#the lambs wolves wear | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

barbieaemond · 11 months

Text

A curse for a curse

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x wife!Reader

Warnings: angst, sub!Aemond, smut, oral sex (f and m receiving), overstimulation, orgasm denial, p in v, chains kink (idk if that’s even a thing but it’s there)

Word count: 8.5K

Author’s note: PLEASE READ THIS ->There's a little canon divergenge as in Rook's Rest is not happened yet, so Aegon is King and Aemond went to Harrenhal. Based on a request I got for sub!Aemond.

Taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @ashovertheriver

Harrenhal tastes like curse and smoke when she enters the blackened and ruined walls.

She is sure, as she is sure that dragons are real, that this place has been cursed over and over since Balerion and Aegon the Conqueror proved that not even stone was safe against dragonfire.

The air is heavy in her lungs, as breathing through a thick layer of wool and her steps echo down the corridors in a strange way; it seems like a never ending sound, echoing through the walls and many lost ages.

But her stride is steady, her eyes fixed on the doors of the Hall of One Hundred Hearths where she is sure to find him, where she will end this thing for which she has no name, and yet it is draining her, wearing her out like a starved leech.

“When is Aemond coming back?” the Queen Mother asks, and then little Jaehaera asks the same question, even Helaena, in those rare moments of clarity, wonders about her brother. And each time, she doesn’t know what to say. Her lip grows stiff, her jaw clenches and she wonders obsessively from dawn till dusk. What is he doing there?

Why has he not returned now that Harrenhal has been taken?

What is he doing with that bastard woman?

“They say she’s a witch.” King Aegon says with his glassy eyes, putting down his cup as he looks around to choose a target on which to pour his anger. Wine seems to not work anymore, it is not enough to quench his thirst for revenge, and unfortunately, she happens to be the easiest mark.

“He killed everyone in that gods-forsaken place. Everyone except the witch.” He leans forward, watching her with amused anticipation just like a child who waits for his favorite toy to break. “Why did he not do it, sweet good-sister?”

He wants her to snap, and surely something does snap inside her, but she refuses to be humiliated like this.

“I do not know, your Grace. Perhaps my husband learned the Gods’ mercy and decided to spare a woman.”

His chest shakes violently as he laughs, and there’s nothing more humiliating than his laugh, not even the whispers traveling all the way from the Riverlands.

He’s taken her as his prisoner, keeps her in his chambers.

She has utterly bewitched him.

Every word is a stab to her heart and every time his word reaches her through a raven, the wound splits more open and festers.

He does not mention the bastard witch. He says nothing on the matter. He informs her of the war progressing, tells her he will come back soon.

Soon.

Soon was two moons ago and he’s still there.

It doesn’t matter anymore, she thinks as she reaches the doors of Harrenhal. Soon is now.

The look on Ser Criston Cole is almost comical as two soldiers open the doors of the Hall of the Hundred Hearths. “Princess?”

She immediately looks around, but there’s no silver in that huge black hall.

“What are you doing here?” the Hand asks, walking to her “It is not safe for you—”

“Where is the Prince?” she cuts him off, her tongue hitting her teeth like a blade cleaving the air.

Ser Criston looks puzzled for a moment, and even if she doesn’t show it, anguish twists her gut. But then he says “The Prince is not here, your Grace. He’s out, on the battle camp.”

She looks at the soldiers in the room, watching her like some kind of weird creature—a lamb in a den of wolves. That is no place for a princess, no place for a woman. And yet, it is precisely her place.

She belongs to his side. As he belongs to hers. It’s what she’s been telling herself for two moons of sleepless nights.

She should have come here with him in the first place, war be damned.

“Leave, please.” She orders the men “All of you. I need a word with the Hand.”

They may not be used to taking orders from a woman, but they immediately leave the Hall like a pack of unruly children.

The thud of the doors is like some kind of curtain falling and she is finally free of this act, free to snap.

“What is going on here, Ser Criston?”

He shifts on his feet, looking down, looking utterly incapable to answer her question. “The situation in the Riverlands is quite delicate at the moment—”

“I don’t give a shit about the war, Ser Criston.” She almost hisses “You are perfectly aware of what I’m asking.”

His mouth shuts and she resists the urge to use her hands as talons to part his lips and grab the truth from his throat.

“What is going on between Aemond and the witch.” she states, she is not asking.

The Hand sighs deeply and takes a step closer. His whole demeanor changes, becomes confidential, almost fatherly. “My Princess, you must not believe the foul whispers that have been spread.”

She feels a glimmer of relief blooming in her heart, but not strong enough to relinquish the leeches sucking at her bones. “What should I believe then?”

“It’s true. The Prince spared her life.”

“Does he keep her in his chambers?”

“What? Seven Hells, no. She has her own chamber. A little room in the wing intended for servants.”

“Did she ever visit his rooms? Alone?”

Ser Criston looks down for a moment, his lips contracting. “You must understand, my Princess. There are no servants here.”

The wound between her ribs cracks open.

There are no servants here. Did she help him dress? Did she help him bathe? Did she do all the things she used to do? All the things only she was entitled to do?

“I want to see her.”

“Princess, it is not wise.”

“I believe it is very much wise, Ser Criston, since my marriage is at stake here.”

Ser Cole sighs again. “She’s…dangerous, my Princess. She’s eerily persuasive.”

“So, you think it’s true? That she’s a witch?”

“I’m not sure about her powers, my Princess. All I know is that…one of our soldiers spat in her face when she was still a captive by order of the Rogue Prince and she just…murmured something to this man.” He swallows lowering his gaze and takes a deep breath. “The next day he ripped out his own tongue with his bare hands, bleeding to death.”

Disturbing as these words can be, she keeps a steady and cold face.

“She claims she can read the flames. That they speak to her, that she saw all of this happening—the Prince coming here. She claims she saw the fate of the war.”

A long silence stretches between them, but however right the Hand’s reasoning may be, she is not keen to let magic and superstitions take what she has come here to retrieve. “Take me to her.”

Ser Cole stalls for a moment, trying to make her give up by merely looking at her. But at last, he caves. “As you wish, my Princess.”

Her room is completely bare, save for a hearth and a bundle of dirty covers and a pillow thrown on the ground.

She enters and the air feels even heavier, more cursed. She feels it like something weighing on her shoulders, drying her throat.

There’s a woman sitting before the fire, clad in rags with long black hair falling down her back. She seems to register the door opening and closing only minutes later, as if she was too focused on her fire staring. But then she turns her head and looks at the woman before her with a strange smile.

“Alas, you have come.”

The Princess blinks quickly, watching the woman stand up and walk closely to her, chains on her feet and hands. She feels something unsettling under her skin, behind her eyes, as if she can’t stop looking straight into the green eyes of the witch, not even if she wanted to.

“You must be Alys.” She says, quickly scanning the witch before returning, inevitably, like a magnet, into her bright green eyes.

The woman, whose age is impossible to determine, keeps her smile as she looks at the Princess from head to toe. “You are exactly as I saw you in the flames.”

“That will save us some time, then. No need for introductions.”

“No. I know who you are.” The witch says, curling her cracked lips some more “I can see his mark on you.”

“His mark?”

“Yes.” She says, unnaturally widening her eyes. “He leaves a mark on everything. Things, places, people. Much like me, I’d say.” From her throat gushes a high-pitched laugh, jarring and spiteful. “We have much in common, the Kinslayer and I.”

The way she utters the last words makes the Princess grind her teeth, as if they were…what? Friends? Allies?

Lovers?

“Have you been in his chambers all this time?” she finally asks and the witch has the boldness to roll her eyes. “Is that the only reason you’re here? To know if he cheated on you?”

“Answer my question.” The Princess orders.

“Darling, If I wanted to fuck him, I would’ve done it ages ago.” She starts laughing again, grinning mischievously and then she sighs. “You left your mark on him as well. I can feel you in his head. And you are so heavy.”

She doesn't know what to make of that. There is not a single reason why she should trust her word. And it's not just the alleged powers this woman may possess. It's her whole demeanor. Haughty, even though she is a bastard. Mocking, as if she looks at the young woman before her, and sees much, much more.

“Just as you, I’d say, since he’s forsaken his family and his wife to do whatever you’re making him do it with your witchcraft.”

She bursts out laughing, so loud that the Princess flinches and takes a step back.

“I’m not making him doing anything. I can’t play with his head. He’s too stubborn. I did not curse him, sweetheart. Your beloved prince is already accursed.”

“Then what do you want? Gold? Lands?”

“I do what the flames command. I serve no God, no King, no Lord. And neither does your husband. It was his choice to see.”

“To see what?”

“What the flames choose to show. I know how this war will end. I know which color will stain the other for good. I know who will sit on the Iron Throne.”

The Princess furrows her brow, confused and puzzled, apparently pleasing the witch who smiles again and nods. “Oh yes, he will make a sight to behold wearing the Conqueror’s Crown.”

Who? Aemond? On the Iron Throne?

“So that’s how you’re keeping him here. With visions and fantasies.”

“He asked me to. At the moment I’m more valuable to him than all his generals and soldiers put together. Besides, I know how to deal with him.”

The Princess almost laughs at this. “I see. You think you can handle him, don’t you? A wild dragon for you to tame, is that what he is for you?”

“Well, I’m not denying he’s handsome enough to please my eyes.”

“And once you have tamed him, what will you do? How will you handle him when you scratch the surface, and you see the neglected son? Lonely, misunderstood, maimed. The boy no one cared for.”

It is the first time the witch does not have a quick biting answer. It makes the Princess rejoice.

“All your witchcraft won’t be enough to handle him.”

The witch falls silent. There is a distant look in her eyes as she observes the Princess and the more she stares, the more the younger woman feels dreadfully uncomfortable. She starts to feel something in the back of her mind, like a gentle abstract push.

“Ser Criston." she says suddenly, swallowing but keeping a collected mask. "The keys, please."

“Your Grace, Prince Aemond will not be ha—”

“I’ll deal with Prince Aemond.” She says, looking straight at the witch and the ghost of a superb smile hovers on her lips “I know how to handle him.”

The Knight slides the keys from his armor and hands them to the Princess. She is ready to free the witch’s wrists, but she stops, locking her eyes on Alys. “There is a carriage outside. And some guards who will do whatever Ser Criston will order them. Take it and go wherever you want, there’s even gold in the—"

“I told you, I don’t want—”

“I don’t care of what you want!” The Princess snaps, raising her voice, and the pushing dissolves. “You live to serve the flames? Fine. Do it elsewhere, far away from us.”

Alys shuts her parched mouth, and simply nods. “As you wish, Princess.”

She removes the shackles from her feet, and then from her hands, holding the chains between her fingers. Alys touches her hurting wrists, before tilting her head down in some kind of bow, or maybe a mocking gesture. The Princess cannot bring herself to care.

The witch makes her way past the younger woman but at last, she stops for a moment, leaning back her head of dark curls to say “I did touch him, just once. He put a knife to my throat.”

Vhagar likes to nestle on the burned blackened towers of Harrenhal, like some kind of dreadful reminder of the legacy of ruins and ashes Balerion the Dread has unleashed on this cursed land.

Aemond enters the castle walls with his circle of counselors and generals. They crowd on him like bees with honey and he knows why. He knows that most of the time they don’t have a clue what they’re talking about. They hang on his lips and jump like little good soldiers, jostling with one another in the hope of gaining something more when the war ends. A land, a title, one of them had even had the guts to offer a daughter to marry.

“I am not sure of what you are implying, my Lord.” He had said to the Lord with a dangerous black glint in his eye, as the fool thought it was wise to remind the Kinslayer that he and his wife had had no children yet. “Whether you are insulting me or my wife. I am sure of one thing, though. You will shut your hole before I take your tongue and feed it to my dragon.”

There were no more talks of unwed daughters between those walls.

“My Prince, if you allow me—” one of them says as they enter the Hall of the Hundred Hearths “We should give the lords who pledged for the Blacks more time to consider—”

“I gave them enough.” He says turning with a glare, looking even taller than he is, with his silver armor streaked with gold and the long green cloak. “They will pledge to my brother before dawn or I will bring dragonfire to their lands. Then we shall see where their loyalty lies while they burn to the crisp.”

They all shush and Aemond almost thanks the Gods for this brief blessed moment of peace. He ponders for a moment and then looks at a young soldier behind him.

“Summon the witch.” He orders “Bring her to me.”

He looks down to remove his riding gloves but out of the corner of his eye, he sees that the boy is still there.

“Uhm, my Prince, the witch is not here anymore.”

“What do you mean she’s not here?”

“S-she left, your Grace.”

The last word does not even leave his mouth the poor soldier feels a hand around his neck and the Prince is easily lifting him from the ground as if made of feathers. “You let her flee?!” he rages with his eye blown wide.

“I-I did—not your Grace!” the boy manages to croak while he’s choking, legs kicking like a chicken in the butcher’s hands.

“He’s right. I did.” Her voice cuts through the air and Aemond turns his head in a blink, looking positively stunned to hear his wife, to see her there.

He lets the soldier boy go and stares at her on the threshold of the huge Hall. He blinks with disbelief, as if he’s finally able to see after days and nights spent in a cloud of fog. Something shifts inside him him—something that has been wandering ceaselessly day and night, lifting the weight from his shoulders, from his black heart. Not Harrenhal’s weight, not Alys’. A weight far darker, a curse far more dangerous.

“Out.” he orders the Lords “All of you.”

They obey at once, scattering down the Hall only to stop for a moment before the Princess, to pay their respect.

The doors close but she stays on the threshold. His eye roams on her figure, once and then twice. He has never seen her wearing such a simple dress, easy to disguise her noble roots, her royal ones. And even though the mere sight stokes almost three moons of ugly and burning desire, it only makes him angry. It only makes him ashamed.

“What in the name of the Seven are you doing here?”

She walks to him and without uttering a single word or even sparing a glance to him, she begins removing the heavy armor plates from his body.

“What are you doing?” he asks with deep wrinkles on his forehead.

“My duty as wife.” She replies sternly, holding his arm “Or did you forget you had one?” she looks at him and sees rage blazing behind his eye—rage and maybe a tinge of hurt.

“Am I doing it right?” she asks removing the armor plate from his forearm “Was your witch friend better than me?”

The metal clatters on the ground as he grabs her arm, hard, pulling her close. “I asked you a question. We’re at war and you go strolling around the continent? Have you lost your mind?”

She tries to wriggle herself out of his iron grip, unsuccessfully as always. “How strange, that is a question I should ask you.”

“Enough.” He says grinding his teeth, digging his fingertips into her skin until her mouth twists with pain.

“Enough was two moons ago, Aemond. When you were supposed to come home, to your family, to me.”

“In case you didn’t notice, we’re at war, my dear wife. Things in war don’t go exactly as you planned them—”

“Oh spare me!” she cuts him off, freeing herself “Spare me the war talk, that’s all I’ve been hearing from you.”

“What did you expect exactly? Love letters?”

“I expected what I deserved. To know the truth. You have not mentioned her. Ever, not even once. Do you have the faintest idea of what I’ve been through all this time? Of all the dirt they have been spreading behind my back?”

“I don’t want to hear about it.” He says turning his back on her, as if he had not done that enough.

“No, you will.” She promises, circling him to look straight at him again. “They said you were so besotted with her to deny her leaving your chambers.”

“I don’t want to hear about it.” He says again, closing his eye for a moment.

“They said, and this was from the wretched mouth of your beloved brother, that you put a child in her womb since I was not able to give you an heir.”

“I don’t want to hear about it!” he shouts, and she knows she hit a nerve there, because he never shouts.

“Why? Does it make you ashamed? It should. I had to hear all of it. I had to endure it while you stayed here playing fortune teller with your witch whore.”

His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath and raises his gaze to look at her, dead serious. “You know nothing about her powers. She saw many things, happened precisely as she predicted. I needed her. I needed her powers and you had no right to send her away.”

“You needed her?” she repeats, pale with utter disbelief. “You needed her for what? For her to tell you how good you’ll look wearing the Conqueror’s Crown? To feed you with fairy tales while we risk our lives staying in the capital, unprotected because Dreamfyre can’t fight and Tessarion is still in Oldtown. What if the Blacks decide to attack us now? They have a dozen of dragons, we have only Sunfyre.”

“The Blacks will not attack.”

“Did she tell you this? Did she see this in the flames?” she can’t fight back the contempt curling her lips “Are you listening to yourself? Flames and visions to win a war? You poor fool.”

“Watch your mouth, woman.” he seethes “You don’t talk to me like this.”

“Or what? Are you going to chain me up? I kept her chains, you know? I thought you’d like a token of your time with the witch.”

“Did you come here for this? To make a scene like some common girl who feels threatened by another woman?” his lips turn upwards, curling and twisting with ugly deprecation “What do you think you know about the war? What is your contribution while you lie around in a lavish castle waiting for me to come back and fuck you? I’ll tell you. None. You can’t even perform your duty to give me an heir. And you come here to lecture me?”

The wound is rotting from the inside and he’s pouring salt on it.

“I came here for my dignity. As a woman, I have nothing else. I came here for your mother, who I fear will go mad with worry just as your sister. And lastly, to tell you that I’m with child.”

Aemond stills completely, so much that she thinks the witch’s curse is hitting him right now, no matter how far she is, turning him into stone.

“But it seems utterly irrelevant to me right now. So, go. Hurry! You might still find her.”

She moves to leave the room and he does it at the same time, trying to reach her, to stop her, but she flinches as he tries to touch her, battling his hands away.

Aemond utters her name, softly, and it makes her stomach turn.

“I will leave at dawn.” She informs him with a blank face “I won’t disturb you and your precious war any further. Fret not, husband. I will stay in my lavish castle like the good soldier I am, waiting for you to come back and fuck me.”

This is place is not only cursed, but it is also so freezing cold that she wishes for one of those direwolf furs the Northerners use to wear as she sits before the hearth in what she assumed to be Aemond’s chambers. The room is large, even larger than the ones they share in the Red Keep, but it’s completely bare and almost ominous with its black walls that stink of ash and smoke.

A cursed place, fitting for a cursed woman.

She has been for quite some time. Because she chose to stay by his side, because she chose to love him.

“We could turn to a Septon. Annulments are rare but possible. You cannot remain married to a Kinslayer, it is the highest of sins.” Her father had said in a letter, in the aftermath of Lucerys’ death.

As if she could leave him, as if she could turn her back on him and marry another man.

As if he hadn’t left his mark on her.

She thought the Gods had cursed her for good, that was why, however much they tried, she couldn’t bear his child.

“A child is the highest of the blessings from the Gods.” Her mother had said during one of her last visits to the capital “How can they bless your union with a man so accursed?”

And yet.

She is impatiently waiting for the sun to set. Even if her limbs have never been so heavy, as much as her heart, she finds no reason to stay here, not when she can’t stand even the sight of him. But of course, how can there be peace in such a cursed place?

She hears the door opening. She knows his gait. She wished to hear it for two moons as she lied alone in their bed.

She hears him approach until he is beside her, but she does not look at him. She only sees his arm holding out a small tray.

“Eat.” An order, not an invitation.

She doesn’t even bother to look at the food, keeping her cold gaze on the fire. “I’m afraid I lost my appetite, dear husband. You can thank yourself for that.”

She can feel his eye piercing, burning her skin, the air coming from his nose short and harsh.

“Eat or I’ll feed you myself.”

She doesn’t bother to even answer this time.

Aemond stares at her, waits for her to look at him, he needs for her to look at him. “Is it true?”

“What?”

“That you’re with child.”

“In my husband’s lovely words, I lie around all day so I guess I’m capable enough to notice if I miss my moonblood.”

He leaves the tray on the stone mantelpiece, noticing a pair of chains lying there, and then looks down at her. “You will stay here with me.” Another order.

Another rejection. “I will not.”

“Yes, you will. You are not going anywhere, not in your condition.”

“I see. Now I’m worth something to you, am I not?” and finally she looks up “My duty is fulfilled, my womb is finally swollen. It’s a shame your witch left, we could have asked her to look in the flames and tell us if it’s a boy or a girl.”

Aemond lowers his shoulders and grabs her chin with the same cruelty he is used to brandish his sword, tightening her cheeks to prevent her from uttering another word. “I said enough.”

He watches as she tries to escape his grip, pushing his shoulders as her eyes grow more and more scornful, and he knows he deserves it. But that ugly thing breaks, snaps like a thin rope pulled too tight.

His mouth is on hers, fingers squeezing her cheeks to force her to take his kiss, which is not really a kiss, but more of an act of war, a relentless and rather quick siege, because she was already starving. She opens his mouth and this alone makes him whine with relief as his tongue slides between her teeth. Her hands grab his doublet collar, knuckles turning white and she angles her head, only to bite his lip hard enough to draw blood.

He winces as he pulls his head back and sees her licking her lips, a dead distant look in her eyes. But her hands move, gently, through his silver strands. "My words are but blunt knives on you. I must hurt you in the only way I can."

“I did not touch her.” He says like an oath “Ever.”

“I know you didn’t.” she reassures him, but her eyes stay distant, as if even being this close now, they are also miles and miles apart. “Maybe it would’ve been better if you had.”

“Did you want me to fuck her now?”

“I wanted you to need me, not her.”

His eye is on flame, rage and shame dancing together, but it’s not aimed at her. He finds that the only person on the receiving end is none other than himself.

Something dies in his eye, his shoulders slump and his head falls forward, hiding what no one would dare even think of seeing on the stern, cruel face of Aemond One Eye.

He kneels before her and lays his head on her belly, catching her off guard. She can't see his face, and yet she has it before her eyes, clear and indisputable as something carved into stone.

The surface has never been so frail. She doesn’t even need to scratch it, she only has to lift it.

No man is so accursed as the Kinslayer.

She had thought it true enough, but what about Aemond’s curse?

“I know you feel guilty.” She says, or rather whispers, as if she’s being blasphemous by accosting such a word to such a man. “I know you feel guilty for Jaehaerys. For Helaena.”

His answer is mute, but it’s the loudest confession she could get.

He fists the fabric of her gown between his hands, knuckles turning white on the verge of breaking. She feels him nestling further inside her, like a child, and she closes her eyes for a moment, placing a hand on her wound to stop the bleeding, and leans over him, sliding her hands on his back, softly but firmly, as if helping him to stay whole, as if preventing him from breaking into pieces.

Aemond didn’t believe in curses.

He did not regret, not even for a moment, the murder of Lucerys. He did not care that the Gods had turned their backs on him. They had done it a long time before. He did not care of how people called him, of how they would baptize him in the annals of his lineage.

He had started to care, to feel guilt, after he actually killed his kin.

For he had killed Jaehaerys, he had killed Helaena.

Kinslayer. Kinslayer. Kinslayer.

In his head, he heard that word with his mother’s voice, with Aegon’s, Helaena’s.

He found some kind of peace, of solace, only in his wife. But then the war was calling and he fled to Harrenhal. It was his duty, it was his way to try to make things better, to get revenge.

He had taken Harrehanl back and he knew he should have come home. But then the witch, the very same who had forced a man to rip out his own tongue, had spoken to him, talking about visions and flames, of predictions that happened to be alarmingly accurate, of him sitting on the Iron Throne with the Conqueror’s Crown on his silver head.

And he saw an opportunity, however blurry, to set things right, as they should have been in the beginning. He saw a way to get the upper hand in this war. And furthermore, as much as he did not realize it, he had found a way to stay away from the Keep. He would rather dare with witchcraft than return home and hear Helaena's wails cutting through doors and walls, and through his heart.

But next to the guilt had come the shame, for he had turned his back on his wife, for he could imagine the filth their enemies and non would spread, like shit flowing in the sewers.

He had tried to confine her to the back of his mind, but she became heavier and heavier as the days passed, along with the scarce letters in which he never mentioned the Rivers bastard.

She, of course, had sensed it immediately.

“You can’t win this war if your mind is elsewhere.” She had said one night, on one of his visits to her room.

He always stayed on the threshold, arms laced behind and poorly disguised distrust stretching his features.

“I told you to stay out of my fucking head.”

“You need not worry, my Prince.” She retorted with a chilling smile “I can’t play with your head. It’s too heavy…and ugly. And this woman…oh, she’s eating you alive.”

The witch is gone now, and yet she is still there.

She lingers on the walls of his chambers like a ghost, she imposes a wall between him and his wife and perhaps neither of them is strong enough to climb it. So, for days they just circle one another like wounded animals.

The Princess is staying with him of course. He has forbidden her to leave his side and she has caved, on one condition though. She has given him three days to deal with the Riverlands and then they will go home, together, where they are needed, where the mighty dreadful Vhagar is needed.

The day before their departure, Aemond returns victorious from the Riverlands. He has gained the allegiance of the lords in a way Visenya Targaryen would be proud of.

He will never forget the Lords' faces draining of color, probably pissing themselves, as Vhagar roared a war chant in the sky, and tongues of fire brushed the lands as warning.

He enters the chambers quietly and sees her crouched on the floor as her hands dig into a drawer, pulling out papers that she carelessly drops to the ground. Aemond closes the door firmly, announcing his presence, and she looks at him for a single moment before sighing in defeat, closing the drawer.

“Looking for my love letters?” he teases, for the first time after days of loud silence.

“I was looking for ink, actually.” she says looking below a paper left on the table. “Besides…love letters from you? Ghastly.”

He can’t fight back the smirk curling his mouth as she walks close to him and begins removing the armor. He looks at her face and she’s stern, almost rigid in her gestures, in the way she touches him, as if she despises doing it and yet she can’t help herself.

He doesn’t have a clue.

He doesn’t know that her stiffness has nothing to do with contempt. He doesn’t have a clue of how much she aches for him. Of how much she wants for him to take her, fast and rough, as he often used to do, because she can’t stand to be treated like some porcelain doll to be cocooned thanks to his child growing inside her belly. She wants to be more than that, she demands to be his wife again.

“Have you eaten?” he asks her, gently, and she wants to break something.

She can’t stand it anymore. She can’t stand all the questions.

Did you eat? Did you rest? Did you sleep?

“Is this how is going to be from now on?” she asks looking up “You acting as if you are my maid?”

He clenches his jaw and his face turns stern just like hers.

“First you accuse me to have forsaken you and now you don’t want my attention. Make peace with your mind, wife.”

“I want you to be my husband.” She says getting close to him until she smells dragon and ashes.

She wants to bathe in it. “I want to be your wife.”

Aemond’s eye lingers down on her throat, on her constricted chest, and his lips part. “You are.” He vows, locking his eye on her.

“Prove it.” She whispers tilting her head with a challenge dancing on her parted lips, hovering against his.

He is one breath away from swallowing her whole but he stops, melding their breaths in one, and he grins. “Are you going to bite me again?”

“As if you didn’t like that.”

A moment later his teeth sink into the soft flesh of her lip, her neck. His hands are everywhere, frantic and needy. She can feel he’s restraining from holding her too tight, but she wants, no, she needs more. She wants him in her bones.

They move without logic, clinging to each other, trying to assert dominance on one another. He grabs her wrists and forces her down on the chaise beside the hearth. He is looking at her in the same old way, as if he’s blind to anything else. She aches so much for him that she’s breathing hard, the word please climbs her throat, slides on her tongue, but she will not beg for him.

In all truth, she doesn’t have to.

He kneels on the ground like a pious man at the altar, and she hikes up her skirts, spreading her legs to place them on his shoulders, heels pressing on his back to bring him close.

“You know what you want, don’t you?” He teases with a feral grin.

“Curse you and your hideous smirk.” She says sliding on the chair to bring her apex close to his overly talkative mouth.

“You love my smirk.” He says grabbing her thighs to secure them around his face. “Besides, I’m already cursed.” He leaves a red mark biting on the soft skin of her thigh, looking straight at her and how she startles, whining in half pain half pleasure.

She catches a glimpse of the sapphire glinting between her thighs before her eyes fall shut and she moans unnaturally loud as he licks a stripe along her wet folds and up to her apex.

She is trembling with anticipation, with arousal that pools from her, glistening his mouth and nose. Her hips begin bucking against him and he moans contentedly as he buries his tongue inside her, lapping and tasting like a starved beast.

Her breath grows shorter and shorter for how close she is already, so much that he stops to look at her with a spiteful grin. “Already? Gods, you must have missed me terribly.”

“Shut up.” She whispers hoarsely and pulls herself up just enough to grab his head, pulling his hair to force him to take where he left off. Her hips are rocking on their own against his face, nails scratching his scalp harder and harder as she comes undone in his mouth, while he hums with pleasure, drinking of all her. Eye fixed on her as he watches her throw her head back, spasming and trembling with a loud moan.

Her back hits the back of the chaise as she catches her breath and looks at the black ceiling in a moment of pure bliss. Two moons of anguish are but a distant memory, her mind is foggy, she doesn’t even remember the face of the witch.

He dismantles her legs from his neck and she looks down at him, cheeks red, watching as he climbs on her, unbuckling his belt.

“No.” she says, and she stops his hands. “Do you think I would make it so easy for you?”

Aemond looks at her, half puzzled half curious, and then she pushes him down, overturning their positions so now she’s sitting on his lap, feeling all of his hard length against her.

“It’s my turn to prove it.” She says raising an arm that goes on the mantelpiece behind them.

“Prove what?”

“That you’re my mine.” She promises, and Aemond hears the distinct sound of metal clinking.

She lowers her arm and he sees a pair of chains between her fingers. He is bold enough to smirk at her. “I thought you were the one who wished to be chained.”

“I’m not the one in need of a lesson.”

She grabs his wrist but he easily pulls away. “What if I don’t want to?” but there’s an intriguing glint in his eye, on the edges of his arched mouth.

“Then who will take care of you?” she asks with fake innocence, grinding on his cock, and she smiles as the air comes out of his mouth in a hiss. “Are you sure your hand will suffice?”

He looks at her with challenge, breathing slowly through his mouth, and he caves.

“Chain me.”

She smiles darkly and grabs his wrists, fastening the chains and then locking them to the sides of the chair. She stands and grabs his legs, sliding his back further down.

She notices his eyebrow rising and she looks at him. "I want you to be comfortable. I'm afraid this will not end so soon."

He swallows with anticipation and watches her as she slowly climbs back on top of him and begins to unbutton his doublet., pushing the fabric aside to reveal his diaphanous pale chest and her hand slides over it, over his ribs, stomach, and navel, halting his breath.

Her lips hover against his, swallowing his shallow breath, but suddenly her head dips down, leaving a trail of little heated kisses on his neck, on the planes of his chest.

He watches as she does that, feeling her lips like burning embers marking his skin. Her eyes lock on him and she opens her mouth engulfing one of his nipples, circling her tongue around it. He tilts his head back, lips parting to let a puff of scorching air out, and then she's grazing her teeth over the soft pink skin.

The chains metal clink as he winces.

She grins pulling herself up and slides a bit down his legs with her bottom, so she has open room to his belt. She begins unbuckling it, looking at him, watching the glare he’s giving her.

“I can’t tell whether you want to kill me or fuck me.”

“I need you to fucking do something.”

“Like what?” she asks, palming his cock through the fabric “Tell me, husband. I may grant your wish.”

He rocks his hips in one slow movement, trying to feel every inch of her hand, but it’s a faint touch that only makes him ache for more. “Move, grind on me.” His voice is imperative as always, but his tone is different—all heated and husky.

She frees him of the constricting belt and breeches and lays on him, releasing a blissful sigh when she feels the hot hard flesh colliding perfectly against her core. The chains clink again as he tries to move and she smiles, caging his snatched waist between her legs.

Aemond is panting quietly, trying to get a grip on his own body but he finds it’s a useless fight when he’s so hard it’s starting to hurt.

But then his wife seems in favour of granting him some mercy. She starts grinding on him and his lips part some more, panting loudly this time, as he feels, and hears, the beautiful obscene sounds her wet flesh is making rubbing on him.

“Lift up your skirts. Let me see.”

She stops grinding and he almost whines with annoyance, moving his chained wrists in a useless attempt to grab her waist and force her to move again.

“I don’t like that tone, husband.” She says, and her voice is husky as well, her breath labored “Ask nicely.”

Aemond is silently starting to regret this whole thing. Patience was never one of his virtues, if he even has virtues. He’s completely at her mercy and cannot do anything but comply.

“Please. Lift your fucking skirts and let me see.”

“Hmm.” She hums smiling. “Better.”

Her skirts turn into a bundle of fabric around her waist and he dips his chin, looking straight at their flesh as she resumes her torture.

“Fuck” he utters, his eye growing heavy but he keeps looking, and he doesn’t have a clue whether it’s the rubbing or the mere sight of her coating his cock that draws a moan out of his throat.

“Do you see how I much I’ve missed you?” she asks hoarsely, grinding more and more firmly.

His head hits the back of the chair as he keeps panting and rocking his hips against her, lifting his waist as if desperately trying to slide inside her.

“I touched myself every morning. I woke up all wet and aching for you. And where were you? Here, plotting with your witch.”

“Enough of that fucking witch.” he croaks, a sheen of sweat is ghosting on his forehead. “Faster.”

She does the opposite. She stops altogether. And this time, he can’t do nothing to muffle the whimper gushing out of his trembling mouth.

The Princess tilts her head, savoring each moment, and soon his piercing glare comes back even sharper. “Once I’m free of these fucking chains, I’m going to fuck you senseless till morning.”

“Unless you are still chained to this chair in the morning.”

He watches as her hands hover on his thighs, a feather touch that drives him mad, that makes his hips buck uselessly. His lips twist, swallowing a plead his pride won’t allow him to let go.

But she hears it nonetheless, in the way his fingers flex and twist, in his chest raising fastly. It may suffice, but it doesn’t.

“Stubborn, are we?” she teases, just like her hands, barely touching down his navel. “Your witch got it right. She said you are too stubborn, that’s why she couldn’t play with your head. She couldn’t handle you.” her fingertips finally dip down and she can see the silent plead in his eye.

“I can, though.” her palm brushes the tip and he whimpers, again.

“Please…” he whispers impossibly low, too low for her liking.

“Louder, my love.”

His mouth twists again but the need, the ache is so heavy that it burns out all the pride numbing his tongue.

“Please…” he begs freely “Please, touch me.”

A groan rolls out of him as she finally grabs it, squeezing softly before starting a slow rhythm up and down. He pants loudly, hips moving on their own as he tries to fuck her hand with a steadier pace. “Don’t rush it.” she scolds him, placing a firm hand on his waist to stop his frantic movements.

“I can’t take it…let me come…”

“Already? Gods, you must have missed me terribly.”

“You’re cursed, woman.”

“Takes one to know one. A curse for a curse.”

She looks at him, hair all ruffled and sweaty on his forehead, a painful pleading expression twisting his sharp features and she smiles victorious. “I have half a mind to leave you like this.” She says and for a moment, he dreads she’s being serious.

“Luckily for you, I’m just as greedy as you are.”

In a swift moment she nestles between his legs and he’s moaning loudly before he even has time to register anything, except her lips locking around his tip, sucking so harshly he thinks she’s going to utterly drain him.

She starts a steady pace, just as he likes it, taking all of him, down to the base untili it hits the back of her throat. The chains clink and clink against the chair as he twists his wrists, bucking his hips harshly to fuck her mouth as deeper as he can, enthralled by the lewd sounds she’s making.

“Gods, yes…” he moans watching carefully as he slips in and out of her “Yes…just like that, just a little more…”

She feels him tense inside her mouth, she feels him tense all over and she knows he’s dangerously close. She stops for a moment, licking her lips and looks at him. “Don’t tell me you’re going to break the rule.”

Aemond groans with frustration, not having the faintest idea of what she’s talking about. He isn’t even sure he remembers his own name. He is just blood boiling and bones so tense they’re close to snap.

“What was it again?” she asks “Ah, yes. My seed belongs in your cunt.” She leaves a trail of soft kisses on his hard flesh and he whimpers once more. “My ever-romantic husband.”

“Fuck the rule, you’re driving me mad. Let me come.”

“Ask nicely.”

“Please.” He begs “Please let me come in your mouth.”

The Princess is merciful enough to grant his wish. She engulfs him once more and he moans loudly for how sensitive he is. She picks up the pace and pride washes over her, pooling between her legs, as she sees him writhing beneath her, moaning with his mouth open, eye closed shut and the chains clink like a frantic bell while he twists his scratched red wrists.

He curses and mumbles nonsense under his breath until he stills completely letting out a long and loud grunt, spilling abundantly inside her mouth. She swallows to the last drop, gently sucking the pulsing tip.

The chains are finally still and silent. He’s breathing hard and short with his head thrown back, staring at the ceiling without seeing anything.

That is until he winces, feeling her hand on his sensitive skin. He raises his head to look at her, almost puzzled. She smiles slyly, moving her hand up and down. “Did you think it was over?”

If he did not feel so spent, he would be utterly thrilled and definitely flattered.

“Seven Hells, woman, give me a bre—” words die on his tongue wiped out by a hoarse gasp as she takes him in her mouth again. But this time, she sucks so slowly that Aemond actually whines in pain. And she looks straight at him, while her head bobs, relishing every moment, watching as he comes undone beneath her, babbling pleads, begging her to stop and a moment later to keep going. His voice is breaking, cracking as he whines and whimpers, poised between pain and pleasure.

Soon though, she hears more whines of pleasure than pain, as gets harder and harder in the hot haven of her mouth.

Suddenly she stops, and just stares, savoring the sight before her. The cruel Aemond One Eye, chained to a chair in a mess of sweat and sobs.

“Untie me…” he says, trying to make it sound like an order, but it’s a pale imitation of his usual tone. His words are slow, sluggish.

“You are not in charge here, my love.”

“Then quit the act and fuck me.”

Perhaps, if she wasn’t so equally desperate for him, if she wasn’t leaking between her thighs, she would have prolonged this torture, this excruciatingly sweet punishment. But she can’t take it anymore.

She climbs on him, and it takes her the least effort to let him slide inside her. He slips his back further down that chaise so that his hips are angled just enough to thrust into her, fast and steady.

“Oh Gods—yes!” she moans throwing her head back, frantically bouncing on him.

“D’you miss this?” he rasps, with a tinge of his usual infuriating confidence “Did you think of this when you touched yourself? Missed my cock inside you, hmm?”

She clamps a hand on his mouth to shush him and he bites her palm, thrusting even harder, making her whine loudly until her throat goes dry and her sight go white. They fall in a wild frenzy, utterly intoxicated with each other, leaving bites and marks all over, sealing one inside the other with a curse much more dangerous than any kind of witchcraft.

They come together, as she clutches his head to her chest so tight that he can barely breathe. He rests his head on the chair, slowly catching his breath, and she nestles against him, still sank on him.

He moves his hands to touch her, wincing for his aching wrists.

“Untie me now, would you?” he asks softly on the crown of her head.

“I’m not sure.” She muses against his chest. “I’ve quite enjoyed having you at my mercy.”

“Who said I didn’t?”

She moves her head to look at him, a little smile starting to light up her face and he looks down at her lips, mirroring her.

“Besides, it’s your turn.”

She raises her eyebrows fighting back a smile. “Now?”

“Haven’t you heard? No man is so accursed as me.”

PART III

#a curse for a curse #liv (in la vida loca)#aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond x wife reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x wife reader #aemond smut #hotd fic #house of the dragon #aemond one eye

2K notes · View notes

edgeray · 6 days

Text

"FIGHT SO DIRTY BUT YOU LOVE SO SWEET

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth" - Teeth, 5 Seconds of Summer

MAFIA AU Arlecchino x Reader Oneshot | Part 2 of "LATE NIGHT DEVIL, PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME"

A/N - As promised, here is the (albeit, very late) 250 follower special. Art by M-Alexa. Content Warnings / Info - Arlecchino uses they/them pronouns, sugggestiveness, pet names, borderline smut, no feminine pronouns for reader, 10.7k words

Monsters are very real. You know that they’re tangible because they’ve touched you in ways so intimate you could delude yourself in being familiar with them despite how icy their touch is. What draws the line between monster and human? You can't say anymore, not when involuntary sensations and uncontrollable emotions have entangled you with the Fatui, the Fourth Harbinger to be exact, a monster in every right, and yet…

You used to think that the line was cut-throat, a visible drawn etching in the sand–so easy to see when someone passed through. As obvious as their appearance once they've entered through the doorway. It was evident in those that were painted in wretched and jagged scars like their skin was a blank canvas. Perceptible in those that too rarely stifled their brash volatility, taking pride in their bruteness and their trigger-happiness. Apparent in those with their sly-eyed, piercing scrutiny, silent as the dead they were, yet it was usually among these archetypes whose power reigned the most throughout. Discernable in those that can wear many faces, spilling a hundred lies from their lips with as much effort as it takes for them to breathe; typically, they were as inviting as a puppy guiding a lamb to a den of wolves.

You couldn’t discern anymore what kind of monster Lord Arlecchino matched. Was it that they were never a monster to begin with, or is it just your irrationality muddying what should be the obvious? It should alarm you that your mind doesn't perceive them as such anymore, despite knowing so little of the danger they grasp underneath their fingertips. How quick they were to wrap their hand around your throat, tantalizing you with each scrape of carmine nails against your kiss-bruised skin.

But monsters are incapable of love. You think you've been fooled in believing in it when they trace your body with their touch, but then again, what monster's touch can be akin to that of an angel’s? Maybe angels themselves were also monsters. It's how you knew they were the most fatal mistake you could have made but you remain unapologetic shamelessly. Why should you, for indulging in something so tasteful? Is it not human desire to be selfish, to satisfy oneself? It's only natural to savor sweet fruit.

Their touch still lingers, on every inch of skin their depraved and gluttonous they could reach, the heat from their contact ever present like bubbling magma underneath the surface. Even after they're gone, it still tingles with sweltering desire and comes with the vivid image of their imprintment on you. How you remembered their wet lips against your neck, teeth sunk in and the rough drag of their tongue across, while their fingers edged closer to the waistband of your fishnets. Oh, how you remembered the delicious grinding of their hips against yours, a coarse friction that sends shocks of pleasure through you as they swallow every wanton cry from your lips and stifle any movements from you with a tight grasp of your waist. As red stained marks were stamped over the expanse of your bare clavicle, you remember a particular sultry chuckle from them when they captured your wrists in one hand effortlessly, willing you unable to touch them even when you had begged to do so. How cruel of them to deprive you of what you so avidly coveted, but you think their touch is rewarding enough to dismiss the one-sidedness of the physical intimacy.

Though, you hesitate to call it physical intimacy. Somehow, the touches that lit your heart ablaze the most only scrape the surface of indecency, as nothing transpired beyond kisses and love marks. It was the first time you left a private room relatively untouched, and though they had definitely teased you of it, no action slipped lower than your collarbone–not even a single piece of clothing peeled from your body. It leaves an unsettling, complex bundle of desires: wanting more and less of their touch simultaneously: you long for their touch, to feel that addicting fervor again, for your own unchaste gratification, however, having not been used as a tool for sensual fulfillment, you almost find it…nearly comforting–freeing may be the right word. A relief from what was usually an obligation. It’s… strange, is the least you can account it to. You’ve never wanted more from a client. Every past one has been just a means for income, hardly even considered cheap entertainment, and yet… you find your thoughts returning back to them, ensnaring your mind and plaguing your consciousness with memories of your two’s ‘unchastity.’

Lord Arlecchino, the Knave, the Fourth Harbinger of the Fatui, stole your thoughts just like a thief in the night, the ghost of their whispered words frequently haunting you. “‘I think I’ll keep you to myself after this,’” they had said with such certainty, and that voice would repeat indefinitely in your ears. For the most inexplicable reason, you found yourself eager, having believed them, however, you quickly discovered how naive you were–foolish to have ever hoped in such a shallow assertion and absurd to have wished for that in the first place. How dim of you to trust words influenced by fleeting ardor, for allowing irrationality to creep up in your vulnerable state of intoxication from them. They had left your body that night, with little to no effort, unsatisfied yet marked by them entirely, remnants of their presence still scattered on your body. How cruel, and yet very characteristic of them, though the latter recognition almost physically burned you to admit. A burn that you couldn’t quite associate one feeling to it.

You think the feeling is akin to abandonment, maybe betrayal, but you couldn’t fault Arlecchino–not when you were the one to have fallen for their lies. In the heat of the moment, their amorous words had done nothing less but stroke an ember within your body, fueling your own feverish arousal, amplifying your experience, but that was all it was. Abandonment couldn’t be correct, not when you were never theirs in the first place and you had willingly offered yourself to them. Nor can betrayal suit it; there was no foundation of trust built between the two of you either. You should have known that trust, among your clients especially, is as flimsy as a sheet of paper. But what can explain this obstinate hollowness in your chest, unable to be filled no matter how many meaningless acts of intimacy you throw at it, or how many fantasies you’d delude yourself once you're in the solace being underneath your covers? It’s a clawing irritant that occupies your mind when you’ve found yourself alone, seeking for the phantom presence of them.

You miss them–at the very least, their touch–you realize belatedly, and for that you couldn’t consider yourself to be more pathetic. Never before in your experience have you ever thought of a previous client but you suppose every day is an opportunity to discover something new. Attachments were a sure way to kill yourself in this business, in the underground. You had intended on keeping yourself alive, but here you are. How degrading of you, you internally admonished, fool, fool, fool.

What was it about them that had captivated you so much? Perhaps it was their unique charm. Curt and sharp as they were, you could not help but admit there was something alluring about their words, the authority that dripped from them, instilling you to do nothing but obey them. Perhaps it was their captivating appearance, a masterful and tasteful blend of ruggedness with class, snow white hair adorned with ebony streaks framing their porcelain-like face, but their stature was nothing of that case. Though lean as they were, from the rare prodding touches they allowed you where you could feel their toned physique, you can tell strength and power laid underneath their fingertips; if not from that, then perhaps how easily they nearly suffocated you with one hand alone, or how they had easily hoisted you up and against the wall. The red crossed pupils were nothing like you’ve ever seen and underneath that ever-piercing behold you’re little more than a timid prey before a hungry beast.

Your interactions with Lord Arlecchino were like being teared by the fangs of a voracious wolf. Every delicate sense–touch, hearing, sight, smell, and taste–pecked away little by little until all you could register in your lust-brimmed mind was their entirety. Sapping away your strength and resistance, impelling you to submit your all to them, through their every feverish touch; deafening your eardrums with each wet noise that followed their lips; dizzying you with their faint, earthy cologne; your eyes drinking in their appearance with every chance; and oh, their sickeningly sweet taste–far too depraved and far too addictive. You’re breathless everytime you think of it. When they finally released you, peeling away from your form, your body looked as if it had just barely escaped a maiming from a wild animal: teeth indents, light scratches, and red blotches of their lipstick flecked your upper torso and face.

They parted from you hours into the early morning. It felt like they had been stealing your breath for hours. You couldn’t count how many times their lips met yours, but it was enough where you could memorize the texture of them, of their warmth and sweetness. You couldn’t recall the duration the two of you spent locked with each others’ lips, but you could recall the various positions they had you. One such position, you muse with clenched thighs, was when they towered above your lying form on the couch, a bent knee in between your legs and their arms on either side of your head, planting their palms onto the cushion underneath you while they descended down to capture kiss after kiss from you. You remembered the tickling sensation of their ivory and raven strands that fell on your cheek, and how you raised a gentle hand to brush them away. In retaliation, what could only be described as something in between a growl and a grunt came from the Harbinger’s throat, one of their hands moved away from its resting place besides your head and clasped with yours, before firmly planting it against the sofa–a clear lesson not to touch them so casually, to which you smiled cheekily. They stole that smile away with little wasted time using a harsh nip on your bottom lip.

And then, like that, they left.

A week has gone by–more accurately, six days–since they had last appeared, and in that period, you’ve yet seen them. You worked consecutively, opting to even neglect your free work day, with the hopes of catching a glimpse. Ultimately, however, your efforts bore no fruit; not a single of your customers was the white-haired devilish angel that plagued your thoughts. White-hot shame and crushing disappointment grew with each passing day. The first unspoken word of advice amongst your fellow dancers was that attachments to customers are never worthwhile: even frequent customers disappear, and if you are lucky, you discover why. The reasons ranged from death to simply boredom, but the latter is always the most devastating, an agonizing reminder of how insignificant your life can be.

You had hoped to consider yourself among the smarter of your coworkers. You thought yourself immune to those follies, impenetrable to the charms and advances of all your customers–none to date had made your heart palpitate the way it did in the Harbinger's presence. It's unfathomable that you allow yourself to sink to such depths, to find yourself coveting for something you shouldn't, for something you can't have, for something that is beyond the likes of you. Convincing yourself with certainty, you were sure that you were above the idea of ardor–percase, your mistake was appraising yourself of just that. Now, you struggle against the very woes your coworkers forewarned you about.

Lying conscious on your wretched mattress, the cycle of rue repeats internally, battling against the drowsiness from your day's work. The thin and tattered sheets do little to provide you with the warmth you seek, and the lumpy, yet simultaneously, feathersoft pillow fails to ease your neck. The discomfort is only heightened by the darkness that plunges your chamber, like an abyss that's consumed you whole– just like your thoughts.

You urge your mind to settle, to calm a roaring yearning forever left unsatisfied, for even a single minute of slumber but it's futile. Once more, your thoughts drift to your angel donned in scarlet–divine touches and blest hymns. If touching this bit of heaven garners this cruel punishment of eternal desire, then you will cling onto these phantom traces of theirs until the gates of hell swallow you whole.

Soft, thudding noises approach you from the foot of your bed’s direction. Lifting your gaze to the door, the question comes of whose presence this is. Already having worked your shift, there is the possibility your manager came to you because of a unique request–one that he himself couldn't refuse. A weight manifests in your stomach, unease slinking towards your thoughts; this is your off-time after all and . There’s the foreboding knock on your door, before the knob turns with a click. Your manager walks through, his short, plump silhouette before you–

Your oxygen is teared from your lips, making you breathless as an imposing aura overtakes your entire form, as if gravity grew exponentially stronger just then, pushing down on you with the goal of crushing you until nothingness. Your lungs burn from the deprivation of air and a prickling sensation coats your skin, the combined effect making you tremble like a meek sheep before prey. Their footsteps as they enter your dwelling increases the pressure on your shoulders, forcing you to shrink into yourself. This commanding presence is far from being foreign, there are only a few customers–mafia members–that come to mind that can inflict this kind of dominion. Frozen in place, your heart quickly halts as your sight takes in the person before you, a dawning recognition falls upon you: this isn’t your manager. Instead, what replaces him, is a taller, leaner stature, vaguely familiar but distinctly not him. Plunged in darkness, you couldn’t discern any more details, and the unknown identity induces every hair on your limbs to stand up.

And yet, despite the unrest that forms inside of you, for an inexplicable reason, there comes a lilt in your heart, your roseate thoughts returning to one individual with a dire need.

The person makes no movements nor noise, but they are certainly aware of your presence. They remain in place near the doorway, as if prompting you for any action. Yet you’re too unsure, too cautious to act. With each passing second of silence, the air thickens, making it increasingly harder to not sink into the covers of your bed and allow your blanket to swallow you whole. Disbelief settles within you as the two of you linger in silence. Your whirling thoughts start to justify those doubts, crushing that meager hope inside of you. It is not them, because you have been deceived, tossed aside like a broken doll, no longer of entertainment or use to them; abandoned by someone who never truly considered you as theirs in the first place.

Still, you couldn’t discern the reason for the palpitation of your heart at that moment–isit out of fear or anticipation? Likely, it's a combination of both. It hums in your ear, your pulse faint but tangible and steady, and a chill crawls up your spine, eliciting you to tremble in place like a mouse about to be preyed upon. Becoming more certain that they are not the Harbinger, terror worms into your mind and inflicts upon your heart. Your heart rate skyrockets as if the beating organ is thumping out of your chest, deafening you with nothing but the erratic drumming. Have they come to end you? Have you displeased a customer so much that they intend to make you repay the price with your life?

It is a simple utterance. It is a single word that echoes through the room, one syllable that rings through your ears. And yet, it is this sound that rips your heart from a cold, drowning, lonely abyss and plunges it into the warm, welcoming depths of a familiar company. It shreds any lingering doubt within you like claws would to paper, eradicating it as if it was nothing more than a miniscule pest. In your veins does your pulse sing, humming a delightful hymn, the returning sensation of warmth fills you. Had you been anyone else besides yourself viewing this, you would call it a pathetic sight, but in this whisper of time, a wild inferno of your desires is lit and swarms over your mind. With just one simple utterance, you had turned from a scared, cornered mouse into an awaiting puppy–tail wagging and ears perked–for its approaching owner.

“Doll.”

You know of that voice far too well, for only having heard of it for one night. A persistent, almost tantalizing voice that creeps into your dreams at all hours of the day, murmuring with an alluring lilt the same pet name in your ear like the Harbinger had done six nights prior. It is the voice of a seraph under the guise of a demon. And when an ethereal being beckons you, you have no other obligation but to respond.

“Sir?” The softest of whispers escape you, bated breath evident in your voice. You worry that the barely audible title doesn't reach their ears, but then the soft thumping of stilettos reverberate through the room, matching the pace of your rapid heart, nearing you, until they appear by your bedside. Upclose, you swear that red x’s glint dimly. An obscure shadow casts over you and the silhouette of a hand reaches out; their palm grazes against your throat as slender fingers seize your chin to tilt your head up–a familiar hold that involuntarily soothes you given the sigh you release.

“I told you, didn't I?” They say with an alluring lilt, a telling sign of a smirk on their features. They stroke their thumb over your bottom lip, before pressing down. Involuntarily, your tongue peeks out to lap at their thumb pad. Your cheeks swarm with an unbearable calidity, which spreads to the rest of your body, suffocating flames that scorch your entirety.

“I said that I'd keep you as mine. Or did you forget?”

Forgetting their words was as plausible as you learning how to fly. You stopped yourself from carelessly revealing how their discrete promise haunts your ears, ringing through your thoughts at any spontaneous minute; you had no desire of disclosing just how much of an influence they have on you–whether that was to persuade them or yourself more. Instead you offer them a wordless shake of your head.

Arlecchino lets out a content hum, before their hand slides down from your chin to your arm, grasping it with a bit of firmness.

“Come with me, Doll. Such a quality doll such as yourself deserves a suitable dollhouse, is that not right? This,” You assume that they gesture to the room from the shuffle of clothes. “is hardly fitting for you, the sad state that it is.”

Your heart beat falters for a moment, as contemplation befalls you, attempting to properly comprehend their words. You surmise that the Harbinger is offering you for a new accommodation but you ponder the cost–surely, they would not provide it out of the goodness of their heart, and you were uncertain if they even held such a thing. As delightful as they are, forgetting your place in relation to others will only spell hazard for you. A ‘doll'–whatever that pertains to–is the service they likely seek from you, and you have a few estimates as to what it is.

It's dreadfully tempting. A chance to escape from your current workplace, but what of your wellbeing? At least, here, you could sustain yourself, shelter, food, and warmth are provided, but could you expect the same with the Harbinger? If you were to come with them, would you only be pulled deeper into the underground? Was the mafia a company you wanted to linger around? As you continue to swat back the clouds of infatuation, rationality returning to you, there are too many unknowns to recklessly comply with. Then again, what would the Harbinger do to you, if you were to refuse them? For now, you're in their favor, but who is to say you will not lose it in some erratic way?

Perhaps they will grow bored of you. Perhaps you won't satisfy them enough. Or, perhaps, they have even more nefarious intentions. The mind of a criminal is fickle and, more often than not, unstable, and in the first place, such individuals are rarely credible. If they were to promise beneficial conditions for your being, there is no way to ensure they keep to their word. Your debt, at the very least, serves as a form of protection: the nitery wouldn't be able to work you until they regain every penny you borrowed if you were dead. Arlecchino, however? They have no need to.

“You must be reconsidering my offer. That's to be expected, of course,” Arlecchino interrupts your train of thought, not a single break from their calculated way of words; it almost makes you shiver at how well they seem to read you. It truly is no wonder why they’re the fourth among the Harbingers, they truly are cunning. Do they have something to offer you for additional encouragement?

“I have no doubt that some unfortunate circumstance must have brought you to an establishment like this. With that knowledge, hm…” Arlecchino pauses, before you feel their hand leaves your arm. The darkness of the room provides little information on what they're doing, until one of their coarse hands slides underneath your palm, lifting it slightly. Cool metal slides over your left thumb.

“This…”

“Yes, it's a ring,” the mafia leader confirms. “More specifically, it is my ring.”

You trace your right thumb over the ring, feeling some sort of round jewel over it. Underneath your thumb pad, is a small etching, which you trace.

“From now on, this ring is yours. While it's not visible as of right now, etched onto it is the symbol of the Tsaritsa. It symbolizes my Harbinger status,” they continue, and you whip your attention towards them.

“Why would–” You halt yourself before you say anything impulsive. “Thank you for this, Sir, but… if it is of such significance…”

“–why am I giving this to you? Consider this an investment. Here is my preposition to you. Come with me, and you will be fed, sheltered, and spoiled by me–my protection and overseeing of your health is, undoubtedly implied. If you are displeased with my treatment, you can leave freely, anytime, anywhere, and nothing will be asked of you–not so much as an explanation for your departure. In fact, at this very moment, you could leave right now. I will not stop you.

“The ring, being the mark of a Harbinger, will almost certainly protect you from anyone sensible enough not to touch those under the Tsaritsa’s grace. Beyond that, you could always sell it to a trustworthy jewelry inspector; I know of one if you need a reference. I guarantee you that what you will earn is enough for you to live comfortably in society for at least a decade or so.”

“You would…” You stop to recollect your thoughts, as your body shakes, brimming with thrill. Your mind is still trying to encompass all of the capabilities this very ring contained. It may very well be worth ten times your entire life, and yet you possessed something such as this. With this, you could leave your hellish life behind. Everything you have always wanted could be right in your grasp now. You could finally enjoy a luxurious life, just by yourself.

“You would really give this to me? Something so precious?” You question breathlessly.

“Yes. If you would consider my preposition. So?”

A beguiled smile makes its way onto your lips.

—

The existence of monsters should not comfort you, but yet it does. No, that is wrong–there is just one exception. Having heard of such hushed stories, warning you to be wary of such shadowy beasts, the ones that lurk in unsuspecting corners and stalk the most innocuous of lambs, nonetheless, the notion of who can be considered as a ‘monster’ has been shattered by one individual. A monster in every right, except in any respect to you, can a diabolical angel still be deemed as such? Do they deserve to bear such a title, when every breath exhaled sends welcomed shivers down your spine and every contacted surface is blessed under their touch?

Perhaps you are still one of those very lambs for them. There is the possibility that you are just another sheep ensnared by a charming wolf, but then it raises the question of why you haven't been devoured yet. You have no doubt of the appetite that such a beast like them would carry, but nonetheless you remain. Will your time for slaughter come? Like herded sheep, you're fenced in, grazing through the grassland placidly, but how much longer will your freedom and life extend?

Does it still make you a sheep, if the most miniscule, internal sector of you would indulge in being devoured?

It's something you could not help yourself from wondering, even with the graciousness from Arlecchino. They've taken care of you far better than the nitery had ever, in the span of the few weeks you've agreed to stay with them, serving as their ‘doll.’ As restrictive and degrading as the role sounds, actuality does not propose the same. You're still tied to the Fourth Fatui Harbinger–come when they beckon, obey what they will–but you have a daunting amount of individual freedom you previously could never afford. Necessities, such as a living space, meals, and clothing, are all provided, lavishly, unlike your previous work environment.

Arlecchino personally had a room selected for you, a sizable, decorated chamber that housed a Queen bed, along with an ensuite bathroom. Restful sleep comes easy to you now that you've acquired a plush bed that dwarfs your figure. You've been spoiled with not only nourishing, but delectable dishes that you've never encountered before. Not only that, but they were made and served by personal chefs of the Harbinger. Upon arriving at your new accommodation, your wardrobe was brimming with all types of clothing that was suited to your size in all sorts of colors.

Perhaps it is because you haven't received such treatment before, but if you had such audacity to assume, you would compare yourself to that of a monarch's favored consort.

Your work as a ‘doll’ doesn't consist of much–that is what makes it more perplexing to you. It's not like any job or gig–you're not paid but it is no less rewarding. A ‘doll,’ from what you can presume with what they've requested of you, is a sexual partner, for when they're in need of ‘relief.’ Though you'd like for your relationship with Arlecchino to be perfectly encapsulated as just that, even that fails to entail entirely of what it is. This statement comes apparent with the case that you've yet engaged with them intimately.

You cannot deny that with this comes brewing frustration and consolation inside of you.

In the few weeks having lived at the same residence as them, which also doubles as a base of operations for the Fatui, there's quite a few things you learn of the Knave. Their assertive presence alone commands the room upon entering, and it is felt by every single soul in their proximity. Apathetically and brutally effective is how they function, no matter their audience, though strangely you are an exception to that. Stoic as they are in every aspect of their life–whether that handling mafia matters or simply eating–they have shown acts of mercy and repayment towards their subjects, especially the younger ones underneath them. Requital seems to be one of their core values, a quality that is often paired with their demand for control. Just as they oversee all around them, they themselves are not beyond their charge.

You see the discrete conflict in their eyes before each press of their lips against yours, and in their twitching fingers, which tremble in the same reluctant manner as yours does, always lingering around your waist. Every kiss is greedy and ravenous, with the intention of stealing every bit of morality within you as they draw you in, but their touch is notably neither of the two. The Fourth Harbinger exercises an awkward balance between restraint and surrender of desires–as if they craved further connection from you, but you dare not to assume so flatteringly of yourself. For this reason alone, you do not question the Knave, but it is no less vexing.

Beasts like themselves do not hold themselves back. They are voracious and all-consuming, they are merciless and eager in their plunders, second to none in selfishness and brutality. If Arlecchino is truly among them, then their behavior proves to only be baffling. If you cannot expect the worst from them like all monsters are, then what can you predict from them? For what reason do they restrain themselves? Why would they limit themselves when they have more than enough authority and force to take what they desire. You wish you could know, if only to end this constant, frustrating game of desire that you are losing.

You don't understand the casual gestures that imply something more romantic if you didn't know better. The invitations to dinner, the outings with them, the chaste kisses and fleeting touches. In each interaction, you have to remind yourself of your status–that you still hold little value, no matter the change of management, and at every drop of dawn, when you lie alone in your bed, that hollow ache sweeps over you and engulfs you whole into a riptide. What more use are you than entertainment just as empty as yourself?

Still, it is irrefutable that you hold a certain attraction to them. You covet for their contact and gaze to loiter over the expanse of your body, for their voice to always ring through your ears, for the time between the two of you to stretch past infinity; it soon occured to you that something lies deeper than just lust for the Harbinger, something you did not want to acknowledge but it has prolonged since after the first night you met them. Though Arlecchino does not place a label on the relationship, even for as foolish and swayed as you are, you could not dream beyond the contacts that hold no significance or the words that contain no promises. The knowledge of this places a heavy ache in your chest, one that pings every now and then with every meeting with the Harbinger. Knowing how futile it is, a part of yourself wants to strangle these yearnings, so that all that is choked out is a shallow, physical urge, and you no longer drown in the abyss that is Arlecchino.

It is only natural that when you harbor such complexities towards them, sexual desires, too, are a part of said twisted conglomeration of hazy emotions and affections. How many times were you in need of relief, murmuring out their name as you intensified your movements in between your legs, only to be left empty and disgruntled? If you had to give an estimate, it would be a dozen or so times. While your circumstance could no longer be judged by typical morality, the very act of yearning feels sinful, a wrongdoing, a refutal of your values. No lamb lusts over a wolf, after all, but this knowledge doesn't lessen the ache.

So, like the meek sheep that you are, you say nothing, even when Arlecchino once again requests your presence for dinner–through a relayed message from their subordinate of course. You wonder if they're aware of the very effects they imposed on you, how the simple act of inviting you to dinner makes both your heart swim and sink simultaneously.

You knock on their office door, waiting for permission until you're asked inside. You enter with a brief awed gasp, greeted by the usual suited appearance of Arlecchino. They sit behind their desk and donning a stark midnight blazer, over an ash-colored and blood-crimson vest paired with a matching loose tie underneath the collar of their white buttoned dress shirt. A lit cigarette is perched between their lips and a pair of black reading glasses nestled on the bridge of their nose. Upon your entrance, they reach up, wrenching the cigarette from their mouth to snuff it out, rubbing the butt of the stick against the ashtray beside them.

Near instantaneously, your stomach coils with an insufferable fervor, and you had to suppress the urge to squeeze your thighs, unless you wanted their observant eye to notice. You avert your gaze from the handsome sight to hide your flustered expression. Unfortunately, your efforts are in vain when in the corner of your eye, the ends of their frown twitch.

They instruct you to sit at the chair across from theirs with the motion of their eyes, and you take your seat at their desk, two plates of food sitting on the wooden surface.

“You have no issue with shellfish, do you?” Arlecchino inquires, their eyes scanning over your figure for any objections.

“Not that I know of, sir,” you answer. The mafia leader pushes a glass with a crimson liquid in it–wine, you presume. You take it. Arlecchino is an avid wine lover from what you've discerned during past dinners; although you've done this quite a few times, the thought is dizzying of how you're holding a wine that's more than likely a thousand dollars per bottle. Like with all the previous privileges the Harbinger gifted you, this is yet again another lucrative item. It only makes you wonder to what extent the Fatui's influence goes to be able to afford such expenses on ordinary things. You swirl the drink in your hand before taking a tentative sip. Each time you drink, it’s akin to dumping gold into the sea–wasted extravagance on the likes of you.

The wine sours the taste in your mouth but you don't make it apparent.

Dinner remains an awkward constant, nearly unnerving. You tether between the line of being cautious and being casual. Their methodical brutalism discourages small talk from them–given the fact that they favor intention and meaningful gestures–seeming perfectly content in the silence while you stew in chagrin. With this comes their manner of eating. They eat robotically, as if the gourmet foreign meals are nothing but nourishment, and perhaps such trivialities are of no matter to them, only further emphasizing the stark statuses of you two. Their request, however, made them seem almost eager–as eager as one could possibly be for someone so stoic– given how they requested for your presence as soon as possible. Perhaps what they look most earnestly for is observing you. You're torn between thinking they enjoy your discomfort underneath their gaze, or simply find you that fascinating. Either of them escape common reasoning.

You opt to just eat with your head down to avoid their piercing gaze throughout your meal, the only noise filling the room is the clinking of metal utensils. Struggling with removing the lobster meat from its tail, you fumble with the fork, an abashment swelling in your cheeks with the knowledge that Arlecchino was most definitely observing your tactlessness. You’ve never had shellfish prior to your stay with Arlecchino, and that was more pronounced by your lackluster attempts of stripping the shrimp shell. You attempted to learn through observation of Arlecchino, who utilizes cutlery with their typical efficiency and gracefulness. Even in the simple act of eating, they are refined in their precise and minimal movements. Unfortunately for you, that poise cannot be obtained through just viewing.

A pale hand extends and rests on top of your hand holding the fork, the sudden contact ripping you from your thoughts and your shoulders tense. Glancing up from the shellfish, Arlecchino's ever so puncturing gaze is set on you. The thumping organ in your chest pauses for a beat once your eyes lock, manifesting a silence between the two of you. There is not a hint of irritance in their expression, and perhaps you are mistaken, but there is the gleam of amusement in their pupils.

“Allow me,” they finally voice, their tone on the edge of venomous allure, and you could only comply immediately. Placing down the cutlery onto the plate and pulling your hands away, you expect for them to pick up the silverware again. Instead, they firmly hold down the lobster tail with one hand, the other hand pinching the succulent flesh before shredding it effortlessly from the shell with their. Such an uncouth movement that almost seems unfitting from the Harbinger, however, simultaneously, you cannot see their crude method out of place. The chunk of meat is then dipped in the aioli.

“Open,” Arlecchino commands, and you swallow thickly, your mouth inexplicably arid in a single moment. Once again, your easily influenced heart pounds resoundingly in your ears, no doubt induced by the most miniscule of moments from the Harbinger. Their red-crossed pupils stab into you, expectancy in them, wordlessly urging you. You open your mouth and they lift the piece of lobster to your lips, sliding their fingers and the shellfish flesh inside. You clamp down on the flesh while Arlecchino fishes out her digits, pulling away with glistening liquid on the tips of her index and thumb.

The sight makes your stomach flutter with a sensation unlike any other, an inferno emerges in your pit paired with an indisputable throbbing between your legs that makes you clench your hands into fists–a desperate attempt for restraint of your impulses. Cheeks flared from both arousal and humiliation of your indecent thoughts, you mindlessly chew on the meat, absentmindedly staring at the Harbinger while combating the vulgarity within your mind. Your liberated imagination reacts, substituting the fluid for something of a similar look that originates from a different orifice, before you banish the impurities away, remediate your thrashing heart before it threatens to collapse in itself. Finally, you swallow a bit of shellfish down your throat.

Arlecchino hums, satisfied, before they probe your lips with their slick fingers, intent, almost predatory, gaze upon you, and their pupils glint with a faint crimson.

“Clean them,” they order, and oh, if they knew what those two words do to you. Hot spikes of arousal pricks you everywhere in your body, and your loins grow damper, pulsing with need.

You part your lips obediently as they insert two of their fingers. Your warm, moist mouth wraps around them. The pads of their fingers press firmly against your tongue, and compliantly, you drag the slimy surface of your organ on the undersides, lapping at the faint taste of lobster with remnants of the aioli, before swirling your tongue around to coat the entirety with your saliva. A disgusting moist squelch flees from your mouth as you continue the ministrations of your tongue, gentle and deliberate traces to make sure that their fingers are properly cleansed.

A sudden idea comes to you, a dose of boldness injected into your veins as you continue locking their eyes with them. If they are so amused by your performance, then surely they would enjoy a little show? You silently wish for the mafia leader's grace before you act– perhaps you'd be forgiven? Better yet, you hope that you will be rewarded. They're acutely aware of the mischief in your eyes when their eyebrows lift, but you do not allow them to anticipate for long.

You hollow your cheeks and suction around their fingers while intensifying your tongue's movements. To add to it, you lean forward, slipping their fingers deeper until your lips reach the base of their final knuckle, nearly gagging from your impulsive action. Still, it does not dissuade you, and you continue your behavior, aware this very gesture was the epitome of playing with fire. More slick sounds erupt from your suggestive acts.

You scrutinize their facial expression for their reaction in an attempt to gauge their response, and quite notably, their pupils are darkened. Instead of the previous ruby hue, they are now a deep scarlet, bordering on maroon, and are brimming with an emotion so intense you feel as though you could be devoured whole just by their dark abysses. Their usually maintained and composed face is cracked by the parted lips of theirs, as if they were in awe of your impudence, and the slightest knit in between their brows, implying more than their regular apathy. You have drawn their attention just as you wanted, but now you fear the consequences.

“Feeling bold, are we, doll?” They murmur in a low, tantalizing purr as they extract their fingers from you with a wet pop, and you nearly whine from the loss of contact. A dribble of spit escapes from the corner of your lips and they wipe it away with their thumb. Their middle and index finger gleam enticingly as your slaver drips down. Bringing their hand to their lips, they reward you with their own show, a slow deliberate act of tracing their fingers with their own tongue, their attention still fixated on you throughout its entirety. Watching the organ's motions further stirs the boiling desire in your groin. The Harbinger never fails to tempt you, provoking a visceral reaction from you with just the minutest gesture.

They must know. They must know how deeply influenced you are by them. You make your allure to them unmistakable, their actions signify their awareness, and they use this to further taunt you, to further bait you into their trap. For what reason, you're not privy to, but they prey upon your desire for them, stringing you along on for their entertainment. Are they aware that this game is comparable to torture to you? Like dangling fresh greens in front of a dying, starved lamb, your ache is palpable to only you. To long for something that you cannot. It is tormenting and demeaning, though maybe that is suitable for a monster.

A devil in the guise of an angel truly. Maybe they are purely enjoying your suffering, knowing that your every action can only be done by their whim. You have fallen in their hands, utterly dependent and reliant on them but no less grateful. A deceived sheep in the claws of a cackling wolf. It is a game to them, you are just a toy, and you would be foolish to think otherwise. So expectedly cruel, and yet it crushes your heart. You are tired of the charades, of your affections hardly acknowledged and no doubt unreciprocated, and you are tired of how their presence plagues your thoughts entirely. They are eager to use you just as they had always wanted, a ‘doll,’ something willing to twist and bend to their desires.

You wish that you are more than just a doll. That your skin is not made of plastic, that your limbs are not so manipulatable, that the attire that you wear cannot be so easily altered based on the spontaneous desires of someone else. You do not want to take only what you've been given. Is it hopeless, brazen, to want more despite your place? Does it make you nothing more than simple-minded and naive, to wish that their touch expressed beyond the voraciousness and obscenity?

“Did you enjoy it?” Arlecchino pries you away from your thoughts, and you flick your eyes towards them. Blinking, you finally recall the context, and fumble with your words.

“Ah, uh, yes,” you stammer, forcing a small smile, berating yourself for your blundering response. “The lobster was great. Thank you so much, Sir.”

Their pupils still remain on you, hardened with their usual frigid gaze. “Then why do you appear so downcast? Is the meal not to your liking? I will make sure the chefs prepare something else for you.”

Your blood freezes and you go wide-eyed. Of course, they would notice your absent-mindedness, you have still yet controlled your emotions. Reprimanding yourself internally, the desire to scream out boils within you, like a pot that threatens to boil over–you want to exclaim that they are the reason you are like this, why you are in a constant state of conflict and anguish, why your heart can never rest when their presence is near. Instead, you find your throat caught in a trap, preventing any words from escaping, and any voice you try to grapple slips through your fingers. The very notion of requesting for more is insolent; had they not provided you enough? Ingrate is what you would be if you vocalize anything.

Shaking your head, you reply with, “No, it's okay. There was nothing wrong with my meal. I was just preoccupied with my thoughts for a little bit, I apologize, sir.”

“Please inform me what it was that was entertaining you for so long.” The implore leaves their lips as they tilt their head, propping their elbow against the table and leaning their cheek into their palm. Their attention is utterly consumed by you.

Your lip quivers. So many unspokens lay on your tongue, awaiting for an emergence that never comes. ‘You’ is the most dire utterance, but you bite your tongue and purse your lips. Flitting your eyes down to your finished plate, you avoid their boring gaze which drills right through your skull, and manage to note your arms, which are dotted with the occasional burn scar–courtesy of the more unsavory customers–an agonizing momento of how filthy you are, sullied by many before. How you could compare to a doll is unfathomable to you. A doll's skin is not tainted, marked with signs of impurities. Even their touch, as angelic as it, could not cleanse your surface, why would they dare engage with you?

“Trivial matters, sir,” you respond with, unable to admit the snaking insecurity up your spine, that would only have them throw you away. You gather that insecurity had no place in the Harbinger's home, that needless feelings were to be disposed of immediately. Searching their features at any hint of persuasion, their blank stare offers nothing to you. The mafia leader picks up their glass of wine, lifting it up to their lips for a sip.

The, the glass is placed firmly on the wooden surface of the table, accompanied by a loud thud, the abruptness causing you to flinch back; your entire form taut as every fiber in your being tightens, your heart rate reverberates in your eardrums, and a cold shiver sneaks over your back.

“Do you take me as someone so easily deceived?” They demanded, their voice instilled with cutting authority, sharper than any knife as it stabs into your gut. The lit fury in their eyes is enough to make you recoil in your seat, shrinking into yourself as if you could become small enough to disappear, and underneath their scrutiny that is all you want to do. You tore your eyes away from them, the weight of their burning stare unbearable, almost with the intention of cremating you in the very chair. A part of you wishes that were the case, if only to flee from the crisis you are now a part of, only caused by your idiocy.

The Fatui Harbinger, for how generous they've been to you, is no less deadly, and perhaps you’ve had a healthy dosage of dismissing apparent hazards when it comes to them. Whether it be due to Arlecchino's unique charm and ambiguous benevolence, or your stubborn child-like innocence–the one that still yearns for affection and company in a cruel world–that refuses to yield, subconsciously, you knew that you would never truly be safe. No amount of self-delusion masked by wishful thinking could ever make that fruition, it will not erase the fact that your life balances on the careful palms of an awaiting wolf, whose intentions are mysterious. Nonetheless, this moment creates a no more nauseating moment that strikes your gut and fills your head with a haziness that is as oppressive as it is harrowing.

You hardly believe that you can lie once more–for all that you are aware of, Arlecchino may punish you with your death for disobeying–though with the imminent danger you’re still conflicted. You wanted to drown your fondness for them in the sea of your consciousness, anchor the hefty mass so that it could never resurface, no matter how much it struggles to swim. Complying with the mafia leader's demand means plunging your hands into the water and unlocking the chains, letting the emotions swim beyond your reach and leaving you stranded in the midst of riptides and storms. If it meant many more years without turbulent waters, then you'd never unchain them, because that is the only way to stay afloat.

But dying due to the fear of rejection is truly a pathetic way to go, even to the likes of your already pathetic existence, isn't it? You’d like to pride yourself as above those standards, at the very least. However, unveiling your naive attachment to them is unfavorable. Whatever may come from defiance, you are not sure it is worth condemning yourself to, not for someone seemingly as volatile as they are.

Perhaps you could still spare your buried endearment as well–twist and mangle your words until what the Fourth Harbinger knew was only the mishap-twin of the authentic version. Let them misinterpret and craft their own figment to be as far-fetched yet close from the truth as possible. Paint over and ornament your hopeless ardor until it is unrecognizable to the artist and only that. Half-truths and omission sculpted into something believable in the eyes of Arlecchino.

“You,” you declare simply, looking up back at them with a poor imitation of their repose. “It was you, Sir.”

Arlecchino stews in silence, although not visibly, you could presume that they have some amount of shock from your words, and the questions in their head. Their eyes darkened slightly, like dark abysses preparing to consume you whole if you so much as misstep once.

“For what reason?”

Gulping considerably, you pull together your resolve and start. You look up to meet their steady gaze. “A quality doll requires proper care and maintenance right? Like when you said that a quality doll needed a fitting dollhouse.”

Their hand reaches for their wine glass again.“Yes, that is true.”

“But a quality doll is wasted if it is not played with properly.”

Arlecchino breaks away their stare to intake their wine, a longer sip than their usual. “Are you implying that you are not satisfied with my treatment, Doll?”

“No. No, I am not satisfied.” You wince at your direct response, but you are not left with any other option–you can only pray that Arlecchino doesn’t take offense to it.

“Greedy,” the Harbinger remarks as they place down the drink. “But perhaps there is some merit to it. You are right: It is my responsibility to take care of my things and it seems that I've been neglecting you.”

They flit their eyes to your plate. “Are you finished eating?”

“Ah, yes?” You stumble over your words, a bit on edge now that their inquiry implied they had more in plan with you. It is not out of the question, though typically when they did invite you to meals like this, they would dismiss you to do what you wish afterwards, sending you away with a drawn out kiss. You're yet able to know what to make of your current situation. It required little words to gain what you wanted from the Haringer: more attentive treatment from them without the implication of your desires, so easily accepted by them. Maybe then, you wishfully

They rise from their chair, removing their reading glasses and setting it on the surface of the desk. Strangely enough, they take their wine with them.

“Sir?” You question as your eyes follow their movement. They maneuver around their desk, heading towards the door.

“Follow,” they state, though there is no real urgency or demand for it, more like a suggestion. They turn their head over their shoulder, examining you–testing you, you guess–and how could you deny? You trial them after them, with an enthusiasm which you hate having to compare that to an anxious puppy. The two of you exit the office, and you’re guided to an adjacent room, this one you've never been to before, nor has ever seen its content. Since your time here, it's remained secured and you've yet seen a single soul enter.

You're not quite sure what you expect when Arlecchino leads you inside but it certainly is not a bedroom. Nonetheless, that is what is presented to you. Simultaneously sleek and modest, adorned in splashes of black, red, and white–a color palette you associate with just one individual–it is the epitome of sophistication without bordering on extravagance and a starking reminder of the presence beside you.

For some reason, it never occurred to you that Arlecchino necessitated slumber. Perhaps since you've always considered them something else entirely, something beyond human, you feel what borders on astonishment with the discovery that, indeed, the Fourth Harbinger does sleep. To say that it humanized them in your eyes is a stretch, but it is a signifier that they are not as infallible and unfeasible as you believe.

The implications of being guided to their bedroom, however, also creates havoc among your thoughts, and your ears all but physically singe from your mortification. Vulgar fantasies invade your mind, with images of your nude body tangled together in the satin gray sheets with varying positions. Your heart, the fickle and persistent thing that is pulipates again, pumping through your ears. The setting only enforces your wanton imagination, exacerbating its control over your mind. The delusions become not just visual, but auditory and haptic too–their whispered, husky voice murmuring sweet promises in your ear as their nails trail lower and lower from your stomach, their fingers exploring uncharted territory.

Choosing that the best course of action would be to ignore the astir depravities, you instead propose a question to the mafia member as they allow you to enter the chamber first.

“This is… your bedroom, my Lord?” you question anxiously, taking the time to observe the room as the Fourth Harbinger enters behind you. “How come you've brought me here?”

“I am not fond of letting blunders remain as it is for long, less of all those that are my own fault,” Arlecchino answers, the shutting of the door momentarily interrupting them. “If it can be helped, oversights must be corrected immediately. Let problems fester for too long, and they may grow beyond my control.”

You note that it's a rather vague response. As you turn around to further confront them, there is the sudden and firm tug of your arm, and far quicker than your mind can comprehend, you're whirled around and pressed against the surface behind you. You suck in harshly from the rapid movement and an arm besides one side of your head locks you in your place, sandwiched between the door and Arlecchino with no exit available.

Flaring crimson irises meet your vision, inky pits brimming with what could only be described as a fervor drill into you. Wildly, your heartbeat thuds against your ribcage, your breath effectively robbed by the towering being before you. Below your skin, exhilaration floods through your veins, spreading the incessant heat through your entire form, most especially to your loins. Their hot breath skims across your inflamed cheeks, and their lips only stray a few centimeters from yours.

Involuntarily, your focus darts to their enticing mouth, which tastes like the finest of wine–so extraordinarily sweet that it is intoxicating. A flavor that keeps drawing you in, making you an alcoholic as you drink yourself dizzy from a sip, then another. And you would do anything for just another sample. You want Arlecchino to consume your entirety, your taste buds, your consciousness, your senses, surrender every part of you if it means gaining the most miniscule pieces of themselves. A plea rests on your tongue and in your wide, crinkled eyes you make your intentions clear.

Wordlessly, you beg for them to devour you like the monster that they are. Lure you in with their touch again, which they know burns every single rational thought away and spreads a relish that feels like a religious blessing. Take you, if only for a single second, because a second will always be sufficient enough until the next, when you cannot help but wish for it sooner.

“Do you desire me?” They speak, as if the answer is not apparent. As if the evidence is not in your trembling body, bristling with elation, or in your needy hands, which all but reach out to grasp them closer. As if they are not aware of the effects of their numerous taunts, how they fluster you enough to force you to glance away or stumble over your speech. They are aware of it as well as you are and it is with this that you realize the insinuation of their question, and this understanding is what evokes the hitching of your breath. They ask for confirmation, for approval–for consent.

“Yes,” you answer breathlessly, no need to expend more words for something so simple. How else could you answer otherwise?

Arlecchino does not grant you the kiss you so very much desire. Instead, they maneuver one of the arms propped against your head, their hand cups your chin with a tenderness so unlike them, and their thumb grazes over your bottom lip. Their gaze becomes entranced, fixated on your mouth.

“Given your past employment, I was under the assumption that any gesture more sensual would unease you. For that reason, I was hesitant to initiate more. After all, nothing is more unpleasant than an unwilling toy, who does not desire to be played with. My oversight, however, has affected you adversely, which I hope to fix currently.”

Flicking their hardened stare to your eyes again, they add, “If you will allow me.”

Stupefaction befalls upon you, your mouth parts as you grasp onto the new information. If their words are true, then it means that your attraction to them is mutual, not one-sided, and their established distance was out of consideration for you. The thought is more than enough to spark giddiness within you. The Harbinger may not be so inaccessible as you previously thought, perhaps your affections could reach them.

They hardly seem so monstrous as they did three weeks ago. Maybe they never were one to begin with. Your elated-addled brain can hardly produce a coherent string of thoughts, leaving you to only feebly nod.

That is enough as a response for Arlecchino as they descend upon you, slotting their lips over yours in a way that can only be described as perfection. Their lips drains you of your oxygen, but were you capable of it, you would allow them to steal every part of you with their perfect mouth. The succulent flavor of them remains constant, delectable as they were on the first night you met the Harbinger, and even after the numerous kisses you've shared, they are just as intoxicating. You briefly wonder if you're only drunk off of their taste because of the taste of aged wine still abundant on their lips. Arlecchino swallows you up into an eternal riptide of their taste, and you willingly drown, surrendering the rest of your senses to delight in this.

This is the type of sensation that comes from dancing around a demon, the sort of feeling that makes such heartache involving the fallen angel all the more worthwhile yet agonizing; it serves to only lure you further in its trap that you can't fathom escaping from. Now, your body buzzing with an elation that can't be matched by another, all you can wonder is how you've been able to live this long without this very gesture that breathes back life through your veins and makes your heart swell with vitality. With this, you believe this is the pinnacle of your life–no other experience that can quite enrapture you like this–a phantom ache finally filled, finally whole.

Half-lidded eyes with crimson x's lock on yours, and you think you may have rediscovered your favorite color.

You lift your arms over their shoulders and fold them behind the mafia leader, locking them in place. With a gentle tug forward with your arms, they lean deeper into your kiss, and a deep grunt rumbles through their chest, inducing goosebumps over your skin. Meanwhile, your fingers card through their silky, snow-colored strands, tugging lightly as you moan softly against their lips. Something warm settles on your right cheek, cupping that side of your face delicately.

The rough texture of their tongue presses against your lips, before their lips latch onto your bottom one. They suckle with such a gingerness you forget about the depraved hunger behind their x-pupils, a plea for permission, for entry which you allow instantly. You part your mouth. With a fevered haste, their tongue slips into your orifice, and you let out a throaty groan. It invokes a rumbling through their throat, a sound that must have belonged from seraphs. They urge on, exploring the contours of your mouth with the intent of diligently memorizing the relish and texture. Committed to familiarizing themselves with every crevice and curve, they scrape their tongue against yours, before prodding gently deeper, grazing the roof of your mouth.

In turn, you playfully drive your tongue forward, caressing against the bottom of their flexible organ. A pleased hum resounds through them, the reverberation making you shudder delightfully. Your body feels like it's being swarmed with an oppressive heat, willpower and sanity suffocating under the mafia leader's every action, and every thought replaced with the stabbing desire that courses through your veins. Every second that they linger, an invisible string tugs you towards their direction with the lightest pressure, and you’re once more in their neatly filed claws.

Is it really sending a lamb to the slaughter when the lamb is willing, or when the wolf is so inviting?

The lack of swelter is palpable once they suddenly break away, and you realize belatedly the lack of air in your lungs. You heave for air, and Arlecchino does the same, every brief exhale tickling your cheeks. Silence, save for your rapid breathing, fills the room, but the mutual eye contact says more than enough between you two.

“Do you want to…?” The Harbinger inquires, their words halting into a tense silence, vigilantly examining your features.

“Please,” is all you could whisper out, as if that very word carried your entire soul with it, and the singular murmur shatters the being before you. Just a second ago, what stood before you was a person of authority and restraint. Arlecchino was esteemed among the Harbingers, a mortal representation of poise and dignity. Never before has their composure faltered, not to any enemy or ally; there’s yet been an instance that the mafia’s leader's repose was weakened. However, you have always been an anomaly.

Her crimson pupils pierce into you, as their hands linger beneath your hips.

“You truly will be the death of me.”

---

Reference for Arlecchino in the second half.

Smut will be in part 3.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino #arlecchino smut #arlecchino genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact fanfics #genshin impact fics #genshin fanfics #genshin fics #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #edgeray.writes

246 notes · View notes

gatorbites-imagines · 7 months

Note

Hmmmm 👁️🫦👁️ yandere Doflamingo X from male reader who develops stockholm syndrome (I'm it isn't scientific but it's helpful ;-;) and ends up slowly warming up to/falling in love with him?

Doffy can be sickly sweet, always holding reader close, lavishing them with praise and buying things for them, but when reader tried to escape or got -what Doflamingo thought- was too close to someone else, he gets kinda dark. Cue some kind of punishment followed by him acting all good cop and doting on reader.

Some fluff/smut peppered in if that's okay 😭

Hope this is alright and doesn't break any of the rules

Yandere Donquixote Doflamingo x male reader

Headcanons

Tw for darker stuff ig? I love Doffy, hes my little crazy muffin. Probably not the best Stockholm syndrome, mainly just the reader being dumb and easily manipulated.

i feel like my obsession with doffys tongue is visible in this... exposing myself.

Doflamingo is known for being a master manipulator, so once he turns his attention to you and wants you for himself, he will have you one way or another. Theres a big chance you won’t even realize what’s happening until its way too late, and you are completely caught in his web of strings.

You had just been the average dock worker, working for one of the many companies working under The Joker in the underworld, smuggling all kinds of stuff. It was never your job to question what you were shipping, and not asking questions meant you got to stay alive.

You just happened to be at the wrong place at the same time. You just happened to be dumb enough to not have a sense of self preservation. You just happened to not recognize the 10 ft tall blonde in a pink feathery coat and goofy sunglasses. And you just happened to look so… cute.

You didn’t really have any friends on this island. It wasn’t the place you got close to anybody, and you sure as hell never trusted anybody, as everyone here was some kind of criminal. You were one of the few who wasn’t a blood thirsty psycho. You just had been given a bad hand in life and a lot of bad luck.

When the tall blonde started appearing near the docks on the regular, you didn’t question it. Questions should never be placed, and even though you had no idea who he was, everyone else seemed to fear him. So, no matter how handsome he was, you tried to stay out of his way.

You were a clumsy fool. It had resulted in a lot of punishment and beatings, but to Doflamingo, you were just so adorable. Like watching a little lamb running around thinking they were safe from the pack of blood thirsty wolves always circling.

When gifts started appearing in your dorm, as you were so low ranked in the system that you didn’t even have enough money for your own place, you didn’t know what to do.

You had never owned expensive things, so you knew nothing about the quality of things you were given. You didn’t understand just how expensive the shirt you were given was, or that the bracelets that looked a little too much like shackles cost more than someone like you would ever see in their life.

The gifts kept coming, and somehow your roommates disappeared, leaving the room all for you. One day when returning from the docks, it had even been redecorated. You almost had a heart attack, thinking someone else had moved in. But when you asked your superior, they had just glanced around nervously and said it was for you and to not question it.

Through all of this, Doflamingo watched your every move. From the moment you got up in the morning till you went to bed, and sometimes even as you slept.

Being who he was, Doflamingo had nothing against sneaking into your room as you slept, just so he could watch you. Or if he was feeling starved enough, he would lean down and kiss you, sometimes letting that long monster of a tongue slide into your mouth for just a small taste.

Before you knew it you were pretty much Doflamingos property. In the beginning you didn’t wear any of the fancy clothes or jewelry, not wanting to dirty any of it. But from one day to the next, all your old clothes went away, leaving you with only the clothes so expensive the majority of the world could only dream about owning it.

You didn’t understand why most of it bore a specific shade of pink, or that the symbol sewn into most of the clothes in one way or another was a jolly roger. You, in your oblivious mind, just thought it was a brand or print.

Doflamingo couldn’t help but feel pleased as everyone stared at you with fear and dread, avoiding you every chance they got, as everyone but you seemed to know you were his, and his alone.

You were right where he wants you, and little by little, Doflamingo would insert himself into your life. At first, you’d see him in passing, but soon you would see him every shift and you two would talk.

You were so concentrated with working that you didn’t notice how he always seemed to stare at you, and if he hadn’t worn sunglasses, you might have seen how he so rarely blinked, as if wanting to eat you up.

At some point he just happens to “offer you a job”, giving you the job of a lifetime. Doflamingo could almost have writhed in pleasure when you agreed, smiling so brightly and looking so deliciously stupid, to him at least.

All the many mysterious gifts you were given were moved, and soon you worked right under Doflamingo. Maybe as his assistant or something like that, some job where you would be right by him every day. Of course, you weren’t actually do any work that mattered, he just gave you fluffy paperwork that would be thrown out, since there was nothing of importance on them.

From then on you gave you his presents in person, leering and grinning when you became flustered and stuttered before giving a shy thanks.

Everyone in the donquixote family knew you were off limits as they saw the possessive look Doflamingo always gave you, or how he would pull you into his lap and claim there weren’t any more seats, using his strings to whisk whatever chairs were around away.

Working for Doflamingo, you ended up growing, what should I say, used to the treatment. You had come to expect his praise and lingering touches, or the gifts hed rain down on you. So when he kissed you the first time, you weren’t too surprised.

Sure you still blushed up a storm, but it had all seemed to lead up to this. To you, who still had no idea of Doflamingos darker side, thought he may just have been shy and expressed his feelings for you through gifts.

When you guys started “officially” dating, he got worse, or better, depending on who asks. I’m putting officially in quotations, as to Doflamingo you had always been his.

Forget about any type of work you were doing before, you were always seated in his lap now, wearing the clothes he picked out for you, and being a good little lover for him.

Dating Doflamingo also meant you quickly got used to gagging, since he’s the type of guy that always tries to shove his tongue down your throat, and with Doflamingo having the tongue he does, he actually succeeds in doing so.

Hes sickeningly sweet to you, fawning over you and piling praise on you, his large hands wandering and making you see stars whenever you are even a little bit in the mood. Its because of this it takes you so very long to realize what kind of monster he is.

The reveal was never meant to happen, but you somehow ended up at the wrong place at the wrong time, and you got to see Doflamingos true colors. Seeing him tear someone apart with his strings, that large grin on his face, made you feel sick.

After that you grew distant, and Doflamingo pouted and kissed your face all over, trying to get him to tell you what was wrong. But you never told him, just shrinking away from him, as the seriousness of the situation finally seemed to dawn on you.

Even to you, who wasn’t the smartest person around by far, it all seemed to click into place. From your job, to your clothes, to how everyone seemed to avoid you, isolating you to under interact with Doflamingo.

You needed to get you, that’s what you became sure of. Its only because Doflamingo never thought you’d actually try to leave that you got the upper hand. In the end you didn’t even get off the island, but you were smart enough to get out of his base and to the docks where you had worked before.

But as you were about to board a ship to get outta there, strings seemed to cage in the entire island, like a birdcage. Doflamingo had realized you were gone, and he was pissed.

Before you knew it, conquerors haki covered the entire island, knocking you out almost immediately, but not before you felt your heart sink to the bottom of your feet, the reality of Doflamingos strength finally hitting you.

When you wake up again, you find yourself in Doflamingos bedroom, golden shackles similar to the bracelets you were given keeping you locked to the bed.

It takes you a moment to notice him, but when you do you almost throw up from the fear it causes. There in the corner sits Doflamingo, but for the first time since you’ve met him, he looks angry. No, he doesn’t look angry, he looks enraged.

He doesn’t even demand an answer from you as to why you tried to run. He just gets to his feet and approaches you, and for the first time his 10 feet of height scares you. But then he doesn’t something unexpected. He cradles your face in his hands and coos at you, treating you as if you were some kind of child or animal that had broken the rules, not because you wanted too, but because you were so very dumb you didn’t realize you broke them.

All these months of being with Doflamingo from morning till dawn as caused you to love him, its no secret. Its just a reaction of the human psyche, so part of you had been scared of disappointing him. It also makes your insides flutter at his cooing, even as he calls you a brainless stupid idiot who can’t think for themselves.

All his cooing and sugar sweet but cruel words makes you cry, making Doflamingo smirk when you sob into his chest, apologizing for running away. When you agree with him that you are stupid and can’t make decisions on your own, he knows he’s won. Well, he’s known he’s had you for months, but seeing you admit it is euphoric.

Doflamingo ends up holding you in his arms and cooing at you, pouting and sounding of so sweet as you cry, telling you he forgives you. But there must be consequences, and you have to be punished.

You’ve never been punished by Doflamingo before, so you have no idea what to expect. Knowing the kind of role Doflamingo wants to play, the punishment is probably something along the lines of overstimulation until you pass out, and when you wake up, he will do it again and again, repeating the process until he feels you’ve paid for your sins.

When hes strung you of everything you’ve got and you cant even think straight, he would pick you up and kiss you all over, praising you in that sickeningly sweet honey voice of his, carrying you to his personal bathroom.

Here he would get both of you into his large bathtub, where he would scrub your limp and hickey covered body dry as you whine and whimper, almost melting against his chest as his large hands massage all your sore muscles.

As you bathe, you most likely end up with him fucking your thighs, Doflamingo cooing in your ear that he will have mercy on your cute little holes for now, since they’re still so sensitive from your punishments. But next time he won’t be as lenient.

As he slides his shaft between your thighs, Doflamingo would slide his tongue down your throat again, smirking to himself as you jolt and twitch, still arching into his touch even as your body ached and burned from all the overstimulation.

After he finishes, he would praise you more before getting out of the bath, where he would dry you off in the softest of towels, before Doflamingo would tuck you both into bed. You would pass out immediately again, slumping against his chest as Doflamingo laughs, rubbing your back and kissing the top of your head.

He loves you, as much as someone like Doflamingo could love. And because he loves you, he owns you. That’s his logic at least. This also means you will never be allowed to leave, and no one will ever be allowed to take you away. And he will do everything in his power to make it a reality.

609 notes · View notes

mermaidgirl30 · 8 months

Text

✨Tear You Apart Part 1: You’re Mine✨

Series Masterlist

My first dark! Joel fic and I think I’m obsessed. I plunged into this head on and got major inspiration from the vampire scene in Saltburn and Little Red Riding Hood. This is filthy and I absolutely love it! There might be a part 2 for this! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated. I would love to hear your thoughts 🖤

“The wolves prey upon the lambs in the darkness of the night, but the blood stains remain upon the stones in the valley until the dawn comes, and the sun reveals the crime to all.” - Kahlil Gibran

- Summary: Joel comes for you late at night. He always does. Always stalks, chases, and prowls after you like a starving wolf. And when he catches you, he devours you, feeds on you like the animal he is. Will you run and hide or will you give into the temptation that calls you in the forest?

- Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLY MDNI)

- Word Count: 9,718

- Tags: Dark themes, Little red riding hood references, dark! Joel, Joel is a menace, oral, fingering, choking, unprotected P in V, cream pie, filthy smut, degrading actions, not really violent but lots of dark themes, manipulation, rough sex, dirty talk, Joel calls reader little lamb, possessive Joel, feral! Joel, post outbreak! Joel, controlling Joel, dom! Joel, submissive reader, Joel x fem! reader, Joel is in his late 40’s and reader is in her late 20’s

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Songs: “Change” and “Rosemary” by Deftones

The wind tears through the frigid night of Jackson, banging its haunted whispers against the side of the little wooden house. It screams in warning beware, beware. He’s coming. A glaring caution sign from the ghosts of the forest. They scream your name, shrieking and bellowing from the soil below as they make their way above the cold, vacant dirt, floating their way to your doorstep. Clawing, knocking, warning you that he’s close. Get out, leave. He’s near, he’s near. Run.

You want to run, want to sprint out of bed and run as far as you can, but you can’t. He’ll find you, stalk you till he hunts down your scent and discovers you hiding. You pray that he won’t, but he will. He always finds you. And when he does he takes and takes until you have nothing left, feeding his anger and bitter soul, using your body to escape whatever hell he had been through in the past.

You know he’s lost something special, something close to him. You can see it in the wrinkles that encase his forehead. See it in the dark brown flecks of his tired eyes. See it in the way he carries himself, worn and tattered like the old leather boots on his feet. Can feel it when he crowds your body as he lays over you in the middle of the night. Can feel it on his calloused fingers as he bleeds you dry from the inside, hollowing you out and sucking your lifeless soul and taking it as his own.

You never know what he’s lost, can never figure out what it was that was stolen from him. He doesn’t talk about it, will never let you in even though you beg him to. But you can feel the pain, the absolute agony that holds close to his cold heart. It’s whatever he’s lost that drives his rage, his desire for retribution. And it’s that loss that feeds his desire to take, destroy everything in his winding path. That’s why he comes, always at night, always at the dead blackness of night. He comes crawling to you, needing a way to soothe his scorching temper, needing a way to bury the agony of it all.

He’s broken, just like the shattered black military watch he wears on his left wrist. You try to ask him about it, try to graze your fingers over the broken glass, but he growls at you. Gnashing his sharp teeth as he releases the caged up wolf inside him. You know better, but you push back. Let me in, let me in, you scream. But he never does. That just pushes him further, bringing out the beast from within.

He’s coming closer. Almost here, almost here, the ghosts whisper in warning. You can feel him, as if he was already there at your doorstep, as if he was already clawing his fingers into your fragile skin. Tearing you apart piece by piece just the way he likes it.

Your body starts sweating, you toss and turn against the cold sheets that cling to your damp skin. He’s coming, they call. And it’s then that you can feel him as if he’s standing right outside. You can feel the weight of his steps on the cold, snowy ground. You can hear his shaky, quivering breaths as he trudges through the patches of white snow, can feel the warm breath as he blows it out, can reach your shaky fingers out as his breath kisses the sky. You can feel it, can almost taste it as it whips through the wind, landing up against your fogged up bedroom window.

Run. Hide. He’s here, he’s here, the voices warn. But you don’t listen, can’t listen. Joel’s deep voice washes the voices out, makes them flee from your mind. Mine, mine, he screams in your head as he claims you over and over again with his hands. Those big, rough hands that you so desperately want wrapped around you.

You shouldn’t want it, shouldn’t desire it, but you crave him like you’ve never craved anything in your life. He’s like a disease. Festering and invading your body, making you sick with want, with need. Pulling at your insides so much that you can’t ignore it. Can’t ignore the deep ache in between your thighs as you yearn for his touch, for his entire being. And you’re certain that you’re just as fucked in the head as him now.

He makes you sick. Sick with need, with desire. You shouldn’t crave him, shouldn’t want this. Most days he’s unkind, barely speaking, barely able to tolerate his own self. But he gives as much as he takes, and you crave the way he gives. And now you’re just as bad as him, just as selfish and needing as him. Mine, mine, you call in your mind. He’s yours just as much as you are his.

Your eyes open wide as you look at the small clock that hangs on the wall, the hand ticking and ticking as it reaches 1:00am, the time he usually comes after his late night watch shift. Your body quakes from the anticipation of him. You can hear him now. He’s here.

You feel the weight of his heavy feet against the wooden floorboards as he opens the front door, hearing it shriek as it closes behind him with a soft shutter as it knocks against the glass window. He’s coming, he’s coming.

You hear the narrow stairs creak as he climbs up the steep steps. He’s coming for you, coming to claim you, to devour you. He’s like a wolf in the night as he stalks his prey. His dark eyes search for you, your scent hanging in the air as he comes for it, chases it, wanting to taste it. Wanting to rip you to shreds under the weight of his body as he claws and pounces on you. Claiming you as his one and only as he dominates you. But you fully oblige, always surrendering yourself to him completely.

You’re little red riding hood, and he’s the big bad wolf that wants to eat you alive as you spill yourself for him, letting him mark his paws all over you until you can only see the blacks of his eyes as he claims you. My, what large eyes you have. But he’s talking to you as he’s in between your legs, lapping up your flavor as he looks up at you with those dark pits and smiles with his sharp canines glistening in the night. And God, you’re already wet thinking about it, already trembling in the sheets as you wait for him, waiting for him to completely ravage you and destroy you until you’re no more.

You want to touch yourself, want to put an end to that aching throb in your center as slick pools inside you, fighting hard to hold back the urge. He’ll be mad if you don’t wait for him. If he sees you fingering yourself before he gets to you, he’ll be furious. He’s selfish, always so fucking selfish with you. He wants to be the one that makes you feel good, under his conditions. He’s dominating, controlling, wanting your orgasms to come from him and him alone. He’s greedy, but he always gives, feeding into your sweet desires as he revels in your body, in your arousal, in your taste.

You hear the rusty doorknob twist and turn under his grasp, hear the door start to creak open as his dark form clouds against the darkness of the hallway. Take me, take me, you beg in your mind. And you swear he can hear you as he stalks towards you with his massive form.

He’s tired, you can see it in his weathered stare as his dark eyes search for you under the silky sheets. He throws off his tan, heavy coat and tosses it to the side of the room. As he makes his way to you, he pushes up his plaid, green sleeves slowly, exposing thick veins that spiral down his arms, ending in his massive hands. You gulp at the sight, taking in the way his arms flex against his sleeves. They pull and tug so tight that they’re bound to rip at any moment as his bulging muscles encase your nimble body.

He stops at the end of the bed, pulling back the clean sheets as he takes in the sheer nightgown you’re in. His eyes trail over your body as his deep scowl turns into something primal, dominant. “Get up,” he demands as he yanks you up by the wrist and pulls you to a standing position. There’s never such a thing as a hello or hi, beautiful. Only ever demands and commands as he comes for one thing, your body.

He pulls up the wooden chair that sits in the corner of the dark room and places it in the middle of the floor. He looks up at you with the darks of his eyes and curls his index finger, coaxing you to sit in the chair. Your body is hypnotized as you dance your way over to him under a waning spell that puts you at ease.

“Sit,” he says firmly as he pushes you down gently, your back hitting the hard wood as you sit up straighter, preparing yourself to give yourself to him. Your hands fall flat against your thighs as the sheer nightgown barely reaches the tips of your knees. You can feel the cold wind as it blows hard outside your window, can almost taste the white snowflakes that linger on his leather boots.

Your breathing goes ragged as he circles the chair. Circling and circling as he trails a calloused finger over your bare shoulders as he takes you in with his chocolate eyes, inspecting you as he drinks in your features. Your throat goes dry as you watch him stalk around you. He’s a hungry wolf and he’s starving for you.

“Tell me, have you been a good girl today?” His words drag against his teeth as he snarls the words out. He continues to circle, making you audibly gulp at the words that leave his mouth.

“Yes, sir,” you answer, your nails digging into the flesh of your aching skin.

“Have you touched yourself today?” he asks as he circles you again, peeling his hands over your arm as you shiver from his rough fingers.

“N-no,” you stutter out, falling over your words. Except you had. You did earlier in the shower, thinking of Joel’s hands, pretending his fingers were yours as you made yourself feel good, spilling yourself all over the tiled floor as you called his name. Joel, Joel.

“You filthy little liar. I know you did. I can smell your arousal all over your fingers.” He grabs your hand tight and pulls it up to his nose as he inhales deeply, his eyes closing as he breathes in your scent. When he opens his eyes up, he takes your fingers into his mouth and sucks slowly, watching you with cold, heavy eyes. Your eyes go wide as you watch him slurp your taste up. A wave of slick runs down the seam of your lacy underwear, and you have to squeeze your legs shut at the growing throb that’s now aching to be touched.

He releases your fingers slowly as you watch him pool his saliva all over you, watching it slide over your hand as he drops it back to your knees with a slapping sound that echoes through the walls of the bedroom. He makes a slow, steady circle around you as he halts right next to you. You see him out of the corner of your eye as he bends and places his hands on his knees, slowly curving his spine as he eyes you with a hard line strewn across his lips. You gulp and sit up straight. You’re in trouble, you know it too.

“I, I didn’t mean to…” you squeak out carefully.

“Shut the fuck up and listen to me,” he growls. You automatically go quiet, afraid to interrupt him again. “The next time I find out you pleasured yourself without me, I’m gonna make you fuck yourself on my fingers while I watch, you got that?” he hisses.

Your mouth drops open at the mention of you fucking his fingers yourself, and you have to gulp down a moan at the thought of it. “Mhm,” you hum.

“Repeat it!” he yells, anger seething up in him.

“Yes, I understand,” you say with your eyes low, looking down at your shaking hands.

“Good.”

He skates around and stops in front of you, bending down as he places his rough hands on your knees. “Now, what are we gonna do with you, huh? You gonna be a good girl for me?” he asks as he moves your hands away and places his own on the end of your sheer nightgown.

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice shaky as he inches your nightgown higher, grazing his calloused fingers over your thighs, feeling that low tingling sensation start in the back of your spine.

“Good. That’s good,” he groans as he pushes your nightgown up higher and higher, climbing up your thighs until no more material is touching your legs. The only thing left is your white lacy underwear that are ruined from how drenched you are.

“Now, tell me. What were ya thinkin’ about in the shower?” he asks as he slowly pushes your thighs apart, trailing his fingers up nice and slow as he teases you, getting you all worked up for him.

“You, I was thinking about you,” you gasp as he pushes your legs even further, causing more slick to build up from the action of his rugged hands.

“Were ya thinkin’ of these fingers curling up inside you as I make you cum? Or maybe my tongue swirling around that pretty pink clit of yours?” he purrs as he glides his fingers against the edges of your lace, almost touching you where you need him as he ghosts over your center.

“Y-yes, both. Please, Joel,” you beg as he teases you again, ghosting over you without so much as a light touch to your aching center.

“Please what?” he asks with his brown eyes growing darker, the edges of his pupils expanding into dark coal.

“Touch me, please,” you beg, licking your lower lip in anticipation. He sees you slide your tongue over your lip and you see his eyes grow sharper, arousal swirling all around his black pupils.

“Well, since you asked nicely.” He glides his fingers through your clothed folds, and you gasp at the feeling of your budding arousal. “So fuckin’ wet for me,” he groans as his chest rises and falls in waves, pulling his fingers away again as you huff in frustration.

He loves to tease you, loves to torture you as he builds you up and then makes you beg for it. He wants to hear it, wants you down on your knees as you plead and moan for him, calling his name as you beg again and again. Touch me, taste me, fuck me.

“Joelllll,” you beg again, dragging the last syllable out as you call his name, needing his fingers on you, needing his tongue, his cock, his everything.

“Such a needy girl, aren’t you?” he teases, trailing his fingers over your seams again as he slowly unhooks the material from your hips. He slides the wet material down your legs and disposes of them on the ground, leaving you completely bare from the waist down.

He pushes your thighs apart and smooths a thumb over your center as he slides it all the way up, collecting slick as he goes along. You shudder under him as you feel yourself drip on the wooden chair, so turned on that you feel like you could orgasm right at this moment. “Goddamn, you're drenched,” he groans as he takes his thumb in his mouth, sucking all the slick off as he stares into your eyes intensely. And fuck, it’s hot.

“Now, you’re gonna be a good girl and show me exactly what you were doing in the shower. Go on,” he nods at you. “Show me how you touched yourself.” He stands back against the wall and leans on it, crossing his arms and knitting his eyebrows together in concentration, watching as his flexed muscles pull at his plaid shirt. “Any day now,” he says sternly. “Touch yourself. Now,” he growls. You automatically obey and nod up at him.

You gulp saliva down your throat and slowly bring your right hand over your center, gently pressing your fingers to your throbbing clit as you circle yourself, leaning back into the chair as a quiet moan escapes your mouth as you feel the pressure building fast. You’re so close, already so close.

“Eyes on me,” he commands as the low, guttural sound emits around the room.

You pull your head up and lock eyes with him as you focus on your breathy moans, hitting the sensitive bundle of nerves again and again. You hear the pulsing blood rush through your ears, feel your body tense as you close in on your orgasm. Almost there, almost.

“Place a finger inside you,” he commands, his voice vibrating through your bones. You obey and slide your middle finger inside as you feel the drenched, tight walls cave around your finger. “Another,” he demands as his eyes go pitch black watching you play with yourself. You slide a second one in and curl them up, hitting the spongy walls that threaten to make you cum.

You let out a loud, aching moan as you curl your fingers again and again while your thumb circles your clit in meticulous circles. Your mouth shapes into an O position as you feel your walls clench around you. You pull out a deep rising orgasm that starts low in your spine and spreads over your heated cunt as you climb higher and higher into bliss.

“Good girl,” he growls as he watches your orgasm wash over you. White, hot heat spreading through your entire body as you ride out your first orgasm, throwing your head back as your eyes roll back into your skull, feeling the wooden chair become soaked with your slick.

You take a moment to come back down to earth, back to where you can breathe again. Feeling your ragged breaths become even as you open your eyes and focus on Joel as he stands in the corner brooding and revelling in your pleasure. He’s breathing fast as his broad chest moves up and down, can practically hear him as his breaths come out choked and fast. He’s turned on, you can see the bulge in the outline of his dark jeans as he takes you in with his eyes, trailing over your center again.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asks with a deep voice rasping in the back of his throat.

“Yes, so good,” you breath out tensely. “Want you to make me feel good though,” you beg as you open up your legs for him, feeling his eyes scrape over your soaked outline.

“Oh? Think you learned your lesson?” he asks curiously with a raised brow.

“Yes, promise,” you confirm, already biting your lip at the anticipation of his fingers on you.

“Mmm, alright. Since you did what I asked, I guess you earned a reward.” He stalks toward you, bending down before you as he gets on his knees and brings your legs up over his shoulders, slowly trailing his fingers up your inner thighs as he works you up again, getting you ready for your second orgasm.

“Look at this pretty pussy, all soppin’ and drippin’ for me. Want me to make you wetter? Want me to make you see stars?” he purrs as he blows on your center, making you buck your hips up at the breezy feeling as it tickles your most sensitive areas.

“Fuck, yes,” you squirm, begging for his touch.

“Mmm patience, little lamb. Gonna take ya nice and slow. You gonna be a good girl and cum all over my fingers?” he groans as a deep growl escapes his chest.

“Yes, fuck. I’ll be the best girl, your best girl,” you whine out.

“Mmm that’s what I like to hear,” he praises. Before you can respond, he licks a long, slow stripe up your center as you moan out his name.

“What’s that, little lamb? Couldn’t hear you over your moans,” he teases.

He pulls you lower in the chair as the wood scrapes along your back, feeling his rough hands wrap around your thighs tight. He inhales deeply and then spits on your cunt in a degrading, ravishing way. He takes his thumb and spreads the warm spit over your folds as you writhe under his touch.

“Hold still,” he warns as he presses his other hand on your thigh. You nod up at him and let him continue stroking his thumb up and down you, spreading your wet folds as he gently presses slow circles around your bundle of nerves. You let out a low, drawn out moan as he slips two fingers inside you and flicks his tongue back and forth in slow, lapping circles, so close to bringing you to the heavens again, so close to orgasm already.

One more thrust inside of you and then he’s pulling his fingers out, leaving your clit as he takes his mouth off you and backs up, dropping your legs from his shoulders as he stays straddling in between your legs. Why did he stop? Why did he fucking stop?

“Joel, I need to…I need to…” you whine out. He hushes you with the swipe of his finger to your lips, and you quietly pout as your eyebrows furrow together. Need to cum, need to cum.

“Think you deserve it?” he asks as he wets his bottom lip with his tongue, building you up even more as you beg to cum.

“Yes,” you cry out, your clit throbbing with need, your body sick with desperation to let go.

He chuckles a low laugh and smirks up at you, his dark eyes honing in as the black pits expand around him. He’s cruel, wicked, a devil in disguise as he torments you. He knows what he’s doing, he knows.

Filthy trickster, vicious teaser. Cruel, cruel, cruel, the voices whisper in your mind, filling you with regret and longing as you dig your nails into the wooden chair, feeling your body screaming at you. Let go, let go. Need to cum, need to cum. Joel sees the torment in your needing eyes, sees the way you’re scraping your nails into the wood as you beg him to release you with your watering eyes.

“You know, the female orgasm is a complex thing. I can feel you screaming inside to let go, can see the way you ache for release.” He grunts as he pushes a wet, hot finger inside your mouth, slowly pushing a second in as he slides his fingers further up, feeling your saliva cake around him.

“Suck,” he commands. You do as he says and suck his fingers, feeling your sweet arousal slide down the back of your throat. “Good girl,” he praises, but he doesn’t let up. He keeps his fingers inside your panting mouth.

“It’s just so hot to watch you suck my fingers with your dripping slick all over them,” he says as he bites his lip, sending his fingers further down your throat as you gag and choke on them, seeing his eyes become full black pits as he watches with pleasure. “Such a good girl, choking on my fingers. Wanna see you choke on something else,” he growls as his sharp incisors beam up at you in a smirk as he slowly releases his fingers from your mouth, pulling saliva with him.

You groan at the sight of his disheveled, tousled curls, at the grey patchy beard that encases his face, at the smoldering stare he’s giving you, at that devilish smirk that’s taunting and teasing you in the most torturous way.

“Your mouth. God, your mouth looks so inviting, and your teeth. They’d feel so good closed around my neck,” you whine as you beg him to finish you off, let you cum in peace.

“Mhmm. The better to eat you with, my dear,” he smirks. The little red riding hood quote takes you for a ride as you feel your cunt clench up around nothing, needing a release.

He smirks up at you once more and winks before he dives back into you, his fingers curling up inside as they jab up into your spongy spot, his mouth pulling and sucking your clit into his mouth. You feel the bubbling sensation, feel the waves crashing around you as they pull you under, drowning you in a wave of bliss and white heat as it explodes around you. You scream his name loud and desperate as you feel yourself let go. You clench around his fingers and then release, spilling your slick all over him. But what takes you by surprise is that’s not all.

You feel another orgasm take over as your body crumbles underneath him as he continues licking up your slick, working his fingers up and down you as he draws out more, spilling all of you, taking all of you for himself. Selfish, so selfish. But he builds you up so good that this is the best release you’ve ever experienced, like you’re walking on cloud nine as you feel a squirting sensation take over. Feeling yourself inject him with your slick as it sprays all over the front of his plaid shirt.

“Goddamn!” he yells as he pumps his fingers inside you, slowing his rhythm as he works it all out of you. You feel your legs shake and shutter around him as he holds your thighs open, not letting you close until he’s gotten every last drop out of you. After a few seconds of total bliss, you feel your body relax as there’s no more. That was the most intense orgasm of your life, and you wanted more. Needed him to continue to do that for however long this would go on.

“See what happens when I make you wait, when I tease you,” he smirks. “Makes you feel that much better,” he smiles, a devilish grin taking form on his face.

“You’re a menace, Joel Miller,” you respond out of breath, your eyes glazed over as you look over his aroused face.

“A menace, huh? Is that what I am?” he laughs.

“Yes,” you say carefully.

“Better watch your mouth,” he warns, slowly sliding his hands over your pale skin as he drags over your thighs, ending at your knees.

“What if I don’t?” you mock, wanting to test the waters, wanting to feed his anger. Keep quiet, keep quiet, the voices whisper. But you don’t listen. You never listen, always pushing them aside.

He stays quiet for a moment, but you see his features turning from day to night. He’s furious, his anger fuming inside him as you challenge him. Back down, back down, run, the ghosts scream. But you don’t. You stand your ground, let him rip into you as he takes control. You want him to, you need him to. He’s ruined you like the dead soil that lies in the snowed over dirt outside. He fucking ruined you.

You watch as his eyes turn frigid, his blood running cold as his eyebrows furrow up, his rage conforming to every bone in his hollow body. He’s on you in the next second, his hand wrapping around your throat as he squeezes just slightly, not enough to hurt you. He’s warning you, declaring his dominance over you. Telling you that he owns you, controls you.

He hovers in front of your face as his hot breath blows over you, smelling a hint of coffee and whiskey as it surrounds you like a cloud. You could get drunk off his scent, drunk off him. “Don’t you dare talk back to me, little lamb. You know what happens when you open that pretty fuckin’ mouth of yours.” He narrows his eyes as they stare into you like sharp daggers.

He squeezes your neck tighter and you try to open your mouth, but nothing comes out. It’s not to the point of pain. He never goes too far, only gets you close. It feels good, so good the way he’s squeezing, the veins in your neck begging him to put more pressure into it. You’re sick, infected with his poison with the way he mind fucks you into doing anything he says. You're a puppet, and he’s pulling all the strings.

Get out, get out, they scream. He comes to take, he comes to destroy, they warn. But you don’t care. Let him destroy. You want him to, need him to destroy your body. You let him take, let him consume you as he throws you to the wolves. Except he is the wolf, and he is the one that tears you apart piece by fucking piece. A lamb to a wolf’s slaughter.

He ghosts his lips against your ear, slowly biting down on your earlobe as he pulls down sharply. You wince and he lets go slowly. His rough tongue glides up your jawline as he squeezes lightly around your throat, building that sweet pool of arousal up again as he twists your emotions. You can barely tell the difference between pain and pleasure anymore. He’s been so rough with you, has done so many demoralizing things as he takes and takes from you, feeding his hatred and anger from the ghosts of his past. But he makes you feel so good, so fucking good. You can never deny him, can never run from him. You want it, you want it. So you’ll have it, you’ll have him.

“I could just eat you right up,” he purrs as he bites at your lower lip, pulling it back and releasing as it slaps back into place. You feel the sting of his teeth mark your throbbing lip, but it feels so good. So good.

“So do it. Take me,” you beg, choking out the words with his strong hand wrapped around you.

His eyes go black as he smirks up at you, his eyes smoldering into yours. “You asked for it, little lamb. Now c’mere.” He growls as he releases his death grip on your neck and yanks you out of the chair, slamming you into the white wall as he pins your arms above you and shoves the sheer nightgown up your body. He rips it over your head and tosses it to the floor in a heap.

You feel the cold air across your bare skin as his body crowds you, his lips sinking deep into your neck as he bites at the thin flesh. He pulls and tugs and sucks in a needy, aggressive way. You release breathy moans as the pain turns to pleasure, as you fall deep into the wolf’s trap as he claws at you. Taking, taking, taking. He’s rough, insensitive, always taking what he wants, what he craves. But you let him, you always let him.

He rolls your nipples with the pads of his rough thumbs, gathering your breasts as he kneads them together, making you pebble underneath him as he bites at them, leaving marks all over you. He claims, he takes with no regard for you. It’s what he needs, but you need it just as bad now. He’s brought you to ruin again and again, and he’ll continue to take advantage. You’ll let him, you’ll let him.

He glides his tongue back up to the crook of your neck and bites hard as you scream in both pleasure and pain. It’s too much, too much. But you take it, allowing him to have his way with you. He needs it, he needs it.

You feel the edge of his bulge against your leg as his hips dig into you, feel the shape as your body shakes around you. You want it, you need his cock. Your hands are still held against your will above you, so you lift your leg up slowly, skimming the base of him as you feel his large length through his denim. He grabs your leg fast and shoves it down as he grabs your chin and brings your eyes to his level.

“Did I say you could fucking touch me?” he snarls as his jagged teeth shine in the moonlight.

“No…” you whisper scarcely.

“No is right,” he snarls with bared teeth. “You do as I say when I say it. Got it?” he asks as he shoves you up against the wall, keeping his hand planted firmly against your jaw.

“Yes, sir,” you respond with a shaky breath.

“Good girl,” he smirks. “Now, let me teach you a little lesson on how to fucking do as you’re told,” he growls. “Stay,” he commands as he leaves you clinging to the thin wall. He saunters over to the wooden chair and takes a seat as he spreads his legs, palming himself slowly as one hand unlatches his leather belt and drops it to the floor with a clank.

“Get on all fours, now,” he commands as he swiftly unzips his jeans, slowly yanking them to the ground as he kicks off his leather boots and pushes the jeans to the floor, leaving him bare from the waist down. You gawk at the size of him, of that massive twitching erection as it plants firmly against his tight stomach, a bead of precum glistening on the swollen tip of him. He’s so fucking pretty sitting there, about to palm himself as he watches you. Something about that brings out the sultry, unruly side of you. You want to taste him, need to feel him inside you.

You’re on all fours, waiting for his commanding call as he allows you to come to him. You need to feel him, need to taste him, need to smell him as his hot arousal encases the air, taking over every logical sense of your brain as he calls to you in your mind. Come out, come out wherever you are, little lamb. Time to come play with the big, bad wolf.

“Crawl,” he growls from the middle of the room, glaring his dark black pits into your soul. You generously oblige as you scrape your nails over the wooden floor, feeling your knees drag behind you as you make your way to him slowly and steadily. You feel your eyes gloss over with pure lust as you stare up at him, watching him pump his hand up and down his large cock, spreading precum all over himself. You gulp at the sight, at the massive length he has on him.

God, he’s so big. So big that when he takes you, he stretches you to your limits. Splitting you in two as he drives into you over and over again. It’s never vanilla, it’s always rough. So very rough. But you like it. Like the way he feels inside you as he claims you, dominates you. You’re mine, all mine, he grits through his teeth as he takes you, digging his nails into your skin as he rips at you, shredding you to pieces.

Take me, take me, you beg through your mind. And you swear he hears you by the way he sits up straighter at full attention and smirks down at you with eyes full of pure lust. And he’s telling you now with his smirk, with his eyes. You’re mine, he growls. And you know it, you know it. His to take.

You grovel over to him, batting your long eyelashes up at him as if that’ll stir the desire in him. You bite your lower lip and flick your tongue across the edge seductively as you smolder for him. Take me, take me, you scream.

The anger builds in him as he snarls down at you and hisses as he continues to pump his large length. The thick veins cascade around his thick cock as shots of precum drip down around him, ending in his coarse, wiry hair. You want to taste him, need to taste him. You’ve never craved anyone like this in your entire life.

He wrapped his twisting vines around your wrists and pulled until he had a forceful hold on you. He dragged you through the pitch black forest and devoured your body, claiming you as his own in the first week he met you. And you were hooked ever since, never being able to say no to him. You could even hear the forest shrieking its warning calls. Run away, leave, get away from the wolf with dark eyes. But you didn’t listen, only hypnotized by the dark, dominant beast of the night.

When you finally reach him and work your way in between his legs, he grabs your jaw with his rough hand and forces you to open as he squeezes you tight. “Tongue out,” he presses and you fully oblige.

You stick your wet tongue out, and he brings the tip of his cock to you as you slowly lap at the end with your tongue. “Fuck,” he groans from deep in his chest as he stares down at you with a snarl. You slowly draw sensual circles with your tongue along his most sensitive spots and lap up precum into your mouth as you generously swallow the salty flavor of him. You smirk up at him as you lap at his tip, giving him your best smoldering eyes that you can.

You watch his eyes turn coal black as he grabs the back of your hair and pulls your eyes up to his. You wince at the pain simmering through your skull as he holds you tight, unable to move an inch from him. “Quit fuckin’ teasin’ me,” he growls as his piercing eyes sear through you like a knife. He pulls your hair tighter and you cry out in pain. “You gonna be a good girl and behave?” he asks with a twinge of anger in his deep voice.

“Mhm,” you nod as he stares his hard eyes into you.

“Better be.” He bares his teeth as he lets his grip drop from you, and you catch yourself on his knees. “Now be a good little lamb and show me how good your mouth fucks,” he growls as he sits back in the wooden chair and scoots his hips up, waiting to be pleasured by you.

You’re quick to appease him. You wrap a hand around his thick cock and slide your hand up and down, spreading precum all around his length, and then you take him in your mouth. You work him nice and slow as you bob up and down, up and down, gathering spit all over his cock. He moans a deep, sated sound out of his throat as he watches you with hollowed out black eyes.

You continue flicking your tongue and sucking his thick, substantial length as you work up and down to please him. You can tell he’s right on the edge of release by the way he’s clenching his jaw and breathing out ragged, concentrated moans. But he won’t end there, not tonight. He’ll push your boundaries, he always does.

As you pull back to his tip, he reaches down and grabs your hair hard and thrusts up into your mouth. He brings your head forward and forces you down as his large length hits the back of your throat, making your eyes start to water from the action. He doesn’t let up, he just keeps thrusting harder and faster as he mouth fucks you forcefully.

You choke and gag on him as he hits the back of your throat over and over again. Your mouth is a swimming pool of saliva as it drips down your chin, caking his cock with slick drool. You feel like you're drowning and can’t breathe underneath him, but he keeps going. He’s almost there, almost there. Need to breathe, need to breathe. Your eyes water as tears spill down your crimson cheeks and fall to the cold floor. He’s pushing you, always pushing you to your limits as he pushes past them. He loves when you choke on him, loves to hear the gargled, gagging sounds as your throat constricts around him. And when you look into his black eyes and see the way he bares his sharp teeth down at you, you know you made him feel good.

“You look so goddamn pretty choking on me, little lamb. Feels so fucking good when you deep throat me, when I fuck your mouth with my cock,” he moans as he pushes you deeper, nearly suffocating you under the weight of his massive cock that’s coated in drool. “Now you’re gonna be a good girl and swallow for me,” he commands as he thrusts inside you.

You can’t take much more. You’re out of breath and you’re digging into his thighs as you continue to take him, barely able to hold on anymore. You see him clench his jaw again, his breath speeding up as he groans curses out of his mouth. He’s there, he’s there. His dark eyes roll back as he holds your head in place and releases his load all through the back of your throat. You feel the white, hot liquid slide down your throat as you swallow the salty taste of him.

“Good girl. That’s a good fucking girl,” he growls as he finishes releasing himself in you. You watch his body go slack against the back of the chair as he breathes hot, whimpered moans from deep within his chest. He drops his hand from the back of your head, and you pull back, finally able to breathe again. You catch your breath and cough as you choke on more saliva and cum. You brace your hands on the cool floor and sink your nails into the wood, getting a grip on reality again as your body comes back to earth. Your voice is so shaky, so raspy as you wipe the drool from your chin and swipe the tears from your eyes.

He takes, he takes, the voices whisper. But you let him take, you let him ravage you as much as he wants. Don’t give in, don’t listen to the beast. But you do, you always do. The beast has claimed you as his, and little lambs always listen to their master.

The shrieking wind blows against your window, warning you of the beast that lies inside. Warning you that there’s danger near, and it’s lurking. That danger sits in your wooden chair, revitalizing himself before he crowds your body over the bed. He’s not done with you just yet. He needs to feed, needs to devour the entirety of you. He needs to destroy every last part of you as he claims you for himself over and over again.

He slowly pushes himself out of the wooden chair and grabs your arm, pulling you up from the cold floor as he grasps you tight. “On the bed,” he commands as he bares his teeth and pulls you over to the queen sized bed. He pushes you down as you fall on your back into the cool, satiny sheets.

He slowly unbuttons his plaid shirt as he stalks toward you with dark eyes that look like they want to devour you whole. When he gets to the last button, he pulls off the shirt and drops it to the floor, leaving him completely bare. He’s so goddamn handsome that it hurts to even stare for too long.

His broad shoulders and thick arms make it hard to breathe. His bulging veins that spider down his arms and cover his massive hands makes you want to whine in need. His tousled curls and brown flecked eyes make you want to come undone just from one look. They’re hypnotizing, spellbinding. And if you look close enough, you swear you can see the flash of yellow in his eyes as he stalks toward you, ready to pounce as he comes in for the kill.

Run, go now before it’s too late, the voices warn. The wolf comes to steal, the wolf comes to kill, they shriek. Let him, you whisper to the voices. You’re his to take. You want him to take. Take me, take me, you beg. And he will, he always does.

You feel the mattress shift underneath you as he drags his body over the edge of the bed, slowly crawling on top of you as his massive form hangs over you. His eyes are black pits as they stare at you, tempting you to come into the darkness as he drags you down again and again. Your eyes go wide and your pulse races in your neck as you stare up at the man made of nightmares.

“What’s the matter, little lamb? Scared of the big bad wolf?” he asks as he smirks down at you, his eyes pooled with darkness.

“No, I’m not scared,” you whisper out as you gulp down your fears.

“Then why can I smell the fear on you?” he smiles, his teeth like white, jagged razors.

“I’m not scared of you. No. I’m scared you’ll run off into the night and never come back.” Your voice comes out meek, breathy. Why the fuck did you just say that? His smile drops from his face and his eyebrows knit together. You can’t tell what he’s feeling, can’t tell what he’ll do. Don’t go, don’t go, you whisper. You need him. You need him.

His jaw flexes and relaxes as you see his waning features in the moonlight. He grazes his calloused fingers over your jaw slowly and comes to cup your chin as he pulls your eyes up to his. “You don’t have to worry about that, little lamb. Even if I run, I always come back. You’re mine and mine alone. Tell me who you belong to,” he growls possessively, making you desperate for his touch. You need him, you need him.

“You. I belong to you. I’m yours,” you gasp out, not able to hold on much longer. Touch me, taste me, devour me.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises.

Before you can comprehend what happens, he crashes his lips down to yours and devours you. Sucking, biting, kissing your throbbing lips as he shoves his tongue in your mouth and glides his rough tongue against yours. He swirls and swirls, filling up your senses with the taste of him. He tastes so fucking good, you could get lost in his whiskey taste, needing to drown in it until it fills up your lungs completely.

When he releases from your mouth, he cages his arms around your shoulders and crowds your body with his. “Little lamb, little lamb. What pretty eyes you have,” he purrs as he slowly pushes your legs apart with his knees, spreading you wide open for him to take. You bite your lip at the gentle praise and feel yourself become wet with arousal at the sight of him spreading you.

He lowers his head to your neck and licks a stripe up the side, right in the sensitive crevice of your neck. “And you taste so fucking good, I just love eating you up,” he groans as he bites down on your most sensitive nerve ending in your neck. You moan at the sharp, hot sensation as a wave of slick runs down your inner thigh.

He trails his hand slowly down your center, starting at your chin, gliding down your sternum, sliding over your abdomen, and ending at your wet, hot center. He spreads your soft folds and draws tight, slow circles around your clit as you hear the sloshing noises from your arousal.

“Joel,” you moan out, whining as it takes you under a sea of hypnotic pleasure. “Take me. Please, take me,” you beg.

“That’s right, little lamb. Good girls get rewarded, and you’ve been such a good girl for me tonight,” he praises through your thick cloud of pleasure. “Gonna fuck you now, little lamb. Gonna show you how good I can make you feel,” he says with bared teeth.

“Please,” you beg as he takes his thumb off your clit and pulls you down further in the bed, angling your hips up as he wraps your legs tight around his back.

“You’re mine, little lamb. Mine,” he growls as he plunges his thick cock in you, spreading you wide and splitting you in two as you moan out in pleasure.

He keeps his strides steady and slow, quickly picking up the pace as he fucks up into you over and over again. Driving your moans out of you as he bottoms out inside you, pounding over and over again against your tight walls. He throws your legs over his shoulders and digs his nails into your hips as he fucks you hard and fast, repeatedly hitting the soft, spongy area inside you over and over again. It’s too much, it’s too fucking much. You whine out as you moan his name over and over again. So good, it feels so good. You can feel the pressure building, feel your orgasm about to take form as your walls flutter against his cock.

“You’re squeezin’ me so tight, little lamb. Feels so fuckin’ good. Let go for me, want you to come for me. Tell me who fuckin’ makes you feel good. Tell me who you fuckin’ belong to,” he growls as he fucks inside you harder, pressing the pad of his calloused thumb against your throbbing bundle of nerves as he circles and circles, drawing that sweet orgasm out of you.

You feel the tingling sensation wash over your head, down your spine, and ending at your aching cunt as your toes curl around him. You keep your eyes trained on him as you’re barely able to keep them open. You feel your mouth drop open wide as you let out a loud moan that’s meant for Joel.

“You. I belong to you, Joel.” You scream out his name as your orgasm washes over you, feeling your walls clench up around him and then release white slick all over his cock as he continues to thrust up inside you, as he continues to circle your pulsing clit. White, hot heat spills through you as you completely lose yourself to him. Your body feels staticky as your mind goes fuzzy and your brain fogs over, only thinking of the man with dark eyes that takes you over completely.

“Good girl, good fucking girl,” he growls as he leans over your body and hovers over you, driving his thick cock in and out, in and out. Bottoming out so many times that you see stars. He’s there, he’s almost there, he’s about to cum. Four more thrusts and his body tenses up, his black pupils expanding as he throws his head back and clenches his jaw. He spills his seed inside of you as you feel the sticky cum coat your walls. He claims you, he claims you, and you love it, can never get enough. Mine, mine, mine, he growls possessively. And you’re his, you’re all his.

He slowly pulls out of you as you feel his seed drip down your inner thighs. “Did so good for me, little lamb. So good,” he praises as he cleans the mess from your thighs, wiping away the evidence that he had been there. He collapses next to you in bed and pulls you to him as he wraps his strong arms around you, crushing you to his chest. It feels good, this feels good.

He always leaves right after he finishes, never stays to comfort or hold you. He’s selfish, mean, but tonight he holds you. He holds you. He stays. You don’t say anything about it, don’t ask him why he stays because he’ll just get up and leave, leaving you empty and alone.

You feel the heavy weight he holds close to him, feel the heartbreak he carries with him day after day, can feel the cold glass of the broken watch grazing against your back. But you don’t ask, don’t chance it. You feel the loss cover him, feel his anger seething somewhere underneath his calm demeanor. It’s there just waiting to pounce, waiting to lash out at whatever stands in front of him.

He’s the wolf that stalks Jackson, the wolf that terrorizes the forest, the wolf that haunts the whispering ghosts that lie buried in the cold, dead ground. He goes around destroying, rampaging, slaughtering in the thick of the night. He’s a menace that looks for anything he can sink his teeth into and bleed dry. He’s a looming threat over every area he enters, threatening to destroy and kill. He takes, he takes. Again and again. But that’s what wolves do. They hunt and they take and they dominate while their prey cower before them, just waiting for the kill.

Joel is a wolf. A reckless, vengeful, powerful wolf. He loves to devour, loves to control, loves to dominate you. But he also gives, never letting you go starving for his touch. He always comes at the dead of night, always pulls you from your deep sleep to tumble around with the wolf in the sheets.

He’s like a melodic, captivating melody that hypnotizes you, calling you into the forest night after night with his deep howl. You always go, never ignoring the call that’s meant for you and you alone. And when you go, the ghosts reach for you from under the dirt and try to pull you away, warning you of what you’re about to face. But you ignore them, stepping over their graves as if they were never there. You go, you always go. Never betraying the lonely wolf with the sad, dark eyes.

It’s now while he holds you tight in his arms that you realize maybe you were meant to find him. He’s broken, a lone wolf that walks the hollow streets of Jackson just trying to find a purpose to keep going, to keep fighting. And when you showed up a few months ago, it's like a little light turned on inside him when it was all around black before you came.

You see him now for what he really is. He’s not all bad, not all teeth and claws. He yearns to break free from his wolf form, begging to run free with the rest of the pack instead of being cast out like he is. You see it in his wrinkled forehead, in his jaw that repeatedly clenches and relaxes, in his dark brown eyes that hollow out when you stare into them.

He’s so close, so close that you smell his mahogany forest scent that clings to him as it pulls you in, intoxicating you into a relaxed state. He stares at you with those dark eyes, his chest breathing in and out in shallow waves. You try something new, feeling brave all of a sudden. You slowly reach out your hand and brush it through his tousled curls, gently moving away a dark piece that falls against the side of his face. He doesn’t move, doesn’t lash out at you like a wild animal. He stays calm, just staring at you with a soft expression. His eyes change to a chocolate brown instead of the deep black pits he usually has. And then he surprises you by reaching his hand up slowly to your face, hesitating at the gentleness of himself. He trails his calloused fingers over your cheek, as light as a feather as he takes in your tranquil features.

He changes, he changes, the voices call. No more teeth, no more slaughter, they chant louder. A quiet victory to the ghosts that haunt the forest.

And just like that, you have tamed the wolf, controlling all his pent up rage, giving him the restitution he needed all along. You can see it in his big brown eyes, how he looks at you as if you saw him for the first time when no one else did. When no one else could give him what he needed. He needed someone that could understand all the hurt and loss he had been through. You’ve lost, you’ve died a thousand times through grief, but you found your way again through him. The hungry wolf that you were searching for all along.

And so the lost, scared lamb found herself in the face of the big, bad wolf. He came to destroy, to take, and to use. But you found a way to tame the claws, to tame the gnashing teeth. Somehow you controlled the beast, showing him that he truly wasn’t alone. Never leave, never leave, you call to him in your mind. And it’s like he can hear your thoughts because he drags his thumb lightly down your jawline and responds.

“I’ll stay, little lamb. I’ll stay,” he whispers. And he does, he does.

Maybe not all wolves are out to steal, kill, and destroy. Maybe there are wolves that are just lonely, broken, needing to know that someone understands them. Needing to know that they’re truly not alone. Joel is that wolf. He just needed to find you. He needed to find the lamb that wouldn’t run and cower in his presence. He needed a lamb that would stay by his side, that would show him the way out of the dark and into the light. He needed restitution. He needed you. He needed you.

And so he stays, he stays. The lonely, bleeding, broken wolf finding resolve and contentment with the quiet, gentle lamb. He stays.

Tags: @janaispunk @amyispxnk @iamasaddie @ashleymsnodgrass @tuquoquebrute @whxtedreams @fanfictilltheend @burntheedges @cinnamongorll @studioghibelli @pedrostories @blueseastorm @trea-bae

433 notes · View notes

candycandy00 · 3 months

Text

Bad Boy - A Togame Jo x Reader Fanfic

Your town is controlled by two gangs: Shishitoren and Bofurin. With a taste for danger, you love to sneak over to the Shishitoren side, where you spot a handsome dark haired stranger rumored to be a violent and dangerous gang member. But he doesn’t seem so bad to you.

Smut. 18+. Gang AU. Busty Fem Reader. Togame is in his mid 20’s. Bondage. Oral. Rough sex. Reader is sexually aggressive and a tease. Divider by @benkeibear.

You first met Togame at the festival being held on the temple grounds. You’d come from the other end of town to hang out with your friend, and you were carrying a frozen treat in a cup made of paper. You bumped into someone tall, and your frozen treat smashed into his chest. You apologized, he gave you a curt nod, and that was it.

You turned and looked back at him as he walked over to a food stall to talk to the person running it. From the way he was dressed, you would assume that he worked at the temple. He had dark hair worn longer than most other men his age (early twenties if you were guessing) and striking green eyes.

He was entirely your type.

“Don’t even think about it,” your friend said when she noticed you staring.

You didn’t pry your eyes away even as you answered, “Why not?”

“His name’s Togame. He’s with the Shishitoren gang. Pretty high up in the ranks too. He’s well known for being violent, even with other members of the gang. He’s not someone you want to mess with.”

You were still watching him as he left the stall and walked further away. “A bad boy, huh?”

Your friend grabbed your wrist to get your attention. “Hey, listen to me! You better stay away from him! They say he shows no mercy to his own guys. What do you think he would do to you if he knew you have ties to the Bofurin?”

You gave her a grin. “No idea, but you’ve got me curious now.”

She sighed dramatically. “You’re gonna end up dead one of these days. You take a huge risk every time you come to this side of town.”

Her voice kept going, but you were not really listening. She might think this Togame guy is a big scary gang member, but she didn’t see what you saw. She didn’t see his face flush pink when your body brushed against his. Something tells you he’d be very fun to play with.

************************

When Togame found a couple of his guys cornering a college girl in an alley, he stopped to see what was going on.

One of them turns to him. “She’s from the other side. Her cousin is in Bofurin!”

Togame wonders what could possess her to reveal such information, but the cat’s out of the bag now. She’s an intruder on their territory, and they can’t just let her go.

“I’ll handle it,” he says, and the other two back away, revealing the hottest girl he’s ever seen. Everything from her shape to her hair to her eyes, to the way she stands there like a tasty lamb among wolves, draws his eye. Her skirt is way too short and her shirt, with tiny straps to hold it up, is way too tight. To his embarrassment, it’s very clear that she’s not wearing a bra.

“Come with me,” he tells her, keeping his voice smooth and controlled. He’s silently praying she doesn’t resist. If he has to manhandle her, he’s going to end up humiliating himself by popping a boner.

She looks up at him innocently. “Oh no, are you taking me captive?”

Something about her voice makes him think she’s definitely not innocent. “I’ll take you back to our base. Then we can decide what to do with a Bofurin interloper.”

She purses her glossy lips in obviously fake concern. “I hope you’ll be gentle with me!”

He tries to ignore the way her huge tits strain against her shirt, the way her hard nipples protrude as one thin strap falls off her shoulder.

“We’ll see,” he says, turning his back to her and walking toward the Ori, counting on her to follow. She clearly has some plan in mind, so he might as well see where this goes.

No one else is there at this hour, but he still takes her into one of the small side rooms. It was probably a break room for employees at some point. There are a few small chairs and one table that looks like it could break at any moment.

Just to be safe, he sits her in a chair and uses a discarded cord to tie her hands behind her. Whatever her game is, she’s definitely trouble, and he doesn’t need her slipping away to cause problems.

She squirms a bit in the chair. “Did you bring me to this abandoned building so you could have your way with me?”

He blinks. “Uh, no?”

She’s actually pouting! She wiggles a bit, pretending to pull at the cord. “But I’m all tied up and so helpless! You could do anything you want to me and I couldn’t stop you.”

He sighs, already getting a headache. This has to be some kind of trap or trick. “Right now, all I want to do is talk,” he tells her. “Why did you come to this side of town? If your cousin is in Bofurin, you must know you’re in enemy territory.”

She smiles at him. “I’ve heard you’re really important over here,” she says, completely avoiding the question. “Apparently you’re a bad guy. Violent. Scary.”

He can’t really deny it. Those words could definitely describe him at times, when he has to step up and take care of unpleasant business. He doesn’t enjoy it, and would much rather live a peaceful life. But he has a talent for inflicting violence on others, and he’s had to put that talent to use many times while weeding out traitors to the gang or fighting their enemies. He’s well aware of the reputation he’s fostered in town, which is why most women avoid him.

“And what if I am?” he asks the woman in front of him.

Her eyes seem to light up with excitement, but she feigns fear again. “Then it looks like I’m in the lion’s den. Will you eat me alive?”

His eyes rove up and down her body, and he has to literally will himself not to blush. She’s certainly tantalizing.

As she squirms around in the chair, her skirt slides up her thighs. She gasps in mock surprise. “Oh no, my skirt’s riding up! With my hands tied I can’t even pull it back down! This is so embarrassing, especially since I’ve misplaced my panties. If it rides up any more, you’ll see everything!”

If he’d been drinking anything, he would have comically spit it out. Instead, his eyes go wide and he swiftly turns his back to her before she can see how red his face is.

He’s never even thought about tearing a woman’s clothes off and fucking her raw until she’s a crying mess before, but this woman is going to turn him into a beast. He has to get it together!

Togame takes a moment to compose himself, to construct a calm and collected persona and keep it on. If there’s one thing he’s good at besides beating the shit out of people, it’s pretending to be something he’s not.

He turns back around, and she’s looking at him with hungry eyes. Her legs are spread slightly apart, the fabric of her skirt just barely covering her. If it slides up even one more inch, he’ll get an eyeful.

“Wow, I just noticed how tall you are,” she says. “With me being in this little chair, my face is at just the right height, huh?”

Maybe it’s the fact that he hasn’t had a whole lot of experience with women (and what little he had was back in high school), but he doesn’t realize what she means. “The right height for what?”

She giggles, probably amused by his naivety, and says, “For shoving your cock in my mouth.”

Ah, fuck, now that she’s said it, he can’t help picturing her plump, shiny lips stretched around the base of his cock as she chokes on it. He tries to clear his mind, to ignore all the lewd thoughts invading his brain, but they just keep marching in. And of course, he’s rapidly growing hard. His loose pants should keep it from being obvious though. He hopes.

He decides to try a different tactic. Maybe she won’t be so coy if he intimidates her a little.

Stepping right up to her, he looms over her bound form. Someone so much smaller than him should definitely be afraid. Especially someone aware of his reputation. He slams one hand down on the back of the chair, right beside her shoulder, and says in his most threatening tone, “Why did you come here? What game are you playing?”

She looks up at him, her skin flushed, her lips parted. Holy shit, she looks horny! Does she get off on danger or what?

“Do you want me to be honest?” she asks, and for the first time her voice doesn’t have that phony damsel in distress tone.

“Just tell me,” he says, still leaning over her.

She hesitates, then takes a breath. “You probably don’t remember, but I bumped into you at the festival a few days ago. I got my ice cream all over you.”

He does remember, but he’d been so flustered by the feel of soft tits brushing against him that he hadn’t looked at the woman’s face. “That was you?”

She nods. “My friend told me about you, how you’re in Shishitoren and you’re so dangerous. I watched you for a little while and thought you were hot. So I started hanging around over here in the hopes that I could meet you.”

He feels himself getting red again, but he doesn’t turn around this time. “So you’ve met me. What do you want from me?”

She opens her legs a little more in the chair, her skirt edging up. Fuck, he really is going to see everything. “Isn’t it obvious?” she asks with a cat like grin. “I want you to wreck me.”

That’s it. He can’t take anymore. If she really wants him that badly, then he’ll fuck that smug grin right off her pretty face.

Even if he’s blushing like a schoolboy while he does it.

**************************

You know exactly what you’re doing. You had this all planned out after all. You want Togame, and you intend to have him. But even with that in mind, you’re still surprised when he suddenly pulls out a massive cock, already hard and leaking, and does exactly what you suggested earlier: shoves it into your hot wet mouth.

He groans as he pushes it all the way in, gripping your hair for leverage, burying your nose in his soft, curly black pubic hair. Oh god, he’s so big, and so forceful, you’re already drenched.

He’s halfway down your throat, making you gag and sputter around his cock, holding your head in place so you can’t pull back. Ahh, this is why you love bad guys. Tease them enough and they’ll fucking ruin you.

But you’ve seen enough to realize Togame is not all that he seems. The way he reddens and gets flustered is just so cute! So when you look up at him, tears stinging your eyes, he quickly pulls back enough to let you breathe. There’s an unspoken apology on his face, but once you begin licking his shaft like a popsicle, all hesitation disappears from his expression.

He fucks your mouth, not quite as roughly as you expected given his supposed violent tendencies, but hard enough to make you moan around his cock as you continue to make an absolute mess in the chair.

The sound of him breathing hard turns you on even more, and you wish one of your hands was free so you could shove it under your skirt.

You constrict your throat around him, loving the way it makes him grunt and pump in harder. And after several minutes of absolutely railing your mouth, you feel his cock twitch and slide out. He barely makes it past your lips before his cum shoots out in thick ropes across your face, plenty of it splattering your lips and sliding onto your tongue.

He’s panting above you, looking a little embarrassed. Was he trying to pull out in time to avoid filling your mouth? How sweet. You’re starting to think he’s not such a bad boy after all.

You lick your lips clean as he stares at you, catching his breath. “Sorry,” he mutters, moving to go behind you, probably to untie your hands so you can clean your face.

“Don’t untie me yet,” you tell him.

He pauses and looks at you questioningly.

You tilt your head, causing more of his cum to drip to the corner of your mouth so you can reach it with your tongue. Then, as he watches intently with a pink flush to his face, you open your legs widely. Your skirt bunches at your waist, and your dripping pussy is on full display.

“Are you really going to leave me like this?”

You hear his breath hitch, and just like magic, his cock is getting hard again. He looks you in the eyes, as if wanting to be sure. In response, you slide your hips forward, through your own juices, spreading your thighs even wider.

That did the trick. Suddenly he’s jerking you up from the chair, your hands still tied behind you, and shoving you face down on the rickety table, effectively bending you over. His knees prod your legs apart, and before you can react at all, he buries the entirety of his cock in your pussy, making you gasp.

Holy fuck, he’s even bigger than you thought. He pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in, and you can’t help but whimper as your bound hands grasp at air.

You feel him lean over you from behind, and then his smooth voice in your ear, “This is what you wanted, right?”

His thrusts are so rough, the table is nearly scooting across the floor. You’re going to be sore for days after this. But god it feels good! “Yes!” you cry, clenching around him. “Break me!”

One of his hands reaches around and slides under your shirt, squeezing your breast hard before pinching your nipple. You hiss from the sting of it, getting more and more worked up. He’s hitting you so deep, right in the spot that makes your toes curl.

“Ahhh… f-fuck, you’re so big,” you breathe out, feeling like he might literally split you in two.

“You’re just… too tight…!” he mutters back, not slowing his thrusts at all.

Maybe you teased him a little too much, because it feels like he’s made it his personal mission to fuck you absolutely stupid.

And you love every second of it.

He hits a particularly deep and sensitive spot, over and over, and suddenly you’re cumming, screaming out his name and squirting all over the table. He fucks you through it, both his hands now gripping your waist so hard, you know the imprints of his fingers will be there for a long time.

When you feel him twitch again inside you, you quickly say, “Don’t pull out! I’m on birth control!”

“Oh fuck,” he says, sounding almost intoxicated as he plunges in as deeply as he can and releases his seed. You savor the feel of it churning inside you, filling you up completely.

When he finally pulls out, he stands there behind you for a moment, probably watching his cum drip out of you. Then he reaches down and unties your wrists.

You stand up, rubbing the raw, red circles on your skin where the cord was. You like how they look.

He’s fixing his pants and looking a little awkward as you pull your skirt back down. “Is there a bathroom in here?” you ask casually.

“Down the hall on the left. It’s not the cleanest one though,” he says.

“That’s fine. But you guys should probably clean it up if you’re gonna bring girls here.”

He gives you an uneasy smile. “I doubt that’s going to happen often.”

You blink at him. “Really? So I’m not invited to come back?”

His eyes widen. “Oh… uh, if you want to…” he says, his hand ruffling the back of his hair. “You’re welcome anytime.”

You grin. “Does the rest of your gang know what a sweetheart you are?”

He blushes again, but is obviously trying to look stern. “You better keep quiet about that!”

You blow him a kiss before you leave. “Your secret’s safe with me!”

#togame jo x reader #togame x reader #togame jo #togame smut #wind breaker smut #windbreaker x reader #wind breaker x reader #x reader

215 notes · View notes

stalkerofthegods · 10 months

Text

Lord Apollo Deep dive

Lord Apollon is an amazing god, he is a healer, but he is also the destroyer of health, the same string that holds his bow and arrows of misery is the same in his lyre that he makes beautiful songs and lyrics with, he deserves respect as a god and as a Father. I adore Lord Apollon as a worshiper and as a researcher, no matter how harsh he may be. May you not judge lord Apollon from his myths and remember his actions of good. May all worshipers of devotees Tell of his amazingness.

God of - prophecy and oracles, Music, song and poetry, archery, healing, plague and disease, and the protection of the young, divine distance, fertility, knowledge, dancing, wolves, locust, doorways, mice, entrances, foreigners, happy travels, light, omens, averting evil and harm, boundaries, and borders, laurels, mildews, the god who punishes and destroys, he helps and wards off evil, he protects the flocks and cattle, the foundation of towns and the establishment of civil constitutions, protection of young boys, god of purification, he’s also a Psychopomp.

Symbols- The lyre, Silver bow & arrows, Dolphins, Swans, Crows, Ravens, Lions, Wolves, Wolves, Mice, Griffins, Hawks, Snakes, Laurel wreath, Fire/flame, The sun/sunlight, Tripod, Apples

Incense/scents - Bay, Frankincense, Cypress, Clove, Cinnamon, Mugwort, Myrrh, hythincath, Rays of light radiating from his head, Branch of laurel, Wreath, amber, myrrh, lily of the valley, frankinscences, orange, lemongrass, marjoram

Colors • orange and yellow, red, gold and pure white blue, pink (means healing) purple and green (associated with the Oracle)

Herbs• Palm Tree, Apple Tree, Poplar Tree, Mistletoe, cinnamon, myrrh, bay leafs, sunflowers and red roses, oak wood, cypress (his veey dear friend ((not a lover or crush))), mint, heliotrope, Goldenseal, Date Palm, orange, lemongrass, marjoram

elements • his element is light

Day, month and festivals• Yule, Midsummer, May, sunday, his festivals are Noumenia, Delphinia, Thargelia, Apatouria, Pyanepsia, Asklepia (maybe), Pandia (maybe)

Patron of - medicine, mental health, physical health, therapy, the alphabet/words, defender of herds and flocks, justice, prophecy, and mental and moral purity, herdsmen and shepherds, anything in the medical field.

What I resonate with him • resseces pieces (I forgot why), Raven, lyre, lemonade, yellow, sun, bob Ross, painting, singing, humming, melody, Oracle’s, prophecies, knowledge, Purification, suns/ stars

Crystals•Sunstone, Citrine, Carnelian, Clear Quartz, Pyrite, Selenite, Lapis Lazuli

His sacred items - Bow and arrows; lyre; the wreath of laurel leaves (he wears that which is to be understood as Daphne’s hair.)

Planet - The sun

Tarot card- the sun, the chariot

Number - 7

Animals - Wolf, griffin, dolphins, Swans, foxes, roe deer, swans, cicadas, hawks, ravens, crows, foxes, mice, and snakes

Signs he's reaching out• Significant Dream Encounters of him, Frequent Solar Imagery, Increased Interest in the Arts, Strong Connection to Healing, seeing his Symbols and Animals, having Prophetic Experiences, finding yourself seeking the truth all of the sudden, Attraction to Light and Warmth

What u could put on his alter • Sun water, Wine (diluted with pure water), Milk, Olive oil, Herbal teas, Honey, honey cakes, Orange and lemon pastries, Lamb meat, goat meat, Fruits, Cheeses, Wheat, Breads, Golden objects (ex- such as gold bowls, gold wine cups, flakes of gold), Bows and arrows (real or fake), art, Images of the sun, All musical instruments, (especially stringed instruments), Wolf imagery, dolphin imagery, Any images of birds (especially crows and swans), Yellow, gold, and white candles, Incense he likes. He likes his alters Neat, clean, not cluttered, orderly, surround him with who he loves (ex- past lovers, Leto, artemis) , add images of wolves, mice, and ravens, Wine, incense, gifts of solar imagery, oranges

Other titles of apollon• ABAEUS/ Abaios (derived from the town of Abae in Phocis),

ACERSE′COMES/Akersekomês (Apollo expressive of his beautiful hair which was never cut or shorn.) ACE′SIUS/ Akesios (surname of Apollo, under which he was worshipped in Elis, This surname, which has the same meaning as akestôr and alexikakos as the god of averter of evil), ACESTOR/Akestôr (A surname of Apollo which characterises him as the god of the healing art, or in general as the averter of evil, like akesios), ACTIACUS (a surname of Apollo, derived from Actium, AEGLE′TES/Aiglêtês (that is, the radiant god), AGE′TOR/Agêtôr (a surname given to several gods, example is Zeus at Lacedaemon) AGO′NIUS/Agônios (a surname or epithet of several gods, like Zeus), AGRAEUS/Agraios (the hunter a surname of Apollo After he had killed the lion of Cithaeron), AGYIEUS/Aguieus (a a title describing him as the protector of the streets and public places), ALEXI′CACUS/ Alexikakos (the averter of evil, is a surname given by the Greeks to several deities like Zeus.), AMAZO′NIUS/ Amazonios, AMYCLAEUS/Amuklaios, ARCHE′GETES/Archêgetês (A surname of Apollo, under which he was worshipped in several places, as at Naxos in Sicily), Megara (The name has reference either to Apollo as the leader and protector of colonies, or as the founder of towns in general, in which case the import of the name is the same as theos patroôs.), BOEDRO′MIUS/ Boêdromios (the helper in distress), CARNEIUS/ Karneiosx, CATAE′BATES/Kataibatês (invoked by this name to grant a happy return home, katabasis (to those who were travelling abroad), CHRYSAOR/Chrusaôr) (The god with the golden sword or arms), CLA′RIUS/ Klarios (derived from his celebrated temple at Claros in Asia Minor), CO′RYDUS/Korudos (from the temple eighty stadia from Corone, on the sea-coast), CY′NTHIUS and CY′NTHIA/Kunthia and Kunthios (surnames of Artemis and Apollo from island of Delos, which is their birthplace), DAPHNAEUS and DAPHNAEA/Daphnaia and Daphnaios (surnames of Artemis and Apollo), DECATE′PHORUS/ Dekatêphoros (that is, the god to whom the tenth part of the booty is dedicated), DE′LIUS and DE′LIA/ Dêlios and Dêlia or Dêlias (surnames of Apollo and Artemis respectively), DELPHINIUS and DELPHI′NIA/ Delphinia (a surname of Artemis at Athens & The masculine form Delphinius is used as a surname of Apollo), EPACTAEUS or EPA′CTIUS/ Epaktaios or Epaktios (the god worshipped on the coast, was also used as a surname of Poseidon in Samos) EPIBATE′RIUS/ Epibatêrios (the god who conducts men on board a ship), EPICU′RIUS/ Epikourios (the helper),

EUTRESITES/Eutrêsitês (derived from Eutresis, where he had a ancient Oracle), GALA′XIUS/Galaxios a (from Boeotia, derived from the stream Galaxius),

HEBDOMA′GETES/Hebdomagetês (was derived from the fact of sacrifices being offered to him on the seventh of every month, the seventh of some month which became the god's birthday), HECAERGUS/Hekaergos (same meaning as Hecaerge in the case of Artemis),HY′LATUS/Hulatos (derived from the town of Hyle in Crete, which was sacred to him), INTONSUS/unshorn, (surname of Apollo and Bacchus showing the eternal youth of these gods, beacuse the Greek youths allowed their hair to grow until they attained the age of manhood), ISME′NIUS/Ismenios (A surname of Apollo at Thebes), ISO′DETES/Isodetêg (the god who binds all equally, is also used as a surname of Pluto),I′XIUS/Ixios (derived from a district of the island of Rhodes which was called Ixiae or Ixia.), LAPHRAEUS/Laphraios (a surname of Apollo at Calydon), LEUCA′DIUS/ Leukasios (a son of Icarius and Polycaste, and a brother of Penelope and Alyzeus. Leucas was believed to have derived its name from him), LIBYSTI′NUS, LOE′MIUS/Loimios (the deliverer from plague),

LO′XIAS/Loxias (derived by some from his intricate and ambiguous oracles), LYCE′GENES/Lukêgenês (describing him either as the god born in Lycia, or as the god born of light), LYCEIUS/Lukeios (the meaning is not quite certain, some derive it from lukos, a wolf, so that it would mean "the wolf-slayer;" others from lukê, light, according to which it would mean "the giver of light;"), LY′CIUS/Lukios (the Lycian, a surname of Apollo, who was worshipped in several places of Lycia),

LYCO′REUS/Lukôreus (A surname of Apollo perhaps in the same sense as Lyceius), MALEATES/Maleatês (surname of Apollo, derived from cape Malea, in the south of Laconia),MARMARINUS/Marmarinos (the god of marble), MALLOEIS and MELUS/Mêlos (A son of Manto, from which the sanctuary of Apollo Malloeis in Lesbos was believed to have derived its name), MOIRA′GETES/Moiragetês (the guide or leader of fate, occurs as a surname of Zeus and Apollo at Delphi) MUSA′GETES/MUSAE (?), NO′MIUS/Noumios (surname of divinities protecting the pastures and shepherds sheared with Apollo, Pan. Hermes, and Aristaeus) ONCAEUS/Onkaios (a surname of Apollo derived from Oncesium on the river Ladon in Arcadia), PAEAN/Paian, Paiêôn or Paiôn (meaning "the healing," however, used also in the more general sense of deliverer from any evil or calamity, PAGASAEUS/ Pagasaios/the Pagasaean, from Pegasus, or Pegasae, (town in Thessaly, uses the surname of Apollo there.), PALATI′NUS, (surname of Apollo at Rome), PARNO′PIUS/Paruopios (the expeller of locusts) paruôps (a surname of Apollo, under which he had a statue on the acropolis at Athen), PARRHA′SIUS/Parrastos (A surname of Apollo, who had a sanctuary on Mount Lyceius, meaning “the helper”, PATAREUS/Patareus (derived from the Lycian town of Patara, where the god used to spend the six winter months in every year), PHILE′SIUS/Philêsios (surname of Apollo at Didyma, where Branchus was said to have founded a sanctuary of the god, and to have introduced his worship) PHOEBUS/ Phoibos (the shining, pure or bright, occurs both as an epithet and a name of Apollo), PHY′XIUS/Phuzios (the god who protects fugitives, also occurs as a surname of Zeus in Thessaly), PY′THIUS/Puthios the Pythian, from Pytho (the ancient name of Delphi, often occurs as a surname of Apollo), SALGANEUS/Salganeus (a surname of Apollo, derived from the town of Salganeus in Boeotia), SARPEDONIUS and SARPEDO′NIA/Sarpêdonia (a surname of Artemis, derived from cape Sarpedon in Cilicia, where she had a temple with an oracle, The masculine Sarpedonius occurs as a surname of Apollo in Cilicia.) SMINTHEUS/Smintheus (a surname of Apollo, which is derived by some from sminthos, a mouse, and from the town of Sminthe in Troas), SPO′DIUS/Spodios (a surname of Apollo at Thebes, derived from spodos, ashes, because his altar consisted of the ashes of the victims which had been sacrificed to him.), TEGYRE′IUS/Tegurêios (a surname of Apollo, derived from the town of Tegyra in Boeotia. where, according to some traditions, the god had been born), TELMI′SSIUS/Telmissios (a surname of Apollo derived from the Lycian town of Telnissus or Telmessus),TEMENITES/Temenitês (a surname of Apollo, derived from his sacred temenus in the neighbourhood of Syracuse), THEOXE′NIUS/Theoxenios (a surname of Apollo and Hermes), THYMBRAEUS/Thumbraios (A surname of Apollo, derived from a place in Troas called Thymbra, where he had a temple in which Achilles was wounded, or from a neighboring hill of the same name), ZOSTERIUS and ZOSTE′RIA/Zôstêria (a surname of Athena among the Epicnemidian Locrians, The masculine form Zosterius occurs as a surname of Apollo in Attica, on the slip of land stretching into the sea between Phaleron and Sunium)

Epithets•Abaeus, Apollo Acesius, Acestor, Acraephiaeus Apollo, Acraephius Apollo, Actiacus Apollo, Apollo Actiacus, Apollo Aegletes, Agetor, Agonius, Agraeus, Agyieus, Alexicacus,Amazonius, Anextiomarus, Aphetor Apollo, Aphetorius Apollo, Apollo Musagetes, Apollo Soranus, Apollo Apotropaeus, Apulu, Archegetes, Argyrotoxus Apollo, Apollo Articenens, Apollo Averruncus, Apollo Clarius, Apollo Coelispex, Apollo Culicarius, Apollo Cynthius, Apollo Cynthogenes, Delius Apollo, Apollo Delius, Apollo Delphinius, Apollo Didymaeus, Apollo Epicurius Apollo Galaxius, Apollo Genetor, Hecaërgus Apollo, Apollo Hecebolus, Hekatos, Helius Apollo, Apollo Helius, Apollo Iatromantis, Apollo Iatrus, Apollo Ismenius, Kourotrophos, Apollo Leschenorius, Leucadius, Apollo Loxias, Apollo Lycegenes, Lyceus, Apollo Lycoctonus, Manticus Apollo, Apollo Medicus, Apollo Nomius, Apollo Nymphegetes, Paean (god), Apollo Paean, Apollo Parnopius, Apollo Patroüs, Apollo Phanaeus, Ptoion, Ptous, Pythius Apollo, Apollo Pythius, Apollo Smintheus, Apollo Sosianus, Thyraeus, Virotutis. (I’m not gonna put who, why or what the epithets are, cut me some slack 😔)

Equivalents• Abru (Berber), Horus & Ra (Egyptian), Aplu (Etruscan), Helios (Greek), Apollo & Janus (Roman), Nergal (Aplu Enlil) (Semitic)

Offerings• Candles (he’s the god of light), Paint brushes/paints, Canvases, Colored pencils, markers, crayons, Collages, Journals, Art books, Art prints, Anything you mad, Sculptures, Zines, Stickers, Any art supplies, Music boxes, Records, CDs,Cassettes, Record players,radios, MP3, Headphones, Music posters, Band merch, Instruments (especially String instruments), Dance shoes, Concert tickets, CD book holders, Sun and Light imagery, Sunscreen, Aloe for sunburns, Golden objects, Matches, Candles, Sunflowers/sunflower seeds, First aid kits, Medicine, Pain relievers, Band - aids, Ice/heat packs, Rice socks, face Masks, Aloe, Ambulance toy cars,Adaptive aids, Darts, Bow and arrows, Arrow quiver, Dart board, Targets used in archery, Bullseye used in archery, Snake skins, Snake imagery (ex - Python), Laurels, Bay leaves (because of Daphne), Palm trees (based on his birth myth), Ravens/Crows related things, Crow feathers, Cattle/turtles (related to Hermes birth myth), Swans (the animals Pull His chariot), Hyacinths (Hyacinthus is his past lover), Locks of hair, Vanilla flavored/scented things , Honey, Sunny D drink, Lemons/lemon juice, Oranges/orange juice, Citrus, Water, chocolate milk (UPG), molten orange-scented wax cube used on an oil burner, The first bite of every meal (keep a tea plate close by at mealtimes), Pot Pourri, visit a clairvoyant, Welcome foreigners, teach others your own culture/language, make sure foreigners are able to find helpful resources and social life in your community, Make sure the street outside your house is clean and secure, Resin, Sun-shaped cookies or cakes, Wine, Golden cakes, Golden raisins.

Devonatal- Donate to medical charities, Support beginner indie artists and musicians, Sing to Him, Play musical instruments for Him, Hold dance parties in his honor, Make a playlist for Him and listen to it, Read poetry to Him, Take care of your mental health in his honor, take your medicine in his honor, Try/do archery in his honor, Try/do different types of divination (ex- Tarot/Oracle decks, Pendulums, Rune stones, Charm casting supplies, Crystal balls, Scrying bowls, Cookie fortunes, Tea leaves), Try and wake up early and watch the sun rise, Go for a walk and feel the warmth from the sun, Let more sunlight into your home/room, Learn a musical instrument, learn how to sing, Learn simple medical care (ex- CPR), research his family in his honor, research Apollon, Attend pride, advocate for LGBT+ rights, Wear yellow clothing in his honor, wear orange clothing in his honor, Honor Leto and Artemis in his honor, Pray to Him/ speak to Him often (ex- for guidance, healing/good health, and new inspiration, protection, improvement in your mental health, fertility, ecstasy, for everything going well in the health aspect), Dance and sing to your favorite songs or songs you’d think He would like, Throw a feast in His honor, Support/donate to your local Hospital in his honor, Exercise in his honor, Get vaccinated in his honor, Get STI tested in his honor, practice Self care in his honor, Keep a first aid kit at home/in your car in his honor, Learn about alternative medicine in his honor, Advocate for accessible in his honor, Advocate for disability rights in his honor, Volunteer at a hospital in his honor, Give blood/plasma in his honor; Volunteer at a retirement home in his honor, Learn about anatomy/biology/nutrition in his honor, Learn about health conditions/rare disorders in his honor, Eat healthy for your body in his honor, Help fund surgeries if you can in his honor, Trip sit for someone in his honor, Listen to your body when it needs something in his honor , Sunbathe in his honor, Wear sunscreen in his honor, Start a garden in his honor, Make sun water in his honor, Music Go to a concert/show, Listen to music in his honor, Make a playlist for someone you love in his honor, dance in general in his honor, Sing in general in his honor, Support local bands in his honor, Explore new music in his honor, Daily tarot card/rune stones sessions in his honor, Make an oracle deck in his honor, Give divination readings in his honor, do Shadow work in his honor , do Colormancy in his honor, Make something in his honor, Draw in his honor, paint in his honor, craft in his honor, Color something for him, Make a zine in his honor, Go see a play in his honor, Get a tattoo in his honor, Throw darts in his honor, Use a slingshot in his honor, Go to a shooting range in his honor, follow and support artist/poet YouTubers and their social media, Check in with your neighbors, do Photography (painting with light), light a candle in his honor because he’s the of…light!

Crystal•Sunstone, Citrine, Carnelian, Clear Quartz, Pyrite, Selenite, Lapis Lazuli, amber, calcite (only the color honey/yellow), quartz (rutilated or clear), rose quartz.

Parentage• Zues and Leto

Siblings• his full sibling was his twin Artemis, His half siblings were Athena, Hermes, Dionysus, Aphrodite, Ares, Hephaestus and Persephone, Heracles, Ares, Perseus, Hebe, Aphrodite, Athena, Some Muses, Eileithyia.

Works well with• people who are respectful, and are honest, and not boastful.

Jewelry • friendship bracelets

Hates• saying that your better than him, (too boastful), being to stubborn to learn (he is the god of knowledge.), and anything contradicting his godlyness

Mortal or immortal • immortal.

Zodiac • Leo.

Curses• Sickness, and often seeing yourself lying, and in trouble.

Blessings• your healthy and protection and purification.

Vows/omans• he swears he will be Hermes best friend, and that he will never marry (the muses myth) because he swore he would never because he couldn't choose between all the Muses, not usually used in modern day, he could be married but it is a version of a myth, he could date. just never marry.

Morals• Morally grey.

Courting• he is unmarried.

Past lovers & crushes• Admetus (a crush), Daphne (rejected him and he fell so in love she had to run away and turn into a tree..), all the nine muses (couldn’t choose so decided to never unwed), Cyrene (a crush), Evadne (a lover who bore him a child.), Rhoeo (bore him a child and made him raise it..) Ourea (had a crush on Apollo and they hooked up on his exile and bore him a kid), Thero, Hyrie or Thyrie (said they were lovers but he made them suicidal so..idk..). Hecuba (bore the child who made Apollo kill Achilles.), Coronis (bore him Asclepius), Creusa (bore him a child and left him to die and then to be raised by a priestess of Apollo.), Hyacinthus (his most dear male lover.), Cyparissus (a dear friend but still a honorable mention.), Admetus (a crush), Branchus, Adonis (poly with apollon and Aphrodite), Helenus, Hippolytus of Sicyon,Hymenaios, god of marriage hymns, Iapis, Phorbas, minthe (who he turned into mint)

Personality• He’s very energetic, cheerful, wise, honest and kind, and very responding.

Fact• Apollo was temporarily stripped of his immortal power by Zeus – twice , he tried to over throw his father Zeus once (He failed, but they have a good bond.)

Roots• Greek mythology, born at Delos in Cyclades archipelago.

Appearance in astral or gen• depicted as a handsome, beardless youth with long hair and wears a wreath and branch of laurel, bow and quiver of arrows, usually accompanied with a raven, and holding a lyre.

Children• Acraepheus, Aeneus, Agamedes, Agreus, Amphiaraus, Amphissus, Amphithemis, Anius, Apis, Apollonis, Arabius, Aristaeus, Asclepius, Borysthenis, Cephisso, Chariclo, Cinyras, Coronus, Cycnus, Delphus, Dius, Dorus, Dryops of Oeta, Eleuther, Epidaurus, Eriopis, Erymanthus, Eumolpus, Eurydice, Eurynome, Hilaeira, Hymen (god), Ialemus, Iamus, Idmon (Argonaut), Ion, Ismenus, Korybantes, Laodocus, Lapithes (hero), Linus (Argive), Linus, Linus of Thrace, Lycomedes, Lycorus, Melaneus of Oechalia, Melite, Miletus, Mopsus, Naxos, Oaxes, Oncius, Orpheus, Phemonoe, Philammon, Philander, Phoebe, Phylacides, Polypoetes, Scylla, Syrus, Tenerus, Tenes, Troilus, Trophonius, Zeuxippus of Sicyon.

Pet• the swans pulling his chariot called the “singers of Apollo” or just “birds of Apollo”

Status• Greek mythology god, in the big theoi, not a Demi god.

Prayers•

Prayer to Lord Apollon for Help with Divination

Hear me, Foreseeing Apollon, Son of Indomitable Zeus and Gentle Leto, Brother to Far-Shooting Artemis. He who speaks of truth, If I have ever revelled in your sunlight, accept this prayer, Apollon Leader of Fate, I ask you to be with me during this divination and to guide my cards with your knowledge, I ask for your favour with a token of my praise, I offer to you (offering)- @praise-to-the-theoi

To Lord Apollon when taking medication

Hear me, healing Apollon, Father to Soothing Asklepios. He who controls both plague and healing, If I have ever honoured you, please accept this prayer, Shining Apollon, Please allow me to be safe when taking this medication, to aid it in its effectiveness, and to reduce the likelihood of negative side effects. I ask for your favour with a token of my praise, and I take this medication in your honour. -https://www.tumblr.com/praise-to-the-theoi

Prayer to Artemis and Apollon

Praise today, O Lord Apollo and Lady Artemis, rulers upon the Sun and Moon. The Celestial Twins, on this date, join each other in the sky, shining upon us their divine light and presence. Praise the children of Great Zeus and Leto; Hail Lady Artemis, the oldest daughter, who helped her mother at birth. Godess of the hunt, divine virgin, patroness of girls, their childhood and innocence. Hail Apollon, youngest son, born by his sister's hand. God of the plages and sickness. Patron of the arts, music and poetry. May they raise their bows and guide us towards their light. - serotoninbetweenpages

Prayer with his epithets in it-

Let us hymn Paean the great god, Apollo; Immortal, gloriously formed, unshorn, soft-haired, Stern-hearted, king, delighting in arrows, giver of life, Joyous, laughing, slayer of giants, sweet-hearted, Son of Zeus, slayer of dragons, lover of the laurel, Sweet of speech, of ample might, far-shooter, giver of hope, Creator of animals, divine, Jove-minded, giver of zeal, Mild, sweet-spoken, sweet-hearted, gentle-handed, Slayer of beasts, blooming, charmer of the spirit, soft-speaking, Shooter of arrows, desirable, healer, charioteer, Weaver of the world, Clarian, strong-hearted, father of fruits, Son of Leto, pleasant, delighting in the lyre, resplendent, Lord of the mysteries, prophet, magnanimous, thousand-shaped, Lover of the bow-string, wise, stiller of grief, sober,Lover of community, common to all, taking thought for all, benefactor of all, Blessed, making blessed, Olympian, dweller on the hills, Gentle, all-seeing, sorrowless, giver of wealth, Saviour from trouble, rose-coloured, man-breaker, path-opener, Glittering, wise, father of light, saviour, Delighting in the dance, Titan, initiator, revered, Chanter of hymns, highest, stately, of the height, Phoebus, purifier, lover of garlands, cheerer of the spirit, Utterer of oracles, golden, golden-complexioned, golden-arrowed, Lover of the lyre, harper, hater of lies, giver of the soul, Swift-footed, swift-voiced, swift of vision, giver of seasons. Let us hymn Paean the great god, Apollo.

- Epigram from Book 9 of the Greek Anthology, translated by W.R. Paton (1916-18)

Links/websites/sources •

@praise-to-the-theoi

ofbloodandfaith

Reddit · r/Hellenism5 comments · 1 year agosimple offerings for apollo? : r/Hellenism

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apollo#Children https://www.thoughtco.com/roman-equivalents-of-greek-gods-4067799https://www.reddit.com/r/Hellenism/comments/d20s5v/would_amber_be_an_appropriate_incense_for_apollo/https://www.reddit.com/r/GreekMythology/comments/du0z4k/did_the_olympian_gods_have_particular_color/https://www.tumblr.com/eldritchhorror06https://www.tumblr.com/themodernwitchsguidehttps://web.pdx.edu/~scarmody/art342/exercise2/index.html#:~:text=Animals%20sacred%20to%20Apollo%20include,foxes%2C%20mice%2C%20and%20snakes.

let the light in and let your truth of loving Apollo shine aswell

I use resources, I do not own the info, and most deep dives have UPG (that I use in my work.) And I only take some information from sources. I am 14, this is my hobby, I am learning but I spent many hours and days on this, and I am always open to criticism. I have been doing worship for 5 years. Please know you can use the info, I do not sue, but I will take action if this work is used without permission and not put as a resource if used in any work. without permisson and not put as a resource if used in any work, for the public.

425 notes · View notes

kiame-sama · 7 months

Text

Sin Eater- (Yandere!Zestial)

Warnings; more of a slow burn, purely platonic yandere for now, can't decide if I would prefer platonic or romantic yandere Zestial at the moment, unnamed overlord death, prior to the events of Hazbin, mention of blood, blackouts and slight missing memories, gender neutral reader, vague cannibalism,

~~~~~~~~

"Where... Am I?"

Your question was met with silence as you looked around the room at the various surprised figures. Only moments ago you had been standing up at the Heavenly gates with who you assumed to be St. Peter searching for your name. He had found it but when the gates opened, a man wearing a mask with devil horns stopped the two of you. The man didn't say much before he smiled and said you belonged in Heaven but had work to do in Hell. After that there was a flash of bright light before you found yourself where you currently stood.

Outside the sky was red and those standing before you were dressed rather differently from the angelic being you spoke to prior. The colors of the room almost seemed to be steeped in sepia coloration like an old film movie. Those around the long rectangular table seemed surprised and confused by your presence just as you were confused by theirs.

"Great, who's this then? Some cheeky bitch intruding in an overlord meeting."

One of the people sitting at the table stood, their features making them look like some kind of cross between an alligator and a chicken. Their three eyes were focused on you and seemed to be smouldering in their sockets as they approached. You didn't know how to respond as the being loomed over you, hand drawn back as if they intended to slap you.

What felt like seconds later you were suddenly on the other side of the room, warm sticky red blood covered your arms and chest while it dripped from your hands. The sudden change startled you as you tried to wipe away the blood with very little success, becoming panicked and almost frantic. Not only were you confused and lost, you were soaked in blood and somewhere completely new to you.

It was during your panicked attempt at wiping away the blood on you that a slender spider-like hand rest on your shoulder. The weight of the hand drew your attention to the person attached to that hand.

They were an unusual looking being with neon green-yellow eyes set in a dark gray face. Their body was obscured by a long cloak that covered them and came up in a collar that held the design of spider webs. A spider sat located above their collarbone as if it were a bowtie that held the cloak closed on the figure.

"Calm thyself, child. One ought not panic so easily, especially when one finds thyself in Hell. Breathe a moment, for the danger has passed."

Their voice was a soothing rumble that held a faint echo to it, their relaxed demeanor calming you considerably despite your uncertain surroundings. When they saw you had followed their instructions and took a deep breath, a rather patient smile played across their lips.

"Worry not, child. No harm shall befall thee here."

You almost returned the smile before a voice interjected, startling you slightly.

"They won't be harmed, sure, but what about us? They just ate one of the other overlords!"

"Calm thyself, Carmilla. Approach not with violence but an open hand and there will be no trouble. It seems Heaven has set a Sin Eater in our midst once more. A lost lamb ought not stray from thine flock, lest they be consumed by the wolves that doth circle amongst the sheep."

The humanoid circled you slightly, keenly observing you as you watched with unguarded curiosity. You had never seen someone like them before, but despite their appearance you felt calm and almost protected by the unusual being. It was when they stopped and gained an almost pleased smile that you felt the hair on the back of your neck standing ever so slightly.

"Prithee, speak thy name, Child, that I may address thee proper."

"(Y/n) (L/n). What's your name?"

"Zestial. Though many oft remark me to be the oldest overlord in Hell. Tell me, (Y/n), wouldst thou wish to be cast into the populace of Hell, or wouldst thou prefer to be guided through by a more experienced hand?"

"I... Wait, we're in.. Hell? Then that means I'm..."

"Verily, young (Y/n). Life has departed thee and left thee to walk amongst the fallen. As thou may suspect, the populace of Hell will not react kindly to thy presence. Sin Eaters are monsters in Hell and oft are hunted the rare times their presence becomes known. But no more of that, there is still the question at hand. What is thy answer?"

"I... I just want to know what's going on. I don't want to be hunted for something I didn't even choose. Will you help me?"

"Yes, dear confused (y/n). It is within mine own ability to guide and protect thee from the many untrusting eyes in Hell."

It was then the feminine one Zestial addressed as Carmilla spoke up, her brows raised and tone incredulous. Those sitting at the table seemed surprised as well with the current way the conversation was headed. None other than Carmilla seemed brave enough to speak out their concerns on the matter.

"Zestial, I know you are one to keep your plans to yourself, but are you really going to make a deal with that thing?"

"Carmilla, though thy intent is to protect and perhaps defend from the unknown, never forget that none had guessed mine own intentions at first glance. This is to be a deal struck between the Sin Eater and I, it needs no outside interjection."

"I- understood, Zestial."

The spider being turned back to you, their enigmatic smile still present on their face as they spoke in that same even tone.

"Now, (y/n), what say thee? It must be known I shan't do this without proper reparations. Thine soul shall become mine for the taking, but there shall be none who can try to touch thee without repercussions. More importantly, Hell need not control thy heart with fear as I shall walk by thee and shelter thee from the hostile intent of others. Does that sound amenable?"

"You want my soul and in return you're going to stop others from hurting me?"

"Among other things, but yes."

"Okay. I think that's fair."

A contract appeared out of what seemed to be nothing, floating before you. Next to it was a pink and green-yellow feather much like the one that adorned Zestial's hat. With nothing to lose you grabbed the feather quill and signed your name on the dotted line, agreeing to the mysterious being's offer. The second you finished writing your name, a certain weight seemed to now be placed on your shoulders as if the air around you had changed.

"Verily, a wise choice, dear (y/n). Wise indeed."

#kiame-sama #yandere #x reader #yandere x reader #reader insert #tw yandere #platonic yandere #platonic x reader #yandere zestial

241 notes · View notes

mothsparksghost · 1 month

Text

Life is Fickle, Life is Short, But Never Should it Be That Short

TW's: Major character death(s), faked deaths, suicide, mentions of suicide, heavy angst (with some comfort), Violence, Kidnapping

Batman had been off world for almost two months now. He, along with the Lanterns, had gone to aid in gaining Earth a new political alley if they were ever to be attacked by something the Leagues couldn't handle.

Safe to say, Batman was ready to go home and have a makeup family dinner. The mission had gone on longer then any of them could have predicted, and so he had to miss the last dinner they had. Bruce was actually quite sad about that, he loved when all of his family was in one room even if he never vocalized it.

So after finally docking the JL's space craft, Bruce and co. quickly scrambled out of the ship, ready to fill out the necessary forms and get to their respective families and friends. Immediately though Bruce could tell something was off.

The landing, which at least would have someone there to greet them, was empty.

Hackles raised, Batman quickly signaled to the Lanterns with him that something was wrong. When he didn't hear at least some shuffling from them, he turned to the unusually silent men. They were all looking at their respective coms. Some had wide eyes, others mouths were hanging. They looked shocked, scared, even. Batman did not like that.

At all.

"What are you all looking at?" the demand rang out, causing the group to flinch as if they expected a demon to bust down the door and shred them to pieces. With glances, they collectively shoved Hal out as if choosing a sacrificial lamb for a wolves dinner. Batman narrowed his eyes in discomfort.

Hal said nothing, just slowly approached the kevlar clad man. Holding out his coms screen, Batman finally got a look at what they were all horrified of.

!ATTENTION! All Leaguers To Justice Hall For The Combined Funerals Of: Agent A, Nightwing, Redhood, Red Robin, Spoiler, Black Bat, Oracle, Signal, and Robin, At-

Deftly, Batman stared down at the message.

He felt numb.

So numb.

And then.

Rage.

Rage at not immediately being told.

Rage at not immediately being pulled from the mission.

Rage at the entirety of the Justice League for having a funeral without even telling him.

Rage at not being there to protect his family from what had killed them.

And then, it clicked! It must be an elaborate, very, very, misguided prank. After all, Superman wouldn't let his family die! He'd hear the struggle, the fading heart beats, the screams for help.

HE'D HEAR THOSE!

Wonder Woman would have helped them as well! She had been given one of the few bat distress signals! They'd have pressed the button and she would've come running!

SHE SHOULD'VE COME RUNNING!

The League would have noticed!

THEY WOULD HAVE NOTICED!

So obviously it was a prank! A stupid, horrible attempt at getting him to cut back on work! That was it!

And with those thoughts, Bruce went sprinting down to the Zeta Tubes and teleported to the Justice Hall.

When he finally got there, it was decked out in black. Silly them, it seems as if he needed to go over what the Leagues bank cards should be used for again!

Silly, silly, silly.

Bursting through doors, he finally found the main hall.

With the entirety of the Justice League. Dark, Young Justice, the Titians, everyone.

And would you look at that! They were all wearing black! Silly them! Didn't they know that all black was meant for the Bats?

Scanning the room filled with people, with heroes, he didn't see his children or not children or even his father. Not a single one. Whipping around, he came face to face with 9 caskets.

9 photos.

9 pieces of his family.

Suddenly, Batman felt a heavy but gentle hand land on his shoulder. He would develop whiplash if he kept this up. The hand was connected to a Superman. To Clark. To a sad Clark. A guilty looking Clark.

Why was he looking guilty?

"B, I'm so sorry." Salty tears flitted down the man of steel's face.

But Bruce didn't care.

Because all too soon, he realized, it wasn't a prank.

It was real.

And he couldn't handle it anymore. He couldn't handle it at all.

Quicker then anyone there thought he was capable of, he whipped out that small piece of Kryptonite and decked Superman. It was an all out brawl between him and the Leaguers after that. And he wasn't the one loosing.

So he decided, 'Fuck it, fuck it all,' and left the Leaguers with bruises and new scars when the younger Leaguers asked him to stop.

He then Zeta Tubed his way to the Bat Cave. To the smoke filled, ashy rooms.

Everything was offline, everything was silent, everything was dead.

Climbing up the elevator shaft, he reached what should have been the manor. Instead it was a desolate waste land of ashes, burned wood, and silence. Well, almost desolate.

A single safe stood out in the wreckage. And in quick order, wielding something that he never thought he would, Bruce joined his children.

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

"Fuck! FUCK!" Superman shouted at the new funeral. One that wasn't ever meant to supposed to happen. But was a funeral ever meant to happen, ever expected? The man stared the rare photo of a smiling Batman. Of an alive Batman. Of an alive Bruce.

Tears ran hot down his face like molten lava, even as he heard the rest of the Leaguers joining him in his sorrow. He had went and tried to find Bruce after being knocked out, and only found his cooling corpse instead.

Supermans thoughts were interrupted when a bang, not all to unfamiliar, sounded out. Whipping his head up, he thought he was hallucinating. Because standing there were 9 dead people.

9 people who should have been dead.

"YO, where's B? We gotta debrief him on what happened-" Nightwings rambling got cut off as he looked just beyond Clark.

The others soon looked, and then the screams started.

"WHAT! NO! WHERE IS HE?"

"B, THIS ISN'T FUCKING FUNNY!"

"YOU UTTER BITCHES, YOU THINK THIS SHIT'S FUNNY?"

"DAD?! WHERE ARE YOU?!"

The wails of anguish filled the hall as the Leaguers surrounded them, trying their best to comfort the Bats as much as they can.

"What happened? Where were all of you?" Wonder Womans voice rang out above the quiet mummers and piercing wails. Alfred took it upon himself to explain, even if the wobbling voice hurt those surrounding him to hear.

"We were kidnapped by a rogue organization that figured out our identities. They were after Batman originally, but decided that the best way to get revenge was to torture all of us. They created clones, proceeded to slowly kidnap us one by one, until they eventually burned down the mansion with the husks inside."

And didn't that just make it so much more painful?

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

He was floating.

He didn't know where he was.

He just was.

But he felt wrong.

He needed to do something.

Something to protect.

Not something, someone.

Multiple someones.

He needed to protect those dear to him.

He needed to protect his family.

His family.

Where was his family?

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

With a sudden sharpness, a shadowy mass with flashes of grey skin opened its eyes. The eyes of the creature were pure white, and as it rose it's head, two horns became visible. It looked at where it woke up, surrounded in a cave system that pulsed with different colors, but blues being the most prominent.

Slowly, it got its bearings back to itself.

He knew he was dead.

But he also knew with a pulse of something, that his family wasn't.

And just like that, he was at two ornate doors, as big as the old manors door. He grabbed one handle with a clawed hand, pulling the surprisingly light door open. A vortex of green met his eyes.

All around was green.

He needed to fly.

He knew it should be impossible for him, but he didn't care, he needed to find his family.

To protect his family.

So with a flap of massive bat wings, he was off, looking for something.

That something turned out to be a giant, glowing, gothic castle. He quickly landed, hurdling through giant doors.

Soon enough, he met the one he knew would help. One that felt similar to him.

"̸̮͔̗̀̾̈́̕H̶̯̩̫̬͗̅̒̃͜ë̶̼́̆̿̿̒l̴̢̫͓̱̜̎p̷̻̩̻͇̯̞͌̅́̕ ̶͖̯͔̟̀̋̆͘m̶͉̹̳̯͑e̸̲̾ ̷͙̥̫̦̙̕f̶̡͎͈̾̾͋̓̐̀i̸̞̻͍̎̾͊n̷̰̻̮͓̤̆̄̾͒̅ͅd̷̢̦̩̓ ̴̞̼͈̦͕͛͊̚ṭ̵͖̂̂͗̔̾h̸̡͍̖̣̻͚̓͒̾͝ḙ̶̮́͛̇̎͘̚m̸̛̱̎̋̐̔͠,̷̧̰͕̤̬̝̑̚͝ ̴̹̃p̶̢̥͙̈́ͅļ̵͙̜̫͍̊̋̉̓ͅé̵͙͔̟̇ă̷̺͈̏̓͝s̵̙͖̣͔̔̊͆̍͘ȅ̵͇̍͒̚͝.̴̢̰̗͍̮̳̀̌̕ ̴̳͉̩̬̿̊̃͘Î̴͉̺̰̯̫̊̅͘ ̷̻͉͙̈́͛̍̀n̵͕̯̖̤͉̹̔͐̅̃̓̕e̷̡͉͕̖̅͆̊ē̷͇̊d̵̢̥̜̹̮͑͌͌͆͝ͅ ̶͕̫̿̈́̈́͝͠ẗ̵̪́̊ó̷̝̜̀̀͊͝ ̶̨͇͓͖̞̄ͅṕ̴̨̬̗͚̤́̔ŕ̷͚̐̊͆́̒ơ̵̰̜̭͙͒͑̒͐t̷͕̖͖̝̥̙̾́̕͝e̸̡̞͎͉͈͒͋̎͛c̴͉̘̔t̶̢͚̖̮͈̟͒̅ ̵̞̯̘̮̤̄͊͑̔t̵̡̪̭̜̟̕h̷̟̀e̷̟͊͜m̸̳̒͑̀́.̸̨̮͈͈̺̺̌̓̎̊̏̃"̵̺͚̰̹̗̃

And the Ancient made of cosmos, with flowing white hair, never ending green eyes, crowned with stars, ice and aurora's, agreed.

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

They were being beat by that same damned organization that cost them their colleague, their mentor, their friend, their father.

And they were all loosing.

Everyone was preoccupied with something, whether it was Kryptonite suits, incoming hoards of androids, or rogue powers spilling out. Flashes, bangs, and screams from all sides filled the air.

It was looking like the Leaguers were going to die.

The Bats, who should still be benched due to the traumatic and catastrophic events done by them, were not holding back. Blood was being spilt by all of them. The no killing rule was shot with a single bullet to the head.

So they didn't hold back, not at all.

But it still wasn't enough.

And they were loosing.

They were bleeding.

They were going to die.

And then the sky opened up, a massive vortex made up of glowing greens filled the sky. It reminded those who knew of them, of the Lazarus pits. But the fighting didn't stop. Oh no.

It only stopped when they came through.

A massive, humanoid being made of swirling galaxies with an infinite number of glowing green eyes and what could be considered a halo of floating white hair. Atop its head was a crown of equal proportion made of icy rods with stars twinkling weaved through an aurora pulsing around it all. It was terrifyingly beautiful.

And then, another one came out. This one was different, but oh so familiar looking.

It was as if a living shadow took shape, sucking in all of the light. It had two horns that stabbed through the air, with clawed hands and feet resembling the many gargoyles around Gotham. It's massive wings were pulled back, allowing for what little color, yellows, to peak through. It had a long, slender, spiked tail ending in a sharp looking diamond. Its hair, or what would have been hair, looked like it was slowly melting off, sliding onto what little grey flesh could be seen. It eyes were a pure, glowing white, and only when it opened its mouth, that too many fangs, not teeth, could be seen.

It was terrifying.

It was comforting.

And suddenly, shadowy ice spikes rose from the ground, impaling the ones trying to end the Leaguers.

The Bats.

After that, it was soon known that the Big Bad Bat was back.

And he was different.

H̵̢̜͇̩͙͊̓͐́ͅê̷̫̬͓͖͎̒̈́́̂̚͝ͅ ̷̧̟̝̟͖̭̪̬̪͇͙͝K̵̬͕͓̗̀̽̒̽̄i̴̦̪͒̇̿̑̄̀͝l̶̢̧̻̮̗̰͕̹̼͈͉̏ͅl̴̥̮̙̯͔͈̉̀͆̑͐͘̕ē̸̢̳̘͑̐̿̃͂͐͐͒͝d̶̨͍̬̗̦͈̙̩̰̍͐͑̌̆̃͜͝͠.̷̢̝̜̖͎̟̣́͗̍̌̂͑͒̌̌̔͜

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

srry, this got away from me lol. Anyways lemme know what you think of it :} Have any questions? Please ask! Just know it might take a little while for me to answer. Any criticisms? Welcomed as long as they are constructive!

128 notes · View notes

wlwdwtys · 2 months

Text

Workin' on a little something

#wlwdwtys talks #art #my art #TLWW #the lambs wolves wear #TLWF #The lambs wolves fear

2 notes · View notes

nomsfaultau · 8 months

Text

“I knew I was going to ruin your life and yet I entered it anyway.”

Philza, and the thing that’s no longer pretending to be Wilbur. From part 5 of The Lambs Wolves Wear

#wilbur soot #philza #philza fanart #sand duo #sand duo fanart #Dark sbi #the lambs wolves wear #mcyt #mcyt fanart #something to nom on

131 notes · View notes

rookthorne · 1 year

Text

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐒𝐢𝐭 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲

It was a game you loved to play: targeting their weaknesses to see how fast they’d fracture and snap — taking you down with them. This time, however, you got much more than you bargained for.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ➣ Bodyguard!CW!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader x Bodyguard!Winter Soldier

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ➣ 1.8k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ➣ Fluff ჻჻჻ SMUT: Dom!James, Sub!Bucky, Sub!Reader, fingering (M + F receiving), unprotected piv ჻჻჻ KINKS: Sergeant, praise, so much dirty talk

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ➣ Well, this got away from me. I blame them, wholeheartedly.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 ➣ Cravin' by Stileto, Kendyle Paige

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ➣ @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer ჻჻჻ Week 1 — Lingerie — Masterlist

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐚 𝐕𝐨𝐥𝐤𝐨𝐯 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The days blurred together — either you were lazing in the living room, draped across Bucky and James’ laps and watching cheesy rom coms (much to their annoyance), or you were tangled in someone’s arms while the other attacked every last sense you had with touch and filthy words.

Today was no different, you decided. Especially since you had chosen to combine two deadly forces — Bucky’s red Henley, and James’ favourite set of lingerie.

The thought of what they were going to do to you made an ache settle deep in your cunt — an impossible to ignore emptiness making itself known.

Quiet chatter filled the otherwise silent hallway that led to the kitchen, your feet padding on the tiled floor until you came to a stop in the doorway, when the conversation halted. James was leaning against the counter, his chest covered by a black shirt and his arms crossed, holding a steaming cup of coffee. The heat in his gaze as he stared at you pinned you in place.

The tension was broken by the sound of Bucky’s mug hitting the counter a bit too enthusiastically. You looked at him and smiled shyly. He was shirtless and wearing a pair of grey sweats that hung low on his hips.

You cleared your throat, and slowly walked forward, stretching your arms out to Bucky for your morning hug. “G’mornin’,” you said as Bucky crushed you to his chest, swaying side to side gently. “Wha’s for breakfast?”

“Kisa, darling,” James started, his tone of forced calm. “Breakfast is you.”

“Oh-” You tried, but yelped when Bucky picked you up with a growl, forcing you to sit on the edge of the counter. “Wait!”

Bucky grinned wickedly, crowding into your space and forcing your knees apart so they’d rest either side of his hips, making you whimper. The ploy had worked, the combination of their weaknesses had sent them feral.

“You know what that does to us, sweetheart,” Bucky purred, his grip on your hips bruising with the force. “What d’you say, Jamie? What should we do with such a naughty girl?”

James appeared at Bucky’s shoulder, his chin resting in the juncture of his neck. There was a menacing glint in his bright eyes, and you gulped. “Fuck her, moy d'yavol. You know how she likes it. Make her scream.”

Two identical predatory grins beamed at you, and your breath became laboured, the band around your chest suddenly tightening in the wolves teeth. “I- Oh, god.”

Heat bloomed over your skin as Bucky pounced, attaching his lips to your pulse point with the lethal precision of a wolf hunting a lamb, and sucked feverishly. “Fuck,” you moaned, squirming in his grip.

“Ah, ah, kisa,” James snapped from somewhere far away, you couldn’t tell, couldn’t breathe under Bucky’s pleasure. “You sit still for us, you want to be a good kitten for us, don’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah- Please,” you gasped. The sudden pressure of Bucky’s fingers on your thigh made you jolt in surprise.

“If you destroy her panties, d’yavol,” James started, a low growl in his throat. The lace moved against your skin and you heaved for breath until the fabric sat snug in the apex of your thigh, leaving your cunt bare.

“I fuckin’ won’t, punk,” Bucky said, a little too smugly. “Fuck you.”

James glared, and you moaned loudly, lost in the feel of Bucky’s fingers as the moved with practised ease over your clit and down- “Fuck, sweetheart, so wet for me already, huh?” You whined in response, growing desperate. “Shh, baby, I’ve gotchu,” he murmured, crowding closer. “Jus’ lemme in, sweetheart, lemme in your tight fuckin’ pussy like a good girl.”

“Bucky! J-James, oh fuck-” You sobbed, the sudden burn of Bucky pushing in and filling you to the hilt was too much, encapsulating you in a scorching heat as Bucky panted into your neck, James cooing right next to you. “Please!”

“Aw, darling, you’re okay,” James whispered, and you watched through hooded eyes as his hand reached for your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over the skin. “You’re taking Bucky so well, such a good girl.”

“Oh, fuck, is she ever,” Bucky groaned. His loose hair tickled your chest as he moved, mouthing and nipping at the skin over your collarbone. “So fuckin’ tight too, god–your cunt is just suckin’ me in, isn’t she?”

“Move, Bucky,” James teased, a brow raised. “Or do you need some incentive?”

“The fuck you mean incentive- Shit!”

It would have been comical, had you been coherent enough to take in the fact that James – the sneaky bastard, had run his hand down Bucky’s back and down his ass, and if going by the cut off whine and stuttered moan Bucky breathed into your neck, was where James’ incentive was coming from.

“You sonofabitch, Jamie- Good god,” Bucky groaned, his hips grinding into yours and forcing his cock deeper. The action forced a hiccuped moan from your lips and you grabbed Bucky’s shoulders. “Fuck, sweetheart, you’re s-so tight.”

James chuckled darkly and stepped closer, his tented sweats pressing tightly against your leg. “He’s not moving, is he, kisa?” Blearily, you looked at James, eyes widening as Bucky shifted and started to thrust shallowly. “I seem to remember telling him he had to make you scream, isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you whined, and James stared at the side of Bucky’s head with a smouldering glare, causing his pace to falter.

“If you can’t fuck our girl like she deserves, Sergeant,” James growled, that same stare burning even hotter. “Step aside and let me make her scream.”

“Fuck,” Bucky grit out, his hips slamming forward. The force punched a moan from your lungs and you whimpered as he pulled back, only to slide back on the counter when he drove forward again.

“That’s it, Sergeant,” James cooed, his bicep tensing and relaxing, tensing and relaxing – each tense causing a sharp thrust forward and a moan to fall from Bucky’s lips. “Good boy, keep going–you have your orders, now make her fucking scream.”

“Ah!” The grin brushing against your neck told you the bastard was loving this, and you could only moan with each pump of his cock, each bite and soothing lick on your neck making it so damn hard to breathe. “Bucky, please!”

“You feel s’good, baby,” Bucky moaned, his breath heavy and hot in your ear. “Like you were jus’ made for me, weren’t you?”

“Us,” James corrected sharply, and Bucky keened, swearing loudly. “Get it right, Sergeant.”

“Stop doing that, you-” A loud gasp cut off Bucky’s retort and you shuddered – James had forced Bucky’s hips forward until he was grinding against that spot so perfectly. “‘M tryin’ to fuck her-”

“Not good enough,” James snapped, and his eyes met yours, something sinister flashing in them with what he saw. “Oh, kisa, is that the spot?” He cooed, his voice much softer. “Did Bucky find it, darling?”

“Need more, please, please don’t stop,” you begged, grabbing Bucky’s shoulders as he bit your neck, soothing it with a kiss. “I wanna cum on your cock, Bucky, please!”

Both Bucky and James moaned at that, and something snapped between them – a renewed energy that you weren’t sure you were ready for.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured, his breath hitching as he kissed you hungrily. You tried to follow his lead but you hiccuped at the sudden pressure of James’ fingers against your clit, circling faster and faster- “James! Fuck, she’s- Oh, god!”

“Just sit pretty for us, kisa, darling, be a good girl,” James rasped, a deadly smirk creeping onto his lips. “Let Bucky do the work. I’ll help him just this once.”

“Fucking- God, Bucky! James!” You cried, gasping for air. Bucky was moaning loudly in your ear, and every time James’ fingers curled to brush against his prostate he whimpered, forcing his hips to pound into yours with abandon. “I’m gonna-”

“You’re gonna cum on my cock, baby, I wan’ it,” Bucky growled. You could just hear James hum an agreement, speeding his fingers up on your clit so they blurred. “Cum for us, sweetheart, gimme it, c’mon-” Bucky keened, his voice becoming a high, desperate whine. “Need you to cum, soak my cock, baby girl, please- Fuck!”

Sounds dulled around you – all you could hear was the blood in your ears and someone screaming while your body pulled taut and writhed. It was a shock to realise you were the one screaming, taking each and every thrust Bucky gave you. “S’good, sweetheart, tha’s it–good girl, give it to me,” Bucky moaned. “She’s forcin’ me out, fuck, need to stay in your cunt, baby, lemme in.”

Your high dragged on, drowning you as Bucky kept up the brutal pace. “B-Bucky, please,” you whimpered.

“Kisa,” James cooed, soft and sweet. “Such a sight you are–isn’t she, Sergeant?”

A low whine built in Bucky’s throat as you twitched through aftershocks, while a cheshire grin split James’ lips. You could just make out the tensing of James bicep, and you smiled lazily as Bucky kept going. “God fuckin’ dammit, James, if you-”

“You made her scream like the good boy you are,” James interrupted, grinning at you as he spoke. “I think he’s earned that reward. Do you agree, darling?”

“Mm,” you breathed, opening your legs just a fraction and tilting your hips. “I want you to cum, gimme it, Bucky.”

“Oh, god!” Bucky choked, panting harshly. “‘M gonna cum, fuck, please–Sweetheart, James, please!”

“Use her, Sergeant,” James growled, sending shivers up your spine. “Cum for me, now, Bucky.”

A loud shout echoed off the walls just as a warmth filled your cunt, triggering another wave of pleasure that stole your breath.

On impulse, you grabbed Bucky’s face and held it to your neck, moaning as he bit down again, though it did nothing to quiet the loud moans of him cumming.

“Easy, Buck,” you whispered, running a hand down his shoulder while he shuddered in your hold. James was still drawing his orgasm out with slow, deep flicks that dominoed into short thrusts into your heat. “Good boy, good boy, breathe.”

Bucky whined quietly and you glanced at James, who stopped and gently pulled his fingers free. “So fucking pretty, both of you,” he rumbled, pulling you into a deep kiss before pulling back and whispering against your lips, “So good for me.” Slowly, he stepped back and rested a hand on Bucky’s lower back.

“That was…” Bucky tried, moving to stand and kissing you on the forehead as he went. “Yeah, you’re in for it now, punk.” The loss of Bucky’s cock made you shiver, but the expression on Bucky’s face as he stared at James set the flames alight again.

“Me?” James raised a brow, a slight smirk on his lips – either apprehension, or arrogance, you couldn’t tell.

“Yeah, you,” Bucky affirmed, pulling his pants back up and tying the elastic tight. “Run.”

Your laughter echoed in the kitchen as James took off down the hall like a bullet, Bucky on his heels.

moy d'yavol = my devil

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader x winter soldier #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #hotbuckysummer2023 #rookthorne's works #Sit Pretty

539 notes · View notes

thisfanisgonesorry · 11 months

Text

grand finale — the 141

kinktober day 31: gangbang (w/ price, gaz, soap, ghost, alej + rudy)

pt 1 // wc: 10,067 :P sorry for dying

tags: smut, gangbang, light fee use, light intox, overstimulation, lots of cum obvi;; a little ooc but theyre thinking w their dicks. y/n has the best pussy in the world (canon)

♡

Captain Price was beyond pissed; he’d done his ‘display of affection’ a few weeks ago, and every few days since, the other men got a little more bold in their actions. What started as a few short sentences of teasing flirtatiousness, ended up in grabbing hands and genuine neglect for Price.

He was well aware of the outcome that was likely to happen, and he understood the consequences and risks of letting his friends watch him fuck his girl, but he was okay with that. He was okay with his friends stroking their dicks to her and to what he’d let them see because he thought he ingrained it into their heads that she was his girl, until that message was no longer the part they paid attention to.

It all clicked into place when he saw Mactavish with his hand wrapped around my waist. So he called to action, inviting them over for drinks again and they all thought it was harmless, snickering to themselves and getting tipsy off of John’s fine bourbon. He was encouraging them to drink up, making them soft and pliable, ‘easy to manipulate’ in his brisk words.

All was well until I plopped down on the coffee table in front of them, wearing just a skirt and a lace bra.

They all groaned inwardly, and John scowled slightly. “Don’t react like that.” He warned as he toyed with my hair, pushing it around, out of my face and adjusting it, making sure I looked as pretty as I could.

They quickly started pointing fingers, biting at whose fault it was that they got caught, realising that he’d suckered them into a deal of getting them drunk just to reprimand and punish them. Meanwhile, John’s strong hands spread my thighs apart, revealing the sticky and glistening pussy to them, causing them to die down from their rowdy argument.

“You’re allowed to touch her.” He spoke with a dismissive shrug as if the intentions for this one were obvious. It was like locking a lamb with a pack of wolves, their hands immediately reaching forward to touch what they could.

He walked around the coffee table again, this time covered with a plush blanket which the boys seemed to ignore or chalk up to as some weird table cover, he took perch in front of my legs, kneeling and pressing a kiss on my neck.

“Wanna tell ‘em, or see how long it takes?”

“Mhm.. I wanna see.”

He gave a small chuckle, pressing more kisses on the expanse of my neck. “Cruel baby.” He muttered to himself, his hands fumbling slightly with his belt. “You’re all prepped up, ain’t you, princess? Tell ‘em.”

“Fucked myself.” I mumbled, though he beckoned more. “Liked being watched.”

“She liked it a whole lot.” He slid in slowly, letting his words linger in the air as a breathy whine escaped me. “Almost too much but I ‘aven’t got anythin’ to worry about, right, lads?” The sarcasm dripped off his tongue and was met by an awkward silence as they endured this again.

I laid back on the table, resting on my elbows as he started thrusting at a gracious pace, hands on my hips as he took control, easily gliding in and out from the pre-worked slickness and they all peered over his shoulders, getting a better view than they did previously. They sipped their bourbon calmly while their thoughts ran wild.

“I said you’re allowed to touch her.” He cursed, they knew he didn’t like repeating himself, so they jerked to attention, forming a circle around me while they started touching what they could.

Simon’s hands took firm place on my chest, while the others groped and grabbed at my ass and thighs. They tried fighting Simon’s greedy hands for the tiniest modicum of space but his hands were too large for them to win. Alejandro’s hands tried to grab at my legs, though the lack of space due to the others caused him to move upwards, cupping my face and neck, moving the hair out of my face as it began to dampen up from sweat.

“That’s it, baby girl, all worked up f’me, ey?”

He was met with a trail of moans, whines and groans (not all of which were from me); Price growled at the way I gushed and twitched around him at the actions of the other men, the wet sounds filled the room and he was selfishly working himself close to finish.

“Please.” I spoke under my breath, squirming against him with want. “God, not enough, need more.”

His large fingers started rubbing on my clit when he realised the other men weren’t going to, whether out of respect or fear was up for interpretation but he simply let it linger.

“So god damn needy, gonna cum on my cock, yeah?” His words stayed harsh, trying to drive me close to orgasm. This was the farthest thing from punishment, and John knew that, so he didn’t plan on treating it like one.

I whined, grabbing hold of the blanket and his arm, digging my fingernails into the flesh of his wrist as he continued to fuck into me smoothly. His actions, while selfish, were exactly how I needed him, and it seemed he knew that as well.

“Johnny—”

His dick twitched inside me. “Yeah, princess, keep moaning for me. Y’don’t even gotta talk, baby, just make those pretty noises, you know what it does to me. Look what’s it doin’ to the lads.” He beckoned on, his hands glued to my hips and clit respectively, knowing the stimulation the other few men were giving me would be more than enough to drive me closer and closer, he could get away with being just a little more selfish, just this once.

Naturally, he felt aggressive, he felt the need to claim up my insides, have his cum leak out of me while one of the others eats me out, tasting his spend while they desperately try to ignore it. He needed to be rough, in the back of his mind, he had to show his display of strength to them, to show them not to cross him again.

This was an act of kindness — and they needed to act like it.

“Shit, ‘m close.” I choked out, my hips bucking against him.

“Yeah?” He laughed. “You like it way more when they’re touching you, is that it, princess?”

I nodded weakly, and his actions didn’t falter in the slightest. He clenched his jaw with his eyes glazing over slightly while he leant over me, pushing his hips as deep as they could go for the final stretch.

“Cum on my cock, princess, show me how good you feel. Cry out f’me, make some noise.” He purred, his head dipping close to mine. “Show the boys. Put on a show for us, baby, I know you like that.”

My head fell back, brushing helplessly against the plush blanket, Alejandro’s sweet hands cradling my head. He carefully watched my body with gritted teeth and a tense jaw, though it didn’t affect the soft grip he held me in.

As I snapped from all the contact on my body, I clenched down around him, hearing an ‘oh god’ fall from his lips. His groans stuttered slightly, his impending orgasm finally crashing him when my walls started spasming around him, loud cries falling from my mouth as I grabbed at him, trying to ground myself through the climax.

“That’s it, that’s it.” He cooed as his dick twitched, his hot cum hitting my walls and he idly kept thrusting, trying to push it into my cervix. My vision spotted, everything going white-hot, and I was sure to put on a special show just for his men.

He eventually pulled out, watching it leak out of the messy hole and onto the softness below it as I went limp once again on the table.

He huffed in amusement, glancing over my relaxed body. He rolled his shoulders as he fiddled with his pants, adjusting them to professionalism and sitting back down on the couch. The men surrounding him paused their movements, hesitantly pulling away from me.

Alejandro kept his soft gaze fixated on me, holding the back of my head and running his fingers through my hair, making sure to push the sweat drenched strands out of my face, keeping me as pretty and presentable as he could.

John completely relaxed, leaning and spreading his arms out to cover the entire back of the couch, spreading his legs slightly as he watched the men with a quirked eyebrow, he tilted his head slightly, and he chuckled lowly once again.

“Don’t all go at once.” He joked. The room stayed silent, so after a few seconds, he continued. “Well? ‘s someone gonna go first? Take turns?” He gestured loosely with a turn of the wrist, looking like the cat who got the cream.

He was met with another silence, which he again filled quickly. “I said you could touch her?” He reminded the men, causing things to click into place. “Go on, keep her company? Treat her real nice. Don't she deserve it?” He spoke sweetly with an edge of condescension.

Mactavish gave a side eye glance at the domineering Captain, tilting his head and trying to smooth the venom that threatened to spit when he talked. “What’s the catch?”

“Don’t cum inside her.” He shrugged. “Otherwise do whatever you want. As long as she likes it.”

“Don’t cum inside her?” He repeated it back like he didn’t believe it, like there was some sort of fine-print in those words, and agreeing to it would damn his soul to suicide runs every morning for the next 3 months.

“That’s f’me only, yeah? Surely you understand?” The ice in his whiskey clinked together as he sipped it slowly, his eyes bore into Johnny, almost like a dare.

The duos all hesitated for their own respective reasons, though Kyle knew Price. He stood up, and took place where John was and I propped myself back up on my elbows, his breath catching at the lust-filled glazed-over look that returned his gaze.

“What? No one else ‘s gonna do it.” He spoke to the men’s stalkerish gazes, using it as an excuse to momentarily avoid my eye contact.

“Thatt’a boy.” He tilted his head downwards in an approving nod when Garrick glanced over his shoulder, they shared a moment of understanding eye contact.

He moved the position around enough where I was still lying comfortably, though enough where Price could relax and get a decent view without moving around. Why bite the hand that feeds? He thinks to himself, trying to make it so John could hover over his actions, and control his every move without much of having to move his neck in the slightest.

Kyle knew as well as anyone, that one wrong move on John’s girl and he’d be grabbed by the scruff of the neck and dragged to god-knows-where. While Mactavish theorised and over-analysed the subtext of those words, he simply knew what they meant. ‘Don’t make her unhappy’; so he took those words to heart.

He unbuckled his belt, feeling the peering eyes swallow in his every movement. One hand fiddled with his pants and worked on removing them, while the other ran up the smooth skin of my stomach, giving a soft squeeze to my breast with a low groan.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“Mhm, I’m okay, Kyle.” I nodded, and he simply nodded back, his words catching in his throat.

There was an itching paranoia to not fuck it up, he stroked himself slowly as his mind lingered on what he was going to do. He knew what he wanted to do, but this wasn’t his girl, there was no way he could do those sorts of things in front of her boyfriend and not end up on some sort of personal hit-list.

His hand reached for my thigh, lifting it up slightly to spread my legs. He watched John’s cum ooze out of me, and he slid in with a soft groan. “Jesus—” He hissed, hooking the curve of my knee into the curve of his elbow as he sank down to the hilt. He took a moment to regain his composure when I was still twitching around him so he could feel the occasional clench while he tried desperately to keep himself in control.

I arched my back into him, moaning softly and grabbing onto the sheets. John had given me instructions to simply lie there and take it, only speak up when something was wrong. It wasn’t my job to do anything that would get them off faster besides oft conversation. They simply had to make me feel good while working themselves to finish — this was about me.

Kyle began to mimic the thrusting that Price had previously done, and he’d gotten it down to perfection, though there was a slight awkwardness as he shuffled around on his knees.

The slickness swallowed him perfectly, and his head dropped forward, going completely limp. “Fuck, that’s good.” I whined out.

“Yeah?” My words were met back with a raspy plea of approval. “Jus’ tryna treat you right, doll.”

John interjected, noticing the pattern of Kyle fucking into me the same way he was prior. “Are you gonna fuck her or what?” He spoke dryly.

“What?”

“You’re doing what I was doing. Fuck her like how you want to fuck her.”

“Don’t say that.” Garrick gritted his teeth, his movements faltering. “How you fuck her is good f’her, gets ‘er off.” He tried to defend his actions, but while it was partly that, it did have a lot to do with not stepping on his best friend’s toes.

“She can take it.”

“God damn.” He groaned. “Lay back, sweet thing, let me—”

I leant back, and Kyle hovered over me completely, pushing my thigh to go over his shoulder. His hands reached my hips and his head dipped between my chest, staying there for a moment as he thrust at his own pace. It was slow, but deep and harsh.

“You gonna give him a hand?” John spoke up again, swirling his glass to let the clink of ice fill the air. “I didn’t say you couldn’t keep touching her. Just stay out of each other’s way, no fighting.”

They hesitated, though Soap greedily started grabbing at the thigh that wasn’t on Garrick’s shoulder; The other two were unsure if they wanted to touch me when his body was directly pressed onto mine.

Alejandro was not dissuaded, however. “Head up.” He whispered, I lifted myself up slightly and his hands quickly cupped my scalp again, holding me sweetly in place to make sure I didn’t bang my head. He sat quietly, but he assigned himself to the role of making sure I was okay, he knew the wood table was harsh, and a concussion would be the last thing he wanted, and maybe that was the tiniest bit for selfish reasons but he rationalised it by saying he was being kind.

His fingers delicately ran through my hair, brushing it slightly, and he kept pushing it out of my face. He was deliberate, and very gentle and kind with his actions.

Kyle’s head dipped to press kisses onto my neck, licking stripes as he restrained the urge to sink his teeth in. “God, this pussy is so fucking good.” He let out a whine, his hips speeding up slightly. “Jesus Christ, I don’t even think I deserve it.”

His words rambled on as the squelching noise increased in volume, and his eyes were practically rolling back into his skull the longer that he was buried inside of me. He sunk his teeth into my neck, then licked the teeth marks.

“Better than you imagined, huh?” Price joked, earning a mindless nod in response as my high pitched moans filled the air. “Tell the boys how she feels.”

“Like fuckin’ heaven.” He started, tripping over his words slightly. “Still twitchin’ ‘round me. So fuckin’ warm, so fuckin’ wet, so god damn fuckin’ tight.”

John let out an amused hum, idly tapping his finger on the side of his glass as he sipped, watching the way Kyle lost himself inside of me. He tilted his head with a smirk, noticing one key detail that Garrick was too pussy-drunk to realise, and he wanted to see how long it took for him to notice.

He continued his drunk ramblings. “Fuck, shouldn’t be allowed to bury my cock into this perfect cunt, too fuckin’ good for me.” He praised, letting the words go straight to my core, and he groaned when he felt me clench around him.

“Gaz.” John said sternly, interjecting to fix the aforementioned issue.

His brain was barely processing anything from the outside world. “Huh?” He responded, not turning to meet his gaze, instead just trying to bite down on my flesh again, needing to leave more marks. Not even to claim, but to keep his mouth busy from the filthy sounds that threatened to escape. Not in front of the lads, he thought to himself.

“Rub her clit, don’t be selfish.”

“Fuck, ‘m sorry, sweetheart.” He tensed up, realising his mistake and dipping his fingers between our bodies. “Can’t think straight, y’feel so good.”

My hands clung to his back as I nodded, my head was limp in Alejandro’s hands as Kyle started running sweet, lazy circles between my legs, hoping it was enough paired with his deep thrusts. His mouth continued to bite and suck at the skin he had access to.

His other hand fiddled with the hemming of the skirt, his brain wracked for anything to say. “God, you’re fuckin’ me stupid.” He laughed softly, knowing it was the only words lingering on the forefront of his mind.

“Ky, please—” I whined and it dragged his attention to my face, with a slight unease of panic, he scanned it for any sign of discomfort.

“What is it, doll?” He crooned sweetly, cutting me off slightly, inwardly begging that nothing is wrong and it was just a simple request and not something that’d have him dragged out of here before he could cum, he loathed the idea of being pulled out and having to go back to his quarters and stroke himself off to the mere fleeting memory of how good I felt.

He felt like his prayers were answered when I nodded in time to his thrust. “Need more, please.” He let out a sigh of relief, though it was hard to distinguish from his regular heavy breathing.

“If I give you more, you’ll be a sweet thing and cum on my cock, yeah?”

“Mhm, yeah!” I pleaded helplessly, squirming beneath his touch. He took note of the way my hips shuffled around against his lap, and he teetered on his knees slightly to ease the tension.

“I know what you need.” He tried to croon, though his voice was rasping and broke between groans. He tried to move our hips around.

“Please, give it to me, please—”

“God, where the fuck is it?” He growled, he pushed my knee to touch my shoulder, I let out a short whine and his face scrunched up at my desperate clenching. “Where is it, sweet thing? C’mon, help me out.”

Price sighed, pitying my incessant whining. He hovered over Kyle’s back, placing one hand on his spine and the other on his hip. “Move down.” He mumbled, watching him shift down. “Up a bit.” He continued throwing slight directions at him until, eventually—

“Oh, fuck!” I cried out as his deep slow thrusts pushed into the spongy spot he was looking for.

“Fuck, there it is.” He almost sobbed. “There you go, doll, fuck.”

John let out a content hum, slumping back on the couch and crossing his leg. He rested his arm on his knee, another slow sip, his eyes lingered on the view in front of him, his dick twitching back to life softly, although he didn’t feed into it.

“Thank you, John.” He babbled as an afterthought as he repeatedly hit the squishy gspot that caused the front of his pants to get damp. “Close, ain’t you, sweetheart?”

“So close, Ky, please, wanna cum.”

“Right with you, doll.” He praised softly, and I instinctively wrapped my leg around his waist, causing a hiss to escape his throat. “Soap, hold her fuckin’ leg down.” He barked slightly, knowing that the slight amount of desire to keep him inside would be enough for him to not leave.

Mactavish stopped his groping and quickly abetted Kyle’s sudden demand, and Johnny seemed to think that following the rules, every tiny command; it would be his ticket out of jail metaphorically and, with how Price treats him, literally.

“God, wanna cum inside so bad.” He whined, his orgasm impending as I squeezed him tightly. “Wanna bury m’cock in and never leave.”

His hips kept faltering as he struggled to keep up his designated pace. “Don’t stop! Please, so close, Kyle, ‘m gonna—”

“I know, sweet thing, ‘m sorry. Just.. Fuck, how does John do it? I’d just live here if I could.” His words flooded my thoughts and my fingernails dug desperately into his shirt, leaving moon shaped indents on his shoulder blades.

“I struggle.” John shrugged. “You better not cum before she does. Forgot to mention that, thought it was a given. You gotta make her cum.” His grin was cocky as his words crawled into every crevice of Kyle’s brain, as well as the others.

“I know.” He growled. “‘M fuckin’ tryin’, Price.”

His head dipped once again, pressing more kisses onto the soft expanse of my neck, sucking and biting softly with his own desperate need. His hands doubled their speeds on my clit as he continued to struggle with keeping his pace set.

“Doll, I know you’re so close, you wanna cum so fuckin’ bad.” He choked out. “Need t’feel you cum, please—” His words stopped suddenly, his mind going black and his eyes rolling back.

I mindlessly chanted his name, feeling it wash over me. He let out a choked groan, feeling me squeeze down on him. “C’mon, ride it out.” He spoke sweetly, trying to hold himself back until my orgasm was completely over.

He noticed that my body went slack, my tight grip against his shoulders let go of his shirt, and he quickly slipped out while he still could. He moved my leg back down and held my skirt up while he jerked himself to completion, his words coming out as a slurred hiss.

“Such a pretty pussy, god damn, gonna cum.” He continued rambling. “Gonna cum all over this pretty cunt. You want that?”

“Please.” I pleaded, throwing my head back further into Alejandro’s hands, earning a quiet coo from him.

His hands were holding the skirt up while eyeing up the leaky hole. Watching the arousal and what was left of John’s cum just seeped out of it, and the wetness coating his dick as he stroked himself to completion, the imagery itself making his mind run in circles.

“Yeah, yeah.” He nodded blankly before cursing under his breath again. “Shit, shit, shit.” He choked out, going over the edge and spilling warm white ropes that covered the ‘perfect pussy.’

His cum covered the mons pubis and dribbled down between the folds, sticking to the slick skin beautifully. If he didn’t know any better, he’d’ve stared for at least an hour at the scene, though he’d quickly rejoined earth with a sigh, tucking himself back into his pants and swiftly moving out of the way for whoever wanted to go next.

Mactavish pushed past Garrick quickly, wanting to get his turn in before Price changed his mind and sent him to the bench again. He didn’t even take a second glance at the mixture of cum that covered me, uncaring for what he was about to be using as lube.

Kyle slumped down onto the couch next to Price so he could catch his breath, and smiled in amusement at the other man’s eagerness. “Good fuckin’ pussy.” He muttered to John with a lopsided grin more-so directed at him.

Mactavish tugged at the skirt with greedy hands, the soft frilly fabric feeling like a barrier when he rubbed it between his calloused fingers. “Get it off.” He mumbled to himself, knowing he was going to do it anyway; his hands worked to peel it off my body, careful enough to not get cum-stains on the cute fabric. Rodolfo gave him a hand, pulling the elastic wide enough that it could be pulled past my thighs without smearing any filth onto it.

His calloused fingers quickly dipped lower, meeting the wet entrance and he slid two into the warmth. His eyes widened slightly at the feel, and he simply felt around, his fingertips brushing against the walls.

“She can take anythin’, right?” Johnny turned to the smug faced Captain. “Nothin’ ‘s off the table?”

He earned nothing but a coy shrug in response, he let out a short laugh, removing his fingers, seeing them coated with the mixture of cum. His fingers dipped to collect some of Kyles and brought his hand to my mouth. “Open wide, bonnie.” He cooed sweetly.

I opened my mouth lazily, letting him push his fingers into the wetness. I moaned around the digits, swirling my tongue around.

“That’s a good girl.” He praised, with a tinge of jealousy hanging off the words.

He removed his clean fingers, and his hands tightly gripped onto my waist. “Bet you’re gonna think about this for weeks, how our big ‘n’ mean Cap’n got a group of scary ‘n’ strong soldiers to treat you like a li’l lady, yeah? Ain’t that right, hen? He’s got a bunch of pussy drunk fools treatin’ you like you’re heaven on earth.”

“I am.” I mumbled back as he rubbed the head of his cock up and down the wet slit awkwardly, holding my hips enough where Garrick’s cum wouldn’t smear off, though they stuck to between my thighs and he knew that Kyle’s cum would stain the front of his pants. It riled him up, and they all silently yet mutually agreed that they wanted to see the cumdump at the end.

“Yeah, ‘course you are.” He smiled slightly. “How y’want me to fuck you?”

“Hard, Johnny.” I squirmed at the way he fucked the slit. The entire time, he had a grin plastered on his face, especially while pushing himself in slowly, closing his eyes. His eyes were half-lidded and he took a handful of tit, bullying his way into the slick space.

“Hard? You wanna ask nicer?”

“Please, please, Johnny, please, fuck me hard.” I pleaded as I kept moving around, trying to move my hips against his for friction but I was held in place with the firmness of his grip on my waist.

“You’re such a perfect girl.” He spoke, dragging himself all the way out before slamming back in, earning himself a choked cry. “Did Price have to teach you how to beg that good?”

I shook my head hesitantly, and he dragged himself out again, holding it there while he waited for a verbal response. “Mhmhm, no.” I struggled out, earning a murmured ‘liar’ from John.

He tilted his head, pushing back in and repeating the actions, knocking the air out of my lungs. I nodded in time to his thrusts, my eyes unfocused as his movements were harsh, though eventually, he stopped dragging himself out so far but that didn’t mean he relented on the harsh slaps that filled the gaps between my moans.

His hand began rubbing tight circles on my clit. “So sensitive.” He spoke coolly, Garrick’s cum sticking to his palm as he moved without a care for it. His movements were steady, quick and deliberate.

Thin strings of a mixture of cum connected our body, sticking to his pubic bone. His free, clean hand reached up and he ran his fingers through the shaggy mohawk, repeating the motion and slightly gripping onto the hair to hold it out of place as he kept fucking me closer to the edge. It was an odd quirk, but it seemed like he was barely aware that he was doing it besides the way his eyebrows knitted together when he tugged on his own hair by his brain confusing the movements between each hand.

The hand on my clit kept faltering for the same reason, he let out a low groan as he felt me clench around him. “Don’t cum.” He grunted. “Don’t— Don’t you dare.” The way he spoke was clear with the intent that it was a command, making my head spin.

I tried to balance my breathing, my hand wrapping over my mouth as Ale soothingly stroked my hair, brushing the sweat out of my face again. “Oh, fuck—“ I choked out. “Slow down—“

“He said you can take anything, bonnie, what’s the matter?” He spoke dismissively.

“It’s too much!”

“I don’t fuckin’ care.” He hissed, as he shuffled around, groaning at the slight discomfort from kneeling. Breathy moans left his throat at the pleasure, but the slight grunts and groans were from his knees brushing against the hardwood floor.

“Is someone’s knee acting up?” Price teased.

“Shut the fuck up.” John barked back.

His eyes glazed over slightly when he noticed that I was slowing my breathing to hold off the impending orgasm, his hand snaked up and wrapped tightly around my throat, squeezing enough to falter my composure, causing my smooth breathing to fall to disarray.

“Chugged to those panties, yeah? Still got ‘em.” He confessed, sounding utterly and truly debauched. The words sounded filthy coming from his mouth, and his accent didn’t help. “I’m sure John wants ‘em back but he can have it over m’dead body.”

“Please—” I cried out, clenching around him both from his words and the pressure from between my legs. “Can’t..”

“You wanna cum? You know what to do.”

“God, please, please, let me cum, please—“ I babbled, repeating the same few words over and over, sounding pitiful as he continued to take what he wanted. Tears pricked my eyes, oversensitive and desperate to cum. “Johnny, please.”

“How can I say no when you sound so pretty like that?” He grunted. “Go on, cum on my cock, you greedy—”

“Watch it.” Price interjected quickly.

Johnny let out a low growl, picking up the pace a little more. He swallowed his thoughts, his mind going blank as he chased his orgasm. “Just cum for me, y/n, clench around me.” His accent was thick and aggressive with need, I panted under him as he tried to keep his movements steady despite the feeling around him.

I cried out as I clamped down on him, tensing around him in a weak attempt to milk him dry. His thrusts faltered slightly as I kept sucking him in and he tried to station his breathing through my climax. Once the climax had drawn out enough for him to pull out, he took a breath of air and dipped his head.

His hair hung low, covering his face as he looked completely down, though he was biting down on his lips so hard they might bleed. “If I can’t cum in your womb, I’ll fuckin’ cum on it.” He moaned, wrapping his hand around mine as he fisted his dick until it twitched in my hand, quickly leaking over my fingers and onto my lower stomach.

The fresh cum was warm and landed freshly onto the expanse of my skin, and his cum mixed slightly with Kyle’s. His hand dipped momentarily to try and wipe off the excess cum from his own thighs, then wiped his hand clean on a fresh part of my skin like a mere rag.

He slumped down on the couch, a fair distance from Price and picked up his drink. He was barely packed away, only enough to be considered barely decent, and he used the vapour on the glass to make his hand feel less slick as the water diluted the mixture of cum. He dried his hands on his cargo pants and leaned back in the chair with a slow sip of the whiskey; his mind was completely blank and he sat there looking like the cat who got the cream just like Garrick.

However, Rodolfo, Alejandro and Simon shared a glance, unsure on who was to go next. There was no shoving, no argument and no rush; they were willing to wait for their turn. Alejandro and Simon were patient men, their ranks proved that. Rodolfo was a well-trained soldier, willing to let his superiors pick first.

“Either of you can go.” Alejandro spoke up clearly, it came across as an order as he carefully stroked my hair out of my face again, using his wrist to wipe the sweat off of my forehead and his eyebrows knitted as he watched the other men.

“Are you sure?” Rodolfo continued, evidently not as an act of disobedience but as a subtle sign of respect. “You can go.”

“I don’t care.” His response was swift. “I want to go last. Someone just go.”

The discussion then moved towards the Ghost. Rodolfo turned to him in an attempt to foist himself last. He was awkwardly sitting there, but Simon stood stern and strong. He was unmoving and composed despite the scene in front of him but his eyes betrayed him as his gaze flicked to the mess on my lower torso.

“Just go.” Simon spoke, continuing Alejandro’s orders but his words were still soft outside of the natural roughness of his voice. He was considerably tense, though he was staying patient and entirely collected.

Rodolfo nodded sharply, taking his order in stride as a respectable soldier, though his erection betrayed his professionalism. He awkwardly stood to attention, meeting between my legs and looking Alejandro in the eyes briefly before he grabbed at my tits.

“Princesa..” He mumbled. “You look so pretty.”

“Thank you.” I purred politely, sounding evidently cock-drunk.

A handful of words tumbled out of his mouth freely despite my inability to understand spanish. Though it seemed like incoherent ramblings of gibberish as all his sentences muddled together. “Eres una mujer brillante.” The words tumbled out of his mouth. “Déjame tratarte bien.”

His hands groped at my chest idly as his brain went into overdrive. His hands wanted to linger downwards but he was cautious of the drying mess on my stomach. His hands landed on the side of my hips, before he quickly made work on his pants.

“You’ll take me so well, won’t you, princesa?” He continued, hesitantly pushing into the hilt, letting out a short gasp at the ease of it. “Holy— Jesucristo.” He cursed. “Easy fit.” A string of groans left his throat just as easily, his hands dug into the flesh of my thighs as he pulled me closer, moving in tandem.

There was a slight snicker behind him as the others agreed despite the exhaustion from post nut clarity as they sunk into the chairs, sipping the fine liquor and their eyes half-lidded in a weak attempt to stay awake or to fight the urge to go for a round two.

Rudy was a quiet man, only speaking when spoken to. He took this as just another mission, despite his own selfish need. Deep down, he knew he wanted this more than anything, but something deep in his gut churned, he knew this wasn’t his girl and that his superiors were watching, that didn’t dissuade him from chasing the mutual pleasure but he didn’t indulge in the fantasies replaying behind his eyes. The positions, the scenarios, the kinks, the generalised exploration. He watched them keenly, though his hands twitched in restraint.

“You’re so pretty.” He mumbled, leaning close to me. His thrusts were precise, though he had to shuffle around in an attempt to find the gspot. “So head empty, that’s it.” His words were a soft coo as he attempted to bring himself down to earth despite his mind being apparently somewhere else.

“Rudy—” I whined out, shuffling my hips to meet his thrusts and try to position him, though it was met with incessant whining once again as I cried out in frustration, too exhausted to use my words.

Price gestured at the two men beside him and in sync, they stood up and each took one side of his hip. They shared a nervous glance as they moved his hips similarly to what worked for them. They were just as tired, and held their breaths until I moaned out the signal they’d done their job. They let out the breath they were holding and slumped back down. Price gave a curt nod of approval, refilling their whiskey and dropping the ice cubes with a clink.

Rodolfo mumbled a ‘gracias’, continuing his movements as he started to hit the good spot. “You have.. The best pussy I’ve ever seen.” He spoke slowly, hesitating over his words. The other men agreed, and admittedly, Simon and Alejandro were excited for what awaited them. They were all experienced with pussy — but there was a mutual agreement that they’d never had anything quite like this.

Eventually, Price had had enough; “Let go.” He ordered sternly though his voice was a low whisper.

He swallowed a groan and tried to turn off his thoughts, though it was only an excuse to obey an order. “Touch yourself for me.” He beckoned me. “Por favor. I want to see it.” I obeyed him just as he did to Price, reaching down to rub my clit for him. He let out a satisfied grunt as his methodical thrusts picked up pace.

“Thank you.” I babbled mindlessly as I rubbed my clit for him, he continued his movements as he wracked his brain for anything he could say that hadn’t already been said.

“There you go, see? You’re not too tired to get yourself off. So needy.” He muttered. “So sensitive.” He’d noticed the sudden tightness at the added sensation from me rubbing myself exactly how I liked. “You’re doing so good, hermosa.”

I nodded blankly, trying to comprehend his words while keeping up with his movements, though he noticed me faltering. “Come on, princesa, you’re creaming on my cock, you're made for..” He trailed off quickly with a sharp inhale. “Eres bien, muy bien.” He praised.

“I’m close.” I whispered. “Please, I’m close.”

He had a lopsided grin, his words were sweet despite the teasing undertone. “That’s it, use your words.” He spoke with his fingernails digging into the plump of my thighs, leaving indents on the flesh. I winced at the feeling though it only fueled me more.

“So damn wet, creaming all over me, preciosa, look at the ring around my dick.” He rambled to himself helplessly. “I’d do awful things to you if John wasn’t around.” He mumbled, attempting to be out of earshot but whether or not it actually was up for debate, however, it’s not like John responded to his comment.

He was desperately trying to push me over the edge, I was twitching around him from the sensitivity and the impending orgasm. “Want you to cum. Para mi.” He spoke through his groans. “I need you to cum so I can.”

“Rudolfo, please.” I pleaded with him though he beckoned for me to use my words. “I’m right there, don’t stop.” I spoke through teary eyes, the overstimulation getting to me.

He didn’t plan on stopping, and he felt the weak spasming as another orgasm washed over me completely. The way I took his cock completely through my orgasm was almost too much for him, his breath catching in his throat as he scrunched his face up. He held on as I tried to ride out my orgasm,

“Mierda, maldita mierda.” He cursed sharply, pulling out and stroking himself once, twice before he spilled out onto my thigh, leaving the white streaks dripping down between my legs. “Casi dentro, ay, eso apestaría.” He tried to laugh awkwardly as he came back to earth, his cum continued to dribble from the tip, smearing it across my thigh before tucking it back away. He stood awkwardly for a moment, taking in the scene in front of him and the scene around him.

He mumbled a quiet ‘gracias’ to Price as he picked up his drink from where he left it and awkwardly moved to one of the chairs away from the couch, not wanting to sit directly next to the man whose girlfriend he’d just fucked and came all over.

Simon reluctantly got up quickly after, handing his drink off to Soap and unbuckling his belt with a clink. “You’re lucky I don’t have the mask on.” He commented, his tone fairly unreadable in the haze of my afterglow. The aftermath was lasting longer and longer and the time between orgasms were shorter and shorter, and my eyes were already quite teary so they both knew there was only so long left before it would begin to be too much. While the other men were simply glad they got their turn, and they were enjoying the view while their dicks got hard once again, there was a slight guilt for what would be of Alejandro if he couldn’t get his turn.

The Ghost clicked his fingers for my attention and once my eyes were on him, he was sliding into the slickness slowly. His shoulders slumped quickly and he let out a low growl. “Okay.” He breathed in sharply through his nose, clearly unexpecting the others to be telling the truth. “Okay, this is a good cunt.”

He felt me flutter around him while I kept twitching from the overstimulation, and immediately, he let his composure fall and took the situation before him in stride. “They’re so gentle with you.” He spoke with a sense of condescension. “They treat you like you’re fuckin’ glass, ey?”

I nodded weakly, and he slowly began to thrust, dragging it out against the slickness and nuzzling it against the back wall. He found the gspot rather quickly due to his observant nature, and it immediately made me yelp, earning a coo from him.

“I bet you came up with this.” He accused. “Not him, you’re the mastermind behind this, aren’t you?” His words weren’t aggressive, though he spat the words like he wanted the truth and wouldn’t accept any other answer outside of that. He sped up his pace, going harsh and fast, fucking the words out of my head.

“Don’t know what you’re on about.” I managed to stutter out, though he didn’t take that as the answer he wanted or expected. His fingers began rubbing short, slow 8’s onto the sensitive bundle of nerves, earning a flinch away from him but that didn’t stop him.

“You’re torturing us all the time, god, trying to rile us up just so John would get pissed at us.” He continued accusing me, his eyes glued to the slick mess on my lower body. “Then you came up with this sick idea, huh? You get off to it.”

I let out struggling sounds as answers and he just gave a short laugh, continuing his movements though he could tell I was already too close from overstimulation and his harsh words and harsher pace were driving me close.

“I know.” He hummed. “Using your words can be really hard when your head is just so fucking empty.” He tried to speak sweetly, though stifling the aggression wasn’t going to work in the slightest against the one and only Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley. “You’re such a good girl when you’re not some cock-drunk slag.”

His words were usually followed by a chuckle, though the air was filled with his groans and growls, and he’d curse under his breath at the tension around him. “You’re swallowing me in, baby.” He grunted. “God, you’re gonna cum from this, aren’t you?”

His words were heavy, and I nodded weakly. “Love it.” I mumbled, though the sentence itself didn’t make a whole lot of sense, he put the dots together on what it meant.

“Yeah, you love being treated like a dirty slag. You love getting your cunt used, getting turned into a fuckin’ cumdump.” His words kept the underlying harshness, though his smug grin made him sound like this was amusing to him.

“I do.” I managed out.

*His words rang around my head like a melody at his smooth words since it was all I could focus on. I was seeing stars and my body ached from all the tension.

The orgasm was quick and sharp, and came (ha) almost out of nowhere; it was short with a cried out ‘oh, fuck’, as I arched into him, my entire body tensing up and Alejandro carefully holding me up.

I fell back down to catch my breath and gazed up at Simon with glazed eyes, he just looked back down with a soft smile, almost pitying me. “Darlin’, that felt amazing but I’m not close yet.”

“Si, please.” I whimpered with no real purpose. He tutted down at me as his actions didn’t stop. My words didn’t string together as I struggled out helpless moans of his name and pleas with no end goal in mind.

“You can take it, baby, just until I cum, yeah? And then you got sweet Alejandro, he’ll treat you real nice too.” He whispered reassuringly, chasing his orgasm. He gave a light pat to my cheek, feeling me pulse around him. “I feel you sucking me in.” He grunted to himself.

“I know you’re close, always right there, dirty fuckin’ slut.” His words were harsh and Price gave a warning glare. “Your greedy pussy keeps begging for more.” His eyes, the whole time, were glued to mine though they would occasionally flicker down to my body to drink me in. His thrusts were quick and strong as he snapped into place, he was cursing and growling under his breath, his hands grabbing at my chest when he didn’t need to hold my hips in place.

I started to sob as he pummelled deep inside of me, Alejandro’s sweet hands wiped them away and Simon let out a soft snicker. “You’re so desperate and sensitive.” His words were heavy with lust. “Don’t you dare cum again, Price didn’t say you had to cum multiple times, hm? And who knows how many you’ve got left in you.”

“Plenty— I’ve got plenty, I can take it all.” I rambled, his movements bullying the air out of my lungs and bouncing me against the soft fabric beneath me. “Please, ‘m gonna cum, I want.. Please, wanna cum.”

His breathing was laboured as I pulsed around him, trying to ride my orgasm out of him, I dipped down to complete myself as short growls left his throat. “Fuck, you’re..” He hissed. “Price got us worshipping this sloppy fucking cunt, naughty girl. Say it.”

“I’m, Ah, I’m a naughty girl.”

He clicked his fingers again to get my attention. “No, say it was your idea. It was your idea to get us to take advantage of this dripping hole, wasn’t it?” It was evident by his clenched jaw and tight-knit brows that he was close but he wasn’t going to cum until I rebutted his claims.

“No! ‘M a good girl!” The words fell smoothly off my tongue and he gripped my face in response, my eyes were glazed over. “I’d never do a thing like that.” I slurred, trying to flutter my eyelashes up at him but it didn’t work on him.

“Liar.” He cursed, slowing his movements just barely. “You must think ‘m stupid. I’m not letting you cum until you tell the truth.” He threatened, and while I didn’t take him seriously, his hands wrapped around my wrist and attempted to hold my hands from him.

“Okay!” I cried out in defeat, earning a beckoned ‘okay?’ as a gesture, I should continue my admittance of defeat. “I did it! It was my idea!” I sobbed, and he continued the pace enough to let my blinding pleasure snap. “God fucking damn, I begged John to let me teach you a lesson—”

“That’a girl, cum on my cock, that’s it.” He spoke softly, turning to give John a smug, shit-eating grin. “See, there you go, that wasn’t hard.” My body ached and the muscles were sensitive, though he continued for a few more thrusts, making sure it was completely over.

His breathing became laboured as he pulled out, my body trembling slightly. “You have everyone fooled that you’re a good girl but you’re just a dirty slag, who just wants to get fucked senseless. You cum so quick and hard, so damn sensitive.” He groaned inwardly, working himself to completion. “Where you want me, y/n? C’mon, bet you’ve rubbed your pretty cunt to this idea.”

The other men cursed at themselves, wishing they’d made the best of it like Simon was, taking it to its full extent. “Anywhere.” I pleaded. “Wherever you want—”

He let out a frustrated grunt while he stroked himself greedily. “That’s not an answer.” He said firmly. “You’ve been such a good girl, so verbal and everything.” He praised backhandedly with the evident annoyance at the lack of answer.

With a sharp hiss, he moved his hips in time with the way he stroked his dick, his face was stone-cold and serious as he tried to quickly cum. Like all the other men, the army had built up his stamina, though being a soldier meant he didn’t have the time to take care of himself fully, learning to only rely on the minimum it took to fulfil his needs.

As much as they hated taking their time, they at least knew this was jerk-off material for at least a few months before the memory began to fade.

“Take it, babe, there you go.” He moaned, small pants of air filling his lungs and he reached around, giving a sharp tug on my hair. “Arch your back for me, that’s it.” He growled, watching me press my stomach into his red, leaking tip. He panted for air with short growls on the exhale, his hand tightly wrapped around my hair and his cock as he worked himself to finish.

He lets out a low, pleased grunt as his cum manages to spurt everywhere — at its peak, it reaches my tits and then dips down to my lower stomach, making a mess on the entirety of the cum-stained flesh. He continued to stroke himself slowly, pushing the last of his cum from the tip before quickly pulling his pants up.

He cleared his throat, and just like that, he was back to his mean old self.

Alejandro carefully took his hands away from me, and moved around the table slowly like he was stalking his prey; he was desperate, beyond so, you could tell from just looking at him and the way he carried himself to kneel between my legs.

His eyes flicked to the mess on my stomach and he let out a low exhale, unbuttoning his pants slowly and furrowing his eyebrows. He rubbed the head up and down the wet slit before sliding in with a grunt. “Good job, querida, you’re doing so good.” He crooned, starting his thrusting before he even reached the hilt.

He leaned forward to press kisses on my neck and chest while he moved, slowly burying his aching cock deeper and deeper. “God, had to watch them fuck you. My dicks so fuckin’ hard.” He spoke mindlessly, letting himself get caught up in the feeling.

My pussy throbbed around him at the stimulation of his movements while he made quick work on my clit, kissing the side of my neck pleasantly. “Can I kiss her?” He pleaded to Price. He answered with a short nod and muttered ‘why not?’

His movements, like the others, were with attempted precision under the fear of being spectated by Captain John Price, though as expected, they couldn’t work to unfaulted perfection.

“Solo déjame hacerte sentir bien, querida.” He mumbled sweetly before pressing a chaste kiss onto my lips. I moaned quietly into his mouth and he took it in stride, picking up the pace and hitting deep inside the slick heat.

His hand stroked the side of my face, cupping it slightly as he continued pressing kisses along my skin, making me squeeze around him. I was a mess and it was audible and visual to everyone in the room. I was overstimulated, and on the brink of exhaustion as I took everything he could give me.

He noticed the look on my face, he felt guilty that I was so tired, but god, he couldn’t stop now. “One more, querida.” He pleaded with whiney breaths, his languid movements almost overwhelming to my quivering body.

“Alejandro, it’s a lot.”

“I know, angel, I know.” He spoke sweetly despite the dryness in his throat. “I know you’re tired, but you can do one more, can’t you?” He pleaded, though he was understanding if this was all too much, not that he’d be too pleased about it.

I gave a weak nod from my tear-stained cheeks as his hand stayed cupping my cheek. He pulled away and his hands began to explore my body. “Rub that pretty clit for me, neña, I have to..” His voice trailed off softly, as his hands tried to work around Riley’s cum.

“God, please.” I mindlessly chanted as his hands slightly squeezed at parts of my body, from my breasts to the back of my thighs. I tried to move my fingers quickly in circles but it felt futile, my body going that tingly, numb sensation, the slight searing pain beginning to set in while still being a blinding, white-hot pleasure.

“I have to feel you.” He whispered in explanation, though he continued his sweet, thoughtful actions; he brushed my hair out of my face again and tried to wipe away the sweat forming in some of the crevices. “Dirty girl, messy little thing.” He muttered quietly.

“Your pussy is so good, bebe, buena coño, hm?” He switched smoothly, feeling my twitching when he spoke his native tongue. “Si, uno más, solo uno más.”

He was gruff, short heavy breaths rasping from his dry throat, but his mind was reeling at the attempt of softness. I couldn’t bear to hurt you — not when you’re so sweet, not when you’re not even mine, he thought to himself as he tried to keep his soft composure. He wanted nothing more than to go hard and fast, to take what he wanted.

“I feel you squeezing me, I know it’s a lot, neña.” His words were sweet as he tried to keep me calm. Tears continued to stream down my face with short moans and she simply hushed them away.

I whimpered under his gentle thrusts, and he continued to try to hush me into calmness. “It’s so much.” I whined.

“It’s okay.” He reassured me. “Just one more for me.” He was careful, he felt the throb of my pussy from sensitivity, it coaxed more out of him as it hugged around his cock perfectly. It was clear that he wasn’t asking, though his encouragement was earnest.

His mouth continued to brush against my flesh and he landed on my lips again. He gave a light slap to the back of my thigh. “I’m trying to be gentle with you, querida.” He spoke smoothly. He continued his movements, his hand holding my thighs into place as he pressed a light kiss on my throat.

“I’m close.”

“Me too, you can do it.” His words were barely above a whisper. “Keep going, neña, you’re right there.” His hips stuttered slightly, struggling to move as I tightened around him, holding him in place. He let out a low groan as his ears perked to my high-pitched moans and whines.

“Alejandro.” I sobbed, tears streaming down my face as I shivered from the numbing pleasure. “Alejandro, like that, don’t stop.”

He continued his movements slowly, “It's hard to go after Ghost and be impressive.” He joked, trying to keep the mood light. “Relax, take a deep breath. Ride it out, milk my fucking cock.” He rasped out, furrowing his eyebrows through the orgasm cascading around him.

I went limp on the table and he wrapped his arms around my torso to hold me up. “Joder, vamos.” He mumbled to himself, kneading my thighs in his hands. “Justo contigo, justo ahí.”

He was trying to control himself as he neared his edge. I could feel his dick twitching inside of me as he slowed his thrusting to make sure it didn’t hurt me despite it elongating his pleasure. “Trying not to hurt you.” He explained softly. “I’m almost done.”

He quickly slid out with ease and ran his hands up the side of my body, cupping my breast and then my face as he pulled away to spectate the view in front of him. “Tómalo, hermosa.” He grunted, closing his eyes as his orgasm washed over him.

The strings of white cum gushed from his tip, landing on the space of my stomach. It began to gather in the V of my pelvis, dripping down already onto the white-stained flesh. Dry white streaks covered my tits down to my thighs, and his hazy-lidded eyes took in the sight as he rubbed his tip over the mess, smearing his cum around slightly.

“Thank you, cariño.” He muttered sweetly, pressing another chaste kiss onto my lips. “I know you’re sore and tired.” He stroked my cheek softly.

Price let out a soft sigh, patting his thighs and standing up. He placed the empty glass on the blanket and placed his hand on Alejandro’s shoulder. Alej took the hint, putting his dick back in his pants and shuffling them straight as he zipped it up.

“Who’s going to help me clean up?” John announced. The other men were tired, and evidently pussy-drunk from the post-climax haze.

“Do we get a reward?” Mactavish joked coyly, a snicker falling past his lips and earning no more than a sideways glance. John tried to conceal his smug grin, and raised his eyebrows in amusement as he ignored the question.

I was sprawled across the table, legs spread wide still as an act of display. He let a soft smile across his face before he sat down next to me. “Wake up, princess.” He teased. His hand brushed over my forehead, moving the hair and sweat away like Alejandro had done previously.

“You okay?” He asked softly. I nodded lazily, resting my eyes. “My baby girl is just so fucked out.” He commented with a soft laugh. “Someone get me a wet cloth.” He clicked his fingers, gesturing towards the bathroom.

“I’m tired.” I slurred out.

“You did such a good job, princess.” He praised, holding the wet cloth to my stomach and wiping away the filth. He washed my skin gingerly, watching it collect onto the rag and he tossed it to one of the lads to put away.

There was vague chitter-chatter and the sound of the glasses being taken to the sink, and they walked around cleaning up idly.

He wrapped his arms around my torso, pulling me into a hug, one hand holding my thighs in a cradled position. “That’s it, baby girl.” He cooed, smiling softly while picking me up. I nuzzled into his neck, feeling the scratch of his beard. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I sighed, a soft love-filled gaze mixed with my exhaustion. “‘M okay..”

“I know you can take a lot but you can tell me.” He reassured while holding me, his hands rubbing up and down the side of my arm, then he placed a gentle kiss onto the curve of my shoulder.

He picked me up fully, giving a short glance to the other men as he smiled down at me. “I’m proud of you, princess, you did a good job, I’m gonna take good care of you.” He spoke sweetly as he dismissed the others.

239 notes · View notes