, swiping at your clit once, roughly, with her finger in emphasis. “Are you going to listen to me?”

You resisted the urge to nod your head. Instead, you just said, “Yes.”

“Good girl,” she purred, releasing her hold on your hips and spreading your legs just a little further apart. You could feel her warm breath ghosting over your stomach in ripples. “Stay still. That’s all you need to think about.”

When she put her mouth back on you, you somehow managed to keep yourself still, even as her lips wrapped around your clit and started teasing it with her tongue. At the same time, one of her hands traced up your side until it was resting on your breast. She ran her thumb back and forth over your nipple, just far enough out of sync with her tongue flicking over your clit to be maddening, but you couldn’t whine, couldn’t complain.

She flattened her tongue against you, a sudden change in stimulation that, under different circumstances, would’ve made you gasp, but you used all of your willpower to keep yourself from physically acknowledging it. She gave the bud one last swirl and a quick peck of her lips before moving on, and you restrained a whimper at the loss of contact. You were lucky your wrists were cuffed; otherwise, you probably would’ve had your fingers in her hair and a punishment to endure by now.

She kissed up your stomach until her mouth reached the nipple her hand wasn’t already giving attention. It received the same treatment she’d given your clit, but it hardly needed any coaxing; you could already feel the strain of it having gone stiff by association. It wasn’t long before Maya released the hardened peak from her mouth with a wet pop, simultaneously tweaking your other nipple with her fingers before removing herself from you entirely and moving to your side.

Whatever Maya had put next to you—the metal sound from earlier—was her next target. Your eyelids fluttered under the blindfold and your throat strained to hold in a gasp when you felt the weight of cold metal on your ribs.

“No squirming,” Maya instructed. You almost wanted to protest—that wasn’t fair. You hadn’t moved since she’d pinned you down. You had been good. You—

Maya’s warm hand cupped your breast, and then you understood her warning. Something cold was now squeezing your right nipple, then you felt the same pressure on your left, and then, unexpectedly, on your clit. Clamps.

“That feel good, baby?” Maya whispered from above. You opened your mouth to answer, but all that came out was a helpless gasp as you tried your hardest to suppress even the smallest twitch. You could almost hear her smirking down at you. “Use your words.”

“Good,” you managed to say, your voice tight and thin as you fought to keep your back from arching off the bed.

Her nails grazed your ribs as she grabbed for the piece of metal resting there. When she lifted it from your skin, you felt the clamps tugging deliciously at your nipples and clit until she laid it back down.

Fingers brushed against your jawline, rough and tender all at once, Maya’s specialty. You didn’t even flinch at the unexpected touch. “You’re being so good for me, baby. So good.”

Your insides preened, but other than the slight smile and the broken breath you took in, you didn’t show it. But she knew.

She moved her hand to your lower belly, rubbing there for a quiet moment before a sound whirred into existence to your left. You knew that sound—the wand.

Oh shit.

You couldn’t see where it was, but you could track it by sound and you were going to feel it in three, two, one…

The vibrations made contact with your spread-open lips, pulsating underneath your clamped clit, and you couldn’t help the whimper that rose from your throat at the sudden, overwhelming change in stimulation.

Maya pounced on the opportunity you’d given her with your misstep. “Does that mean you want more, babygirl?”

You didn’t respond immediately, too focused on the interplay of pleasure and pressure coming from your core.

“Answer me,” she said with another pull to the clamp chains. You groaned without thinking.

“Yes,” you rasped.

“I thought so,” Maya said, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction. The button clicked once, then again, only two notches, but the intensity felt like it had skyrocketed.

Maya spent the next few minutes teasing you all over: tugging the chain and pulling at your nipples and clit; sucking bruises into the tops of your breasts and along your collarbone and to a dangerously visible spot on the column of your neck; running both of her hands down your sides and along your thighs.Your muscles were desperate to act—to writhe, to contract, to flail, but somehow, you remained motionless. The only thing you couldn’t control was your breath; your chest heaved, and you felt the metal of the clamp chains, warm now from your body heat, tickling your ribs and stomach with each inhale.

When she finished marking your neck, Maya pulled away, the bed dipping in her direction, and for a while, you didn’t feel her hands on you at all. It was just you and the wand and the blood from where you’d bitten the inside of your cheek while trying to stay quiet.

“I wish you could see yourself all clamped up like this,” she finally said, voice low. Her finger began tracing the chains connecting your nipple clamps to the metal plate. The chains felt heavier as she dragged a finger along the links. “You look like one of my necklaces. There are even little diamonds to make my girl look so pretty. All iced up, just for me.” She flicked one of the supposed diamonds with her nail to punctuate the sentence, the dull ting of plastic on metal ringing in your ears long after it ended.

“And you know what this says?” she said, tracing the plate at the center of it all before tugging it in a new direction, down toward your bottom half, making you choke on a gasp. Her hand wrapped warm around your own, and she brought it up as far as the cuff would allow her. She traced your pointer finger over the metal. There was definitely something etched into it, but what, you weren’t able to say, especially when your focus was already split three ways, between what was going on between your thighs and the pull on your nipples from Maya holding the chains taut.

“It says ‘bitch.’ Because that’s what you are. My little bitch who does whatever I say,” she muttered before dropping your hand back down. “Isn’t that right?”

You didn’t make her ask for your answer this time. “Yes.”

You heard her sigh, long and heavy. “That’s fucking right.”

She went quiet, which was almost never a good sign. You felt her change position on the bed then settle next to you. Seconds later, your ears were filled with sounds from lower down the bed—wet, unmistakable squelching.

Maya was fucking herself.

You couldn’t see it, but you could hear it—her fingers, her own quiet moans.

You let out a wounded whine.

“Quiet.”

You stilled.

Several minutes passed, until you were barely keeping yourself together, with the sound of her in your ear and the unforgiving vibrations between your legs and the exquisite pinch of your nipples all pushing you toward your release. Your thighs started to quake despite yourself, and your fingers twitched against the mattress without your permission.

Maya noticed. Of course she did.

“Looks like you just can’t help yourself anymore, huh, babygirl?” Her voice came out ragged, with a familiar edge of condescension. She hadn’t stopped fucking herself. “You’d just love to sit up and ride my thigh like a good bitch would, wouldn’t you?”

You responded with a sound that you weren’t sure you’d ever made before, because she was right—at that very moment, you’d have given anything for the privilege.

“Well, that’s not happening,” she said, dashing hopes you hadn’t even known you’d had until seconds before. “But maybe I’ll let you grind on this wand and suck on my fingers.” She paused as a moan ripped from her throat, and her voice was lighter, raspier, when she spoke again. “What do you think?”

You were on edge, shaking in ways that weren’t just due to the vibrations between your legs. It wouldn’t take much more for you anyway, but if she let you get a little more friction and a taste of her, you’d be gone in five seconds flat.

“Yes,” you said. “God, yes.”

At your plea, the wet sounds from Maya’s cunt came to a stop. Her fingers—a little sticky now—skimmed over your arm, then your stomach, and then, suddenly, the pressure on your clit was gone, replaced by a rush of blood like you’d never felt before. You were throbbing in an absolutely desperate way.

“Well?” Maya said, feigning impatience. “Get to it.”

You moved your hips at her command but slowed almost immediately. The clamp had your clit at its most sensitive. Just the air passing over it had you shuddering, and the lightest touch would’ve felt like lightning. Riding the wand at its highest setting, then, was almost too much to think about, even though you could sense the edges of your orgasm just beyond your reach.

“Oh, baby, don’t stop. You fucking wanted this,” Maya coaxed, running her fingers through your hair. “Now open your mouth.”

You did, and in return, she shoved her fingers in just far enough to graze the back of your throat and make you gag. You sputtered momentarily around her before recovering and beginning to clean her fingers, licking them like you were starved of her. As you did, you started to roll your hips into the vibrating head of the toy. It was pain. It was pleasure. It was over for you in about three weak thrusts. You came with an unrestrained moan.

“That’s it, baby,” Maya said in your ear. She didn’t remove her fingers from your mouth, even as your jaw went slack. “So fucking hot.”

She gave you time to ride the high, using her free hand to brush her fingers against your temple.

You’d barely caught your breath again when she slipped her fingers out from between your lips.

“You can give me more, right, babygirl? I know you can.”

You swallowed and nodded.

“Words.”

Maya’s hand made contact with your exposed cunt with a thwack and you hissed at the sensation.

“Yes!”

You heard the button on the wand again, and a new pattern began pulsing at your lips. Short, short, long, short, short, long, long—the vibrations slower than before by just enough to keep you on the edge without falling over it. It still held enough of your attention, though, that you barely noticed the newfound slack in the cuffs around your wrists.

The mattress shifted again—Maya was moving, and your mouth practically watered when you felt the weight dip near your left shoulder, and then your right. You could feel the heat of her hovering over you, smell her familiar musk, and your freshly unbound arms almost reached up to wrap around her thighs. She hadn’t said you could touch her yet, though, or even that you could move again, so you kept them by your sides, exactly where they’d been while in the cuffs.

The satin blindfold slid up your forehead and you blinked once, twice, readjusting to the light. You saw her face first, or a blurry rendition of it, her arms stretched out, palms against the headboard, and then you saw her cunt—already swollen and glistening—just inches from your face. “Make me feel good, baby,” she said, giving you only seconds to reorient before she lowered herself onto your face.

You opened your mouth instinctively to lap at her folds. You made one long drag of your tongue through her slit and groaned. Even though you’d already had the taste of her delivered by her fingers, it wasn’t nearly as satisfying as getting it from the source.

You thrusted your tongue into her, and she bucked against your face. “Fuck, yeah. Right fucking there,” she said roughly. Her hand smacked the headboard and the sound echoed through the room.

Tentatively, you started to curl your arms, your hands drawn to hold onto her hips, but you still weren’t sure if you were allowed to move anything but your mouth, so you were being careful about it. As you continued to thrust your tongue in and out, pausing momentarily to nip and suck at her labia, your fingers moved closer and closer until they finally brushed her hips from behind, like a silent question.

Maya continued grinding against your face without a pause, but she reached one hand back to find yours. You wondered briefly if she was going to swat it away, but she didn’t. “Fucking touch me,” she said as she moved your hand down to rest on her thigh instead of her hip, and you didn’t have to be told twice. You mirrored the action with your other hand so both your arms were hooked around her legs, greedily holding her in place on top of you.

Maya’s breathing grew steadily more ragged, and of course, yours did too, with the little gasps you could get when she rode just high enough for you to grab a breath before she sunk back down on your mouth.

“Fuck, baby,” she whined, and if she had looked down, she’d have teased you for the look on your face. When she got whiny, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d unlocked something rare and secret, and at this point, you couldn’t be bothered with restraint anymore—not with your mouth, not with your limbs, and definitely not with your facial expressions. “Fuck,” she said through gritted teeth, “Don’t stop.”

Her hips started moving more desperately against you, your nose bumping up against her clit harder and faster than before. You could hear her earrings clanging against each other to the same rhythm. You sped up your pace with your tongue, intent to give Maya what she needed, trying to keep your own orgasm at bay until you did. Her walls squeezed around you.

“Fuck. FUCK,” she cried as you curled your tongue inside her, and you knew by how vocal she was becoming that she was nearly there. She smacked her palm against the headboard again. “Fucking make me come right now.”

You tilted your chin up so you had direct access to her clit. You swiped your tongue left to right and back again, and then with one more circle around the bud, she tensed, gripping the bed tight, squeezing her thighs against your skull. “Shit, babe…” she mewled, her voice coming out low and broken as she twitched with an aftershock.

You had her cum on your chin, her clit in your mouth (so what if you hadn’t been able to breathe for the last 30 seconds), the vibrations between your legs, and the whole fucking view of her above you—the most beautiful, most feral woman you’ve ever known. The combination was enough to make you come on its own, but suddenly Maya reached behind her and fumbled across your chest until she found the metal plate on your ribs and tugged, pulling at your nipples. You couldn’t fight it anymore. You came again.

Maya must’ve felt your gasping against her, because she dismounted from your face, but she wasn’t done. She shimmied down your body, so she was straddling your pelvis instead, which was still angled up by the wedge. She planted her cunt, still hot and wet and occasionally twitching at even the gentlest contact, against your lower stomach.

Always a few steps ahead of you, even in a post-orgasm haze, she unclipped the final two clasps from your nipples and tossed the chain contraption to the side of the bed. Just like with your clit, the sudden rush of sensation hit you like a freight train, and it was only heightened as Maya arched her back and dipped down to suck—roughly—on one of your erect peaks—careful to keep her core on you so she could ride your stomach when the need hit. You moaned.

Were you going to come a third time, just like that? The vibrator was still pulsing against your clit, which was still somehow growing more sensitive by the minute.

You reached your hands up, shakily, to rest against Maya’s cheeks, which were hollowed out just in the slightest as she sucked on your nipple. She looked up at you questioningly through her lashes, not detaching herself from your heaving chest.

“Turn t’off?” was what you managed to say between the thickening fog in your brain and your desperate attempts to take in enough air.

You didn’t want her to stop, but something needed to give.

She released your nipple after one last soft scrape of her teeth. She dragged her tongue up your sternum before pressing a barely-there kiss to the tip of your chin.

“Just one more, babygirl. For me,” she said, moving to suck your jaw. “Can you?”

You swallowed hard. You didn’t want to disappoint her, but you already felt entirely fucked out. “I don’t know,” you almost cried.

Maya sat up, her full weight settling across your waist, her hands resting on your shoulders as she leaned over you with a serious look in her eyes. “Do you need to say it?”

You didn’t do anything right away, caught in the rip current of rising pleasure and exhaustion and oversensitivity. Your hips simultaneously tried to buck toward and shy away from the vibrator, but Maya’s body on yours had limited your movement.

You reached up, your hands wrapping around Maya’s forearms—not to push her away, just to feel her with you. She did nothing but wait for your answer.

You didn’t say the safe word. Just a quiet, “I’m okay.”

Maya fell back into the moment right away, looking down at you with a half-wicked grin on her face.

She leaned back down and reattached her lips to your jaw, and then that spot on your neck again, while the fingers of both her hands found their way to your still-tender nipples—your own hands still gripping onto her arms and moving along with hers. You arched your back into her touch, tilting your head to make it easier for her to reach your pulse point. “So fucking good,” she husked into your ear. “So fucking hot.”

Your clit was throbbing and you could feel your pulse like a drumbeat in your ears. She knew exactly how close you were when she grabbed you by the chin, looked you in the eye, and whispered, “Come for me. Now.”

And you did, calling her name, your voice hoarse.

“Perfect. Fucking perfect,” she said, resting her forehead against yours as stars continued to dance behind your fluttering eyelids and your limbs were still quaking. She stayed there, brushing her thumb over your cheekbone and peppering little kisses over your nose and cheeks, until your breathing evened out and your grip on her forearms relaxed enough that your arms fell back to your sides.

Once she felt you were sufficiently relaxed beneath her, Maya pressed a last kiss to your forehead and climbed off of you. You heard the click of the button on the wand, and the buzzing that had been the soundtrack to nearly the whole encounter stopped immediately. The room plunged into silence except for the soft swaying of the tree branches outside the bedroom windows and the soft ting of metal on metal when Maya shifted enough to jostle her jewelry.

Quietly, she removed the soft cuffs from your ankles and then gently pulled the wedge from under your lower back and hips, leaving you lying still and boneless on the mattress. You watched through half-lidded eyes as she piled the wand and the clamps on top of the pillow and stood from the bed. A soft smile spread across your face when she started humming some song—maybe SZA—something you suspected she did for you in these moments, because she never did that anywhere else.

She took the pile over to the walk-in, disappearing for only a minute and reemerging in a pair of Gucci pjs, pants long and the top unbuttoned to reveal a bandeau you weren’t sure why she bothered with except for fashion. Two sweating bottles of water were cradled in her hand from the mini-fridge she kept near her vanity, mainly for her creams and masks, but for this, too.

She made one last stop at the chair in front of the vanity to pick up the robe that was hanging over the back, but she didn’t put it on, just draped it over her arm and came back to the bed. She set the waters down on the nightstand.

You nodded at the robe. “That for me?”

She raked her eyes down your naked body as you lay on top of the bedspread. Your nipples were still pebbled, maybe from a combination of previous stimulation and the low thermostat setting, and your stomach and legs were covered in goosebumps. You shivered without realizing.

“Might be,” she said, but she didn’t hesitate to climb onto the bed and start helping you into it, which turned into a whole operation since you weren’t doing very much to assist with the process.

“Fucking impossible,” Maya mumbled as she tried to sit you up so she could drape the robe over your shoulders, but you saw the smirk on her face as you finally gathered enough strength to push yourself up against the headboard. She tied the belt into a loose bow at your waist once you were all wrapped up, and you snuggled back down into the pillows, eyelids still heavy. The fabric smelled like her shampoo from the shower that morning.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

She didn’t say anything back, but she rested her hand against your cheek. “Water, baby?”

You hummed in agreement.

She cracked open one of the bottles from side table and brought it up to your lips for you to sip, then set it back on the nightstand when you’d finished. When she was reclining again, you burrowed into her, your head resting on the bare skin above the hem of her top and your fingers splayed across her stomach. Without even thinking about it, she began to run her fingers against your scalp, the scratch of her nails a comfort.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked after you’d been laying in silence for what was probably just a few minutes, but your sense of time had yet to reorient itself, so you couldn’t be sure.

You angled your head so you could just see her face through your lashes. “Bridget Archer isn’t secretly an asshole, right?”

Her fingers stilled in your hair as a half-amused, half-annoyed look appeared on her face. “Glad to see this whole thing worked,” she muttered. Clearly that wasn’t the answer she expected.

You drummed your fingers against her ribs. “If you don’t answer, I’ll just have to wonder all night, when I could be thinking about you.”

“You could be thinking about me anyway,” she countered, but there was no heat to it, which was only underscored by her fingers resuming their path along your scalp.

“I just need to know,” you said, your voice almost back to normal. “Then you’ll be the only thing on my mind for the next…” you glanced over at the clock on the nightstand, doing bad post-coital math in your head. “Four to five hours.”

Maya just looked at you for a few moments—her expression shifting into something unreadable, but undeniably softer.

Finally, she sighed.

“She’s a fucking dream, babe,” Maya said. “But she’s still got nothing on you.” -------------------------

#the studio apple tv fanfiction #maya mason fanfic #maya mason x reader #maya mason x you

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queenxxxsupreme · 1 year ago

Text

Rare Encounters (Jaskier x f!witcher!reader)

A/N: hi guys…. I finished Fallout the tv show and it gave me that urge to write that I haven’t had in a while. Now fingers crossed that it works for the long run. Once I can get a good feel for the Fallout universe, my ass will 100% be writing fallout fics 😂

Warnings: nothing outside of canon

Summary: Jaskier meets his first female witcher.

“I swear, you all live like fucking pigs.” You grumbled as you picked up the empty tankards and bowls.

“Oh, just relax, Y/N.” Lambert spoke from across the room. He sat at a table with most of the other wolves as they told stories and carried on. “No one cares what this place looks like.”

“I do, as should you.” You placed the dirty dishes on to the end of one of the empty tables. “Who is going to be doing dishes tonight?”

All of the wolves diverted their eyes away from you.

“Oh come on, boys. It’s just dishes. You’ve done worse, I’m sure of it.”

“I’d rather gut an ekimorra than do house chores.” Coen shook his head.

“Alright. Well then, I’ll just choose for myself who will be the lucky one.”

“When are ya goin’ to get eaten by a cockatrice or something, Y/N?” The redhead wolf teased. “All this nagging you do is–,”

With a flick of your wrist and a sign of aard, Lambert was sent backwards off of the bench. You grinned just a little.

“You fucking–,” He signed aard back at you the second he was on his feet, but you were quick to sign quen, blocking his attack.

“Don’t start that this early in the winter, Lambert.” Vesemir scolded him as he moved to sit next to Coen.

“Me?” Lambert raised his brows. “She’s the one who started it!”

The doors to the keep opened, bringing in a rush of cold wind. You looked up to see Geralt, a man, and a girl walking in.

The wolves fell silent as Geralt pushed the hood off of his head. A fond smile came to his lips.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Lambert stood to his feet and took a few steps towards his brother. Coen followed.

“We thought you were dead, or lost.”

“Not yet.” Geralt embraced Coen first and then Lambert.

All the other wolves soon took their turn greeting their fellow witcher.

“Y/N.” He said your name fondly. “Glad to see you didn’t let Lambert get you killed on the path.”

“I about killed her myself a couple times.” Lambert glared at you. “She’s like having a second Vesemir around, except some how she’s worse!”

You gave him a shove away from you, rolling your eyes.

“That’s the last time I spend time with you on the path.” Your words were directed to Lambert while you gave Geralt a hug. “Now I have to spend the entire winter in this gods damned keep with him too.”

“Have you seen Eskel, Geralt?” Lambert returned to his seat.

“He’s not here?” Geralt furrowed his brow.

“Haven’t seen any sign of him.” Coen shook his head. “Usually he’s one of the first one’s here, but hasn’t made it this year.”

“Hmm.”

“Wolf. You’re home.” Vesemir was the last to greet the White Wolf.

“I had to make a few stops.” Geralt looked back to the girl and the man to his left.

Your eyes fell on her. Your medallion had trembled when she first entered the room and even now, you could still feel the chaos radiating off of her. She seemed curious, bright eyes taking in every witcher around her. Then she looked at you. You held her gaze, lifting your chin just a little in acknowledgement.

You turned to continue cleaning up the mess the wolves left behind as introductions were made between Geralt’s guests and the wolves.

“And who might she be?” Jaskier asked Geralt as you picked up an empty pitcher from the table the wolves sat at.

“Y/N here is the maid of the keep.” Lambert answered for you. His eyes followed you as you moved around the table, a little grin playing on his lips. “Helps keep everything all nice and clean for us men.”

You launched the pitcher at his head. He dodged to the side, nearly pushing Coen off of the bench in the process.

“You’re going to get yourself into trouble this winter, Lambert.” Vesemir warned him.

“This is Y/N.” Geralt introduced you properly. He and his guests took a seat at the table with the rest of the wolves. “She’s our sister.”

“Sister?” Ciri repeated, furrowing her brows. “As in a witcher?”

“It would seem that way.” You confirmed with a slight nod and a sigh.

“That’s absolutely amazing!” Jaskier exclaimed. “A lady witcher.”

“I think calling her a lady may be overselling it.” Coen snickered.

“Yeah, she ain’t no lady.” Lambert added.

You moved to lean in between him and Coen, reaching for an empty plate. As you were turning away from the table, you made sure to purposefully smack both of the wolves in the head with the plate.

“Fuck!”

“Why don’t you boys make yourselves useful and go do these dishes before they get out of hand?” You placed the bin of dirty dishes down in front of Coen.

They grumbled but decided not to fight it. If they did dishes now, they wouldn’t have to do them later. Or so they thought.

“You’ve never mentioned that you had a sister, Geralt.”

The White Wolf grumbled in his chest as he looked at his bard. It was a warning. He knew very well how Jaskier was with the opposite sex.

“Geralt doesn’t like to do such a thing.” You settled with sitting at the end of a bench at one of the tables. “I would take away all the spotlight from the grand White Wolf. If word got out about a lady witcher, why, the White Wolf wouldn’t be so exciting, now would he?”

Geralt rolled his eyes at you as he moved to the table that had a jug of ale and mugs. He poured himself a mug and then returned to sit across from you.

“If it wouldn’t be too much, I would absolutely love to hear more about you.” Jaskier sat down just beside Geralt. He leaned against the table with both hands and his voice oozed with excitement. “You see, I am a bard by trade. Perhaps you’ve heard some of my work.”

You gazed into his blue eyes, a grin tugging at the corner of your scarred lips.

“You’re a brave soul, bard.”

He smiled a bit bashfully, cheeks flushing light pink.

“Why, thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.” Geralt told him. His words made Jaskier’s smile drop.

“What? Of-Of course it was!”

“It was more of an observation, bard.” You said. “Not many could come to a witcher’s keep and ask a witcher to share her war stories just moments after meeting her.”

“Jaskier has no fear.” Geralt sighed.

“Well, I-I wouldn’t say that. I have plenty of fear.”

You smiled a little at the bard.

“How was the Path this year?” Geralt changed the subject. “I can’t imagine spending the whole year with Lambert was pleasant.”

“Oh, it was anything but pleasant.” You let out a small breath, scratching your fingertips over a groove in the wooden tabletop. “I’d rather have my eyes gouged out with spoons than spend that much time with him.”

Geralt chuckled a little.

“Y/N!” You heard Coen shout your name from the kitchen. You turned your head to the side, listening closely to what was going on.

Geralt furrowed his brows a little and tilted his head. He could also hear the roughhousing going on in the kitchen.

“Ah, fuck.” You grunted, pushing yourself to your feet.

“Is something wrong?” Jaskier asked you.

“My brothers are fools. Excuse me, bard. Princess.”

Jaskier watched as you crossed the room and disappeared behind a heavy wooden door. He didn’t realize he had been staring for too long until the White Wolf grumbled.

The bard turned his head to his traveling companion, brows falling and lips pressing together in a line as he found the witcher glaring at him.

“What?”

“Don’t think about it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You get that same look in your eye when we go to banquets. That same look has gotten you nearly killed for bedding the wrong woman.”

“Geralt! Have a little faith in me! That is your sister for crying out loud! I-I would— I would never—,”

“Unfortunately, I know you too well, Jaskier.”

Jaskier found himself looking back to the door you had disappeared through. A sheepish smile crossed his lips.

“She is rather stunning, isn’t she?”

“Jaskier.”

“It’s a compliment!”

Geralt shook his head.

“She will rip you to pieces.”

“Isn’t that the hope?” Jaskier grinned.

“Gross.” Ciri scrunched her nose up. She had been so quiet that Jaskier almost forgot that they were in the company of the young girl.

“Sorry, Ciri.”

***

You carried a mug in one hand as you left the kitchen. It had been a few hours since Geralt and his guests had arrived. By now, night had fallen on Kaer Morhen. Lambert was preparing a late dinner for everyone. Coen and Vesemir were fixing a fallen shelf in the library. Ciri was in the library reading through a few books to pass time.

Geralt and Jaskier were just getting back in from checking on the horses.

“So I see you changed your mind about your Child Surprise.” You spoke. Your voice reverberated off of the walls.

“Didn’t have much of a choice. Cintra was overtaken by Nilfgard. She has no one.”

“Well, now she has us.” You took a seat on a bench but kept your back to the table. Geralt and Jaskier sat the same way, with their backs to the table just across from you.

A door across the room creaked as it was opened. Being that the door was behind you, you had to turn your head and your upper half to be able to see Vesemir.

“Where’s Ciri?” Geralt asked him.

“Left her in the library. She seemed rather interested in an old beastiary.” Vesemir poured himself a mug of ale.

“To think we have a princess here in the walls of Kaer Morhen.” You shook your head, finishing off the last bit of your drink. “This winter is going to be an interesting one.”

“She isn’t the first princess here.” Geralt said. Your eyes met his briefly before you looked away.

“What does that mean?” Jaskier looked to Geralt for an explanation.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter.” Vesemir took a seat next to you. “All that matters is we don’t try to kill each other this winter.”

“Lambert is at the very top of my list.” You told him. “The first chance I get, I’m going to suffocate him in his sleep.”

“Y/N.” Vesemir scolded.

“Where do you hail from, Y/N?” Jaskier asked you.

“Ard Carraigh, though that was more than a lifetime ago.” You looked down at your empty tankard.

The sound of the horses out in the stables made you turn your head towards the door. You furrowed your brows, unsure of what had them stirring.

“Something’s bothering the horses.” Geralt grunted.

“I will go see to it.” Vesemir sighed as he stood to his feet.

“Do you want one of us to come with you?” You asked him.

“No need. I don’t think it’s that much of a concern.”

You watched the old witcher leave through the heavy front door.

“I should go check on Ciri.” Geralt thought out loud.

“There can’t be too much she’d get into trouble with.” You said. “Nothing up there other than rats the size of a foal.”

“You’d be surprised with Ciri. She can find trouble out of thin air.” He stood up. “Don’t stir up any trouble while I’m gone, Jaskier.”

“You have too little faith in me, Geralt!”

The White Wolf rolled his eyes but said nothing as he walked away. Your eyes followed him until he disappeared through a door that led to the rest of the keep.

“How long have you….” Jaskier trailed off, unsure of the right words to use. “Have you been a witcher long?”

“Are you asking my age, bard?”

“No, no! I’d never ask a lady such a thing.” He chuckled nervously. “I assume that if you have been a witcher for very long, I would have known about you. Or heard about you at some point in time.”

You stood up and moved seats, choosing instead to sit beside the bard. He shifted in his seat, clearly nervous by your sudden close presence.

“It’s been decades since I came here to Kaer Morhen.” You looked upwards to the high ceilings. “Before the sacking.”

”What was it like? Before the- Before the sacking?” Jaskier turned his head to you. He admired your side profile, blue eyes mapping out your facial features. The curve of your nose down to the shape of your lips.

Your attention was shifted to him. It was then that you noticed he was practically staring at your lips. You smiled a little, causing him to look up at your eyes. His cheeks turned pink and he chuckled nervously.

”My-My apologizes.”

”It was nothing grand.” You answered his question as you rose to your feet. “I need more drink. Would you like to come with me?”

”Yes.” Jaskier answered a little too quickly.

He followed behind you like a puppy. You looked over your shoulder to him, the twinkle in your eyes making his heart race. Gods, you were a beauty.

You pushed the door to the kitchen open but before Jaskier could follow you inside, Lambert and Coen were coming out.

“What are you doing, barker?” Coen asked.

“Just— I was just—,”

”Leave him alone, Coen.” You called from just inside the kitchen. Jaskier couldn’t see you because of the wall the two large witchers were forming, blocking you from him.

The boys laughed, their boisterous voices echoing throughout the room. Lambert clapped his hand down on Jaskier’s shoulder as they passed him. Jaskier was just a little confused.

”They are, uh, quite the pair, aren’t they?”

”A pair of jackasses is what they are.” You shook your head.

“Big brothers are like that. I have four.”

”Sounds horrendous.” You poured a second mug of ale and passed it to the bard. “Do you have any other siblings?”

”An older sister and a younger sister.”

”Seven children?” You raised your brows as you leaned against the wooden counter. “Yikes.”

”Yeah.” He chuckled lightly. He leaned against the counter beside you. “Always had a big family.”

”I was one of the last witchers to ever be made, so I suppose I’ve only ever had older brothers.” You took a sip of the ale. ”Couldn’t imagine it any other way. They irritate the piss out of me, but they’re my brothers.”

”They are good men.” Jaskier nodded. “Albeit, annoying. But good men.”

You found yourself gaze at the barker. He was stunning. Warm skin, dark curly hair, even darker eyelashes, and bright icy blue eyes that contrasted his features so nicely. He was a pleasure to gaze at.

The door to the kitchen opened and there stood Geralt.

Jaskier hurried to move, taking a step to the side to put space between himself and you.

“Ah, Geralt!”

The White Wolf offered a low grumble before he looked to you.

”Eskel is home. He doesn’t look good.”

“Is he okay?” You furrowed your eyebrows together. Your drink as discarded on the counter as you hurried to leave the kitchen.

”Vesemir has him in the infirmary.”

You slipped past the witcher and hurried away.

Geralt waited until your footsteps had disappeared down the staircase. Then he turned his attention to Jaskier. He crossed his arms over his chest, appearing even more intimidating than usual.

“Oh, come on, Geralt! Don’t look at me like that!”

”Y/N is—,”

”She is your sister! And you, you are my closest friend!” Jaskier moved to stand in front of Geralt. He placed his hands on Geralt’s biceps and attempted to shake the man but Geralt didn’t budge. “I wouldn’t dream of ever crossing you like that—,”

”Jaskier.” Geralt almost rolled his eyes. ”Get your hands off of me.”

”She is rather friendly though.” Jaskier clasped his hands behind his back as he slipped around the stocky witcher to leave the kitchen. “Very chatty too. Unlike you, you cranky old man.”

Geralt turned around to watch his friend as he started to walk away.

“Jaskier.”

”Yes, Geralt?” Jaskier turned on his toes to face him.

”Just be careful.”

The bard didn’t know what to expect, but that wasn’t it. He furrowed his brows and tilted his head to the side just a bit.

“Uh, o-okay, Geralt.”

#Jaskier x reader #the witcher #witcher 3 #geralt of rivia #Jaskier x witcher #Jaskier fic

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