#what if to prove to you i was alive you had to slide your fingers under my skin and feel me bleed | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thegnomelord · 7 months

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Good Dog

CW: NSFW, DARK-FIC, murder, gore, power imbalance, size difference(reader's bigger), description of torture and brainwashing, oral, anal, blood as lube, plot and exposition with porn, pet play(collars and leashes), toxic relationship, dub-con, very very self indulgent.

Моя гончая- my hound, Хороший солдат - good soldier, Расслабьтесь, братья мои - relax, my brothers, приносить - fetch, есть - eat

The thick door and walls of the private room do nothing to damped the bass of the club pounding in his ears, the annoying music made bearable by the high of a recent victory. Puffs of cigarette smoke lazily curl in the air as Makarov leans further back into the couch, the buzzing sting of a fresh tattoo helping him relax. The scent of expensive liquor only adds to the heady atmosphere, crystal clear vodka swirling in his glass before Makarov takes a sip. His dark eyes peer over the rim of his glass, like doorways to a dark abyss, his gaze dancing across the faces of his most trusted men before settling on the lieutenant's as the man tries to prove his worth with pointless words.

Above all else, Makarov values loyalty.

It doesn't matter how strong a man is if he can't follow orders. The number of soldiers he can lead is pointless when he can't keep his men alive. How well he can shoot is meaningless when he can't devote himself to a cause. A man who is disloyal is a man of single use.

Makarov doesn't even try to listen to whatever drivel the lieutenant's spouting, he doesn't see a reason to sour his mood when he already knows everything: the embezzling, the lying, the adorable double agent act. He has you to thank for that, you'd sniffed the lieutenant out the second you met him, diligently uncovering every speck of dirt the lieutenant had attempted to hide from Makarov.

And you? You are very loyal. His loyal hound.

His fingers curl around the leash, the smooth black leather sliding against his calloused palms. A barely there tug is all it takes for you to lean down over the back of the couch, bracing one large hand near his head for support as the other remains over the grip of your sidearm. You loom over him, and while Makarov may be a fearsome man, he can't deny the type of foreboding fear a goliath like you inspires — a towering figure always a step behind him, broad body big enough to easily cover him fully if you need to take a bullet for him, arms strong and palms wide to easily crack a man's skull.

Settling the glass down he takes another drag of his cigarette, "Hound," Another tug — sharper, harsher; such a small correction yet the fact you needed it at all has acrid disappointment burning on your tongue — makes you bend down more, your face now next to his. He doesn't draw attention to the reprimand, breathing out a puff of smoke near your face. "Were you listening, моя гончая?"

It's a pointless question, he knows you were listening, he trained you to. But he asks because he loves to see the way your eyes darken, jaw tight. The cigarette smoke dances in the air, making the club's low lights reflect off the sharp spikes adorning the thick collar snuggly wrapped around your throat. Your day collar suits you well, no different than the spiked collars put on hunting hounds.

"Yes sir." You answer, your attention now solely on the lieutenant.

Makarov hums, eyes flickering from the lieutenant to you. "And?" He chuckles and lets the leash go, his word keeping you in place as he casually pats your neck. "What did you hear?"

"Lies. . ." The slow slide of his fingers across the uncovered parts of your throat makes your breath stutter, static crackling beneath your skin. "I heard lies, sir." Your answer causes the lieutenant to try and sputter excuses and denials, all cut short by the harsh look you give him.

Makarov chuckles, hooking a finger over the silver loop at the front of your collar, pulling on it and tilting his head so his lips can ghost across your jaw. "Хороший солдат." Makarov murmurs. His stubble scratches your skin as his lips brush a path to your ear, so very close to a lover's kiss.

But a brush of skin is all it is. Nothing more. Your body earns for more, to turn your head and experience the bruising possessiveness of his kiss once again, to feel his teeth bite down on your lip until blood floods both of your mouths. But you don't move; A spoiled dog isn't loyal and Makarov won't lavish you with attention for nothing. no — you must earn it.

"Stay." The soft 'click' of the leash unclipping sounds the same as a sentencing gavel, the strip of leather falling away until only his word keeps you from tearing the lieutenant's throat out with your teeth. Makarov smirks against your skin, his words honey sweet to your ears as he whispers: "Sick him."

That seals the ex-lieutenant's fate.

You're on the lieutenant in an instant, crashing into him like a truck. Makarov leans back and lights up another cigarette as you stomp down on the man's leg, all the weight you carry around bearing down on his bones until they break, erasing any foolish thoughts of escape when you snap the bones of his other ankle; Makarov has truly taught you well.

The screams of a traitor are much better than the atrocious club music, letting him enjoy the smooth burn of the vodka as another stomp breaks a couple of ribs. Some of his men are still nervous around you, trying not to shuffle in their seats lest they grab your attention and become the new outlet of your violence.

"Расслабьтесь, братья мои." Makarov gives a charming smile, resting his ankle on his knee as he takes another drag. "Hound is well trained, you have nothing to fear." He chuckles, lazily watching you as he holds conversation with his lieutenants. Honestly, you're like a dog with a new toy, tossing the man around and pinning him down under your heavy body, each swing of your fists steadily turning the ex-lieutenant's face into pulp.

It's as entertaining for him as it is therapeutic for you.

And to think Price had tried to suppress all that beautiful savageness you possessed.

Makarov remembers how you'd been nothing but a snarling and cursing ball of anger when his men had captured you after a botched mission. He had been both annoyed and amused by how loyal you were to Price, weathering every beating and starving and humiliation with the same 'fuck you' response, baring your teeth like the cornered dog you were. With days turning to months and your resolve refusing to waver under their 'care' Makarov had considered just putting you down, sending a nice video of blowing your skull open to Price but oh — is he glad he decided to indulge in the game your stubbornness presented.

He set out to train you like he would any mongrel mutt, clear expectations making it easy to tell whether your actions would get you a reward or an even worse punishment, giving small rewards for the behavior he wanted; not snarling at him might earn you a better meal. Biting your lip and taking your beating without back talk could get you a couple of minutes outside the claustrophobic walls of your cell. Letting him touch and inspect your body without complaint might reward you with a book or some other little creature comfort he could, and did, easily take away the moment you stepped out of line.

Of course you were weary, perceptive enough to know when he was scheming. But every man has his limits, yours were simply reached when he handed you official C.I.A documents proclaiming you as K.I.A, the mission itself creatively rewritten to sound like you had gone and deserted to the enemy — no one was looking for you, no one was coming to save you, your captain, Price, wasn't coming to save you.

He had taken great enjoyment in running his fingers across your scalp as you clutched the documents in a white knuckled grip, your mind far too worn down to question or guard against the soft touches. His lips had brushed against your ear, soothingly raspy voice comforting you — you're a good soldier, strong, reliable, everything a commander could dream of. It wasn't your fault you trusted the wrong man, truly, what a shame to have your loyalty repaid with betrayed like that.

After that, it became laughably easy to train you. He stuck with simple commands, spoken only in Russian so he could amuse himself with the way your head would tilt before you'd perk up, recognition making your dull eyes brighten before you did what he wanted in exchange for a small scrap of his affection, learning to seek his praise and appreciate his touch even when your body still prickled with disgust. So when he handed you the knife, standing so close you could have easily slit his throat, and ordered you to kill another member of your previous taskforce, you hadn't hesitated for a second. "Good boy." He had purred, caressing your jaw as he used his thumb to wipe away the blood staining your cheek.

"Hound." His voice is as effective as any physical tug on your leash, making you stop mid punch with your fist inches away from the ex-lieutenant's caved in face. You're covered in blood, the rich crimson bringing out the violence swirling in your eyes.

Yet you look at him with utter adoration he wants to shove his cock deep down your throat just so he can see your tears smudge the blood on your cheeks. "Приносить." He taps his thigh.

You nod your head, grabbing the knife strapped to your thigh. There's no hesitation in your movements as you shove the knife into the ex-lieutenant's throat. An arc of blood spurts across your front when you yank it out just to stab another spot, the man coughing and choking as you cut through cartilage and muscle until with a good yank and a sickening 'crack!' you separate the head from the body.

Makarov had never seen the appeal of large hulking brutes until you — your body had filled back out with muscle and fat nicely after you became his, towering body demanding attention simply by existing as you stand up. The loud stomp of your feet and the blood staining your body making you look like a barbarian, casting a shadow over him before you kneel at his feet, offering the decapitated head as a knight does to his king.

Oh yes, he definitely sees the appeal now.

"Good dog." He purrs, reaching out to stroke your jaw, smearing some of the blood with his thumb. Fingers sliding down to hook on the silver ring on your collar he pulls your head closer. "Do you think you earned a reward?"

It's a test. One you're intimately familiar with. The judgmental stares of Makarov's trusted men are the last thing in your mind when the closeness of his body and the sharp crisp scent of his cologne threatens to shatter your resolve. "Only if you permit it, sir." Your throat feels dry, trying not to show how eager you are for his attention as you place the head on the floor so you don't get a drop of blood on him.

Makarov smirks, "Smart dog," His hands move to the back of your neck, unbuckling the collar. You're no longer ashamed to admit you feel naked as the thick piece of leather is pulled away; the time when you didn't have a collar wrapped around your neck feel like a distant memory and now the sensation of breathing without it pressing against your skin is disturbing. You have to bite your lip to keep the low whine from escaping your chest.

His hand wraps securely around your throat, bringing your breath back to you. Your Adam's apple bobs beneath his fingers as he traces the 'V.M' shallowly carved across your throat. "It's already starting to fade." He tuts, squeezing his fingers to restrict your breathing just the slightest bit more. "We'll need to have it tattooed. That would be nice, yes?"

You suck in a sharp breath, "Yes sir."

"Хороший солдат." He purrs. He pulls out another collar from his pocket and you feel yourself chub up in your pants just at the sight of it. It's the chained pronged one he uses exclusively when he wants you to pleasure him, particularly because it leaves such pretty bruises along your skin when he tugs on the leash.

You eagerly tilt your head back to bare your throat, a shudder rushing down your spine as soon as you feel the cold metal against your skin. You stay perfectly still as he secures around your neck, the sharp pull of the leash making the prongs dig into your skin, prickles of pain making you even harder. "Go on," Makarov hums, spreading his legs wider so your attention falls to the hard bulge in his slacks, his belt undone but the rest left to you. "есть."

You don't think you could enjoy servicing him as much as you did if he didn't let you work for it, the reward made sweeter because you earned it. Truly, he's so good to you, you'd thank him profusely but he hasn't given you permission to speak freely. So you lean in, careful not to get blood on his pants as you take the metal zipper between your teeth and pull it down. You've done this enough not to have any problems undoing the button, your hands obediently planted on your thighs and your gaze firmly on him so you can see the pleased smirk that spreads across his features when you bite the band of his boxers and pull them down until his cock springs out, already hard.

A pleased sigh escapes him when your warm lips wrap around the head of his cock, the leash wrapped firmly around his hand and the slightest tug on it has pain prickling down your spine. "Моя гончая, don't waste my time." You can't help but whine lowly at the admonishment, quickly trying to make up to him by sucking on the tip and licking the slit in just the way he likes it.

His leg shifts, hard boot coming up to grind the sole against your clothed cock. "That's better." The praise makes you moan deep from your chest and try to take more of his cock into your mouth, your boxers wet and sticky against your own cock as you give an experimental hump of your hips against his boot. You scrape your teeth along the vein on the underside of his cock and it earns you a rough grind of his boot. His hand tangles in your bloodied hair and pulls you down until his cock bumps the back of your throat.

You nearly choke from the sudden pressure, trying to fight off the reflex to pull back and gag. "Look at me." His order rings clear in your head, your eyes meeting his as he grinds your nose into his pubic hair, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as your lungs start to burn. You fight through it, the fluttering of your throat making him five a small, rough, moan and fuck — you're hard as a rock.

Just as you feel like you'll pass out on his cock he lets you off, yanking your head back. You're only given a few seconds to take a sharp breath of fresh air before he pushes your head back down. You're prepared this time, hollowing your cheeks and relaxing your throat, swallowing around his hard cock. The way you suck Makarov off is wet and sloppy, stealing ragged breaths when you can as you trace the veins of his cock with your tongue and gently nibble on the base when his cock's fully sheathed in your throat, knowing exactly how to please him. Your efforts are rewarded with the salty taste of precum on your tongue, hearing him occasionally mutter his praises in Russian, none of his words snagging on your mind like sharp orders so you let yourself drift in the pleasure of servicing him, subconsciously grinding your cock into his foot.

But you're not mentally gone enough not to notice the squeaking of chairs, your body tensing as you pull up enough so only his head remains in your mouth, your head turned just enough to throw a sharp glare at the other men in the room. Makarov having his guard down like this makes you tense, violence buzzing beneath your skin from the ingrained need to protect him.

"Hound." Makarov's growl is followed by another sharp tug of the leash, the dull ache of the metal prongs digging into your skin dissipating some of your aggression. "Did I tell you to stop?"

You shake your head as best you can, a pathetic whine escaping your chest from the way the pain makes your cock even harder. Satisfied, he eases the leash, letting you return to your work. His head lolls back, lazily looking at his men. He couldn't care less who sees you like this, but now he wants your full attention on him. "Leave." He gives the simple command.

You track the sound of shuffling feet as you take him fully into your mouth, making him hiss a curse under his breath. Nuzzling your nose into his curly pubic hair you breathe in his musk, his heel grinding firmly and consistently against your hard cock, pleasure pulsing through your veins with such intensity you're worried you'll cum without permission, low whines escaping your throat.

He pulls you off him suddenly, your lungs burning as you gasp for air. You expect him to paint your face with his cum, stake an obvious ownership over you. But he doesn't, pulling you by the leash and leaning down to mash your lips together, teeth biting down on your lip until it bleeds.

Makarov's kisses are rough and demanding, the sweet drug your body's been craving, teeth clicking together and tongues swirling in each other's mouths. The firm grind of his boot against your crotch makes you moan lowly, a sound he happily swallows down and nearly shoves his tongue down your throat. You part far too soon, your body craving much much more, but he doesn't let you stew in the disappointment of a short kiss — it's an owner's responsibility to spoil his pet — mumbling against your lips. "Prepare me."

A full shudder runs down your spine and you surge to follow his order. Makarov loves the determined look you get in your eye just as much as he loves the rough way you grip his hips and hike them up so you can pull his pants and boxers down his legs. Your bloodied fingers grip his hips and pull them down until his ass hangs off the edge of the couch, throwing his legs over your shoulders and he can feel the muscles deep in his back strain as you nearly bend him in half, his hard cock and hole bared for you.

It's a vulnerable position, trapped between your bulky frame and the couch he has no way to escape. And if anyone else were to attempt this he would feed every inch of their flesh to themselves. But Makarov relishes the knowledge that he's in control, a single word from him would make you stop regardless of how hard and wanting you were, your loyalty to him as real as the dead man's blood you dip your fingers in to lube them.

Your fingers circle his hole before you press the pad of your finger against it. Without the heat of battle the cold viscousness of the blood feels disgusting, making him shiver and his rim flutter against your digit. But the discomfort is easily forgotten when you apply pressure, the steady and persistent way you push your finger in forcing his muscles to yield. "Shit-" Makarov clenches his teeth; your fingers are so large just one feels like two of his own, the gnawing pain of your finger pushing deeper just amplifying the pleasure of being stretched open and your other hand loosely stroking his wet cock.

You don't go slower than you need to, perfectly trained to know how to move your fingers to keep him teetering on the edge between pleasure and pain, each shift and slow drag of your finger pulling deep grunt and soft breaths from between his clenched teeth. "Yes, there you go." His praise makes your heart melt and cock throb in your pants, the pull of the leash bringing your lips together in another harsh kiss. You swallow his moans greedily, pushing a second finger in and curling them in search of his prostate, your thumb incessantly rubbing the space between his balls and ass to trap the spongy flesh between your fingers.

He nearly chokes you with how hard he yanks on the leash, hips pushing back into your hand and walls clenching down on your fingers. The stinging ache of being stretched open mixes with the building pleasure, leaving his skin feeling like a live wire. His teeth dig into your lip until it bleeds again, heels digging into your back. He grinds his hips down on your fingers, muttering praises against your lips as you push a third finger in and force him to take it.

He can't wait any more, gripping your hair and roughly yanking your head back. "Fuck me already." He growls, licking the blood staining your cheek.

You scramble to do as you're told, continuing to stretch him open as you undo your belt and pants with one hand, your hard cock bobbing against your abdomen. Pulling your fingers out you scoop up more blood, the cold helping reign in your lust as you lube up.

Before you can do anything he reaches out to grip the base of your cock, his hold firm and just at the cusp of pain. "You'll be good, yes?" He growls against your lips. "Fuck me good and hard?" His hand moves, stroking you slowly, evenly coating the blood along your cock. "I don't need to show you how to use this thing again, do I?" There's a dangerous edge in his voice.

Fear shoots down your spine, mouth going dry. You'd been too eager for human touch when he first let you mount him, and when you came seconds after getting inside him he'd been less than pleased by your abilities. You couldn't feel your cock for a full week after he'd tied you down and used your cock until you couldn't cum, using a cock ring to keep you hard and using you until he was satisfied.

You quickly shake your head. "No sir," You choke out and bare your throat. "I can do it, I'll be good." You promise.

His hold loosens, tugging you by the hair so he can peck your lips, his tongue licking over the small wound he'd made. "Don't fail me now."

You steel yourself like you're going to war, pressing your cockhead to his hole. Your nails dig into his hip, your grip ironclad to keep him still as you pull him down more and simultaneously push in. There's a second of resistance before your head pops in, the pleasure of entering his velvet soft insides being met with sharp pain as his teeth chomp down on your shoulder through your shirt. It all mixes in your brain into pure bliss, your hips bucking up into him automatically until you're bottomed out. You hold him close to you and leisurely grind your hips, letting him get used to the mind numbing stretch.

Fuck— Makarov may see the appeal of brutes but impaled on your cock he feels like he's being split in two, lungs burning and he can almost swear your tip's poking his diaphragm. He chases the pain more than the pleasure, heels digging into your back to give him some leverage so he can push his hips into yours. "Yes," His head lolls back when you slowly withdraw, only to suddenly snap your hips and hilt yourself inside him again. "-fuck, yes!"

The blood keeps you from tearing him apart but there's too little of it to keep him from feeling the painful stretch, the slow movement of your hips making his thighs shake. "Harder," He demands, yanking on your leash and biting your shoulder again. "Make me feel it." His voice is rough with a demand, because men like him never beg.

"Yes sir," You manage, bracing your feet and setting a rough pace, rutting into him like an animal. He muffles his sounds into your shoulder as your cock saws into him, his walls fluttering and clenching around you so tightly it feels like he'll snap your cock off. You do your best to focus on him and his pleasure, but the tight heat of his hole is rapidly melting any control you have, your cock throbbing and leaking precum inside him.

"Sir, please-" You whine, your muscles tight and your balls feeling so full you feel like you'll burst, your voice full of need. "I'm so close."

“Not yet.” He growls, pushing his hips down to meet your thrusts, your hand stroking his cock. “Make me cum first.” He growls.

You hold back a pathetic whine and redouble your efforts, your rough thrusts bruising his ass as you fuck into him, aiming to nail his prostate every time you bottom out. He wails, whole body shaking, his cock throbbing in your hand and leaking a puddle of precum on his stomach.

Makarov cums without any warning, going rigid and biting your shoulder even harder as pearly cum shoots from his tip, his walls clamping down on your cock. "C- cum!" He snarls, voice muffled, and it's all you need. Bottoming out fully you moan as you shoot his insides full of your cum, rocking your hips and grinding your cock against his prostate to prolong both of our highs.

You hold him close as you come down to reality but the way his walls clench around your cock makes you feel like heaven. His hands grip your jaw, bringing you down into a disorganized sloppy kiss. He's boneless in your arms, his walls continuing to flutter around you. "That was good." He slurs, chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. "Good dog."

The tug of the leash is expected and Makarov kisses the corner of your lips, tongue swiping across your skin to lick up more of the blood staining your lips. "Clean me up." He orders, "Lick up your mess." He growls, and there's not a single part of you that would refuse him.

Tag list: @lieutnt, @pastelclovds @thee-great-enigma @vladimirking24

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avocado-writing · 1 month

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Oh maybe dp+w poly with sick reader? Nothing too angsty but I love the idea of having those two as your nurses when you’re out of commission for a few days 😭

You simply cannot stop shivering. It’s been racking your body like this for hours. It feels like your fucking skeleton is trying to escape, your teeth chattering in a way which would be almost comical if it didn’t fucking suck.

This morning you didn’t wake up feeling great, and your boys noticed. Logan can always smell when something is wrong, which Wade never tires of mocking him over (“what is it girl? Is there trouble at the old mill?” “Fuck off, Wilson.”) so when you had a slight temperature change, he was immediately at your side, rough hand on your forehead.

“You okay, bub?” voice quiet. Intimate. Concerned. You’d waved him away.

“Yeah, I’ll get some OJ and take it easy. Probably a seasonal thing, don’t even worry about it.”

Wade had cocked his head to the side. “If you’re not well, pookie, we can stay here. We can go and kill people any day. We only get one of you.”

But you knew they’d been trying to make a habit of sorting out local crime, proving they were good guys (you knew they were. They just needed to show it to themselves, it seemed) so you’d waved them off.

That had been a mistake. As soon as they walk in, stinking of blood and exhausted to the bone, a dual look of horror crosses their faces.

“Ah, fuck,” mutters Logan. He’s by your side at an instant, sliding his hands under your blanket in order to lift you into his lap. Fuck, he’s like a hot water bottle - you immediately snuggle into his chest to feel the warmth. “Baby, we shouldn’t have left you.”

Wade closes in, moving a finger side to side so that you follow it with your eyes. “Are you okay, sweetheart? How many handsome men do you see?”

“Two,” you chuckle, and Wade makes a show of tutting.

“Well you’re wrong there. Let’s be honest, only one of us is likely to win PEOPLE’s sexiest man alive award again, honey.”

You’re not sure what he means but he makes you smile, anyway.

“Wade, you’re handsome.”

“And you’re sick. I’m gonna go and get you some chicken soup, then we’re gonna sit here and watch that absolutely terrible show you like all night,” he announces, reaching over to give you a kiss on the forehead. “Haha, ew. Sweaty. I still love you though. Hold down the fort, peanut.” He reaches over to kiss Logan on the forehead too, who is remarkably accepting of it.

“Love you.” You hum as he peels off his suit and grabs some sweatpants, before moving your head to look up at Logan. “Love you too.”

Logan mutters it back, his lips buried into your crown, like he can will you better with the force of his affection.

Maybe, between them, they just might.

Taglist: @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse @yeethaw13 @na-is-salty @florduarte @hunterispunk @starfleetteddybear

#my writing #james logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x reader #logan x reader #wolverine x reader #x men x reader #logan howlett imagine #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu imagine #wolverine fanfiction #mcu fandom #Deadpool x reader #wade wilson x reader

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effetsecndaires · 3 months

Text

— 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.

➺ PAIRING | sanemi shinazugawa x reader

➺ CONTENT WARNING | swearing, mention of a sad & heartbroken genya :((, angst but nothing too tragic (unless??), wc: 1,6k, barely proofread

➺ NOTE | the lovely @ponderingmoonlight inspired me to write for Sanemi <3 I'm not sure if I did him justice, I haven't exactly mastered his character yet so he miiight be a bit ooc.

Your blood is boiling. You're hardly holding back tears of frustration as you stomp toward the Wind Estate, the gravel crunching loudly beneath your feet.

You’re having a hard time controlling your anger, everything Shinobu taught you about emotional restraint fading into a blur the closer you get to your destination.

You never imagined Sanemi would ever go to such extreme with his brother. You've always stayed out of his family business, respecting his privacy and the complexities of his current relationship with Genya. You didn't live with either of them, after all, so there were likely things you didn't know, maybe even deeper reasons behind Sanemi’s behavior.

But this? You couldn't let it slide. No way.

There's no justification for almost blinding and constantly breaking your own brother's heart like he does.

"Sanemi!" you shout as you slide open the door to his room. The Wind hashira whirls around at your sudden arrival, his eyes wide with surprise before they harden into a defensive glare. The look in your eyes tells him everything he needs to know, and he's not in the mood for whatever bullshit you're about to spew at him.

"Not now. I’m not in the mood to—"

"Shut up! I'm the one who speaks.” you cut him off, stepping into the room and sliding the door shut with a sharp, forceful motion that would've made him flinch if he weren't so stubbornly set in his ways. If looks could kill, the Wind hashira would be six feet under by now. "I spoke with Genya.”

There it is.

“He told me everything.” your voice trembles with barely restrained fury as you speak, an accusatory finger pointed at him. “How could you?! Your own brother, Sanemi!”

Sanemi's jaw tightens and he stands up abruptly, pulling out his sword with a practiced motion. "Tsk, it's no big deal. He'll get over it," he says dismissively, brushing past you as if the conversation meant nothing.

You move to block his path in an instant, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Do you even hear yourself?!”

Sanemi finally meets your gaze. “I’m trying to keep the goddamn brat alive. I’m trying protect him, alright? He’s being reckless, and he’s fucking crazy if he thinks he’s fit to survive out there!”

“Wha– and you think this is the way to protect him? You think blinding him will keep him safe? What the hell is your problem?! You're not protecting him, Sanemi, you're driving him to desperation. That's what you're doing. You’re pushing him to do reckless things because he thinks he has to prove himself to you!”

The words flow out of your mouth so easily, like they've always been there, waiting to spill out. Your frustration and anger are bubbling to the surface, barely restrained at this point. You've never liked the way he treated Genya, and this incident had been the last straw. There was no way you could keep watching him destroy his relationship with his brother without saying anything.

The silence stretches uncomfortably as Sanemi's gaze bores into yours, the veins on his forehead and his neck bulging in anger. For a moment, you fear he'll lash out at you too, but instead, he pushes past you and storms out of the room, stepping heavily down the wooden stairs.

“Shinazugawa Sanemi!”

He pauses, his back rigid — but he doesn't turn around. His head turns just slightly to the side as he speaks.

"If he stays in the Corps, he’ll die.” he finally snaps. "He can't use breathing techniques. He’s weak. He’s not strong enough and he’ll never be. I'm doing him a favor by being hard on him."

"That's bullshit and you know it." you rush down after him, getting in his way to prevent him from leaving. It takes every fiber of willpower you have not to slap some sense into him. "Wake up already. We live in a world that's beyond cruel and unpredictable, Sanemi. We don't know what tomorrow will bring or if we'll even see it. Death is always in the corner, especially for people like us who are constantly risking our lives with every mission."

Sanemi's eyes widen slightly, the anger in them giving way to something more vulnerable. His heart sinks at the implication — but he wants to hear it from you, loud and clear.

"...What are you saying?"

“I'm saying that what you're doing, the way you're pushing him away and breaking his heart over and over again— it’s going to backfire on you one day.” you continue, a slight desperation in your tone. “You can say what you want, but Genya is a demon slayer. There's nothing you can do about it. And you know what that means, right?” You pause, scanning his reaction for any hint of realization or acceptance. "You said it yourself. It means you could lose him at any moment. Tonight, tomorrow, next week. Life is way too short for you to be acting like this. What if he dies thinking his own brother never loved him? How would you live with that?” You step closer, refusing to back down. “He’s desperate for your forgiveness, for your love. And instead of giving it to him, you do this.”

Sanemi clenches his fists, his knuckles turning white around the hilt of his sword. He hates that you’re right, that you’re seeing through his justifications. He knows he’s been hard on Genya, more than anyone should be to their own brother. He’s spent years pushing him away, trying to protect him from the harsh realities of their world. But in doing so, he’s only unintentionally pushed him into more danger.

"He needs you, Sanemi," you add calmly, stepping closer to him. "You're each other’s only family. Don't let your pride or your fears keep pushing him away. He’s just a child, for God’s sake.”

He wants to argue, to lash out and say that you don’t understand, that there’s no other way. But he can’t find the words to defend himself. He moves to sit on the stairs and takes a deep breath. He averts his gaze, his grip on his sword tightening in pent up anger and frustration.

He can’t help but feel a pang of guilt as he thinks of Genya’s tearstained face, the pain and disappointment in his eyes when those terrible words left his lips.

‘I don't have a little brother.’

It’s not the first time he’s caused him pain, but it doesn’t make it any easier to bear.

"I just... I want him to live a normal life, alright?” he grumbles. “He should be playing with kids his age, laughing and running around without a care in the world. He should be studying for his future, dreaming about what he wants to be when he grows up. He doesn't belong here." he finally mutters, his voice softer than before, yet still rough. You step up to him, sitting down beside him.

As he turns to look at you, Sanemi's expression is a mixture of frustration and helplessness. He looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, every worry and fear etched into his hardened features.

“Everything would be easier if he just hated me." Sanemi says, his voice trembling slightly as he struggles to maintain his composure. "He’d move on, leave the damn Corps, and find a life away from all this bloodshed. If he were to die at the hands of a demon, I—” He pauses, his jaw and fists clenching tightly. He runs a nervous hand across his face.

The words catch in his throat, but you can see the pain and fear in his eyes as he struggles to continue. "I can't lose anyone else. I can't lose him." he finally manages to say.

"Then love him while you still can, Sanemi," you say, your voice firm and steady. Tears start prickling at your eyes but you're quick to blink them away. "We've all lost someone here. Some of us have no one left at all. Some of us would give anything for just five more minutes with a loved one. You still have this time with Genya, so don't take it for granted."

Your words land like a punch in Sanemi’s gut, and he finds himself unable to argue. His shoulders sag, his defensive stance crumbling.

You let out a soft sigh and get back on your feet, one hand resting on the hilt of your sword under your butterfly haori.

“I can't tell you what to do, Sanemi. But I care for Genya as much as I know you do. However, I can't be a replacement for you. I’m not his family. Only you can give him the support and love that he needs.” You take a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions. Your gaze then shifts to the falling cherry blossoms, a fleeting reminder of life's fragile beauty. “I’m leaving for a mission tomorrow— possibly against an Upper Moon.” you continue, your voice steady despite the weight of your words. “While I’m gone, think about what I’ve said. Genya needs you now more than ever. Don’t let time slip away before you show him how much you care.” you turn to look at him. “You better have fixed this when I get back.”

With a final nod exchanged and a silent promise between you and Sanemi, you begin to walk away — clutching onto hope for a few more days of survival.

#reader insert #x reader #x fem reader #demon slayer x reader #sanemi x reader #sanemi x you #sanemi shinazugawa x reader #sanemi shinazugawa x you #kny #kny x reader #kny smut #kny x you

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poppy-metal · 4 months

Note

fail marriage au…………………….

having your first big blow out fight after marriage counselling. putting everything you ever found aggravating or disrespectful or wrong or even just a bit annoying on the table. art doing exactly the same. it gets mean. it gets personal. it gets ugly. you scream at him, scream like a banshee and he shouts back. veins you didn’t know he had bulge in his neck, his fingers flex as he wildly gesticulates. you throw something, a plastic tv remote that shatters against the wall. it all passes in a heated blur, you hardly know what you’re doing or saying but that blood is pumping through your veins and you’re alive and so is art. alive. furious, at you. you stalk up to him, and he stands tall above you, looming like a storm cloud. a sweet faced angelic storm cloud that right at this second you couldn’t fucking stand. you jab at his chest with your finger as you yell, lay into him. why couldn’t he tell you how he feels? why did he have to be so fucking passive aggressive? why was tashi the centre of his fucking universe? why couldn’t he be a fucking man and tell you what he really wants? be a man art. be a fucking man for once in your goddamn life.

his nostrils flare, his anger rising with every poke. he grabs your wrist, yanks it up and leans in close. stooping, showing you that he is bigger. he would stoop to your level. he will fight back. you feel his breath on your nose and seethe. he’s still minty fresh. stupid cunt.

“what i want is for you to shut the fuck up and stop acting like you know everything.”

“fuck off, you limp dicked sack of shit.”

“fuck you cunt.” he flicks those brutal syllables at you, chewing his words, opening his mouth so you can see his tongue forming them. you feel the severity in the pit of your stomach. you feel something else lower.

“fuck me? fuck you!”

and in that moment you drew together, moving as one, in the most violent kiss of the modern age. he squeezes your wrist, still held aloft. your other hand grips his shirt collar, pulling so hard it hurts his neck. good. you hope his delicate little neck gets a friction burn and a rash and you hope it stings forever. he tongues furiously at your mouth, mashing his lips into yours and licking the side of your mouth. eating your face like he eats pussy. which he hasn’t done in a while, another thing to yell at him about later. his other hand grips the back of your head, holding it still so you have no choice but to recieve his hot, angry love. you kiss back with equal fury. you want to make him suffer your love. don’t want it? tough luck. it’s his. and he will take it. he grunts into your mouth, it vibrates your tongue. you pull back, but he doesn’t let you. he forces you back nearer to him, spine curving in hateful ecstasy. he kisses you for a few more seconds before drawing back only a few centimetres to rest his forehead on yours and breathe. your lips are wet with him.

“i love you,” you breath.

he caresses the back of your head.

“prove it.”

me when i overachieve.

anyway this is apart of my failmarriage au and you should probably read this part first to understand whats going on here. or just follow the #failmarriage au tag that i have.

your breath shudders out of you. you'd never heard that tone from him before, or rather, never directed at you. not exactly cold but, chilled. serious and pointed. dominant.

your hands fall from his hair, sliding down his throat, his shoulders. you stare into his eyes - he stares back. you feel like you're on a razor thin wire. concede or push back.

you wonder what this will fix. but you don't think you care. you want him. you miss him. your heart is pounding just thinking about it. you take a step back, two, three, several paces.

"okay," you say. you dont even know what you're agreeing too, just that you want it, whatever it is.

before you even have time to linger on that thought though -

because art is already stalking towards you, undoing his soft leather belt and letting it drop to the floor. you couldn’t move. you couldn’t breathe. just watching in this kind of stupified silence as art unczips his pants and slides his delicate fingers under his waistband. In three strides, art was right up in your space, owning it, staring you down with a cool kind of control in his eyes, heavy cock in his hand, already hard and flushed and mouthwateringly beautiful. you couldn’t speak. you couldn’t think. all you could see was art.

when art spoke, his voice was an iron grip closing around your throat. each word as clear and distinct as a brand to your hot skin.

“get on your knees”

you sink to the floor. It felt like falling, your knees knocked out from under you by the invisible string of his command that binds you to him. breath punches out of your lungs as you let yourself go under. art was already reaching out and grabbing the back of your head and shoving his cock past your waiting lips, pushing all the way to the hilt as his leaking head slammed into the back of your throat.

“god,” art breathed out, vice grip holding you in place. “You’re beautiful like this” and you were lost. years of built resentment and anxiety dissipating like smoke as art took over your senses. the taste of him, the smell of him, the warmth of him, the silk soft press of his cock down your throat. It was everything you’d been longing for from him.

your hands fly up to grip art’s waist, fingers trying to find purchase, pressing him deeper, holding him deeper, worried he might pull out but not able to hold yourself back. when art didn’t say anything, didn't tell you to stop, you sank forward and started to suck greedily, tongue running over art’s throbbing length, trying desperately to take him apart, to please him, to worship him, to give him what he wanted.

you heard yourself whine, felt your body sway forward, but you managed to hold yourself still, keep your tongue flat, keep your mouth wide and waiting, holding art still against the back of your throat, wanting desperately to prove you were good. that you loved him. That you wanted, wanted, wanted him.

"give me your hand,” art breathes, looking down at you, and you think briefly of the ancient greek god apollo, and how if art was a deity, you.d gladly stay right where you are. lovingly holding him in the back of your throat.

your mind was already starting to go fuzzy with the heavy weight of art on the back of your tongue, salt slowly leaking from his pink slit, the slow stretch of his your lips around art’s shaft starting to ache in your jaw. , but, still you had enough awareness to look up confused, meeting art’s eyes in a question. but art didn’t offer an explanation. just looked down at you, hand held out, patiently waiting, like it wasn’t a question of whether you would obey; it was just a matter of when.

shakily, your hand reaches out to his. by instinct or by pure coincidence, its the hand with your wedding band on it. your fingers brush against each other, and then arts fingers, lithe and strong, an athlete's fingers, slide between yours. he brings your clasped hands together against his chest. if your throat wasn’t stuffed with cock you’d gasp at the gesture, the intimacy of it alone. your palm against his bare chest, his right pectoral. right over his thunderous heartbeat. his wedding band presses against yours.

“Im gonna move, okay?” he breathes down at you, and his hand squeezes yours. “If you want me to stop just squeeze my hand two times.”

you nodded, a slight movement, eager and unbidden. art ran a finger under your jaw, fluttering his fingers against you. you had to shuffle a little to keep as much of art in your mouth as you could as he exhaled and used his free hand to slide against the back of your skull, cupping it tenderly.

a little punched-out gasp falls from arts lips as he slowly rocked his hips, pushingas deep as he could go as you moaned around him. art took a second, waited for you to look at him, blink the tears from your eyes, before he started the slow glide out of your mouth. you laid your tongue flat against the underside of him, tracing the veins, unable to move forward to chase him back down your throat as arts hand kept you firmly in place.

when he was all the way out, spit slick and gleaming, he rested the flushed head of himself against your bottom lip. rubbed himself there, traced every contour of your mouth with the slit of his cock. glossing your lips with the sheen of his precum.

“I love you.” he said - voice choked and you couldnt tell if it was from emotion or lust, maybe a combination of the two.

you felt something flare hot in your belly, but before you could utter a word, art was sliding back home, right back into the silk pallet of your throat. and you welcomed him greedily, lapping up every inch he gave you.

the whole while you held his hand, still pressed against his chest. you tilted open your jaw as wide as it could go, imagining you wanted to be a snake and swallow him whole. you took everything. you breathed through your nose when he was settled fully inside you - you sucked around him when he began to pull back, suctioning your mouth around him to mimic a pussy. a tight hole.

arent i such a good wife, you thought. no one could take his cock like you could. no one would drop to their knees and let themselves be used this way, but you would. to you, this was love. this was passion.

art lasted a few more minutes before he was dragging himself free from the warm hug of your throat -

“I want you spread out on the kitchen counter," art panted, jerking his chin. he reached down to wrap a loose hand around his wet cock, stroking it languidly. your throat ached with missing it. “I need to be inside you. I want to -” he swallows. “I want to fuck you."

you inhaled sharply. it was a word you didn't often hear from arts lips. especially in reference to sex. the crude word coming from him made your belly clench warmly. more, you wanted more of that.

you stared at each other for what felt like forever but was probably only a couple seconds, art’s cock still only inches from your face. you watched transfixed as art’s leaking head slipped between the tight circle of his fingers, flushed tip disappearing and pushing back through. It was filthy, it was gorgeous, and your whole body shuddered imagining what it would feel like at your entrance: the slow press, the slick head, the aching burn as it slowly pushed inside. because it would burn. the last time you’d had sex….. you didnt want to think about it.

Instead you hurriedly scrambled to obey. shoving the straps of your dress down as you went, feeling it pool around your waist as you bent against the cool marble of the counter. you’d never fucked here. suddenly that was a crazy thought to you. wasnt it a kind of ritual for a couple - to christen the house? your fingers curled into your palms as you pressed your bare chest down.

you felt art come up behind you and your breath hitched when you felt his palms skimming up the backs of your thighs. you hadnt realized you’d been trembling until that moment. something about his touch calmed you though.

ridiculous, to be shy when this was your husband. he’d seen your cunt a hundred times.

all thoughts fled your head when those familiar fingers parted the lips of your cunt - finding you wet. “baby” art’s strangled voice reached your ears as he felt through your delicate slit - he sounded beside himself with wonder. that you,d be this wet for him. this ready. he slid two fingers in easily - just a slight pressure at your entrance and there was a give of the flesh. and he was in - inside you. pumping steadily. “that’s it,” a kiss at the base of your spine, soft and special. “let me in. give me whats mine.”

yours, you dont know if you breathed it or just echoed it in your head. hips pushing back into him, opening yourself further. the stretch was full but it felt so right.

“god - you’re so responsive - how could i forget -” he was working himself up. his thumb nudged your clit, circled it with the pad before pressing down on it, his own goran covering up your keen. like it affected him more than it did you, to feel how you throbbed against him with need. “gonna put my tongue on your clit everyday and you’re going to let me. let me worship what i married, spread your legs and fucking take it-”

“oh god,” you’re whining. practically humping your cunt on his fingers. “whatever you want, baby. take it, its all yours.”

you clench around nothing when he suddenly yanks his fingers free, but you dont have to mourn the loss long, your empty spasming hole feeling the silken pressure of his cock in the next second. he grips your waist, wholly possessive as he drags you back onto him and, oh. Its so blissful. that tender ache in your cunt as its filled to the brim. You’d-

“fuck - i missed this - missed your pussy -”

yes, yes missed. you’d missed this.

art adjusts himself. spreads out his legs so he can really move, leans his broad chest over your back, covering you, smothering you, squishing you into the countertop but he doesnt care. you dont care. pinned beneath him and speared open like this - you’ve never felt more loved by him.

“so tight and warm - god - i never wanna leave -” he watches, pink lips parted where you’ve taken him. the flared open lips of your pussy hugging the base of his cock. a groan rips from his chest, loud, because he wants you to know, really fucking know, how overwhelmed he is, how much you make him feel, as he slowly drags himself out - only able to make it halfway before he has to bury himself back into that tight heat. your walls tighten and squeeze around him in these luxurious pulls and he feels spit pool in his mouth, the sensation enough to empty his brain. he rocks there, barely pulling free from the clutch of your body.

“treat me so well with this - little cunt - “ wet desperate kisses are pressed wherever he can reach, his mouth hungry for the salt of your skin. he pulls it between his teeth, some raw animal part of him just wanting to naw on you. he rubs his forehead against your shoulders as he starts to move his hips faster. finally pulling out all the way before he slams back in, knocking your hips into the hard marble, and he should say sorry, he should take more care, you’ll be bruised surely, but then his mind flits back to your therapy session - at the words you’d both said - how you felt - and the words exchanged in your fight. and he feels something kindle in his chest, sparked to life by the liquid heat pouring through him - you fucking - you’re so cruel sometimes and you dont even know - you dont even see what you’re doing to him, the power you hold, how much he’d give to you if only you’d fucking open up to him. get angry at him. demand more of what you want instead of fucking expecting him to read your goddamn mind.

he hadn’t felt the wet grip of his wifes pussy in months until just now. that couldn’t happen again.

he pulls himself to his full height - using his ringed hand to make a makeshift leash of your hair, wrapping it around his tan fist. anchors you back onto his hard dick again and again in hard punishing pulls that seem to punch moans from you.

“this is how i should have treated you from the beginning, huh? come home every day and bend you over the minute i step through the door. pound out all my frustrations on this tight cunt. use you to masturbate my dick.” he grunts - that viseral fury that’d you’d seen spark in him briefly before was back in full force now. you could feel it in the reverberating clap of his balls against your ass. the forceful grip on your hair, yanking your neck back, nearly pulling your chest off the counter, your tits bouncing. “maybe then you’d appreciate me.”

you dont know what part in you is broken that soaks his cock at his treatment instead of clamping up. his anger, his vitriol, it all speaks to a deep part inside of you that screams to be wanted. you whimper and bear down around him, meeting him instead of shying away.

“g - od - oh god, art - “

“would that make you my happy little wife?” he slows back down. drags his thick length in and out of you in purposeful rolls of his hips. “I bring all my shit to you and you devote this hot little pussy to warming my dick. you’ll take care of me, right? drop to your knees and give me a proper fucking welcome home.”

you cant think. your eyes are rolling back, your brain fogging. Its so good, oh god, how is it so fucking good. you’re drenched between your thighs, you can feel it running down your thighs. you can feel the hot raw part of your pussy that is being penetrated again and again on his cock as it retreats and then glides back in.

“Im gonna cum.” is all you can say. “art, im so close -”

“fuck,” he stops his movements. grinding his hips into yours, churning his dick inside you. his mouth skims your ear, he lets go of your hair to grip you around the throat. “tell me you love me. tell me you love me when you cum, baby, or i swear to god, i cant do this anymore -”

“I love you!” the words are the truest they’ve ever been in years. you’re on your tippy toes, squirming, trying to get away or trying to get closer, you cant tell. probably closer. you want art to carve apart for himself inside you - brand himself on you forever so you can never leave, never forget, never doubt this marriage. “I love you, i love you, i love you, i love-”

“I love you too. fuck - i need you to cum. cum on my cock and show me you still want this -”

you shatter apart. a million stars exploding in a galaxy. arts strong arms come around you like a band, wrapping you up against him as you shake. your breaths come out harshly in sync. the beats of your heart a fast thrum between you.

you turn your head, desperately seeking, and he’s there, already leaning down to take your lips in a kiss.

the weight of him still inside you is one you take comfort in. you dont want him to leave your body. you dont want this to end.

“stay,” you whisper against his mouth.

his hand cups your cheek, strokes his thumb over the swell of your flushed skin. “always,” he says back.

#ask #poppy fic #frens <3 #LMAO THIS TOOK ME HOURS AND ITS NOT EVEN 3K #wipes sweat from forehead #failmarriage au #art donaldson x reader #art donaldson smut #challengers x reader #challengers smut

725 notes · View notes

velarisdusk · 1 month

Text

Shattered

Hockey AU

Series Masterlist Part 3 <- ✦.⁺.✦.⁺.✦ -> Part 5 - Burning Desire

word count: 8k

content: [ explicit sexual content, fingering, voyeurism, exhibitionism, dirty talk, praise, degredation, dominance/submission, biting, group almost sex?, 5 guys but it isn't a gangbang sorry | infidelity, alcohol mention, strong language, emotional conflict, verbal conflict]

summary: At a lavish party you're reluctantly attending on behalf of your boyfriend, who's occupied with a pressing PR matter, temptation proves too alluring to resist. A heated encounter with several teammates in a secluded room is quickly shattered, forcing you to face the consequences of your actions.

author's note: :)

The invitation had arrived in a gold-embossed envelope, signaling the kind of wealth and excess only a notorious socialite like Ianthe could muster. When the team saw the invite, their collective groan was almost comical.

“Oh, come on,” Azriel had grumbled, tossing the invitation onto the table. “Does she really expect us to show up to one of these again?”

“You know how she is,” Rhysand had replied with a roll of his eyes. “She’ll throw a fit if we don’t, and then all of her fans’ll spam our comments.”

Despite their reluctance, Cassian had insisted on attending. “It’s good PR,” he had said with a smirk. “Sadly, I can’t make it. I’ve got a prior engagement.”

Eris had raised an eyebrow. “What engagement?”

“A press event,” Cassian had replied smoothly. “To address your… inappropriate use of the team’s Twitter and make clear that the rest of us had nothing to do with it.”

Eris had looked defensive. “How was I supposed to know it would blow up like that?”

Cassian had stifled a chuckle. “Yeah, how would you have known? The Vipers tweeting, ‘Calling all baddies with fat asses, slide into my DMs if you want a real man tonight,’ and then following it up by replying to half of them with ‘ayo shawtay’—with five y’s—‘hit me up.’ Not unusual at all.” He paused, letting the absurdity of the situation sink in. Laughter bubbled up around the room, the tension breaking as Cassian continued, “Some outlets reported it as ‘disturbing,’ so now I’m on damage control. Important stuff. You’ll manage without me.”

So, you found yourself amidst a sea of opulence, far removed from your usual comfort. The penthouse was alive with celebrities, influencers, and high-profile guests. Crystal chandeliers bathed the room in a warm glow, casting reflections off designer clothes and extravagant jewelry. Conversations buzzed around you, a mix of superficial small talk and name-dropping that made you feel even more out of place.

Ianthe had greeted you with an overly enthusiastic hug, her perfume almost overwhelming. “Oh my goodness, (y/n)! It’s been ages since I’ve seen you and Cassian!” she exclaimed, her voice loud and piercing. She wore a shimmering gold gown, the fabric hugging her every curve and sparkling under the dim lights. “Where is he?”

“Babe, you should go. Someone needs to make sure they don’t embarrass themselves, and since I can’t, you’re the only one I trust to handle it,” he had said, brushing a stray bit of hair behind your ear. “Besides, Ianthe will make it a whole thing if I don’t show up or at least send someone in my place. I’ve got that press thing to handle.”

“Do I really have to go?” you had asked, frowning. “I don’t know anyone there well enough to enjoy myself.”

Cassian had sighed, wrapping his arms around you. “I know it’s not ideal, but it’ll be over before you know it. Plus, the guys’ll be there. Just stay for a bit, make an appearance, and then you can leave. Ianthe will appreciate it, and so will the team.”

You had huffed, certain they’d appreciate your presence. “Fine, but you owe me.”

He had laughed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Deal. I’ll make it up to you, promise.”

“He couldn’t make it,” you said with a forced smile, smoothing down the fabric of your elegant but understated dress. “But he insisted I come in his place.”

Ianthe’s laugh had been high and tinkling, grating on your nerves. “Of course he did! Well, you’re here now, so make yourself at home! Enjoy the party!” She flitted off to greet another guest, leaving you feeling even more adrift.

Despite her warm greeting, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place. As the night wore on, you tried to mingle, but the crowd was overwhelming. You watched the guys make small talk in their circles, but the noise and the crowd became suffocating. Seeking refuge, you slipped away from the chaos, your steps quickening as you wandered through Ianthe’s penthouse.

The further you ventured from the bustling noise, the more the laughter and music faded into a distant murmur. You eventually discovered a quiet hallway upstairs, offering a welcome escape from the revelry below. Following the corridor, you stumbled upon a study, its shelves lined with immaculate rows of books, each seeming more decorative than practical. You stood in the center of the room, the serene atmosphere wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. The soft glow of a nearby lamp cast gentle shadows on the walls, and the muffled sounds from the party below felt like a world away. It was a rare moment of peace, a chance to collect your thoughts and find solace in the stillness of the room.

Your gaze drifted around the dim room, but your thoughts were elsewhere, tangled in a web of regret. Cassian's face flashed in your mind, a painful reminder of the trust you had shattered. The memories of what had transpired were vivid: stolen moments in the locker room with Azriel and Rhysand, the rooftop terrace with Helion and Tarquin. It had all started with light touches and innocent flirtations, things Cassian tolerated, but you had crossed a line. The reality of your actions pressed heavily on you, each encounter a mark against your integrity. Every touch from Tarquin, every whispered promise from Helion, only served to deepen your regret. It wasn’t just the physical betrayals that stung but the realization that you had allowed things to spiral out of control. What had driven you to push the boundaries so far? Was it the thrill of the forbidden, the chase of something new, or simply a frantic attempt to fill a void you hadn’t fully acknowledged before? The ache in your chest grew with each passing moment, a constant reminder of the damage you had done.

The sudden rush of music and laughter from the party downstairs broke the silence, flooding into the study as the door creaked open. You turned, startled, and saw Rhysand and Tarquin step into the room. Rhysand’s gaze was sharp, a mixture of curiosity and something else flickering in his eyes. Tarquin’s expression was equally intrigued, his attention immediately drawn to you.

“What brings you up here, alone, with all the fun downstairs?” Rhysand’s voice was smooth, almost curious, but there was an undercurrent of something more in his gaze.

“I needed a break from all the noise,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

Tarquin leaned casually against the doorframe, amusement evident in his eyes. “Ianthe does have a flair for the dramatic, doesn’t she?” His tone was light, almost playful.

Rhysand nodded, his expression almost sympathetic, but his eyes never left yours. “Must be hard without Cassian here.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the tension in the room. “Yeah, it’s... different.”

Rhysand chuckled softly. “Tarquin and I were just chatting, and your name came up.” He stepped closer and brushed a hand down his sleeve, as if casually dismissing any pretense. “He mentioned something interesting about you.”

He took a final step, closing the distance between you. His presence was that of danger and allure. “So, I told him something interesting in return.” His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. “And, well,” he continued, his lips curling into a predatory smile, “we just had to share what we learned with Azriel and Helion.”

As if on cue, the door opened again — Tarquin’s doing, you noticed — and Azriel and Helion walked in. Helion’s grin widened as he sauntered over with an easy, confident stride. “When they came over, we were just having a little chat about you,” he remarked, his tone light and teasing. But there was something in the way his gaze lingered on you, something that hinted at a deeper, more dangerous amusement.

Azriel’s sharp gaze lingered on you. “Did you think we wouldn’t notice the way you’ve been acting?” His voice was soft, almost gentle, but there was a subtle edge to it as if he were piecing together a puzzle you hadn’t meant for them to solve. It wasn’t that you were intentionally hiding anything; it just seemed to happen that way. He paused just a few steps away, his presence quietly commanding.

Tarquin idly traced his fingers along the edge of a nearby bookshelf, his gaze drifting back to you with a casual curiosity. “We’ve noticed you’ve slipping away whenever one of us gets too close. Almost like you’re avoiding something... or someone.” His voice was light, but it was clear he was feigning ignorance.

Rhysand’s voice dripped with mock indignation. “You’re even avoiding eye contact with us. How do you think that makes us feel?” His gaze was intense, holding you in place.

The room was charged with tension as they closed in on you, their questions relentless. You shifted uncomfortably, trying to find the right words amidst your rising anxiety. “Look, it’s not that simple,” you said, your voice trembling. “I’ve just been... overwhelmed.”

Azriel’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. “Overwhelmed, huh?” His voice was soft, but it carried a weight that made your heart race. He moved around you with a quiet, deliberate grace, his hand settling on your shoulder with a firm yet almost tender grip. “You know, running from one fuck to another isn’t exactly a solution.” His fingers trailed slowly up your arm, the touch deceptively gentle, but there was no mistaking the intent behind it.

Helion closed the distance with a casual, almost lazy grace, his smile never fading. “Avoiding us won’t make the mess you’ve made disappear,” he teased, his voice laced with playful mockery. His hand brushed over your shoulder lightly. “Now that you’re here, though, maybe we can have a bit of fun sorting it out.”

Rhysand’s voice softened as he leaned in, his expression mockingly sympathetic. “So, (y/n), was it worth it? Playing these games, sneaking around? Did it give you what you needed?” His hand brushed against your jaw, a gentle touch that belied the weight of his words.

“Answer him, (y/n),” Tarquin chimed in, his voice nonchalant as he flipped through a book without really looking at it. “We’re all ears.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the heat of their scrutiny. “I... I just didn’t know how to handle everything,” you stammered, trying to keep your voice steady. “It was a mess, and I didn’t think it through.”

You met each of their eyes, trying to make them understand despite the teasing edge of their demeanor. “But you know what?” you added, a spark of defiance igniting in your eyes. “It takes more than one person to fuck. If you’re going to judge me, take a look at yourselves. You’re supposed to be his friends, but you’re betraying him just as much as I am. Don’t act like I’m the only one to blame.”

Azriel’s brows rose in amusement, clearly entertained. With his lips trailing the side of your neck, he murmured, “She’s got a point, doesn’t she? We’ve all played our parts in this.” You shivered at the sensation.

Tarquin closed the book with a snap and shelved it, a smirk playing on his lips. “Well, if we’re all to blame, maybe we’ve been too harsh,” he drawled, standing beside Rhysand, finally joining you all.

Helion’s fingers began a slow, deliberate trail along your waist, his touch possessive. He let his fingertips graze the fabric of your dress, eyes glinting with dark amusement. “Let us make it up to you?” When you didn’t respond, he added, “I’m surprised Cassian let you out in something that makes you look so… delicious,” he purred, his voice low and sultry.

You shot him a look. “Cass doesn’t ‘let’ me do anything. I do what I please, and he’s secure enough not to care.”

Helion’s smirk widened as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “Misplaced security, then,” he murmured, his tone dripping with mockery and desire.

Azriel watched the exchange with a predatory gleam. He moved his hands to your hips, the touch light but purposeful as he pulled you back into him. “Maybe he should be more worried about how easily you slip away,” he suggested, his voice a dangerous whisper. Tarquin stepped closer, his gaze fixated on you as he reached out to run his fingers along your exposed neckline. A chill ran up your spine.

Without warning, Helion’s hands slid from your waist to your hips, resting on top of Azriel’s, pulling himself closer. He leaned down for a heated kiss, his lips insistent and demanding. As his kiss deepened, Azriel ground himself against your ass, groans of pleasure from both of you filled the relatively quiet study.

Tarquin leaned in next, his lips finding your neck. Rhysand, standing on your other side now, placed a hand on your shoulder, letting his lips graze your ear before trailing down to your jawline. Azriel’s hands moved from under Helion’s to your ass, grabbing and squeezing and pinching and spreading. “Oh, God,” you gasped breathlessly into the kiss, your voice trembling as you pressed your chest against Helion. “I can’t… I can’t handle this.”

But his kiss only grew more fervent, his tongue exploring yours as he murmured against your lips, “You’re doing just fine, you’ve handled much more.”

With trembling hands, you reached down, your fingers deftly finding their way to the two men at your sides. Your fingers brushed against the smooth, warm fabric, feeling the outlines of their arousal. Tarquin's pants were dark navy, contrasting sharply with the crisp white of his dress shirt, and his belt was a sleek black leather that made the bulge even more pronounced. Rhysand wore a tailored charcoal suit, the fabric fitting him perfectly, showing off his powerful frame.

As you palmed them through their pants, you couldn’t help but marvel at how incredibly sexy they all looked. Helion’s suit was a rich, deep burgundy, the color enhancing the warmth of his skin and exuding an air of refined elegance. The fabric shimmered subtly under the soft lighting, and the tailored lines of his jacket accentuated his every movement, making him look irresistibly captivating.

Though Azriel was behind you, you knew he wore a classic charcoal-grey suit, the dark color highlighting his powerful build. The suit’s fitted cut accentuated his broad shoulders and slim waist. Calling it elegance, you thought, would not do him justice.

“Fuck,” you breathed out, your voice a ragged whisper as you felt the heat and hardness of their cocks through the fabric. “You all look so… fucking hot, it’s driving me crazy.”

Azriel groaned quietly behind you, his grip on your ass tightening as he hissed, “That’s what we wanted to hear. Keep talking, angel, tell us how much you’re enjoying it.”

Your breaths came faster, each one a ragged gasp as the intensity built. “I... I can’t,” you moaned against Helion’s lips, your voice trembling. “It feels so good, it’s too much...” You turned your head to lock your lips with Rhysand, the hand you used to please him now tangling in his hair. “You’re all so fucking perfect,” you breathed, your words spilling out in a torrent of need.

Tarquin bit down on your neck, making the skin there tingle in pleasure and pain. You gasped, your voice breathless. “I want all of you, I need every bit of this... fucking addicted.” Azriel placed kisses against the back of your neck, and your words became a fervent plea. “Please don’t stop, I need more, I need all of you.” You were overwhelmed, your mind a haze of need and desire. “Just keep going, don’t stop... I’m yours, just take me, use me,” you begged, your voice raw with need.

“Well, this is a scene,” a smug voice cut through the charged atmosphere. The room went silent as every head turned toward the door.

“Seems like you’ve all been holding out on me,” Eris drawled, leaning casually against the doorframe. His eyes swept over the room with a mixture of amusement and hunger. “Didn’t realize you were all getting so… wrapped up in each other tonight.” His gaze lingered on you with a dark, knowing smile. “Seems I’ve arrived just in time.”

The tension in the room shifted, grew heavier with Eris’s presence. Your heart was racing, caught between the intense pleasure still pulsing through you and the fresh wave of anxiety his scrutiny brought. The others froze momentarily, their expressions a mix of shock and discomfort.

Helion, having maintained his composure, tilted his head with a nonchalant grin. “Eris, what a surprise. Care to join?”

Eris’s grin widened as he stepped further into the room. “I’d be delighted,” he said smoothly, his gaze never leaving you. “I’m disappointed. I’ve made it very clear how much I want you. So tell me,” he murmured, his voice gaining a roguish tone as he continued, “if Cassian wasn’t satisfying you, why didn’t you come to me first, baby? You know I would’ve fucked you so much better.”

As he closed the distance, you eyed him with apprehension. Eris’s eyes roamed over you, taking in your flushed skin and the desperate look in your eyes. “If I can’t have the privilege of being the first in this room to fuck you, I’ll just have to be the best, won’t I?”

With that, Eris pushed his way through Rhysand and Helion, his presence commanding and overpowering. His fingers brushed against your lips as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “And trust me,” he said, his voice brimming with a fierce intensity, “I plan to make up for every second of those three years. Think you can take that?” His tone was a blend of seductive confidence and genuine desire.

Before you could respond, Eris’s lips were on yours, his kiss wild and demanding. His hands tangled in your meticulously styled hair, pulling you closer as his tongue explored your mouth with an urgency that matched his frustration. Your mind raced with conflicting thoughts—how wrong this felt, knowing Cassian hated Eris with a passion. They’d seemed almost friendly at the club, though. Maybe they’d become friends after that night. Which was worse? But as Eris's lips moved against yours, you couldn't help it. You found yourself clinging to him, craving more.

Rhysand’s hands roamed with deliberate slowness, slipping beneath your dress to explore the bare skin of your thighs. Each caress sparked waves of pleasure that had you gasping. His lips found your neck, tracing heated, lingering kisses that made you moan in response.

Helion’s hands roamed over your front and sides, brushing the sensitive skin just beneath the hem of your dress. His lips followed a path from your shoulder down your arm, leaving a trail of kisses that made you whimper with every touch. His touch was both teasing and possessive, a stark contrast to the yearning you felt.

Behind you, Azriel's hips pressed firmly against you, lifting your dress to reveal the lacy, barely-there underwear you wore. His breath was hot and intense against your skin, his kisses on the back of your neck growing more insistent. Tarquin, on your left, knelt down, his lips placing open-mouthed kisses up your smooth leg, his hands gripping your thigh with relentless, demanding pressure.

The room was soon filled with the symphony of your moans, the fervent kisses, and the hands exploring every inch of your body. The line between pleasure and chaos blurred as their combined touches drove you to the brink of madness.

Eris pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with an intense desire and a wicked glint. “This dress... it’s in my way,” he growled, his voice rough with urgency. “It needs to go.”

Azriel swiftly undid the zip, and without a second thought, Eris grabbed the hem of your dress and tore it up and over your head, tossing it aside. The cool air of the study hit your exposed skin, making you press closer into Eris's arms, now completely vulnerable.

“God, fucking look at you,” he groaned, his voice thick with satisfaction as his hands roamed over your newly exposed skin. He leaned in again, capturing your lips in another searing kiss. His hands moved with renewed fervor over your body, exploring every contour.

Rhysand, Azriel, Helion, and Tarquin took full advantage of the moment, their hands and lips everywhere, driving you to the edge with their combined touches. Your neck, your chest, your arms and legs, your ass; you couldn’t keep track of who was where anymore.

The room was filled with the sounds of your breathless moans and their low, appreciative growls and hums. Every nerve in your body was alight with sensation, the heat and intensity of their touches washing over you completely.

Eris’s hands moved to your breasts, which had been freed from your bra at some point, kneading and teasing them while his mouth claimed yours with a wild intensity. His lips traveled down to your neck, and your face flushed with embarrassment as you realized you were left in nothing but your panties and heels. The remaining fabric clung to you, highlighting your vulnerability amid their consuming attention.

“Go ahead and say those pretty words for me again,” he growled against your lips, “like you were when I came in. Let me hear you, baby.”

“I want it so bad,” you gasped, your voice trembling with need. “I need it, I’m begging you, please.”

“Azriel, fucking move,” Eris commanded with a low, vicious growl that was unlike anything you’d heard from any of them. Before you could fully grasp what was happening, your back was shoved against a bookshelf behind you, Eris’s hand cradling the back of your head. The sensation of the others being ripped away left you feeling startlingly exposed, emptiness washing over you.

Eris’s eyes pierced into yours, hunger and dominance in his gaze. His hand moved from the back of your head to the front of your neck, his grip surprisingly gentle, almost like a caress. “I want to hear you say it again,” he demanded, his voice rough and commanding. He placed his other hand on your bare waist, squeezing. “Tell us how much you want it. Tell us how badly you need to be fucked by all of us.”

Your breaths came out in ragged pants, your body trembling with anticipation and need. “I want it,” you repeated, your voice cracking with desperation. “I need it… Please.”

Eris’s lips curved into a dark, satisfied smile as he pressed his body against yours, the heat and hardness of him making you moan. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble.

The heat in the room surged as Eris's words hung in the air, his confidence palpable. The intensity of the situation seemed to reach new heights with his arrival. His fingers traced your lips, and you parted them slightly with a quiet exhale. The way he looked at you, with that dark, predatory glint in his eyes, made you feel like a prey caught in the snare of a hunter.

Rhysand and Helion exchanged glances, the challenge in Eris's demeanor stirring a competitive edge among them. It wasn’t until now that you realized Azriel still had a hand on your hip, his touch now more possessive, as if he were staking his claim. Tarquin’s eyes narrowed slightly, his lips curling into a smirk as he observed the scene unfolding.

Eris, now firmly in your space, didn’t wait for a response. His hands moved with a practiced ease, his grip on your jaw guiding you to face him fully. His eyes were dark, almost hypnotic, as they bore into yours. “Tell me,” he said, his voice low and urgent, “what do you need right now? Let me hear it.”

His warmth was enveloping, his breath hot against the shell of your ear as his lips brushed against the sensitive skin. Every touch seemed to heighten your awareness of just how far you'd let things go, and yet, you found yourself unable to pull away.

“I need...” you began, your voice trembling with desire and apprehension. You tried to glance at the men in the room, at Azriel, but Eris gave your head a firm but controlled shake, forcing your attention back to him. “I need all of you… All of you, Eris.”

His smirk widened, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. He took your hand, which lay limp at your side, guiding it to his abdomen and laying his hand over yours. You could feel every muscle under his dress shirt. “Good,” he murmured. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

He then turned his gaze towards Azriel, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You heard her,” Eris said, his tone brooking no argument. “Take a break. She’s mine now.”

The room seemed to pulse with energy when Eris gently spun you around by that same hand, his presence a commanding force as he instructed you to place your hands against the large oak bookshelf. His hands slid down slowly, along your sides, caressing your hips and waist with a deliberate, almost reverent touch. You felt his lightly calloused fingers grazing your skin, igniting a fire that made you ache with need.

The rest of the group watched with fascination and anticipation, their eyes never leaving you. The room was charged with competition and desire that seemed to fuel the intensity of the moment. As Eris knelt behind you, his touch grew more demanding. His hands roamed possessively, squeezing the curve of your waist, tracing the swell of your hips, and gripping your thighs with a fierce intensity. Every touch ignited a fire within you that made you surrender completely to him. With your hips pushed out and your back arched, you let out a moan that sent a jolt of arousal through the room, leaving the others subtly adjusting themselves as their growing need strained against their clothes.

When he bit down on your ass, the sound pulled from you fell somewhere between desperate and strained. Just when you were on the verge of demanding — not begging for — more, Eris pulled the lace of your underwear aside and teased a finger through your arousal.

“Look at how nice and ready they got you for me,” he murmured, more to himself than anything. After lining two fingers up to your entrance, he continued. “Thank them for me, baby?”

Though you stumbled over your words trying to steady your breaths, you managed a quiet “thank you” as he eased his fingers into you with an aching slowness. The groan he let out had you squeezing around them. Eris's fingers moved with a slow, tantalizing rhythm that left no room for haste. Each caress was meticulously timed, creating a sensation that felt intensely intimate yet firmly under his control. His touch was not just about pleasure but also about power, each stroke conveying his dominance.

Eris looked around the room, fingers still pumping slowly in and out, his gaze meeting the eyes of his teammates who watched with rapt attention. He smirked, fully aware of the effect this display had on them. With a casual but commanding tone, he addressed them without breaking his rhythm. “Sit back and take it in,” he said smoothly, standing back up. “Once I’m done with her, you won’t be seeing her like this again.”

You would’ve glanced around the room to gauge their reactions, curious despite yourself, but Eris didn’t give you the chance. His free hand came up to grasp your chin firmly, turning your head to the right to face him. “Eyes forward, or on me,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous, his breath ghosting across your lips as his fingers inside you curled just right, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. The sharpness of the motion had you gasping, pulling your focus solely to him.

Your lips parted to respond, but instead, another moan escaped as his fingers flexed inside you, sending pleasure radiating out from your core. The slow, deliberate pace had you trembling, every nerve drawn tight as you clung to the edge he was carefully holding you on.

"I..." you started, but the words were swallowed by a sharp intake of breath. "You–" The sentence dissolved into another gasp as his thumb slid over your clit in a slow circle. Every inch of your skin felt like it was on fire, and you couldn't help the way your hips pushed back against him, seeking more.

Eris's smirk widened, and his grip on your chin shifted, thumb trailing down the column of your throat. "What's that?" he taunted softly. "I didn't quite catch that."

You fought to catch your breath, tried to gather your thoughts, but it was no use.

"You're... taking your time," you managed to murmur, a half-hearted attempt at regaining some ground. But the way your body betrayed you — arching toward his touch, trembling under his fingers — made it clear that he was the one in control.

Eris hummed, clearly pleased with himself. "And you love it," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, as if it were a secret meant just for you.

Another moan escaped your lips, but you gritted your teeth, trying to stifle it. You felt the weight of the others' stares on your skin, but they didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the feeling of Eris inside you, stretching you, teasing you. The pleasure was too much, and yet somehow not enough. It was a cruel balance that he had perfected.

Eris’ lips brushed against your ear as he spoke, his voice low and velvety. “You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? I can feel how ready you are, how much you want it. But I’m going to take my time with you, is that okay, baby?”

You couldn’t help the small whimper that escaped your lips, the sound more of frustration than anything else. The way he moved inside you was maddeningly slow, calculated, as if he wanted to draw out every bit of pleasure he could. Your body responded eagerly, hips instinctively pushing back against his hand, craving more, needing more.

Helion’s voice drifted in the background, but you were too lost in those smoldering amber eyes to pay it any mind. “Come on, Eris. Give her something to remember.” Chuckles and murmurs of approval echoed around the room.

Eris chuckled, a dark, satisfied sound. “Patience, gentlemen. You’ve all had your turn.” His fingers slid out of you with a slow, deliberate motion, leaving you feeling unbearably empty.

The hand cradling your face moved to trace a path down your back, over your ass, the touch firm and possessive. He didn’t rush, didn’t give in to the urgency that was building in the room. Instead, he took his time, savoring the feel of your body beneath his hands.

Rhysand’s voice cut through the tension, smooth as silk. “Don’t tease her too much. We want her desperate, but let’s not break her just yet, hm?”

Eris’s grin widened, a wicked glint in his eyes as he turned his attention back to your face. “Oh, I have no intention of breaking her. Just bending her a little.” His fingers found their way back between your legs, brushing against your swollen, sensitive flesh with just enough pressure to make you gasp. “We’ve got all night, after all.”

You were drowning in sensation, every touch, every word pulling you deeper into a state of raw, aching need. The way they watched you, the way they spoke about you as if you were theirs to play with, only made the heat pooling in you grow stronger.

“I… I need it,” you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation. “Please, Eris… please.”

Eris’s smirk softened, just a fraction. “Look at you, begging so sweetly,” he murmured, but his eyes held that predatory glint you’d come to recognize. He brushed a thumb over your lower lip and leaned in close, his voice a low, seductive growl. “I want you to show them, baby. Move those pretty hips for me—let them see how badly you need this.”

He paused, letting his words hang in the air, the command settling in. The way he looked at you, his gaze intense and unyielding, made it clear this was no request—it was a demand. “Go on,” he urged, his fingers pressing just a bit more firmly against your aching core. “Show them how much you want it.”

A surge of anticipation coursed through you at his words, the need to satisfy that growing ache overpowering any lingering restraint. You were acutely aware of their gazes on you, the weight of their expectation filling the room. Slowly, you let your hips roll forward, the movement tentative at first, but as Eris’s fingers pressed more firmly against you, a soft moan escaped your lips, urging you to continue. You arched your back slightly, pushing your body back toward him, the desire becoming impossible to ignore.

A low murmur of approval rippled through the room, the men watching you with hunger and admiration. The sensation of Eris’s touch, combined with their heated gazes, sent a thrill through your veins.

“That’s it,” Eris whispered, voice dripping with satisfaction. “Good girl. Keep going.”

You moved with growing confidence, your hips swaying in a slow, deliberate rhythm, designed to show them just how badly you craved them. The room seemed to grow hotter, every brush of his fingers against you intensifying the ache. You were fully aware of how exposed you were, how much you were giving them exactly what they wanted, and yet you couldn’t stop yourself.

Eris’s other hand slid down your back, his touch firm, guiding you to continue. “Do you see this, gentlemen?” he called over his shoulder, his voice thick with pride. “This is what it means to truly want. To be so consumed by need that you’d do anything to be filled.”

A fresh wave of arousal surged through you at his words. The others murmured in agreement, their voices low and appreciative as they watched you move under Eris’s command. And as you continued to grind against him, the heat between your thighs growing more intense with each passing moment, you realized there was no turning back. You were completely at their mercy, and it felt both terrifying and exhilarating.

Eris’s gaze held yours, unwavering and intense as if he could see every thought, every desire running through your mind. The others seemed to fade into the background, their presence still felt, but distant, as Eris commanded your full attention. He slowly removed his hand from between your thighs, and you bit back a whimper of frustration at the loss of contact. The smirk on his lips told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone that sent a shiver down your spine. “So eager, so desperate. You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with the implications of what he was asking. You could feel the weight of his dominance pressing down on you, making it hard to think clearly. Still, you found yourself nodding, unable to tear your gaze away from his.

Eris’s smirk deepened, his hand reaching for the waistband of his pants. “I knew it,” he said, his voice filled with a dark satisfaction. “You want to be mine, even if it’s just for tonight. You want to feel every inch of me inside you, don’t you?”

A tremor ran through you, the anticipation nearly unbearable as he slowly undid his pants, the sound of the zipper loud in the otherwise silent room. “Yes,” you whispered, the word slipping out before you could stop it.

He freed his cock from the confines of his pants, stroking himself slowly as he watched your reaction. “Tell me,” he demanded, his voice a low growl, “how you want it. How you’re going to let me fuck you.”

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry as you tried to find the words. “I want…” you began, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and desire. “I want you to take me, Eris. To make me yours in every way.”

Eris’s eyes darkened with lust, his hand moving faster as he stroked himself, the sight sending another wave of heat through your body. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice filled with approval. “I’m going to fuck you so hard that you’ll still feel me inside you tomorrow. You’ll be so full of me, you won’t be able to think about anything else.”

The way he claimed you with his words as if you were his possession, only stoked the flames of desire within you. You knew you should be ashamed, embarrassed by how easily you were giving in, but all you could feel was the overwhelming need to be consumed by him.

“And when I’m done,” Eris continued, his voice low and dangerous, “you’re going to thank me. You’re going to tell me how much you loved every second of it, how you haven’t been able to stop thinking about my cock.”

“Go on and get dressed for me, baby. We’ve got somewhere to be.”

The words cut through the charged atmosphere like a knife, and every head in the room turned toward the doorway. Cassian stood there, hands resting in the pockets of a suit that fit him perfectly. He stood upright, his posture conveying an unsettling calm. His eyes, though steady, held an intensity that made your stomach twist.

You froze, your heart racing as you tried to pull yourself together. Eris, momentarily taken aback, pulled his hand away from you in a swift motion, his expression caught between surprise and frustration. The men around you were already moving, hastily tucking themselves away. You reached for your clothes, discarded a few feet to your side, hands trembling slightly as you dressed under Cassian’s unwavering gaze. He didn’t move, didn’t hurry you, but the weight of his presence was undeniable. Meanwhile, the others couldn’t seem to settle their eyes on one spot, their gazes flickering restlessly around the room.

As you dressed quickly, your mind spun with fear and a dizzying confusion. Cassian’s gaze was a constant weight on your shoulders, and every movement felt slow and surreal. When you finally made your way toward him, he extended his arm, guiding you toward the door with a firm, steady hand. The steady warmth of his arm beneath your hand was the only thing anchoring you against the whirlwind of your mind.

You stepped into the hallway, the noise of the party growing louder as you and Cassian descended the stairs. The space felt cold, the walls closing in around you as you moved with a sense of dread. Cassian’s silence was a heavy shroud, his presence almost forbidding. His eyes remained fixed ahead, devoid of any warmth, though his face remained perfectly composed. He gave brief, casual waves and polite nods to those who greeted him, his demeanor impeccably maintained. His silence was almost chilling; the way he pointedly avoided looking at you only heightened your sense of unease.

As you approached the exit, Cassian was stopped by a man who must have been a colleague. They spoke in low tones, most of the words indistinguishable to you through the blood pumping in your ears, but you caught Cassian’s voice cutting through the din with cold clarity. “Seems she’s had one too many espresso martinis tonight,” he said, his tone smooth and effortlessly charming. “We’re heading out.” The words seemed to echo in your ears as you walked alongside him, your arm still looped through his. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on your chest as you tried not to stumble.

You and Cassian made your way down the sleek marble hallway, the ambient noise of the party fading behind you. The elevator was just a few steps from the penthouse door, and you held tightly to his arm as he guided you. Every movement felt deliberate, his grip firm but impersonal. Waiting for the elevator felt like an eternity, each passing second stretching out and amplifying the anxiety in your stomach.

The elevator ride was a blur of metallic walls and muffled sounds. You stared straight ahead, unable to bring yourself to meet his gaze, each moment stretching into an unbearable silence. When you finally reached the ground floor, the lobby greeted you with its polished elegance. The sound of your footsteps and his seemed to reverberate through the space, each echo amplifying your trepidation. The building’s doorman greeted you with a nod, and Cassian responded with a brief, detached smile.

As you neared the entrance, Cassian pulled out his phone with his free hand, making a brief call. The minutes dragged on as you stood by the sleek glass doors. Soon after, a black Audi A7 glided up to the curb, its glossy finish gleaming under the streetlights. Cassian had brought out the luxury car tonight, a stark contrast to his usual red F150. The polished finish and the soft purr of the engine seemed to mock you.

Cassian opened the car door for you, his gesture polite and deliberate. You slid into the plush interior, the cool leather seats enveloping you as you settled in. He closed the door behind you with a soft click, then slipped a tip to the valet before making his way around to the driver’s side. With an unreadable expression, he slid behind the wheel, taking his time to adjust himself before pulling away from the curb.

The drive was shrouded in an oppressive silence, the only sounds being the steady hum of the engine and the occasional click of the turn signal. Cassian’s profile was set in a rigid line, the stern set of his jaw betraying none of his inner thoughts. You fidgeted with your hands, trying to make sense of the situation, but every attempt to gauge his mood seemed to lead only to deeper confusion.

Your gaze dropped to your hands in your lap. They were trembling. betraying the turmoil churning inside you. The silence in the car felt suffocating, pressing down on you with each passing second. Your mind raced with frantic questions: Was he angry? Disappointed? Did he already know everything? The more you tried to steady yourself, the more the uncertainty gnawed at you.

You tried to focus on the rhythmic thrum of the engine, the soft vibrations through the leather seat. But even the steady hum seemed to amplify your anxiety, making the silence feel even more oppressive. Each street you passed blurred together, a series of indistinct shapes and shadows. Your thoughts spun in a relentless cycle of worry, and you couldn’t escape the growing dread that was settling heavily in your chest.

Then a new wave of mortification crashed over you. The image of Cassian opening the door, his eyes taking in the sight of you practically naked against the bookshelf, filled your mind. The sheer embarrassment of being caught in such a compromising position—the heels, the underwear pulled aside, leaving you exposed and vulnerable—was almost too much to bear. You had been so caught up in the moment, so lost in the haze of the night, that you hadn't fully processed how degrading it must have seemed. The thought of him seeing you so utterly exposed, presenting yourself like a bitch in heat, was a sharp, humiliating jolt.

You considered what you might say when the time came. Would apologies be enough? Could explanations make any difference? The questions tumbled through your thoughts, each one more unsettling than the last. Now and then, you’d steal a glance at Cassian’s profile, trying to read something—anything—into his stoic expression. But he remained a solid, unyielding presence, leaving you to confront your anxieties alone.

You glanced at the passing street signs, noticing they were not leading toward your apartment. Your brow furrowed in concern as you watched the roads change. Cassian made a sharp turn, and you could no longer ignore the growing knot of anxiety in your stomach.

“Cassian,” you ventured cautiously, your voice barely cutting through the heavy silence, “where are we going?”

He offered no response, his focus straight ahead, his expression inscrutable. The tension in the car grew almost tangible as you fidgeted in your seat, trying to make sense of the unexpected detour.

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, each intersection and street sign passing by in a blur. The initial confusion of the detour slowly gave way to a creeping sense of recognition. You noticed that while the roads were leading you further from your apartment, they were somewhat familiar. The familiar landmarks began to settle in your mind, and you felt a growing realization.

As the streetlights flickered past, you finally identified a landmark that confirmed your fears. The realization hit you with a jolt, and you swallowed hard, feeling a lump of anxiety form in your throat.

Cassian pulled the car to a smooth stop in front of the familiar house, its warm lights casting a soft glow on the front lawn. You stared at it, stunned, as he unlocked the doors.

“Cass, please, we need to talk about this,” you said, your voice cracking as you turned to face him. “I know things look bad, but I can explain!” But why should he let you explain? What would you even say?

He glanced at you briefly before turning his attention back to the road ahead, responding with a cold calmness. “There’s nothing to discuss. You’re staying with your mom for a bit.”

The impact of his words hit you hard; this was the first time he had spoken since you left the party. “No, wait,” you pleaded, the tears that had been brimming your eyes finally falling. “Please, just let me explain. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen—”

Cassian cut you off with a firm tone. “I’m not interested in your excuses, (y/n).”

Your hands gripped the seat as you struggled to find the right words. “Cass, please, it wasn’t what it looked like. I was just—”

“Just what?” he cut in, his voice as cold as ever. “Drunk or not, and it seems like you’re not, the situation was clear. Get out.”

You stared at him in shock, your voice trembling. “Please, just listen to me! I’m sorry for everything. I never meant for any of this to happen!”

He gave you a hard look, his face set in stone. “You made your choices. Do us both a favor and fix your hair before you walk in. Wouldn’t want your mom to think her daughter’s a cheap fucking whore.”

The words hit you like a punch, leaving you in stunned silence as he waited for you to get out of the car. You stared at Cassian, your heart aching with each passing second. “Cassian, I’m so sorry. Please believe me, I…” Your voice trailed off. You weren’t getting anywhere.

With a resigned sigh, you reached for the handle and slowly opened the car door. Each movement felt heavy with your defeat. As you stepped out onto the pavement, you cast one last glance at him, the weight of the night’s events settling heavily on your shoulders. Cassian's face remained impassive, his gaze fixed ahead.

You pushed the door shut, and made your way to the front door, the cool night air biting at your exposed skin. The stillness of the quiet neighborhood seemed to press in on you, the pitiful realization of your vulnerability sinking in more with each step.

Standing on the doorstep, you hesitated for a moment, your fingers hovering over the doorbell. The stark contrast between the warm, inviting glow of the house and the cold, dark night around you felt almost surreal. The weight of your earlier actions and Cassian’s harsh words seemed to bear down on you.

Finally, with a resigned breath, you pressed the button on the Ring camera. The chime echoed softly through the night, a jarring reminder of how far you had fallen from the comfort you once took for granted. As you waited, you could only hope that your mother’s response would offer some semblance of solace amid the wreckage of your evening.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taglist <3

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funniestpersonalivefr · 3 months

Note

hiii could i get just some really sweet smut with chris 🥺🥺 he deserves all the soft love in the world. big men like him who get gently cared for and fussed over... that's the good stuff

how lucky

THIS IS SO CUTE OH MY GOD. nsfw under the cut, mdni. enjoy some soft sweet sex with chris who loves being fussed over. afab reader, no protection. credit to image owner. not proofread.

chris had returned from europe, you were all over him the moment he stepped through the door. you helped him ditch the coat, taking his heavy bags back to your guys room to unpack later as he took off all of the tactical gear left on him.

perhaps it was paranoia that he kept it on until he was home, it was afterall the only space that felt safe to him. you had quickly found him, your hand grabbed his arm as you led him around the house.

you had led him to the bedroom, getting him to set on the bed.

"i missed you," you say softly as you climb into his lap. he hums as your hands slide up and down his body, feeling up his muscles from under his shirt. he's relaxed in your touch as you continue to run your hands up his body.

he smiles at you as he responds, leaning back on his elbows.

"i missed you too pretty," his hands move up to your waist, calloused fingers rubbing circles on your soft skin. you roll your hips slowly against his groin, his hands grip your waist at the sensation and a low groan slips his lips.

"let me take care of you, please baby," you whisper to him as you grind down again. your hands slip under his shirt pulling it over his head, tossing it to the floor.

your hands move to his broad shoulders as you take in the sight of his bare chest, hair adorned on it with a trail leading all the way down to his groin. you lean down, pressing soft kisses to his lips. your hands hold his face as you kiss all over it, he can't help but let out a slight chuckle.

soon your short soft kisses turn to ones filled with passion, love and lust mixing together as your tongue slips past his lips. still your touch on his body remains gentle. the roll of your hips proves that chris is already hard from your teasing.

your lips move down, a mix of soft loving kisses and passionate lustful ones are trailed down his chest. you can't help but savor the way a moan leaves chris's lips. you pause to rest your head against his pecks, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. it reminds you that he's alive and in front of you.

as you continue down his soft stomach, once hard with abs in his youth, you can't help but pay extra attention to it. chris is practically a mess under your touch at this point just waiting for you to get where he needs you the most.

of course he knows better than to rush you when you're in this mood so he's just left feeling desperate and needy for more. your hands finally start to feel up chris's bulge, his head falling back as you rub your hand over. his pants are a painful barrier but chris can finally feel relieved as you begin to unbutton his jeans.

he's quick to help you get them off, he slips his boxers off with them with how impatient he feels. you smile at the notion as his rock hard cock sticks up in front of your face.

you gather up saliva in your mouth, letting it drool out onto his cock. you hand moves up and down his shaft as you begin putting kisses to the tip of his dick and he whimpers out from under you.

you've made him wait long enough. your lips part, taking chris's cock in your mouth. he's gripping the sheets, groaning as you cheeks hollow taking him all the way. he's not sure how long he can last, he hasn't been touched by you in what felt like forever and he couldn't bare to touch himself. it couldn't compare to your treatment.

you took him so well, it was only a matter of time before he was twitching in your throat on the verge of releasing. however, chris had other plans.

"wait, fuck, wait, i wanna be inside you, shit," chris says, pulling you off of him.

you slip off and chris is quick to get you undressed and under him, his hands spread your legs as his fingers tease your wet hole. chris's large calloused fingers slowly slip in, stretching your cunt as to not hurt you later.

you gasp at his touch, not realizing just how wet you had gotten. you had missed chris so much, longing for his touch. nothing could satisfy you like chris could. no toy could compare to how his huge cock fit in you so perfectly, filling you whole.

chris had gotten you stretched out and you could feel his tip slipping through your folds.

"are you ready?" he asked, chris's gaze focused on you as you nodded eagerly. you could feel him slowly push into you. you pulled him close, nails digging into his back. you were whimpering as his lips pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"you're taking me so well," chris whispers praises, he slowly starts to rock his hips. sex like this was some of chris's favorite, nights where you insisted to take care of him. he couldn't help but wanna take it slow as he took in the sight of you falling apart under him.

he continued to leave soft kisses on your skin in all the places that made you squirm. you had treated him so well, it only felt right he treated you back. he was completely in love with you and the way you constantly insisted on taking care of him.

he was the only one for you and you were the only one for him. moments like this only cemented that notion. his hips worked into you in such a deep and passionate way, it left you completely breathless.

you were already approaching your release with your cunt squeezing chris's cock. you're practically milking him. his hand is on your clit, encouraging you to cum.

you back arches and you moan loudly as you cum, you vision blurring as you reach for him. chris is there, letting you grasp onto him as he hits his own orgasm. his hips are left stuttering into you as he cums inside of you, a low groan leaving his mouth.

soon he collapses on the bed next to you, slipping out of your cunt as he pulls you close. your bodies mold to feel like one as he brushes the hair out of your face.

"thank you," he says, his voice is soft. you can tell he means it by how he looks at you, kissing the palm of your hand.

"you don't have to thank me, chris. you know i love you more than anything," you say back, leaning up to press a kiss to his forehead.

his touch is soft as he soaks in your beauty, lost deep in thought.

"whatcha thinking about, captain?" you ask him, your tone teasing as you use his title for missions. he can't help but chuckle at you before he presses a kiss to your lips.

"just thinking about how lucky i am, i don't know what i did to deserve you," he says against your lips.

#resident evil #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #chris redfield #chris redfield x reader #chris redfield x reader smut #chris redfield smut

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astrayas · 7 months

Text

Reheat (Pt. 2)

Read Part 1 Here

Pairing: Nanami Kento x fem reader

Summary: Nanami's stellar work ethic shines when he proves just how dedicated he is to reigniting your sex life.

୨୧𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄୨୧ Read Part 1 Here ୨୧𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄 𓐄୨୧

Warnings: MDNI, smut, oral (both receiving), spanking, toys, vaginal fingering, soft dom Nanami, mild bondage, vaginal sex, aftercare

18+!

Ao3 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

The heat rises and simmers on your skin when you see him. Nanami had taken his glasses off at some point while he was behind you. His heavy-lidded eyes are so full of desire, so ravenous that you almost fear he’ll eat you alive. He drags you to the edge of the table and pushes your legs apart.

And then he pulls out a chair.

You watch him with a raised brow as he sits down, scoots forward, reaches down toward the suit jacket he left on the floor…and pulls his handkerchief out of it. He sets it next to you on the table and pushes your dress away again, admiring the sight before him and spreading you open between his fingers.

Then his mouth is on you, kissing one thigh and nibbling the other, pushing so slowly toward your aching core. Then his lips finally envelop that sweet bud, and your brain short circuits as you try to remember the last time either of you did this for the other. But when his tongue drags itself from the other end of your pussy all the way back up to your clit, another thought crosses your mind.

“Wait. Right here?” you squeak past the pleasure, sitting up as much as the hands bound behind you allow. “On the table?”

“Well, yes,” he answers, his voice so matter-of-fact. He pushes you back down. “The table’s for eating.”

You huff out a laugh and let your head fall back. Fine. If he wants to make such a mess right here, you won’t stop him. Not like you’d want him to, anyway, when his mouth finds you again. He plants his hands on your thighs, holding them apart while he eats like a man truly starved. Every swipe of his tongue, every movement of his head suggests he’s been craving this taste, your taste, for ages.

And yet, that control never wanes. When he sucks on your clit, he doesn’t suck too hard. When his fingers slide back in, his tongue doesn’t slow. It moves in perfect circles, with perfect rhythm and perfect pressure. Meticulous and detail-oriented, like the proper businessman he is.

A familiar ache, a tantalizing pressure builds between your legs, and your hips start to jerk. You whine and groan, clenching around his fingers, ready to surrender to the flames all but raging inside you.

And he stops.

“What—” you start to protest, but he’s already pushing himself up.

“Did I say you could cum yet?” he chides. He pulls his fingers out, leaving you whining in a far less pleasant way.

“...No,” you mumble. “But—”

“Be good for me, darling,” he urges you, strolling over to the other end of the table. Gently, his hands slide under you again, and he pulls you toward him until your face is level with his groin. You swallow a faint gulp. If only you could reach for it…

“You’re doing as I say tonight, remember?” He cradles your cheek in his hand, his thumb running across your lower lip. “And I don’t recall saying you could cum. Wait for permission.”

“Fine. Fine.”

Your pouting lip pushes against his thumb, but he pulls that away, too. He crosses his arms and steps back, his voice a low warning when he speaks.

“I think you misspoke.”

You sigh, but even those words excite you. As long as it’s been since he’s used that tone, you remember it well. It means he’s serious.

“...Yes, sir,” you concede, casting pleading eyes up at him.

He uncrosses his arms and leans over you, rewarding you with a kiss. He even nibbles your lip before he pulls away. Just as an extra prize.

“Very good,” he coos, brushing your cheek one more time. “Sit tight. I’ll be right back.”

He steps away and walks into the bedroom before you can ask him where he’s going. Soon enough, though, you get your answer.

“God, they’re dusty,” you hear him groan from the other room, and you stifle a snicker. At least you know what he’s doing now. So you busy yourself with thoughts of whatever toy he might have settled on as the bathroom faucet starts to run.

“We’ll ease back into the really rough stuff over time,” he announces as he walks back in, holding a vibrator in one hand and a pair of your panties in the other. “Tonight, I think we’ll have plenty of fun with just this.”

He waves the pink vibrator in the air. It’s a standard, simple toy. It’s shaped to stimulate you on the inside and the outside, but that’s the only notable thing about it. Not very big, not very powerful.

It’s just enough to make you ache for him, instead.

“Fine with me,” you hum, and your eyes flutter shut when he pushes it inside you. When it’s all the way in, he slides your panties over your ankles and up to your hips.

“Hmm. Let’s see if that keeps it in,” he muses aloud. The moment he flips it on, you can’t stop the sounds from fighting their way out of you. But it seems like Nanami was onto something. With your underwear holding it in place, no matter how much you clench and squirm, that vibrator’s not sliding out.

He chuckles as he unbuckles his belt. Your eyes fly back open, and you watch with unabashed hunger while his pants fall to his ankles and he pulls his underwear down, letting his thick length spring free. It’s standing hard, already dripping with anticipation, practically twitching. Your mouth waters just looking at it.

“Do you want this?” he asks you softly, bringing it closer to your lips. “Do you want to taste me, too?”

“Yes…” you murmur. He answers first with a faint smile.

“Then open wide.”

Immediately, your lips part. He’s already groaning when the head slides into your mouth, your gratified hums pulling him even farther in. Your tongue runs across every ridge, every vein. It’s sweet and salty at once, filling and fulfilling, a delicacy only you get to enjoy.

He leans forward with a hiss, sliding his hands under the neckline of your dress. He caresses your breasts under the fabric, flicking his thumbs across your nipples, waiting until you’re whining around his shaft before he pulls them free.

He pushes himself a little deeper into your mouth as he leans even farther down. Your whimpers grow into avid moans when he draws a nipple into his mouth, flicking it over and over with his tongue, biting it, sucking. He steadies himself with one hand glued to the table while the other explores your free breast, kneading it as he starts to thrust.

You writhe beneath him, desperate to fight that pressure rising again. Because how can it not? With your vibrator stuck inside you, with his mouth on one breast, his hand on the other, how can you not—

“You can cum now,” he says, his voice a little strained. His hips jerk for a moment. “I can tell you’re dying for it. You’ve been so good, baby, so go ahead. Let go.”

Your sigh of relief comes out as another deep groan buzzing against him. It sounds like he nearly chokes on the breath hitched in his chest.

Thank God. The flames were about to consume you. Now you can let the pleasure come to you as it may, focusing your attention on the thick cock in your mouth. But even now, his control is unparalleled; he’s only about halfway in. He must have really meant it when he said he’d ease back into the rough stuff.

But you’re hungrier than that. So you decide to do some easing yourself.

With what little dexterity you can manage with your hands bound, you shimmy toward the edge of the table until your head is hanging off of it. His cock slides farther down your throat.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he groans, his voice dangerously close to cracking, another momentary slip in his composure. But he doesn’t pull back, and he doesn’t stop.

Your eyes water, your throat spasms, your hands ball into fists beneath you, but it’s bliss. Being at his mercy like this, his overflowing mercy, is heaven. You savor every slow, deliberate thrust. You relish his lips on your chest. You revel in every vibration from the toy inside you, your core squeezing tighter, your fire lighting an irreversible fuse, burning brighter and faster until—

You explode. You cry out around him, your hips bucking and your toes curling and your muscles tensing. Your walls convulse over and over around that damned vibrator, a cruel little toy capable of so much less mercy than the man who put it in you. It keeps on even as the waves of pleasure twist into cramps, and your cries fall back down to whimpers.

Nanami pulls himself out of your throat, dragging a string of thick saliva with him. Not the prettiest picture, you’re sure, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“You came, did you?” he coos, his tone dripping with cool satisfaction. You nod and angle your head back toward the vibrator.

“Please…” you rasp, aftershocks still rattling you. He hums and wipes a strand of drool from your cheek, taking his time as he walks back to the other end of the table.

“Hmm…should I turn this off?” His finger drags itself up and down the base of the vibrator before pushing it a little farther into you. You squirm and groan. “Has it done enough?”

“Yes,” you start, but you fall silent under the hand he holds in the air.

“I’m not so sure,” he drawls. “See, I haven’t heard you beg for anything yet. Seems like something I should have gotten out of you by now.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” you gasp.

“Aww, you’re tense,” he murmurs. His hand slides up and down your thigh, every movement compounding the tortuous vibrations hurling you toward another shallow climax. “Why’s that?”

“Because of this stupid fucking—”

“Language,” he tuts. Now both of his hands are in the air, too far from your toy, a warning that he could rip your relief away if you don’t play nice. So you redirect. Quickly.

“Please, Kento,” you cry out. “Please, turn it off, please—” You screw your eyes shut and groan. A new climax is approaching, whether you’re ready for it or not.

Until you say the magic words.

“I want you instead!”

You can just barely hear his responding hum, low and smug, reverberating in his chest below the drone of your vibrator.

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” He gives you one more half-smile before he flips the vibrator off, finally granting you repose. Your head falls back, and you let out a long sigh. You don’t even bother to look up when you feel his hand rub up and down your leg. You’re too focused on the warm tingling spreading through your body, the heartbeat pounding in your ears, the relief, the relief.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, sweet consideration back in his voice. “Do you need a break? Do you need to stop?”

Just the way he’s speaking to you ignites a new flame.

“No…” you mutter, still lying flat on the table, but a smile is creeping up your face. “But I don’t want to use that thing anymore.”

He squeezes your leg. “What do you want, then?”

“Do I really need to say it?”

“No, but I sure would like to hear it.”

You chuckle, letting your legs fall and dangle over the table. The change in position makes you realize just how thoroughly you’ve already soaked through your underwear. And that’s all the confirmation you need. You’re ready.

“I want you to fuck me, Kento,” you say plainly, using your barely-free fingers push yourself up. Nanami helps you up to a sitting position and holds you steady. “No between-the-sheets bullshit or routines. I want you to fuck me like you mean it. Hard and fast and rough.”

The more you talk, the more his hands roam. By the time you’re done, he’s reaching behind you, untying the knot that held your wrists so secure. His tie falls limp onto the table, and you stretch your arms above your head before bringing them back down to rest on his chest.

“God,” he murmurs. His thumb has found its way back to your lower lip, pushing past it, holding your jaw open like he’s inspecting a prize. “Such a good answer.”

He lifts your dress over your arms and tosses it onto the pile of clothes on the floor. He guides you back down with a firm hand and pulls your underwear right back off again, leaving you completely exposed on the table. Nanami takes a minute to explore your body, truly explore it, his fingers caressing your cheek and grazing your neck and massaging your breasts. They slide up and down your waist, sink into your hips, squeeze your thighs before he settles between your legs. Then he leans over, his cock pushing against your dripping cunt, his lips brushing yours when he speaks again.

“Such an addicting taste.”

He captures you with a greedy kiss, a hungry kiss that lets him sink his teeth into your lower lip. You coax him closer with a needy moan, your nails digging into his muscled back as you taste one another. He leaves you wanting for more, though, when he grabs your hips and uses them as an anchor to push himself back up. And when he hoists your legs over his shoulders, when he starts to push in, he bares his teeth with a full smile.

“Such a good girl.”

He doesn’t start slow. He doesn’t need to. You were ready the moment he tied your hands behind your back. And now that they’re free, they plant themselves on his forearms, urging him forward and begging him to grant you satiety. His fingers weren’t enough. The toy wasn’t enough. You need him, his touch, his voice, his control to feel full.

And, mercifully, he understands. He fills you to the brim in a single stroke, leaving you trembling and gripping him tighter as he stretches you out. Your eyes roll back and you sigh, a wordless thank you for granting you that delectable wholeness.

Nanami closes his eyes and presses his lips to the inside of your thigh, his pleasure all too evident on his face. And you allow yourself a moment to gloat. Why wouldn’t it be? Why wouldn’t the tight fit, your legs on his shoulders, your complete and trusting submission taste as good to him as it does to you?

But his statuesque composure returns, and he gives you all of one second, maybe two, to adjust before he starts thrusting in earnest. Your walls hug him as he drags himself in and out; your core simmers with roiling pleasure, threatening to boil over. You burn a little hotter every time he buries himself to the hilt.

Your whimpers grow into whines, which rise to needy moans, each one spurring him to pump a little faster, a little harder. His lips are back on your thigh, kissing, praising, encouraging, lifting only to fall to your other leg, biting, ordering, demanding. Demanding that you look at him. Demanding submission to his pleasure and yours. Demanding full and complete satisfaction.

Sections of his blonde hair, generally so tidy and immaculately styled, fall forward in one piece after another as he thrusts harder. Sweat beads on his forehead, neck, and chest. His cheeks are flushed, his lips parted and slick, his eyes hazy and full of lust. It’s all so…messy.

What a good look on him.

“What a perfect—fit—” he rasps. His staggered breaths fall into syncopated beats behind every snap of his hips against yours.

“It always—” Your stomach flips when he lifts your hips a little higher, letting him reach even deeper inside of you. “Fuck, fuck—it always was.” Nanami looks down at you, his eyes deep and soft and free of any of those silly creases, as he kisses your thigh and nods. A wordless request to hear more.

“We were always a perfect fit,” you continue, though your voice wavers under the boiling waters within you. “Like—ha—like peanut butter and chocolate.”

“Like strawberries and cream,” he chuckles. He grips both of your legs on his shoulders before driving himself into you especially deep, leaving your hands trembling and your toes curling, as if to really punctuate his next claim:

“Meant to be.”

You smile at each other, content with your sweat and scattered clothes. His eyes melt into mousse as they take you in, scan your form, study your face, glint with every movement of your flushed lips. You’re so enamored with his silent worship that you barely notice he’s slowed to a stop.

You do, however, notice when he pulls out.

“Aw, what—”

“Back over the table, love.”

The new sheen in those chocolate eyes tells you everything you need to know. So you grin and hop onto your feet, just to turn around and bend right back over the table. Goosebumps claim your skin when he settles behind you, picking up your left leg and bringing it onto the table with you. Just to make sure you can still feel everything.

“Still comfortable?” he whispers above you, but the strength of his grip on your hips, the twitching cock he’s already started pushing back into you suggests comfort isn’t really the goal anymore. For either of you.

“Comfortable,” you urge. You push yourself back and clench around him, relishing his reaction as you rock back and forth, back and forth, fucking yourself while his fingers dig into your skin. The hiss he lets out tickles your ears like whipped cream.

“I got it, I got it,” he chokes out, securing his hold on you before he’s back to thrusting into you properly. But his rhythm is already missing that measured control he’s kept on such a tight leash all night. No, as he groans and curses and sings your off-beat praises behind you, you know his pleasure is close to boiling over, too.

But you have a feeling you’ll still cum first, if your heated flushing, your parted lips, your quivering legs have anything to say about it. And when his hand meets your ass, when he leans forward to rub at your clit, when he tells you you’re perfect, baby, don’t stop, he can feel you getting close, and so is he, so be good and cum again, baby, he knows you can do it—

You boil over in a monumental display, keening and crying and convulsing as scalding water cascades over the edges and licks the flames below, leaving you in a heavenly state of steam and satiety.

Nanami doesn’t take long to follow. He pushes out a few more forceful thrusts before groaning against your ear and twitching inside you, signaling that his climax overtook him, too. So you allow yourselves a few seconds to simply lie there, exposed and breathless on your well-lit kitchen table. Your eyes close when you feel gentle kisses across your shoulders, and you smile when he quietly scolds himself over the mess he made.

“Aw, don’t worry about that,” you purr, and you will yourself to sit up. You find him standing at the edge of the table, counting the pieces of clothing he’d left on the floor. But when he looks back at you, a warm smile rises on his face again.

You shimmy to the edge of the table and hop onto wobbling legs, catching Nanami for balance as you try to adjust. He really turned them to jelly this time. He only regards you with a sympathetic look and a sigh.

“Hold on,” he says. He scoops you up from where you stand, one arm looped under your knees while another holds your waist, and carries you to the bedroom. You yelp and wrap your arms around his neck, still clammy with sweat.

“Kento, you don’t—” You clear your throat. After all that, after being eaten and fucked on a kitchen table, you can feel yourself…blushing. “I can walk. You don’t have to carry me like a…” A new flutter of your heart spurs you to hide your face in his chest. “...princess.”

“And what if I want to?” he answers in turn, drumming a few fingers against your leg. He pauses to cast chiding eyes at you before he gently lets you down on the bed. “What if I want to treat you like a princess? What if I think you deserve that royal treatment all the time?”

You blink a few times as you sit up in bed, your hands running across the soft sheets.

“Well, I guess I could oblige,” you chuckle. He answers with a smirk and leans over to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Great. Then princesses need to hydrate,” he remarks, stepping back. He grabs a water bottle he’d already opened and set on your nightstand, and he hands it to you. He crouches down in front of you and combs through your hair as you gulp it down.

“And how are you feeling?” he asks, running soft, protective fingers over your neck, shoulders, and thighs. All the spots he bit and squeezed. Finally, when you set the bottle back down, he takes your hands in his. “Anything you need? Any bruises kissed? Shoulders rubbed?”

You lean into him, melting at his words, sighing with relief when your face meets his warm chest. The hum that rumbles in his throat is so soft, so comforting when he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in tight.

“I’m all good,” you murmur into his skin. You wrap your arms around him, too, and notice a shift. As you sit together, bare skin against bare skin, breaths mingling, you realize the embers you rekindled tonight are still burning bright. They lick at your stomach, urging you to feel him all over again.

Maybe you’re still hungry.

“I think, if you’re up for it…” you whisper, tracing lazy circles in his skin, “...I might even want more.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He simply keeps his hold on you and hums again. But it’s a deeper sound this time, and you swear you can feel his nails drag across your back before he pulls back and looks into your eyes.

“Is that so?” he finally returns, his low voice lighting sparks in your chest. He waits until you nod fervently at him before he pushes himself up to his feet.

“Good,” he says. And that’s all he says before he strolls over to the closet and starts to rummage through it. When he turns around, you see he’s carrying that old box of neglected toys in his arms. He crouches before you again, his eyes glimmering with new ideas, one hand settling on the edge of the box while the other cradles your cheek.

“Because we’ve got more flavors to try.”

#fanfic #nanami x you #nanami kento #kento nanami #jujustu kaisen #jjk #nanami x y/n #nanami x reader #nanami smut #jjk nanami

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blindmagdalena · 11 months

Text

Devotion

18+ 1.6k homelander x reader. no pronouns, p-in-v sex. blood play. excessively sentimental. love as a kink.

Certain there is a threshold to be reached when it comes to your love for him, Homelander comes to you fresh from a gruesome slaughter still dripping in blood. Your response surprises him.

written for this prompt from @mari-thesimp 💕🩸

It’s late when you wake to the sound of a door slamming shut. You sit up so sharply it makes you a little lightheaded, half delirious with sleep. The digital clock, reflected endlessly in Homelander’s assortment of mirrors, reads 2:33am.

In the dark, you hear his footfalls heavily approaching. You know instantly that something’s wrong. He never crashes home like this. Any time he came home late in the past, he slipped silently into bed and embraced you until you woke in his arms.

You climb out of bed and put a hand out, walking blindly in the dark. “Homelander? Are you–” You move to turn on the light, but a gloved hand snatches your wrist so suddenly that you scream, yanked into his solid chest.

“Ssshhhh,” he hisses, uncharacteristically breathless. He’s panting. You’re as confused as you are alarmed, bracing your free hand against his chest, where it slips in something wet. You recognize the smell almost immediately–blood.

“Are you hurt?” You ask frantically, the worst possible scenario immediately clouding your thoughts. “Oh god, please, let me–” He kisses the words from your lips, grip on your wrist tightening to a pressure just shy of painful. His tongue pushes the taste of what you smelled into your mouth and you keen against him, your free hand sliding up his chest, blood collecting thickly on your palm, your fingers.

“It’s not mine,” he says, voice little more than a rasp against your lips. You make a sound of relief that he eagerly swallows up, though your heart continues to pound. His lips trail from yours to your cheek, then your temple. He must hear it in your heart, smell the adrenaline in your veins. “Y’scared of me?” He asks, the heat of his breath rolling a chill down your spine.

You could almost laugh. You’d open your ribcage for him to crawl inside if ever he needed shelter. He could eat your heart if it kept his beating another day.

“No, no. Not if you’re okay,” you tell him, turning your head away to offer your neck to him in both submission and invitation. He takes it eagerly, bending in to graze his teeth along your pulse point, ending on a kiss that shifts into the pull of his lips sucking a mark into your neck. “I was only scared when I thought it was yours,” you say, the words melting into a soft moan.

“Do you care whose it is?” He asks, wrapping his other arm around your waist, pulling you sharply against him.

You shake your head and breathlessly admit, “No.”

You feel the slow spread of his smile against your skin. He gets off on this, you know. Testing you. Pushing the limits to see how far you’ll stretch. It never fails to work him up into a frenzy when you match him move for move. “So long as it’s not yours.”

If he wants to bring the violence that lurks within him to your lips, you’ll swallow it whole to prove there’s a place in this world that he belongs. You touch his jaw and turn your head, bringing his cheek to your mouth. He’s pliant in your grasp, anticipating the press of your lips, but you feel him tense as you drag your tongue from his jaw to the high of his cheek, collecting the sickly sweet spray of blood from his skin. It tastes coppery, like how you imagine sucking an old penny would. It would be repulsive if this act weren’t so wholly for him.

And then he moans. Before Homelander, desire had always been something of an abstract concept to you. The poets of the world write it as something alive, something palpable. A longing for something so intense that it chokes you with hunger until you either have it in your jaws, or are driven mad for the lack of it. It had been romantic hyperbole like any other.

Now, finally, you understand it as the poets wrote it.

You lick him again, this time from his chin to his lips, and he eagerly twists it into a kiss, suddenly relinquishing his hold on you so that he can take you by the backs of your thighs and hoist your legs up around his waist.

Your stomach flips with the effortlessness of it, the novelty of his strength never dimming. You catch your arms around his neck and kiss him as he carries you towards the bed.

He drapes himself over you, pinning you to the mattress like a flower between the pages of a book, and kisses you senseless, his hunger tangible in every little press of his lips. He kisses you like he means each one as a bite, devouring you piece by piece until there’s nothing left between your bodies but the taste of blood.

“You never cease to fuckin’ surprise me,” he murmurs, lifting himself just enough to rip his zipper down with a distinct hiss. “There any part of me you don’t love?” He asks, and though you think he means it coyly, rasping it the way he does while he rips the fabric of your panties clean from between your legs, you know his sincerity when you hear it. You understand his yearning to hear your love confirmed.

“No. There’s no part of you unloved by me,” you swear to him, whispering it like an oath. “Whether I’ve seen it or not. If it’s you, then it’s loved.”

He pauses. Your eyes have adjusted to the dim light, and in it, you see him staring down at you. Though his handsome features are smeared dark with blood, you see him as he is beneath it–wounded.

In his eyes you see damage done to him that may never heal, but your words settle over his scars like a soothing balm. It’s that very look of vulnerability that has driven you to this madness. You have seen the beast in him, but so too have you seen the fragile man it protects.

When the beast shows you his teeth, you can’t help but put them to your throat so that he might taste how your heart beats for him.

Even now, as you look into the eyes of a man, you feel his claws sink into your hips through his gloves. “I love you,” he whispers in turn. Your brows furrow at the first press of his cock, a breathy little noise escaping you while he savors grinding the head of it tantalizingly against your clit. You’re already wet for him, so ready to take him. He presses his chest down against yours and your nightgown soaks up the blood on his suit, turning it wet and sticky against your skin. You hardly notice it compared to the feel of him sliding into you, splitting you open so slowly it makes you want to scream.

“Take me,” you say fervently. “I’m yours, but take me like I’m not.”

Ever determined to be all to you that you are to him, he drives into you at that, knocking the wind from your lungs with a sharp thrust that brings him to the core of you. Instantly you’re craving more, already anticipating the dull ache you’ll feel in the morning from how good he fucked you.

“Harder,” you gasp, pushing your hands into his hair, slicking it back with the blood on your hands. He moans sweetly when you tighten your grasp, and his thrusts become sharper, deeper. He hikes both of your legs higher over his hips and adjusts the position until he’s pounding you properly, angled so perfectly that every thrust sparks behind your eyelids like fireworks.

“I love you,” he says again, voice fraying around the edges, thrusts growing more erratic, “I l-I love you, I love you, I love you,” he says, chanting it like a mantra, as if it’s the only thought that matters to him right now. You, here, with him, loving him as he loves you.

You come first, your voice stolen by a crash of sensation so intense it renders you immobile, muscles locking up in a spasm of pleasure. Homelander doesn’t last much longer, thrusting through and into the aftermath of your climax until he, too, stills, seized by the magnitude of his own release. He floods into you at the same time he kisses you, body sinking down atop yours. It’s likely the only thing that keeps you from floating away, riding the high of your euphoria while the two of you both catch your breath.

The whole room smells of blood and sex, and there is an undeniable carnality in that. It brings out something beastly in you, too, and even as he lays against you, your point made and your love proven for the umpteenth time, you can’t help but drag your tongue once again from his bloodied skin to his lips, pushing more blood into his mouth and kissing the iron taste of it from him.

He groans softly. You feel his spent cock give a valiant throb inside the snug velvet walls of your cunt.

“You make me crazy,” he says, voice utterly fried.

“Love does that,” you say with a smile, your own voice slightly hoarse.

He smiles against your lips, relishing how you find any and every excuse to remind him of your love. “Gonna have t’shower,” he says, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He inhales deeply, erupting goosebumps from your head to your toes. You thrive on how addicted he is to you.

“Soon,” you giggle, carding your fingers through his hair, though it’s slightly matted with blood. “I want to enjoy this a little longer.”

Gladly, he rests his head on your chest, closing his eyes with a rumbling sigh as your nails drag along his scalp. You cradle him there, savoring the fill of him inside you, the weight of him against you, and the warmth of him that seeps beyond your body and into the depths of your very soul.

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander fanfiction #my writing #apologies in advance i wrote this in an absolute haze today haha

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onlinekitsune · 4 months

Text

LOST IN A ROOM

“boy, what did I tell you? love makes you a dead fool.”

— #RAFAYEL: LOVE AND DEEP SPACE

— PAIRING, GENRE, WARNINGS: rafayel x gnc!reader, mainly fluff, with a bit of flirting and banter, implied nsfw things but nothing specifically stated, no warnings!!

— SYNOPSIS: after a work trip, you return to a pouty and dramatic rafayel. you attempt to make up for your absence by surprising him with a sudden visit. but end up… having a different way of catching up.

— WRITER’S NOTE: long time, no post. hiii besties, i found this in my google doc’s and decided to finish it. i haven’t been too inspired to write lately so my bad. i stole the title from a song by rome hero foxes. uhhmmm not proofread per usual. enjoy and take care of yourself, mwah mwah ♡

It had been a while since you were able to go to Rafayel’s studio. It wasn’t intentional, it had just been a busy week. A week that was quickly reaching two and he wasn’t shy to remind you almost constantly.

“Aren’t you my bodyguard? You’re supposed to be checking up on me too.”

You rolled your eyes, hearing his voice vacant your head again. To make up for your absence, you decided to surprise him with a visit. You quietly opened the door, trying your best to sneak through. It was hard to do since it was so silent, the only sound being a soft flutter of a curtain from an opened window. You searched each room, anticipating Rafayel, but was met with disappointment. It wasn’t until you reached his living room where you saw him. He was laid out on his couch, his breath slow and calm. You walked closer, making sure you stayed silent. Your hands hovered over him before caressing his face with your finger tips.

“Hm… you’re cute even when you’re sleeping.” You scoffed, brushing your hand down his face. You moved a stray hair from his face, taking another second just gazing at him. “I’ll let you get your rest.”

You let out a soft breath, going to turn towards the door. You didn’t even make it a step further before, Rafayel quickly grabs your wrist, pulling you back into the couch causing you to fall into his arms. He wraps them around you before gently placing his head into the crook of your neck.

“Y-You were awake?” You gasped, flipping your head towards him. His eyes were still closed, with the same calm expression as before.

“Mm... no need to be so loud.” He grumbled, pulling you even closer. You were basically just his plushie at this point. “Surprised you even remembered that I’m alive.” His eyes remained closed but now accompanied by a pout. Your hands moved towards his, now realizing they were placed on your waist.

“Rafayel… I was busy. I did tell you this time. And I came here to surprise you. Surely that counts for something.” You softly sighed, brushing your thumb across his hand.

“Hmph.” He continued to pout. “What are you going to do to make it up for me?”

“Was coming over not enough?”

“Not at all.” He whined, finally opening his eyes. “That’s your duty, a long awaited one at that.” You shake your head and let out a small laugh.

“Fine. What can I do to make it up to you then?”

“Prove that you're sorry.”

“And how do I do that? I already apologized to you.”

Rafayel huffed, before slightly shrugging. “That’s for you to figure out. It wouldn’t be genuine if I told you what to do, now would it?”

You stayed there in silence for a moment, contemplating on what to do. You managed to turn around to face him. Rafayel made a face at you but continued to look at you curiously.

“You’re such a baby, you know?” You laughed, reaching towards his face. You slowly leaned in to kiss him, but instead placing it on his cheek.

“Now you’re just mocking me.”

“You’re so dramatic, Raf. Do you want a kiss that badly?” You teased, half joking. He suddenly pulled you even closer. You were almost on top of him at this point. Your leg rested on the top of his thigh.

“I do. Is that so wrong?” He asked, sliding his hand underneath your chin to the back of your neck. Your words were caught in your throat, unaware of this side of him. “Can I kiss you, Miss bodyguard?”

Your words continued to be stuck, only able to nod continuously. Rafayel slowly leaned in, placing a soft kiss against your lips. You melted against his softness and the warmth coming from him. You came to after a second wrapping an arm around his neck. You were hungry for more. His kiss was too addicting, you would have gotten mad if you could think straight. The soft kiss evolved into desperation and need. You softly bit his lip, in hopes that he’d slightly part them. And he did. He knew your body language all too well just from the encounters with wanderers.

“Now who’s so dramatic?” He chuckled, pulling away. You pout, looking up at him. “Come on, don’t you wanna tell me about your trip?” Rafayel smirked, sitting up straight. Your brows slightly furrowed. You’d forgot how cocky he could act.

“That can wait… stop acting so unaffected. I can see how flushed your face is! We have… catching up to do.” You muttered, pulling him back towards you. He returned without a second thought. Chuckling on his way down seeing your sudden switch.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #rafayel #rafayel x reader #rafayel love and deepspace #rafayel lads #lads rafayel #lads x reader #lnd rafayel #lnd x reader #love and deepspace fluff #love and deepspace oneshot #lads rafayel oneshot #divider by cafekitsune

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mind-player · 11 months

Text

Purge

Durge is beginning to wonder whether it matters if they make it to Bhaal's temple and if it would be better for the others if they didn't.

And Astarion, despite your constant protests, cannot helplessly stand by and watch as you pour out the contents of your stomach and then eventually all of your questioning thoughts along with it.

Warning! Suicidal thoughts/questioning

Words: 2,040

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Astarion was quick to wake from his trance just from the absence of your presence at his side. He felt the place with cold fingers, realizing the blankets still had some of your warmth. The fire everyone circled around in their bedrolls was freshly tended, alive again with a new log added to the flames.

The vampire quietly got up to avoid disturbing the other companion's rest and began to sense where you might've run off. He strained his ears, and it didn't take long for him to pick up the sound of a specific someone retching in the distance of the forest. Astarion made haste, not wanting to let you suffer alone for a second.

A selfish part of him wanted to tell you again that it was alright to snap him awake whenever this happened, but he was fast to conclude that the morning would have to do. As much as he's gently brought it up, he did also understand your discomfort at the thought of him seeing you throw up last night's dinner.

But still, they were in this together, Bhaal be damned. And he knew you wouldn't hesitate to do the same for him. Hells, you've asked him for a kiss even when he was covered in blood and viscera, his hair more than just slightly askew, and his face sore with cuts and bruises. Sure, he couldn't look into a mirror, but he could still feel that the grime and exhaustion were evident to anyone at camp.

Didn't matter to you, though. You would call Astarion beautiful every time, and he'd readily call you a liar. And you'd say with a smile as golden as your heart, "Prove it."

He never could.

Astarion finally came upon the vision of you keeling over on your knees. Your hand was your only leaning support, pale and clammy from the night's cold on a tree stump. The only contrast was the red and scabbing marks around your wrist from being tied up every other night.

"Don't look," you croaked, your voice hoarse and tired, ready to deny his help.

It was rare that you would let yourself sleep sometimes, especially after what happened to that poor bard you so eagerly let join camp without even a hint of suspicion on your mind. Astarion was irritated by your being so open and careless, and all you had to say was that you missed the sound of a bard's music.

And you were punished for it.

Astarion remembered the last day you would ever trust your body around anyone. Not even your thoughts were safe in your mind, for fear of them crawling out and unleashing murder upon your companions and, God's forbid, on Astarion. Even the idea of that happening made you ill, but your mind would force you to see it in your dreams, and your slinking Bhaal butler would provoke the strength of your will.

It was only inevitable and natural that you'd be sick to your stomach with all that on your shoulders, your mind.

"You think this is the worst I've witnessed in my two hundred years?" the elf questioned, and he chose not to move forward, not without further consent.

"No," you answered truthfully, letting your hand slide down the rough bark for you to fall back on the balls of your feet.

"Then please let me help you."

"I," you started, taking a shaky breath. "I don't think you can."

Astarion could tell from your voice alone you were on the brink of tears. And as much as the vampire just wanted to take all of that pain away and rip it to nothing but shreds, kill any God that causes it, and ascend himself victorious so that it could never happen again, he couldn't. Not yet. He remained where he stood.

"What do you mean, my love?" he questioned softly when you didn't continue. He could always be sincere with you when you so effortlessly were, especially in such moments.

"I just hate this," you responded, nearly crying aloud. "I know you said we can fight this together. And I want to. Gods, I want to. But sometimes, I just wish my mind would stop for a second. Just to let me be me around you. The me that you know and the one I want to be. But I don't think I ever will."

He didn't say anything, letting you say what he couldn't bear.

"I'm going to die," you whispered, giving out and leaning onto your side. "And if my body doesn't, I know whoever was on this journey with you definitely will. So what does it matter if it all just stops now?"

Astarion almost couldn't believe his ears. Such a dreadful question slipped through the lips of an angel who soothed everyone's worries and selflessly promised devotion to countless others regardless of their own self-preservation.

Some say vampires are unfeeling creatures with no heart, none that craves to beat for anything other than the thrill of power. But, of course, if anyone ever proved them wrong, it was you.

And if there was anyone to tell Astarion he was worth more than his looks, his body, and his charm, that he was a person just like everyone else who could be valued, trusted, and loved so readily, it was most certainly you. You were the only one to give him even the slightest hope of defeating someone he had revolved around for two centuries. You were the only one to tell him he could finally stop surviving and start living.

You were the hope of every tiefling, your companions, and him. Hearing you, seeing you finally break, was enough to bring him to his knees, and the thought of genuinely losing you made his heart fall. But not for one second was this only about him.

A silence fell over the two of you until he finally gathered his words.

"When I discovered you, I remember being so furious. After all, how could there be people like you out here all this time? Just waiting to save someone's life, end their torment, their worries," he tried to explain without his voice trembling.

"You were so naive yet so relentlessly kind, constantly worrying about right and wrong, weighing every decision and then being the one to bear the consequences of them, all on your shoulders. And not once did you expect anything in return from anyone.

"So, please, consider when I hear you ask if it matters if you keep existing in this world, even if it's for a moment longer, that it does. Gods, it does. It's indisputable. Because this world is already so starved of people like you," he said, his chest aching with every word.

Hot tears threatened to well in his eyes, tears he hadn't known since he was still in that wretched dungeon being tortured alive.

Astarion couldn't stop thinking about you being lost forever compared to so many other evils they've slain along their journey. There were so many in this world who no one would miss, who no one would even consider a moment to remember, and Astarion thought that, with all his faults, he might as well have been on that list, too.

But everyone would most certainly miss you. Probably would throw thousands of flowers on your grave each year, speak exciting stories of your adventures with all you've done, put up a statue of you, and honor you for centuries to come.

He would so desperately miss you. When the others finally abandoned him and left him to his own devices or back with Cazador, he would have forgotten how to love again, knowing that you were the only one he could care for.

Astarion watched as the hand that supported you on the ground clenched, intertwining your calloused fingers into the grass. You turned your body to finally face him, shining tears from the firelight staining your cheeks.

And all of that and everything else he could've said to convince you otherwise must've been conveyed in just one look because he was finally seeing you. Your sweat-damp brow was furrowed in pain, your white-knuckled grip released the delicate blades of grass, and all your pain from your stomach to your head and mind was brewing behind your reddened eyes. Tired eyes.

"I'm sorry," you eventually cried with shoulders quivering, and it was all Astarion needed to come crawling over to hold you in his arms. "I didn't– I shouldn't have–"

"You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing at all," Astarion vehemently told you, shaking his head. "Everything that's been asked of you forced onto you, would test anyone."

You wept, sniffled, and apologized, and the cycle repeated, but Astarion never once ran out of quiet, comforting whispers.

It continued until it eventually came to a slow end, with you resting your head on his shoulder and his hand rubbing against yours. Your legs were numb from how long you both had sat there in that forest and if you could feel, maybe even a little cold- not because of Astarion. Never because of him.

While basking in the comfortable silence that befell both of you, you still couldn't help but sigh and shake your head.

"What is it, my love?" he asked so gently as if the words alone would make you fall apart again. You never hated yourself more for dumping your doubts, worries, and dreads on him.

"It's stupid," you said, actually meaning that you were stupid in a sense.

"Try me."

You hid your face further into the crook of his shoulder, feeling that familiar warmth spread across your cheeks.

"I just remembered how much I didn't want you to ever see me throw up... and you get something ten times worse."

Astarion laughed and said, "Compared to the monstrous atrocities we've seen throughout this journey, this is more akin to sunshine and a bed of fresh roses. I don't mind."

"Really?"

"Yes."

You squinted in suspicion at him and persisted, "Not even a little?"

Astarion quirked a brow.

"Well, I could do without the snot on the only shirt I possess," he joked, earning that gorgeous smile he missed so dearly, "but if it means you're still here, together with me, then no, I genuinely don't mind. I'm not going anywhere."

The latter part of his words sounded so irrefutable and clear to your ears that you almost forgot everything ahead.

"Even if I turn into a monster?" you asked him.

"The day you turn into a monster is the day that bears will fly," he answered, silently thinking about how different you were compared to him. "But if that still somehow manages to happen, then what's the harm of being monsters together?"

"That'd be so terrible," you told him, shaking your head with a smile.

This was nice. Your dark thoughts were quelled and momentarily replaced with the idea of you and Astarion, the future you two could have if you somehow managed to live through all this. What would it be like, you wondered.

You imagined a house somewhere in the city, perhaps a townhouse. You'd both live messily; all the treasures you hoarded over this journey would be scattered everywhere when first moving in. Curtains would be closed, but you'd like to imagine them open with a smiling Astarion basking like a cat in the sun he adored.

Alive again. With your love's heart beating so strongly with your ear pressed up against his naked chest as you both lounge in bed, doing nothing in particular.

Then it crossed your silly mind that you wanted that. You wanted to see that someday, even if it might not have been in the cards for you. But when have the chances ever not been slim? And how many times did you beat them until now?

That future, that hope, was enough to fight for.

That acquainted quiet settled once more before you finally whispered a vow only to him, "I'll defy him. Whatever it takes."

Even if it meant dying.

"As will I," he answered, and you knew who he spoke of. One day, both of you might be free- truly free.

#astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x durge #astarion x dark urge #astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #bg3 durge #bg3 dark urge #bg3 #dark urge tav #fanfiction #fanfic #comfort #tav #durge

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thexsilentxwordsmith · 11 months

Text

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Author's Note: Yes I reworked this piece because I liked the concept of forbidden attraction, but wanted it slightly different cause I didn't like how I executed it the first time. I think this works much better! Also stay tuned for Tuesday, October 31st cause we have a real treat for Halloween coming!

Joining the 141 had one hard rule: no relationships of any kind between members, but that is something proving to be too much the closer you and Simon get.

You weren’t meant to be here, panting like an animal in heat, nearly naked in Simon’s bed as his fingers traced burning lines down your abdomen and over the curve of your hips to tug playfully at the seam of your panties. Yet that's exactly where you found yourself.

You were pure temptation, forbidden fruit, the most delicious type of sin; you were not supposed to be doing this, but from the moment you first met when you joined the task force as their medic he knew he had to have you and nothing could sate that growing, gnawing hunger in him until he possessed every last inch of you for his own.

It had started innocent enough: chaste glances whenever you came into contact, friendly quips and pleasantries, guiltless touches that never lingered more than need be… until that just wasn’t enough. That nagging ache was just too strong to hold off the closer you both got, the attraction clouding all judgment that told him this was wrong and that he should leave it alone; coworkers couldn't get involved, that was the one rule that was strictly upheld when you joined the task force.

This wasn't like him to risk his job, but he just couldn’t let these feelings go.

How could he when you made him feel alive for the first time in years? Even just being in your presence left him giddy like a fucking teenager again, full of raging hormones and excitement for days after. Why would he not want to have that all for himself?

You weren’t much better, not once you realized what was happening between you. “We’re just friends,” you’d repeat over and over as if the very utterance of the phrase could alter what was slowly creeping its way inside your mind, but the more Simon found reasons to come visit you in the infirmary, the more you knew what not nipping this in the bud would lead to.

And yet you didn’t want it to stop.

He was more than the stoic killer, the man cloaked in the face of death; he was passionate and smart and he looked at you as if he would burn everything to the fucking ground and salt the earth just to have you. To be coveted in such an all-consuming way, having never experienced something so intense before, that was euphoric. How could you possibly let that just walk away?

It was just drinks, it was just staying out a little later than usual, it was just a little crush that’ll pass; that was your excuses for him time and again. And yet you could not help the way you began to imagine coveting such intense passion for your own or what it would be like to have such a strong, virile man take you rough and exasperatedly. To belong to someone who was so obviously obsessed he could not help himself that he was willing to risk it all, put his entire life into jeopardy, it was hard not to get sucked in.

No, not just anyone. Simon. Only Simon.

So that was how you found yourself in his room after hours by some flimsy excuse made that you couldn’t even remember now. And the low light of the room, the tension permeating the space like a heavy fog, the closeness of that beast of a man as he looked down at you with those eyes that screamed he was being swallowed whole by his desire was enough to make things start.

Calloused fingertips sliding across your bare arm were then suddenly around your waist and then your hip. Not once did you try to swat his hand away; you didn’t want that feeling caused by his touch to stop, the one making your mind fuzzy.

Then his shirt was off along with your own and Simon found himself struggling to breathe. Inhaling deep and exhaling just as heavy, he could only stare back at all that soft, supple skin. “Goddamn,” he stammered out the breathless word as those fingers traced patterns on your palms hanging at your sides. “You’re more beautiful than I coulda fuckin’ imagined, sweetheart.”

You’d patched him up so many times, seen more of him than anyone else, and yet here and now it was like experiencing the sight of him bare before you for the first time. Pupils dilated, breaths hitched, nerve endings exploded to life and the overwhelming urge to explore each other until you both knew the other by touch alone filled the space between you.

Those same fingertips played with the button on your jeans, testing how far you were willing to let him go. At any second there was an unknown fear your hand would push his away and you would stop this right in its tracks, but as you gave him a nod and he undid your jeans and slid them down your legs, he allowed himself to hope that this wouldn’t end at all.

Suddenly he grabbed your hand and brought you over to his bed, sitting you down to sit beside you so close he was pressed into your side. Being this close, everything became so clear and even though the room was anything but cold, a shiver went up his spine a the weight of his decision.

"Take it off," he murmured near the side of your head as he filled his nostrils with your scent, that natural musk that was specific to only you, the one that made it near impossible to function whenever you were close. "The mask. I want ya to take it off."

You couldn't be stopped. With unsteady hands you reached up to his face, gently sliding your fingertips under the thin fabric covering his face and slowly you pulled it up and over until all of his visage was revealed to you. It wasn't the first time you'd seen him, but this time was so much more important.

Copper eyes sparkled now that they were released from the bounds of the mask, shifting colors in the pale light as they were so full with emotion. Lust, yes, desire, of course, but so much more and you were caught in their penetrating gaze.

His hand moved up to cup against your face, thumb rubbing back and forth across your cheek as his eyes flitted to your lips where he watched the moistened, full bits of flesh call him to embrace. Instead of connecting those yearning bits of flesh, his hand wandered to the back of your head to pull it towards him so that he could rest his forehead against yours.

"I need ya," he said, that gruff voice unable to hide the begging lilt in his tone, "so fuckin' bad."

“We really shouldn’t be doing this,” you whispered the half-hearted objection with eyes closed as he leaned in and ghosted his lips over your own, so close he could taste your muggy breath.

Risking more, your fingertips glided across the bulky muscles of his abdomen, called as if by a siren’s song to stroke along all that beautiful skin available for you alone. They danced over the sparse covering of hair that led down into his pants and the sound of him trying to gulp down air to fill his lungs as his breath got caught in his chest caught your attention.

The unbearable need to shove you down onto your back, spread your legs to slip in between, and fuck you until you were too exhausted to move flooded his veins; it was a monumental task to keep himself from giving in, but he had to be sure you wanted this just as bad, that he was not taking something that was not his to take.

That you were willing to accept the risk as well.

“Then tell me ta stop,” he breathed back onto your parted lips, rough fingers taking your chin firmly into his grasp to pull your head up so that he could place his lips along your jawline. Each caress of his mouth sent shivers down your spine, tiny pricks of electricity that had you reeling in agony for more.

Under your chin and down the side of your throat he went, scourging the flesh for anyone else that would dare come after him. “Shove me away, tell me to get the fuck out so ya can get dressed and leave,” he groaned into your skin. “Tell me ya don’t want this and we’ll never fuckin’ speak of it again. But…I want ya to stay; I'm tired of pretending you're not in my goddamn veins and that I don't dream 'bout all the ways ta make ya mine.”

You swallowed hard, sanity slipping violently away the longer his mouth left those euphoric trails of tingles down your neck until your cheeks flushed crimson while that damp heat continued to gather between your legs. Bodies molded into one another, desperately begging to become one in that lust-fueled connection that would send you both straight to hell, the air thick with unrequited desire that had built to its breaking point, you knew there was no way you could leave him now.

Your choice had already been made the moment you stepped inside his room and he shut the door.

Opening your eyes, you waited until he felt you move and pulled his head up so that you could look directly into those copper eyes nearly black now in the dim light. “No,” you shook your head, “I can’t leave, not now. I need you Simon; fuck, I need you so bad it hurts.”

What more was there to say to that? He had wanted to hear you say those words for so long now it almost didn’t feel real, as if at any moment he would wake up alone in his room with a wet spot staining his boxers and the cycle of agony would continue.

Harshly he moved his hand back to where it was wrapped around the back of your head and taking a deep breath he pulled your face to him to crash his yearning mouth onto yours. Fiery and aggressive he captured your lips over and over, greedy to make up for all the lost time he had spent pining for their embrace.

Simon needed you like air in his lungs, like a man dying of thirst needs water, and in that moment nothing existed in the entire world outside of that bed: not consequences or repercussions for his actions, not reprimands or disciplinary actions, not court-martials or anything else the higher ups could threaten him with. The ecstasy of you was worth all the goddamn bullshit he may face for the crime of needing you.

Advancing on top of you, he pushed you down onto your back until you were pressed into his mattress beneath him, his body buzzing from the high of finally unleashing the monster that had kept him suffering. Torsos pressed firmly together so that you could hardly breathe, limbs intertwined as he easily slid between your thighs, hips grinding into one another, he completely lost himself.

“Never thought I’d hear ya say those words,” he groaned into your mouth, making you swallow down his desperation. “Needed ya for so fuckin’ long, thought I was gonna lose my goddamn mind, luv. It’s been so hard tryin’ to keep distance between us. I'm fuckin' dyin' wantin' you and not being able to do a damned thing 'bout it. I don't care what the fuck the rules say, I have ta have ya.”

“Then take me,” you moaned as your hands slipped between your burning bodies and rushed to his belt to loosen it so that you could undo his pants and pull them down. “Please, Simon. Please. I need to feel you inside me.”

Simon shimmied to help you until they hung around his ankles and he could kick them off, that same he did with his boxers, never letting up on his assault of your mouth. Fuck, he was so hard it was nearly painful and he hissed as the head of his cock brushed up against you. His large hands pulled at the crotch of your panties, sliding them to the side and out of the way.

The excitement of the moment had gotten to your body and what met his fingers was that sticky moistness that meant you were ready for him. Sitting up on his knees he aligned the tip of his cock so that he could slip through your delicate petals to coat himself in your juices, adding lubrication to make this easier.

You got the first feel of what he had to offer and fuck was more than you could have imagined as it throbbed and pulled near your aching hole. Grabbing onto your hips, he pressed his swollen tip directly onto your entrance and thrust until it slipped inside. Instantly you were filled with him, fuller than you had ever been before, and your head flew back as you mewled loudly at being stretched to capacity.

The agony was finally over.

"N-nh… mmm…" Simon groaned behind closed lips as he jerked. So fucking tight, so soft and warm and wet, it was more than anything he could have hoped for and he had to pause a second to collect himself.

Right and wrong didn't exist anymore, it was only you and him now, reveling in that thrill of experiencing each other for the first time in that most intimate way. As he began to thrust back and forth through your pussy, he knew he would do whatever it took to have you like this over and over again, fuck the rules.

And as his body meshed perfectly with yours as if you were created for one another, cock pounding into you to make the desperate moans escape your lips like quiet praises, you knew that from that moment on no matter what came you were his.

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