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pucksandpower · 7 months

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Inked

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: Charles goes feral whenever he sees you wearing merch with his number so you decide to go one step further

Warnings: 18+ content heavily implied

“Did you see my overtake at turn 10?” Charles asks as he steps into his driver’s room, drenched in champagne and sweat from celebrating his win.

You smile, the kind of genuine, radiant smile that you reserve only for him. “You were incredible. Congratulations, my love.”

“I always race harder knowing you’re watching.” He confesses, peeling off his gloves and moving closer. His gaze fixates on you like you’re the trophy he has yet to claim.

“That’s quite a lot of pressure for me then, isn’t it?” You tease, tilting your head slightly.

He reaches for you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “It’s the best kind of pressure.” He whispers, lips hovering above yours.

“Speaking of …” you trail off, pulling away just slightly to dance your fingers over the fabric of your dress. “I have something for you. A surprise.”

Charles raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. “You know how much I love surprises.”

You take a deep breath. “Remember that spot on my thigh you’re so fond of?”

“How could I ever forget?” His voice drops an octave, his eyes darkening with memories of intimate moments shared. “It leads to my favorite place on earth.”

Taking another steadying breath, you slowly hike up your dress, revealing the fresh tattoo of the number “16” inked delicately on that very place. Charles’ eyes widen, a look of astonishment overtaking his features.

“You didn’t …” he breathes, reaching out to trace the tattoo with his fingertips.

“I did. For you.”

A choked laugh escapes him as you watch the bottom of his race suit suddenly become too tight. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” you murmur, leaning into his touch. “I just wanted to show you how much you mean to me.”

Charles cups your face, his eyes searching yours for a long moment. “I love you so much. Do you know that?”

“I do. And I love you too.”

For a while, the two of you simply stand there, wrapped up in each other. The world outside seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you and the connection you share.

After what feels like an eternity, Charles finally breaks the silence. “Let’s get out of here,” his voice is husky with desire. “I would take you to bed right now but I promised Fred not to break the couch again after last time.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

***

Charles scoops you into his arms effortlessly as soon as you enter your suite, making you squeal in delight. “You have this unique ability,” Charles starts, laying you down gently on the plush bed, “to make everything more special.” He begins to place soft kisses along your collarbone, working his way up to your ear, whispering each word with deliberate intent.

“And you have this uncanny ability to always surprise me,” you murmur, running your fingers through his damp hair. “Just when I think I have you all figured out.”

“Isn’t that what keeps things interesting?” He pulls back to gaze deep into your eyes. “Your tattoo. It means the world to me. And I think, perhaps, I should thank you sixteen times for it.”

You bite your lip, heartbeat quickening. “Sixteen times?”

He nods, a smirk dancing on his lips. “For the number you’ve etched onto your skin for me.”

“You always are one to go above and beyond,” you note, trailing a finger down his chest and feeling his own heart race beneath your touch.

Charles chuckles, capturing your hand and placing a gentle kiss on your fingertips. “Only for you,” he admits. “Because you deserve nothing but the best.”

You smile, “And what makes you think I’m counting?”

His grin sends shivers down your spine. “Oh, believe me, you will be.”

***

The curtains barely keep the sun at bay when you wake up the next morning. You try to move but your legs refuse, reminding you of how thoroughly Charles thanked you … all … night … long. A soft, contented sigh escapes your lips as the memories flood back.

Behind you, Charles stirs, his arm pulling you closer. “Morning,” he mumbles, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

“Morning,” you echo, attempting to shift and sit up. But your legs wobble as they struggle to move after the intense night you had.

“Seems like I did a good job,” he teases, helping you sit up. The smug satisfaction in his voice is undeniable.

You shoot him a playful glare. “You’re far too pleased with yourself.”

He grins, “Can you blame me?” His fingers dance lightly over your skin, tracing patterns that threaten to make you pull him back under the covers. “You’re irresistible and knowing I’m the reason for that ... well it makes me want to go again for round seventeen.”

Your response is cut off by a sharp twinge in your lower half. Charles notices immediately, concern replacing his teasing. “You okay?”

“Just a bit sore,” you say with a sheepish smile.

He raises an eyebrow, that familiar playful glint returning. “Only a bit? I’ll have to fix that.”

Rolling your eyes, you give a mock huff. “Alright, maybe more than a bit.”

Charles stands up and stretches, immediately drawing your eyes to his delicious chest and abs. The smirk that stretches across his face tells you that he knows exactly what he does to you.

He reaches across the bed and scoops you up, carrying you effortlessly towards the bathroom. “Then let’s get you relaxed.”

The bathtub is already filled, steam rising in gentle tendrils. Charles must have gotten up early to prepare it and the thought sends warmth throughout your body.

He eases both of you into the warm water, settling you between his legs, his chest pressed against your back. The sensation of the water coupled with his touch immediately begins to soothe your aching muscles.

Charles reaches for a bottle of bath oil, pouring it into the water. The rich scent of lavender fills the air, adding to the calming atmosphere. He begins to massage your shoulders, working his way down your back, releasing any residual tension.

As his hands wander, the heat and his touch begin to reignite the flame from the previous night. The line between relaxation and arousal becomes increasingly blurred.

Charles senses the change, his breath hot against your ear. “Feeling better?”

You nod, leaning back against him, surrendering to the sensations he’s stirring. “Much better,” you whisper, turning your head to capture his lips in a languid kiss.

The bath sloshes around you as the two of you explore each other anew, proving that the passion between you knows no bounds. Time becomes irrelevant as you lose yourselves in each other once again, the world outside ceasing to exist.

There’s no water left in the bathtub by the time you’re done. You make sure to leave an extra heavy tip as an apology to the poor housekeeper who will have to clean the wet bathroom floor.

***

As you and Charles walk — or in your case, try to walk — towards the private jet, the afternoon sun glints off the sleek metal of the aircraft. Pierre Gasly, along with some members of the Ferrari team, are already waiting on the tarmac.

You try to maintain your dignity, but with each step, there’s a subtle wince on your face and your pace is undeniably slower than usual. Pierre raises an eyebrow when he notices your gait while the rest of the team exchange amused glances.

“Late-night celebrations?” Pierre quips, a knowing smirk on his face.

Charles slides an arm around your waist. “Just making the most of our time.”

You shoot Charles a playful glare with burning cheeks. “Stop being so smug,” you mutter under your breath.

He leans down, lips brushing against your ear. “Can’t help that I’m proud of my achievements. Both on and off the track.”

Charles’ protective and doting nature is at full force as he assists you with every step up to the jet, ensuring you’re comfortably seated next to him.

The hum of engines fills the cabin and you settle into your plush seat, snuggling under the soft blanket that Charles laid over both of you. He sits beside you, his fingers brushing against yours, eyes dark with that all-too-familiar desire.

The close quarters and presence of the team should have served as a deterrent, but with Charles, the line between boldness and recklessness was always blurred.

His hand, concealed by the blanket, slides up your thigh. You shoot him a warning look but his mischievous grin shows he’s not deterred. His fingers tease and explore, pushing boundaries while you bite your lip, trying to maintain your composure.

Every movement of his fingers sends a jolt of electricity through you, the thrill of potential discovery only making every sense feel heightened.

A sudden burst of turbulence rocks the plane and you grip the armrests, focus momentarily pulled away from Charles’ teasing. He takes the opportunity to press closer, his whispers in your ear almost drowned out by the engines.

“We’ll continue this later,” he promises, pulling his hand away and discretely licking his fingers before settling back in his seat, looking far more innocent than he has any right to.

***

“Close your eyes,” Charles commands gently as you both walk into your shared bedroom a few weeks later.

A smile touches your lips. “Again with the surprises?”

“Just trust me.”

You oblige without hesitation.

All you hear is the soft rustle of fabric and then his voice, “Okay, open them.”

Your eyes flutter open to find Charles shirtless. You take a moment to admire the beautiful man you get to call your own before your eyes make their way to his chest … where he is proudly showing off a fresh tattoo, the skin still raw, right above his heart. It takes a moment for you to recognize the series of numbers — the exact date that the two of you first met.

“You didn’t,” you breathe, stepping closer and allowing your fingertips to hover over the ink.

Charles captures your hand, pressing it against the tattoo. “Every beat of my heart is for you. I wanted a permanent reminder.”

Your eyes start to glisten with tears. “This is ... I don’t even have words.”

He grins, pulling you close. “We seem to be leaving each other speechless a lot lately.”

You laugh, “I think it’s your turn to be speechless.”

“Oh?” He challenges, raising an eyebrow.

Without warning, you push him gently onto the bed, straddling him. “I know a thing or two about surprises,” you whisper against his lips.

His hands find your hips. “Show me.”

You don’t hold back.

“Remember,” he murmurs between heated kisses, “this is forever.”

You nod, brushing your lips against his once more before making your way down his body. “Forever.”

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lovedazai · 26 days

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BIGGEST LIE I EVER SAID . . . you finally pick up one of chuuya’s drunk phone calls.

ft. chuuya + f!reader, exes to lovers, implied blackout, taking care of hungover chuu, making up / out, 2.5k w.c.

chuuya is more used to loneliness than he’d ever admit. it came with the nature of his ability and his line of work, but it had only taken a few months with you to completely change his world, years of defense mechanisms overwritten by your soft touches and sweet words. now that it’s over, he can’t find it in himself to break his newfound habits, stubbornly clinging to their familiarity and basking in the fleeting warmth of the embers of your relationship.

even now that he goes to his favorite bar alone, he still covers the seat next to him with his jacket. it’s the one to his right; he always chose the seat closest to the door between the two of you, just in case.

he can still imagine the lipstick mark that would be left on his glass when you’d steal a sip, and he takes one pretending he’s pressing his mouth around it. he frowns as he swallows; was there anything left that wouldn’t remind him of you?

he downs the rest of what’s left in his glass, licking the stray scarlet drop that curls onto his bottom lip. his gloved hand is numb to the chill of the wine bottle as he pours himself another; it’s the last of it. today was hard, dozens of his men needlessly dying due to one subordinate’s laziness. all he wants is to hold you and let you make him forget all about his shitty day; you would’ve threaded your fingers through his hair and rubbed his scalp, letting his tension melt away off his shoulders, and then, he would’ve kissed you until it was all out of his system. instead, he’ll stumble home and spend the rest of his night in his empty penthouse, stress sitting in a tight knot in his stomach, mixed with the queasiness of too much alcohol and the ache of longing for you that never seems to go away.

god, he fucking misses you.

he pulls his phone from his pocket with one hand, the other still carefully cradling his wine glass. he lazily presses on your contact, still saved to his favorites. his eyes trail over your photo: it’s from when he brought you out to shizuoka. your hair is windblown and knotted from the motorcycle ride there, but you’re beaming at him, cheeks dimpled and eyes closed. his black jacket is draped over your shoulders, a stark contrast to the gold and peach of the setting sun behind you.

his thumb hovers over the call button. he only does this when he’s just drunk enough to ignore how bad of an idea it actually is, and to hear the sweet sound of your voice through your mailbox. it’s always after midnight when he calls, when he knows it’s too late for you to be awake and you won’t pick up.

good. he hopes you’re sleeping well.

he finally presses down on the call button, listening to the line ring. the leather of his glove is smooth against the glass as his finger traces the curve of his cup.

one…

he counts the buzz of the rings in his head. it always took five.

two…

he thrums his fingers against the bar’s dark wooden counter in a lazy rhythm. he wonders if you’re wearing that cute pajama set he loved so much tonight, with those tiny shorts that drove him crazy. maybe you fell asleep with your light on again, the way you used to when you’d wait for him to come home.

thrー

“hello?”

everything stops: his fingers, his thoughts, his heartbeat. he pulls the phone away from his ear, making sure this is actually happening, and he wasn’t hearing your voice in some alcohol-induced hallucination.

“...chuuya?” it’s muffled, and when he brings the phone back up, he can hear your sheets ruffle as you sit up in bed, your voice slurred in a sleepy rasp. “is everything okay?”

the room feels like it’s tilting, the dim lights of the bar haloing and growing fuzzy. he thinks he’s saying something, but he isn’t sure what. he feels sick, like his stomach is twisting itself and trying to crawl up his throat; he’s about to spill his guts out.

then he wakes up.

he only opens his eyes slightly before he squeezes them shut again. everything is too bright, and his head pounds in that special way that means he’s hungover or just used corruption. he groans, rolling over and burying his face into his pillow. it feels softer than he remembers, brain feeling like it’s full of static, disoriented and half awake. he swears the sheets smell just like the perfume you used to wear.

you.

he forces his eyes back open, lifting his head. that’s your dresser in the corner. these are your sheets, and there’s you, sitting on the other edge of the bed, typing on your phone. your hair is pulled back, and he can see your profile perfectly, just as gorgeous as he remembered. you see him move from the corner of your eye, looking up and meeting his groggy gaze.

“you’re up,” you stretch over to your nightstand, handing him the bottle of water there. it’s cold, small beads of condensation dripping down the sides. “finally. drink this.”

he downs half of the bottle in one go, the chill coating and soothing his aching throat. his voice is still raspy when he speaks, deeper than usual. “what am i doin’ here?”

“you don’t remember?” you tilt your head, smiling teasingly. “i guess you haven’t changed much. you’re still a lightweight.”

“gimme a break,” he grumbles into the mouth of the water bottle, taking another big sip. he’d let you get away with poking fun at him when he felt so shitty just this once. he tells himself it’s only because your cheeky smile looked so pretty in the daylight flitting through your curtains. “i was wasted.”

“i know,” you get up from the bed, moving toward your closet and shuffling around. he watches the way your legs strain as you reach on your tiptoes for something. you are wearing those shorts he loved so much, and he tries not to stare too obviously at the way they ride up your thighs.“i’m the one who picked you up when you were half unconscious.”

he hears you sigh and the soft sound of fabric as you push shirts around until you finally pull something off a hanger.

“here,” you’re holding a white button-down, and he recognizes it immediately; he has identical ones, pressed and dry-cleaned, lined in his closet. “you’ll feel better after you take a shower.”

“you kept this?” he pinches the fabric between his fingers; silky smooth, just how he liked it. your eyes widen, hand stiffening as you grip the shirt a little tighter. “thought you said you were gonna burn all my stuff.”

“whatever,” you sigh, rolling your eyes and tossing the shirt into his lap. “it was too expensive to get rid of. you already know where the towels are.”

he does know. his favorite part of his days was coming to your place after work, and he still remembers how warm he felt when you gave him a key so he could sleep next to you on nights when mafia work ran into the early hours of the morning.

he moves sluggishly when he gets out of your bed. he grabs a towel from the little shelf in your bathroom before he turns the water on, waiting for it to get warm and looking over your counter; you still have that expensive face mask he bought for you on an overseas mission, and he remembers how he’d stood between your legs as you sat on the counter, hands smoothing the curve of your hips as you brushed it onto his skin.

he takes his time in the shower, scrubbing himself clean lazily, muscles fatigued and sore. the white tea scent of your body wash soothes him the same way it would when he’d bury his face against your neck before he fell into another dreamless sleep.

when he comes out, dried off and dressed, you’re in front of the stove, the familiar smell of miso soup lingering through the hallway. he nearly wraps his arms around your waist out of the familiarity of it all, but clenches his fists at his sides to stop himself.

there’s a bouquet of flowers in the center of your small dining room table, a bundle of camellias and baby’s breath resting mockingly in a vase filled halfway with water. he glares at them as he sits down, thinking about what asshole could’ve bought them for you. did he write you poems on the card like chuuya did? he’d bet his own money he didn’t.

“by the way, those fell out of your jacket pocket,” you break the silence, nodding your chin towards the table; it's his cigarettes, one of the corners of the cardboard box bent. “you’re smoking again?”

“yeah,” he crosses his arms, fingers digging into his biceps. “i needed a new stress reliever. guess you found one too, huh?”

“what?”

“the flowers,” he mumbles. “is he treatin’ you good?”

you turn away from him and back towards the stove, but he can picture the look on your face when you speak, voice soft and tinged with a smile. “i bought those for myself.”

“oh,” he sits up a little straighter, sulk faltering as he clears his throat. “they’re nice.”

your socked feet are quiet as you approach the table. your hands are carefully cupped around the warm bowl of soup, and his eyes catch on your freshly painted nails. you must’ve gotten them done recently, and he tries not to think about how you used to love showing them off to him, or how nice it would feel when you’d drag them up and down his skin until the hair on his arms rose. you place it in front of him, full of steaming broth, kombu, and tofu floating serenely around slices of green onion.

he catches glances at you as you join him at the table, slurping his soup quietly. he didn’t think he could ever feel so unnatural around you, but tension clouds the air, awkward and uneasy. he stares into his bowl, like it could tell him what to say to fix this when you break the silence again. “do you remember what you said to me last night?”

he cringes; the last thing he remembers is that final glass of wine and your pretty voice on the other end of the line. he sighs through his nose, almost scared to hear your answer. “what did i say?”

“you said you missed me,” you brush your finger across the lone, pale pink flower petal that fell onto your table, tracing the curve of it, not meeting his eyes. “you asked me to pick you up and take you back home.”

you knew what he really meant: take me back to your apartment. it’s barely half the size of his penthouse, but it always felt like more of a home than his place ever did. there were signs of life dotted everywhere he looked, from your sink of dishes from last night’s dinner to your favorite candle in your living room, nearly burnt down to the bottom.

“you call a lot,” you finally look at him, voice quiet. “you don’t think i notice?”

“i know you do,” he whispers. “i only call so much ‘cause i miss you.”

you blink stubbornly, eyes watering. your lips tremble as you press them together, trying and failing to hold yourself together. he doesn’t hesitate to cup your cheeks between his palms, like it was an instinct.

“c’mon,” he sighs. “don’t do that. you know how much it breaks my heart.”

“i miss you too,” your voice shakes. “i really, really miss you, chuuya,” you melt against his chest the same way you always used to, arms wrapping around his shoulders and your forehead pushing against his neck. “i just want to stay like this for a few minutes,” you whisper pleadingly, words warm against his skin.

he could almost laugh; he’d stay with you for the rest of his life in your little dining room, holding you against him. he’d break the world in two for you if you asked him to.

“you’re still the best thing that ever happened to me,” he presses a kiss to your shoulder, and his heart flutters when you don’t push him away. he holds your waist, rubbing his thumbs against the small of your back. his cheek rests against your hair, and he inhales deeply. “i mean it.”

he isn’t ready to let you go when you lift your head off his shoulder all too soon, arms still solid around your waist when he feels your lips brush against his. you pull away just as quickly, but he cups your jaw before you can get too far. you fall back into each other like you were never apart, shakily exhaling in relief as your lips slot into perfect place against his own. chuuya loves you with every part of himself, and once he started, it was ingrained in him forever; loving you became a fundamental part of who he was.

you practically crawl into his lap, seating yourself on his thigh and wrapping your arms tighter around his shoulders. his tongue traces along your bottom lip, and the noise you make drives him fucking crazy; his breath stutters as you whimper against his mouth and melt between his hands. he caresses your sides with a tenderness only reserved for you, trailing down to the plush of your ass from muscle memory alone.

the edge of the table presses into his side, painfully prodding at the edge of his ribs, but all he can feel is your soft lips, parted and pliant against his, and the tip of your nails, scratching against his scalp and down his nape.

this is what he meant when he said he wanted to come back home.

“i won’t fuck it up this time,” he pulls back to look into your eyes. “it’s you and me. got it?”

you nod, cheeks wet against his palms, lips curled upward as you press a kiss to the slope of his nose.

“there’s that smile,” he grins, thumb stroking beneath your dewy lashes. “i missed it.”

“i missed you,” you press your hand against his the toned skin of his chest, feeling the heavy pound of his heart beneath your palms. “i’ve wanted to kiss you like that again for so long.”

“oh yeah?” he smirks, nose brushing against yours. “you stay up at night thinking about me or something?”

your fingertips are warm against his cheek as you shove his face away, scoffing as you slide off his lap.

“where do you think you’re going, baby?” he tugs you back, kissing the corner of your mouth. “don’t think i’m lettin’ you go again.”

BSD MASTERLIST

#💌 . . . with love mai ⊹ ࣪ ˖#chuuya x reader #chuuya x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungou stray dogs x reader #nakahara chuuya x reader #bsd fluff #chuuya fluff #bsd scenarios

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another-lost-mc · 1 year

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When They Go Down on You [Part 2] Headcanons | DIAVOLO, BARBATOS, SIMEON and SOLOMON 1.8k words | NSFW | afab!Reader | Smutty Content warnings: Canon-typical possessiveness, demon form mentioned (Diavolo), implied breeding kink (Diavolo), implied overstimulation (Barbatos and Simeon), jealous thoughts (Simeon and Solomon). A/N: Read [Part 1 - The Demon Brothers] HERE

DIAVOLO

Every night you spend in Diavolo’s bed, he's determined to prove that no one can possibly love you like a demon prince can. His kisses start slow and sweet, but temptation gives way to passion and you both grow hungry for each other. By the time you��re naked and trembling beneath him, the gentle guise has faded and all that remains is his powerful and all-consuming desire for you. He takes you in his natural form, the monstrous side of him that you surrender to willingly. His wings twitch and flex uncontrollably, betraying his own neediness.

His lips leave a trail of fiery kisses against your skin, and his hands follow that path like he can brand you with his touch forever. He nudges your thighs wide apart so he can lay between them, and he sucks bruising kisses into the skin of your thighs. He lowers his head carefully and reaches for your hands, encouraging you to slide them into his hair and find purchase on his horns.

He licks long stripes from your clit to your hole, his thick tongue spreading the slick gathering between your folds and easing the glide of his mouth and fingers against you. He moans at your taste, and the vibrations send pleasure shooting through your body and deep within your bones.

He grins with feral satisfaction when you tug on his horns and pull his face even closer, subtly hinting where you want him to touch you next. He sucks on your clit while he prepares your needy hole with his fingers; he wants to feel you come around them at least once before he gives you his cock.

Later that night, after he drank his fill of your slick and fucked you into the mattress so he could pump you full with his own release, neither of you are satisfied just yet. He slips between your shaky thighs once more and massages your clit with his tongue while he stuffs you full with three thick fingers. He licks up the bit of his cum that’s dribbled out of you, savoring your combined tastes on the tip of his tongue. He’ll make you come again while he traps his cum inside you, and he knows that soon you'll beg him to fill you up again even more.

BARBATOS

Barbatos kneels for no one else except for two: the demon prince he serves, and you. When Diavolo dismisses him from his duties, Barbatos heads to his room where he can’t wait to greet his other master, the one that claims his heart and body for their own.

You’re getting ready for bed when he enters his room and closes the door behind him. You sit on the edge of the mattress and rub your feet gingerly - it was a long day for both of you. He kneels before you and kisses the back of your hand with the slightest brush of his lips before he picks up your foot and massages the heel himself. You sigh softly as the pain and tension melts away. You tilt your head back and reveal the unmarked column of your throat to his greedy eyes. He’s hard and aching for you already, but there’s still so much more he wants to give you first.

He leans forward and kisses your knee before he starts peeling the layers of clothing off your lower half. You lift your hips when he asks, and he pulls your pants and underwear down together. You’re finally bare to him, and his eyes darken when he smells the hint of your delicious arousal.

He pulls your hips to him so that you’re nearly hanging off the edge of the mattress, but he rests your legs over his shoulders to balance you. You lean back on your hands when he starts mouthing against your folds, massaging the delicate skin with his lips and teasing your entrance with the tip of his tongue. The gloves he wears scratch pleasantly when he holds your hips in place, and he surprises you when he starts sucking on your clit with fervor. The pleasure is sharp and intense, and it doesn’t take long for the sensations to overwhelm you.

Your legs are shaking on his shoulders and you fall back on the mattress while your body jolts pleasantly from the aftershocks. He pauses to lick his lips, and his dark eyes stare into yours when you look down at him. He starts flicking at your clit again and you can hear the wet sounds of his mouth lapping at your release.

His mind is cloudy from your taste on his lips and your whimpers in his ears. You’re over-sensitive but he keeps your thighs spread and you can’t close them. He follows you when you try to move away, rising from the floor and kneeling on the bed so he can keep his mouth pressed against you. He drinks down your slick and teases your clit until you come again, so he knows you’re truly satisfied.

SIMEON

As soon as your back hits the mattress, Simeon kneels between your legs and rubs his nose against the seam of your pants where he can smell your arousal. It was only a few minutes ago when he had you sprawled in his lap on the sofa while he kissed you. He forced himself to get up and drag you to bed before he ripped your clothes to pieces and took you out in the open where anyone could walk in and see.

As much as it pains him to delay touching you even for a moment, the idea of someone else seeing you that way, naked and vulnerable and all his, infuriates him.

He walked you back to his bedroom slowly, cradling the back of your head while he kissed you. His other hand snaked into your underwear and teased the sensitive skin of your folds. You were already soaked, and he couldn’t stop moaning into the kisses he pressed against your mouth and along your jaw.

He wanted to bend you over the edge of his bed and sheathe his cock inside you, but when he tasted your creamy slick on his fingers, he had an even better idea.

His hands are shaking with desperate need when he tugs at your clothing until you're completely bare to him. The candlelight flickers gently and he watches light and shadow dance across your skin. He’s awestruck by how devastatingly beautiful you are. Your fingers scratch along his scalp and you pull gently at his hair because you’re just as needy as he is. His mouth is hovering over your mound, and his warm breath against your sensitive, exposed skin makes you shiver.

He doesn’t have the patience to be slow and gentle with you. His nose nudges against your clit while his tongue laps desperately against your hole, and he sucks greedily at the taste of your slick that coats his lips. He echoes your moans with his own, and as he gets even more drunk off your taste and the sounds you make for him, he mumbles his own desires against your skin. The words are lost when he presses himself even closer, like he can’t bear to leave any space between you. He moans your name when he kisses your clit, and the sensations of his lips vibrating against you are enough to send you hurtling towards oblivion.

Your thighs tighten around his head to hold him in place, as if he’d dare to pull away from you now. His tongue chases a fresh trail of slick leaking from your hole. He sucks at you greedily until you’re a shaking, whimpering mess and can’t possibly take anymore of his mouth’s unholy worship.

SOLOMON

Solomon hates to disappoint you. One moment you were strolling into his room and watching him work on his experiment with a curious eye. He told you he was busy, and before he knew it, your face twisted into a pout and you turned around and stormed away.

I’ll go see what Simeon is up to then, you muttered, assuming the sorcerer wouldn’t hear you.

But he did.

What happened next is lost in a jealous frenzy, triggered by the angel’s name leaving your soft, perfect lips.

He was around his desk in an instant, and he wrapped an arm around your waist so he could pull you against his chest. He walked backwards with you towards the desk, his free arm sweeping everything out of the way and sending it all crashing to the floor.

He lays you down on the rough wood and frantically tears at your clothes to reach your bare skin. He could use magic to vanish your clothes in an instant if he wanted to, but he knows you enjoy feeling his desperate hands roam your body as much as he enjoys touching you.

Solomon hikes up your skirt to your waist and pulls your underwear down your legs. He barely gives you time to react before he spreads your legs apart and dives down to mouth at your folds. You’re dripping for him, and the creamy slick pools on his tongue when he leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses from your hole to your clit. You cry out when he sucks on your clit with just the right amount of pressure; he knows what you like best, and if you’re so desperate for him, he’s going to oblige.

He reaches up over the curve of your belly and slides his hands under your shirt. You gasp when he cups your breasts and tweaks your nipples between his fingers. Your back arches from the overwhelming sensations of his hands and mouth on you.

You gasp at the sudden sensation of fullness, and when you glance down between your legs all you can see is the hazy blue glow of Solomon’s lust-darkened eyes. Whatever magic he’s using is imitating his fingers inside you, stretching your walls and teasing the soft, gummy spot inside you that makes your body quake. He can feel the ghostly sensation of your fluttering walls around his fingers even though he’s still touching your chest, and he feels almost out of control with lust for you.

The desk rattles and it creaks underneath your combined weight, but neither of you care. You chant his name, interspersed with breathy, high-pitched moans, and it creates a chorus with his own deep groans and bitten-off curses.

Your tug on his hair just hard enough to make him hiss, and he increases suction on your clit in playful retaliation. He's desperate to drive you over the edge so he can finally sink his cock into your hot, wet hole; he’ll prove that no one else can possibly satisfy you the way that he can.

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httpsserene · 6 months

Note

Heyy, i was wondering if you could do an Toto wolff x reader. I was thinking kitchen sex?? Like Toto getting turned on because he found out that reader was trying to make him his beloved pumpernickel bread for breakfast. I’ve been seeing tiktoks of Toto and his love for pumpernickel bread, and was just wondering if you could write abt it, though it’s TOTALLY ok if you don’t. Sorry if this was a little messy, this is my first time rqsting something. ♥️

𝐭𝐨𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐰/𝐭. 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟𝐟

📖𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: you make toto his favorite bread. he’s going to thank you for this surprise properly. 📖𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴: 18+ only. explicit. implied age gap. kitchen sex. rambling about bread. unprotected sex. vaginal sex. morning sex. reader and toto are married. beta-read. 📖𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2.2k words 📖𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: toto wolff x fem!black!reader 📖𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: oneshot. 📖𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗸: can't take my eyes off of you (i love you baby) • lauryn hill

𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲: can you tell i did way to much research on the types of pumpernickel bread? no, well, i don’t care 🙂 i WAS NOT familiar with toto wolff and pumpernickel bread so a quick youtube search opened my eyes to it and uh what can i say, this was born. ALSO: i feel like i’ve self-diagnosed myself; i am ashamed to admit that my kink might be somebody making me their wife…because why can’t i go one fic without making the reader be referenced to as a wife (m sorry i crave love). i honestly feel like it could be better, but y’know i hope i did your request justice (sorry it took me so long, ktober beat my ass). anon! i hope you see this, and i hope all the toto wolff lovers enjoy !!!

the yellow dish gloves on your hands protect your brown skin from most of the heat of the scalding tap water. the sound of your hums airily reverberate within the high ceilings of your open-plan kitchen as you clean the expensive dishes you’ve dirtied. you’ve taken off your wedding ring and placed it on top of your phone in the middle of the island to avoid any possibility of it falling down the drain or getting damaged.

you woke up a little after dawn, quickly shutting off your alarm to avoid waking up your husband; it’s the off season for him, you won’t wake him up at insane hours when he’s not needed to work. sneaking out of bed was a battle of its own—there were several close calls as you struggled to slip out of the tight hold of the austrian man. it took seven minutes for you to escape his warm embrace, but you made it through by thinking of the surprise you were going to cook up for Toto—or bake up for him. it’s no secret to anybody that the mercedes team principal loves pumpernickel bread, and that he’s very particular about how he likes it. of course, there’s no way you would be able to make the traditional german pumpernickel bread before he woke up—it takes fourteen hours to cook and it needs to rest for an entire day to allow it to form properly into its crunchy, cookie-like consistency. so, you decided to make the simplified recipe that only takes roughly an hour and a half to bake and prepare, while the original takes its time cooking. your husband will have to be happy with the more loaf-like treat until his preferred bread is ready. you’ve never been more thankful to have two ovens.

everything went well. both breads are prepped and baking away at their respective temperatures, and you’re carefully attempting to clean up the mess you’ve made in the process. you may not have been quiet enough based on the footsteps you hear heading your way. Toto pauses in the doorway and you smile, not needing to turn around to see the baffled expression on his face. you turn the faucet off and grab the cloth resting on the oven handle to dry your hands, “good morning, bär. slept well?” you teased gently with a small smile in Toto’s direction. you take an appraising glance of his form; he’s only wearing this pair of pajama pants covered in the mercedes logo (George gifted him those when the team did secret santa last year; Toto said he’d never wear them), leaving his toned torso exposed for your viewing pleasure, sleep lines from his pillow are still faint along his left cheek, and his hair is ruffled like he’s been running his hands through it. your husband nods half-heartedly, and blinks in confusion as he takes in the sight of you in the kitchen.

you're wearing one of his white button-up shirts—half of the buttons are fastened, the sleeves are rolled up and cuffed right above your elbow. you aren’t wearing a bra based on the way he can see how your nipples are pebbled through the shirt, and he assumes you’re only wearing underwear based on your bare legs. your feet are warmed by a pair of black, fuzzy house slippers, the bottom of the shirt rests along the middle of your thighs, and the collar is shifted to the side exposing your collarbone. your hair is free, allowed to rest however it wants to on this winter morning. he starts, making to finally enter the space of the kitchen and give you a proper morning greeting, but notices a smudge of flour along your jawline. and then he sees the baking utensils gathered in the sink, and a rich aroma starts to permeate the air. it smells slightly like coffee and slightly like dark chocolate—it’s sweet. then, it dawned on Toto, you’re baking pumpernickel bread. for him. his heart flutters; you usually sleep as late into the morning as possible, but today, you woke up at an insane hour just to make him his favorite bread from scratch. you’ve always teased him for how difficult he acts about his breakfast treat yet you sacrificed hours of sleep to please him. Toto’s mushy mindset is broken, as you cock your head at him, wondering why he hasn’t responded to you, and the collar of his your shirt shifts and falls to expose the top of your chest. mmm, yes, he should thank you properly.

you don’t even have time to register toto crossing the space between you, before your lips are interlocked in a passionate kiss. a shocked squeal is muffled against toto’s lips, as his large hands hold your waist steady, and your own hand flies up to hold his head. your other hand rises to tap at his chest frantically, as you begin to run out of air, and toto pulls away with an amused chuckle. dazedly, your hand on his chest pulls back to touch your lips, like you needed further verification that he just kissed you.

Toto smirks, “good morning, schatz.”

you nod unsteadily, “yes—g-good morning.”

your husband laughs louder at your stutter, and tugs you into his chest for a proper hug, rubbing at the nape of your neck with a heavy hand. the two of you stand tangled in the middle of the kitchen, uncaring of how many seconds fly by, and your eyes flutter shut at the relaxing motion of Toto’s massaging hands.

“i’m going to fuck you on the island, now, “ Toto informs you kindly.

you startle, pulling your head back to stare up at him with wide eyes. his gaze is serious, and you can’t help how your cheeks warm under his attention.

“well…” you murmur, “i’m not going to say no.”

from there, it’s all a rushed haze. you go from having two feet firmly planted on the tiled floor to being lifted and placed on the marble island as toto speeds through unbuttoning your collared shirt. you try to shrug it off, but Toto halts your motions firmly telling you to leave it on. you hum absently and pull him into a kiss. Toto moans into your mouth, and the sound has your hips bucking forwarding to grind against the bulge in his pants. his hands reaches for your left hip and assists you in grinding against him, and a sigh of pleasure parts your lips. the austrian eagerly slips his tongue into your mouth, and he tastes a bit of sugar from whatever you snacked on while making his bread. oddly, that causes more of his blood to rush south and he breaks the kiss to lean back and tug your panties off.

you simultaneously pull his pajama pants down, and squirm happily at the fact that he slept without boxers. Toto gently guides you to lie back on the countertop, and coos softly when you shiver from the cold surface; he’ll warm you up soon. he pulls your panties off from where they were dangling around your right ankle and drops them to the floor, kicking them to the side along with his pants. tugging you forward, your ass rests on the edge of the counter and he leans down to press kisses on your throat.

moaning highly, you crane your neck to expose its full length to his mercy. your right hand tangles in his hair to guide him exactly where you want, your left hand holds at his shoulder for support, with your nails digging into the meat of his muscles. Toto pauses, and pulls back to grab your left hand. a broken whine falls from your lips, and you buck your hips upward searching for friction, the slide of his cock along your folds feels delicious. his knees buckle at the sensation, and he forces your hips back down with his free hand, as he pulls your left hand in front of him to look at it.

“where’s your ring, liebling?” Toto asks, warm eyes focused on your bare ring finger. you laugh disbelievingly, amused and surprised at the fact that he managed to feel the absence of your wedding ring, and pull your hand out of his grasp smoothly. you reach behind you and pluck your ring from its spot on top of your phone, and slide it back on your finger. brandishing your ringed-hand in his eyeline, you impatiently try and buck your hips upward to no avail, his one-handed hold on you is unbreakable.

“okay! fuck me—now, please,” you demand desperately.

Toto hushes you, and holds your left hand steady. he stares into your eyes as he presses a kiss on the wedding ring he bestowed you with. your cheeks burn hot, and you roll your eyes as if your heart didn’t liquify at the show of devotion. your husband guides himself to your entrance, and pushes in carefully—thankful he fucked you open last night. you whimper softly, tender and sore, but you nod frantically to encourage Toto to push further in. he groans throatily as he bottoms out, throwing his head back in pleasure, and your moan harmonizes at the feeling of fullness. the stretch burns slightly, but you’re more focused on achieving an orgasm than the space he caves out in your walls.

you squeeze your knees around his waist, and grind up on him to encourage him to move. Toto grabs your left leg, bringing it to rest over his shoulder, while your right leg remains resting on his waist, both fuzzy slippers falling from your feet at the movement. it has him sliding slightly deeper inside you, and a spark of pleasure races up your spine. Toto begins to thrust, setting a quick pace from the get go. he fucked you open eight hours ago and the tightness of your cunt has him considering that he didn’t fuck you well enough. the bruises in the shape of his hands on your hips suggest differently. it’s ridiculous, how lost the two you get in each other’s bodies. your moans are punched out of you with every thrust, his cock dragging against your most pleasurable spot every time he sinks in you. Toto should be embarrassed at how quickly this is ending, but your sounds are too erotic for there to be any other outcome.

he lays his hand on your navel, gently adding pressure over where he’s reaching inside of you, while his thumb circles rapidly over your clit. your back arches sharply as you screech from the unexpected flare of pleasure, raking your nails down his back in thin red lines as you cum at the added stimulation. it’s a multitude of sensations and emotions that had you hurtling over the edge quicker than you thought possible, and Toto has no choice but to follow you into the abyss, unable to hold back his orgasm at the unbearably hot and wet grasp of your cunt. your husband rocks into you through the afterglow, pausing only when you start to whimper in too much, and not feeling good. staring up at toto with a blissed-out smile and half-lidded eyes, you sigh sweetly as he slips out and leans down to kiss you again. the press of his lips is syrupy sweet and you find yourself getting lost under the feeling of him pouring his love and devotion into you—even though you don’t need the reminder—and the timer you’ve set on your phone blares jarringly causing you and toto to jump apart, startled.

“what the fuck,” Toto deadpans as you scramble around to turn off the alarm.

you sigh in relief once the aggravating sound is silenced, and nudge at Toto’s hip with your foot, “well—don’t just stand there! get the bread out before it burns!”

the austrian huffs exaggeratedly, like it’s such a chore, and pulls on the oven mitts to take out the pumpernickel bread adaptation after you direct him to the proper oven, not wanting him to disturb the traditional bread baking. the sight of the known headphone-smashing, hothead mercedes team principal completely naked spare for a pair of oven mitts is amusing, enough that you can’t quiet your snort, uncaring of how Toto glares at you. he places the baking tin on the cooling rack you set to the side, and hums happily at the aroma—even though it’s a far cry from the usual bread he prefers. like the oaf he is, Toto reaches to pull a piece of the fresh pumpernickel to eat, but with lightning quick speed you reach over and slap his hand away before he defiles the bread.

“aht aht! what do you think you're doing? it needs at least forty-five minutes to cool before you can take a slice,” you scold the grown man.

Toto pouts (astounding, honestly), and then he brightens considerably, a sleazy smirk spreading across his lips, “ah? we have time for a second round then, maybe three…” you laugh hysterically, ignoring the way your stomach flips pleasingly at the suggestion, and slide off the counter, buttoning up your collared shirt, and you bend down to pick up the discarded pieces of clothing lying on the floor, “there’s no way you manage to get hard twice in forty-five minutes, old man–” Toto balks at your words–he’s really not old, or at least not that old, “–however, it’s enough time to finish washing the dishes you distracted me from doing.”

taglist: @saintslewi@cherry2stems@lorarri@inloveallthetime@mindless-rock@biancathecool@barnestatic @my-ylenia @katekipshidze @darleneslane @lovingaphroditesworld @smoothopz

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sluttywoozi · 7 months

Text

Kinktober Day 17: Spectrophilia + Woozi

For @moonwalker-witchgrrrl and Me 💖

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~1.6k

Pairing: Jihoon x Reader | Genre: smut

Warnings: voyeurism, exhibitionism, I make the rules so ghosts are corporeal during sex, the cowboy hat stays on during sex, f. masturbation, implied consent, big dick!jihoon, temperature difference, somnophilia mention, piv sex

Reader Notes: has breasts and a vagina, a tease

There’s a fucking ghost in your apartment, you swear to god.

Either that or you’ve become so forgetful you don’t even realize you’re forgetting things. Things like turning off faucets and closing cabinet doors and not leaving the oven on when you go to sleep. The first two, you could excuse, but you know you’re not responsible for the last one, both because you’d never do that to your electric bill and because you don’t want to die a fiery death.

You only grow more sure when you start to notice a chill in the air too. Your thermostat says one thing but your apartment feels another, and as you sit on your bed pulling on a sweater and a pair of socks, you curse the ghost inhabiting your home.

“Fucking freezing, why can’t you just go somewhere else, ugh,” you mutter to yourself, rubbing your hands together and swearing again when you realize you didn’t bring your gloves in the move.

“I would if I could, sweetheart.”

Letting out a bloodcurdling scream, you swivel in place, searching for the source of the sardonic voice. Your eyes land on various parts of your bedroom, finding nothing out of place or out of the ordinary, until they reach your doorway.

There stands a man, shirtless but dressed in a black blazer and jeans, with a cowboy hat atop his messy black hair. He sends you a fake smile, tips his hat sarcastically, and disappears before you can even blink.

Huh.

The ghost is kinda… hot, if you’re being honest with yourself. He’s not incredibly tall but he’s broad as hell, with defined abs and big, long-fingered hands, and you’re not sure why he’s dressed like he was but it’s working for him.

You know you should be scared, should feel like running far, far away from here, but you sort of want to put on a little show instead. He’s probably gotten plenty if he’s been here since you moved in, but this time, it’ll be with your knowledge.

“Have you been watching me?” You ask, scooting back on the bed and laying yourself down before tugging the sweater and your shirt up to your collarbones to expose your breasts. Your nipples pebble in the cold air and you cover them with your hands, squeezing the soft flesh and sighing.

“Not much else to do. You don’t have a TV.”

You gasp, looking over to the corner of the room the voice came from and finding the same man leaning against the wall with half-lidded eyes and his thumbs hooked in his pockets.

“So you’ve seen all this before?” You trail your hands down your sternum and over your stomach, pushing at your leggings and underwear and jumping when he disappears and pops back up at the end of your bed.

“I’ve seen but I haven’t looked,” he responds, leaning down and bracing himself on your comforter to watch as you kick your way out of your leggings.

“Wanna look now?” You flirt, smiling sweetly and batting your eyelashes while you slowly spread your legs. His mouth flattens into a thin line, his eyes growing dark and desirous when they set on the space between your thighs.

“Why?”

“Because you’re cute and I’m lonely,” you answer honestly, not seeing any reason to lie to a ghost.

“Aren’t you scared of me?”

“Should I be? I mean, you’re wearing a cowboy hat and no shirt.”

Giggling softly, you drag your fingers from your entrance to your clit, smearing your wetness around to ease your movements. He contemplates for a moment, staring at you all the while, before nodding with finality and climbing on the bed, settling on his stomach between your legs.

He’s a bit too close for comfort but you suppose he should have a front row seat for the show you’re giving him, plus it’s not like you mind having all of his focus and attention on you.

“What’s your name?” You ask as you dip a finger inside, quickly adding another when you notice him biting his lip at the sight.

“Jihoon,” he says distractedly, his voice muted and short.

“Nice to meet you, Jihoon. Aren’t you going to ask my name?”

“I already know it, I read your mail.”

“Nosy Jihoon!” You tease, sucking in a breath as you curl your fingers and search for your g-spot.

“Like I said, you don’t have a TV,” he responds in what you think might be a joke, and you would laugh but you’re too busy moaning, two fingers of one hand prodding the rough patch inside of you and two fingers of the other rubbing circles into your throbbing clit.

“Want me to get one?” You offer once you catch your breath, watching as he pushes his hips into the bed and furrows his brows. You wonder if that feels good, if he can feel pleasure, and decide you’re going to find out one way or another.

“Don’t need one if I can watch you like this,” he smirks as he eyes you up and down, lingering on your heaving breasts and landing between your spread legs. His tongue traces his bottom lip as he stares, making you wish you could feel them, feel his lips and tongue savoring you, marking you, learning you.

Does Jihoon want that too? Does he wish he could touch you and taste you and feel you?

“Of course I do. How could I not? You’re too fucking tempting.”

You didn’t mean to speak out loud, but you’re glad you did. He almost sounds annoyed at the fact that he wants you, which makes you grin a satisfied little grin and fuck yourself harder, sliding a third finger inside and sighing at the stretch.

He swears under his breath, thoughtlessly pushing himself up with a hand on your thigh and not even noticing that he actually makes contact. You notice though, feel the icy pressure of him immediately, both of your hands flying away from your pussy as you reach for him.

You feel the silk of his suit jacket under your palms before your hands slide up to his neck, the softness of his freezing skin shocking. He realizes soon enough, his eyes growing wide and his mouth dropping open as he sinks his fingers into the meat of your thigh and takes hold of your wrist with his free hand.

Your fingers are still wet and he furrows his brows, tugs your hand away from his face, and sucks them into his mouth, immediately groaning at the taste of you.

This changes everything, and you both know it.

There’s no need for discussion. You move in unison, Jihoon sitting up on his knees and heaving you into his lap as you wrap your legs around his waist, his clothes vanishing into thin air though his cowboy hat remains. You’re still stretched open from your fingers and the head of his cock slips in easily, but he’s long and thick as hell so the rest of the way is almost a struggle.

You take it like you love it though, because you do, you love how he fills you up, how he spreads you out, how you can feel him in your throat as he roots himself deep inside. His dick is cold like the rest of him and it’s not a sensation you’re used to but it’s not one you dislike either. If anything, it makes you feel hotter, the stark difference between the wet warmth of your pussy and the icy hardness of his cock enough to steal your breath.

You’re wet enough that he glides as he starts to fuck you, his fat dick pushing through the tightness of your walls to reach the end of your fluttering cunt. He’s making the hottest little punched out noises every time he bottoms out, his big hands tight on your hips and his eyes hooded as he stares down at you.

You wonder how long it’s been for him, if he died recently or years ago. Either way, he’s taking you like it’s been an eternity, pumping deep inside and lingering when the head of his cock kisses your cervix as if he doesn’t want to leave.

You don’t want him to leave either, your legs tightening around his waist as he draws his hips back, a happy moan leaving you when he snaps them forward, stuffing you full of his dick again and again and again.

You’re not ready for this to end but you’re already nearing the edge, your heartbeat in your pussy as his cock drags in and out of your squeezing walls. Jihoon seems like he could go on forever, making you wonder if ghosts have a refractory period. If not, you plan to take full advantage as many times as Jihoon allows.

You want his cock every morning and every night, want him to fuck you more ways than you can count. You want him to take you in your sleep and in the shower and on all the surfaces in your apartment. You want to sit on his dick like it’s a chair, feel him filling you up as you eat your dinner and read your books and knit your sweaters.

You want to have him all the time, and by the proud, lustful smirk stretching his lips, he knows it.

Maybe you should be embarrassed, but you find you couldn’t care less.

You’re already fucking a ghost, you might as well commit to it.

AN: yesterday i was in the middle of writing something super angsty and sad for this when i realized i wouldn't be able to finish it in time so i wrote something fun and horny instead!! yall may still get the angsty version tho so be warned

Kinktober Masterlist

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junicult · 7 months

Text

!! the bachelors as fathers

contains ; sfw! sooo much fluff. fem!farmer. unnamed child. established relationships — marriage. your child is implied to be around kindergarten age. men that are good w kids hehehe. not proofread / slightly rushed in some parts. i’ll edit it later LOL.

note ; i get asks on this topic at least twice a week. i’m finally caving. here’s my birthday gift to you <3

harvey.

- he was honestly made to be a father.

- despite his taller stature, there was something about him that felt so comforting.

- if a child had walked up to him all alone, sobbing with snot down their nose, he didn’t hesitate to kneel and help them find their parent.

- soothing them, grabbing their hand and asking questions to calm them down.

- no, it wasn’t a daily occurrence but it’s definitely happened to him a couple times. and each and every time he was able to help them relax, and easily reunited them with whomever their guardian was.

- he’s good with kids. always has been.

- he probably even had a babysitting job every now and then when he was younger.

- there’s was no doubt in his mind that he wanted to have his own when he grew up. and when you just so happened to stumble into his life, marrying him with the same ideals…well.

- you obviously knew he wanted kids before you got married.

- and when you realized you wanted him to be the father of your child; was another one of those instances where you got to see just how good he was with them.

- hearing how sweet he’s always been to vincent during his doctor visits, especially when the boy was younger.

- he’s a girl dad. say what you will, but he is.

- he’ll sit at the unbelievably tiny table, cramped in the tiny chair with his knees up to his chest while he tips back the empty teacup and his pinky in the air.

- he’ll even wear the tiara.

- zero complaints.

- you and his daughter would literally be the most important things in the entire world to him. he’d do anything for you two.

- like…ugh. oh my god.

- sometimes you’d come home late, and you’d walk down the hall to hear his gentle voice animatedly in your daughters dark bedroom.

- and you’d peek in, and there he was sitting at the end of her bed, quietly reading while she sleepily listens all tucked in.

- or even times when you’d wake up in the middle of the night to an empty bed, confused.

- so you’d walk out to go find him, having no clue where the hell he was so you check your daughters bedroom,

- and well, there he is. long ass limbs tucked and haphazardly strewn about to make room for your daughter who lays next to him sleeping peacefully in her toddler bed.

- he’s not asleep (obviously), but he lays with his eyes closed until you gently creak the floorboard.

- “she had a nightmare.” is all he says, and it’s enough to make you smile.

- even though he’s already so health conscious…it only grows after you have a child.

- “did you brush your teeth? make sure to get the gums.” “a balanced breakfast is the perfect way to start the day!” he sounds like a elementary classroom poster.

- the minute someone in the house sniffles…he’s checking everyone’s temperature.

- during the winter, he’s at the door wrapping your daughter in multiple puffy coats, scarves, earmuffs, gloves, before letting her step outside.

- you’re not off the hook either, but you never bundle up the way he wishes you would.

- “why doesn’t mommy have to wear this?” she pouts while he’s helping her in her thick boots.

- “why don’t you ask her that?😊” (he’s instigating.)

- i’m telling you, girl dad.

sam.

- his own kids weren’t on his radar when you guys first started dating.

- but he’s always liked them. especially when vincent was born.

- he was that lowkey irresponsible but very responsible older brother.

- like, he’d be in his teens telling his very impressionable younger brother to say bad words and then would act shocked when he got in trouble for saying them.

- but when it came to being the oldest man in the house while their dad was away, he really showed maturity in helping jodi and being there for them.

- and while you both established a committed relationship, that one day you’d want to be married and have kids—he idealized it a bit more.

- but then again, it was still one of those things you both needed to really think and talk about before you even acted on it, especially since you got married young.

- lol i feel like jodi or marnie forced u guys to watch jas and vincent for a weekend once.

- and after how well it went, that was kinda when it clicked that you guys were ready.

- he’s both a girl dad and a boy dad.

- he’d literally jump for joy for either outcomes. he was just excited to finally be a dad after years of daydreaming of it.

- as much as i don’t wanna say it, i still feel like he’d be much better at the fun stuff then the parenting stuff.

- i just think it’s bc he thinks with his heart more then his head, and when his child is sad and pouting, he’s too sympathetic to hold his ground.

- he wouldn’t leave it all for you to do, but he’d definitely be worse at scolding if you aren’t by his side.

- like, she colored all over the walls or something. his initial reaction would be to freak out and find a way to clean it before you’d find out (he doesn’t wanna add more work to your busy day), but then he’d scold.

- “no, don’t do that. wall, bad. paper, good. understand? nod if you understand,” …well he’s trying.

- then you’d come home to see him scrubbing the walls while your child blissfully doodles in her coloring book on the floor beside him.

- if he had a son, he’d have a little bit of practice from those few years where he babysat vince.

- lol, there’s a lot of features your son would inherit between the two of you.

- but personality wise…your son is definitely a mini-sam.

- and imagine one day, it’s the early stages of spring so sam’s typical allergies start to act up.

- you’ve always known how to handle him when he gets really sick. but picture your red-nosed, leaky-eyed husband standing behind you while you rummage through the medicine cabinet,

- and all of a sudden you hear a familiar sniffle from down the hall.

- you just freeze, slowly turning to face sam who’s making the same face that you are. until he starts to laugh.

- yeah. so now here you are, both of your boys snuggled in bed with the same sickly look, mumbling about how grateful they are that you’re there to care for them.

- and here’s the thing. if your son is sam’s mini-me…then i can assure you you’re stuck with two of the clingiest boys by your side.

shane.

- he never really thought he’d get a loving, happy family of his own.

- but he definitely daydreamed of it in times when he really just wanted an escape.

- he was always the best with jas.

- he doesn’t necessarily treat her like his daughter. but it’s not like she gives him any reason to.

- he doesn’t treat her like a child, per say. just kind of like another person. probably bc of their trauma bond lol

- he cares for her like an older brother cares for his little sister.

- so even though he has jas in his life, someone he cares for so strongly, he still doesn’t think of himself as being a good father.

- when he met you though, and you were so reassuring and sweet, that thought definitely changed.

- it went from him seeing a life alone, to pondering a family of his own.

- when he finally had the motivation to clean himself up, it approached a couple years since he’s been sober and it was definitely in the forefront of his mind to start a family with you.

- i also think of him as a girl dad. i can’t picture him as a boy dad at all not even gonna lie 😭

- like he’d be the kind of dad that would dress as the supporting character in your daughter’s favorite movie for halloween (spirits eve wtvr)

- also the kind of dad that’d join in on tea parties as well, just with the most plain look on his face despite him not minding being there.

- also…let me tell you there would be a whole inside joke swear jar thing in ur house.

- when your daughter was old enough to decipher what words were “good” and “bad,” the swear jar became very important.

- i think it started when you were pregnant.

- “ah fuck, i think i cooked this wrong. damnit.” he’d mumble.

- “we should probably stop saying those before the baby comes.” you hum, and he looks at you all confused.

- “saying what?” bc they’re in his daily vocabulary to the point where he forgets they’re “inappropriate.”

- so there came the swear jar. and every now and then it’d be a little inside joke when he swore, you’d look at him like, “drop a dollar in the jar😁”

- and when you’d say one, he was so petty matching your exact tone and smile.

- your daughter just grew up with it. it became an even bigger inside joke when you were all sitting at the kitchen table one night, he leans in to take a bite of food and, “shit! that’s hot.”

- before you even said anything your daughter smiles exactly like you would, “that’s a dollar in the swear jar, daddy.”

- ur both STUNNED. and also very proud in a sense.

- you just burst out laughing while he tries to think of a counter, but really, he’s too amused to even say anything back (thus drops a dollar in the jar!)

- 😓😓he’d be the sweetest when it came to his daughter all sad about something.

- no matter what it was. even if she as much as scrapes her knee, he would be so affectionate.

- he’s not the “walk it off” kind of dad.

- if she came to him sobbing, he’d immediately calm her down by picking her up and propping her on the couch, searching for the stuff you use for wounds in the cabinets.

- “it’s okay, you’re okay. it was just a little scrape, you won’t even feel it tomorrow.”

- and he’s wiping her tears, pressing a kiss to her forehead before going into the freezer and getting her ice cream (before dinner😨) saying, “don’t tell mommy, okay?”

- although you try finish up work early enough to tuck your daughter in bed, sometimes you end up running late.

- so uh…shane sometimes forgets to put her to bed, and of course she’s not gonna say anything!!! bedtime is a child’s worst nightmare!

- and usually when that happens, you’d end up coming home to the sight of the two of them, knocked out sharing the same blanket on the couch, cuddled up together while the tv’s still on.

- and when that happens, well, you find it a little hard to take that sight away.

sebastian.

- girl dad. sorry i just had to start with it.

- maybe i could see him with a son, but honestly…no i can’t.

- but i’m not gonna lie to you,

- for a while i feel like he didn’t want kids. not really at least.

- he’d think about them and it was always a nice idea, until he really thought about it and all the mess that babies come with lol.

- plus at the point in his life when you two met, he just wasn’t ready. for a while at least.

- when you talked about it, the topic of children was only on the table. you knew you wanted them, just not yet.

- it took a good handful of years before you actively started trying.

- even though he was prepared during your pregnancy, i feel like it didn’t hit him he was a father until after ur baby was born.

- he fell in love. swear.

- like…that tiny, wrinkly little lump was his. he helped make that. and not only was it his but it was also the woman he loves’.

- it took him a while to get into the system of it all when it came to caring for the baby. i’m talking changing diapers, feeding, burping, things like that.

- but when he was left alone with her, he was kinda in his own little world. he could hold her all day and never get tired.

- and that was a concept so crazy to him bc he didn’t get that kind of love from a father growing up.

- which is exactly why i feel like he’d actually be such a great dad.

- he could be stern when he needed to be, but never strict.

- “eat your greens,” kinda dad LMAO. especially if you were the one to make them.

- when she’d come up to him with the messiest doodle of your little family on a piece of paper, he’d think of it as a masterpiece.

- he’s not very expressive tho LOL like he’d look at the drawing and only smile, a little “thank you,” in a sweet tone.

- that’s just how he is lol. on the inside he’s sobbing.

- it would always end up on the fridge.

- he spends a lot of time at home.

- which results in a lot of time he spends with your daughter, even while he’s doing his own thing on his computer working.

- but nearly every day he was greeted with a, “daddy, can we go somewhere? what’s mommy doing?” and depending on where you were, he’d help get her shoes on and take her out on a walk to go find you.

- she got her outdoorsy side from you, that’s for sure. but because she needs a guardian, he’s gotten much more used to being outside.

- it was often you’d be working on your crops outside, wiping sweat from your forehead & turn around to your daughter eagerly wanting to help.

- now, this is not to say that your relationship w sebastian was poor before you had your daughter, i’m not saying that at all,

- but because of her adventurous personality, and clinginess to the both of you—your bond grew even more.

- “she wanted to see you.” he’d sheepishly smile, leaning to press a kiss to your forehead while you both turn and watch her feed the chickens.

- “didn’t you have that website to finish?”

- “…okay i wanted to see you too.”

alex.

- absolutely wanted a family. holy shit there’s zero doubt in my mind.

- he’s kinda wanted a more traditional household, probably based on the ideals he grew up with.

- but he absolutely didn’t mind you being the breadwinner. he honestly enjoyed it much more.

- he’d spend hours daydreaming about living on the farm with you. carrying one child on his shoulders and holding the other’s hand while guiding them around the town’s fair.

- and lowkey, i feel like one of his favorite topics of conversation was discussing how your children would be raised lol

- talking in bed at night like, “i think our son would be a gridball fan. maybe even grow up to be a player himself.” while he sighs longingly.

- which also ties into me believe he’s a boy dad. you know he is.

- i definitely feel like he’d have a boy and a girl. it’s his dream.

- he’d be fine with two boys or two girls but when he daydreamed about his future, it was always you, your son & your daughter.

- it’s just once again the traditional picture of a household and even though i don’t really think he’s that old fashioned after he met you, i still believe he’d want 2 kids.

- he would seriously daydream it all the time. the months of your pregnancy, when you found out it was a boy he really saw his future fitting like a puzzle piece.

- after a couple years, your son (who may i add was literally his mini-me) got a bit older, you both discussed it was time for another.

- and when you found out it was a girl…god. i definitely think he cried, disagree all you want.

- he’s such a caring dad. i believe he wants the best for his children, and he knows what it was like to be neglected so i can never imagine him being like that.

- first of all, you already know every single day of the summer he’s bringing them down to the beach.

- packing a bag, (that takes him halfway through the day before he realized he forgot towels) propping up beach chairs & an umbrella for shade.

- he’s never opposed to a good sand castle. especially when he remembers to bring the little molds that help with the foundation.

- kneels in the shallow end, standing close to his kids when they want to swim.

- and he’s always a fan of recapping it with you at the end of the day.

- “tell mommy what you found at the beach,” he ushers, bouncing your daughter on his hip while your son eagerly begins.

- i feel like after having children, not only is he a good dad, but he becomes an even better husband to you.

- he just loves how hard you work for him and your family, so you can bet on mother’s day, or your birthday, he’ll be all about making it special for you.

- all of them wake up earlier then you, making breakfast (well, watching him make breakfast) before they put it all on a plate and deliver it to you in bed.

- ur the kind of parents that other parents are jealous of, y’know?

- he’s just so in love with you, and the kids you made. it makes him love you even more.

elliott.

- he’s always wanted kids. he would find himself daydreaming, even when he was in his early twenties, about one day raising a child with the person he loves.

- when he met you was the start of his writing career.

- at that point, it was a little underwhelming, which was the perfect opportunity to get start a relationship with you.

- you were both fairly busy, but the thing about his job was he could lounge in your cottage while you were off working,

- and when you were able to spare a few minutes, you could stop in and see him.

- while your relationship progressed, you began the discussion of getting married and having children one day.

- it just so happened to be right when his career was taking off when you finally settled into your lives together.

- which postponed trying for a little while, but eventually you were able to.

- lol, i’m gonna say it;

- without a DOUBT a girl dad.

- oh my god he would daydream of having a little you running around, tuft red hair with your sweet smile.

- and with how melodramatic he is, imagine that projected onto your daughter LMAO.

- if you couldn’t find him in his typical writing room sometimes, all u had to do was walk to your daughters room where he propped up his own little desk.

- just so he could be near her.

- he also is just entranced at all times, he loves holding her, just looking at her.

- he’s extremely helpful.

- for the most part, he was always immediate to react if your newborn needed something. the second she’s cry, he was up on his feet telling you to stay put.

- he’s just very understanding with how busy you are, and he never minded spending more time with his daughter.

- if it was the middle of the night, and she needed something, he’d always shake his head to you pushing off your blankets, whispering, “i got it, my love. go back to sleep, i’m sure she’s fine.”

- especially on days where he knows you’re particularly stressed, he’s not letting you lift a finger.

- anyways, it carried on when your daughter got older, too.

- she’d walk in all, “mommy, i threw up,” & he was on his feet to help before you even registered what happened.

- he’s just always been fantastic help.

- one of his favorite things to do is read to her.

- similar to harvey, except ten times more.

- he’s acting out each part, using different voices for different characters, making a grand show of it all just to hear his daughter giggle.

- it’s become a habit every night, and since you’re typically busy most evenings, it’s often you’ll come in to find him mid-storytelling.

- even if you intend on reading to her, you always end up stopping to let him finish. he’s so entertaining with it that even you’re interested in this plot line for 2 year olds.

- he’ll never skip this routine.

- and when he kisses her goodnight, he tucks her in, pushes her hair from her forehead and bends down to plant a soft kiss.

- “goodnight, sweetheart. sweet dreams.” he always says.

- he’s gentle with you, he’s even gentler with her.

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wonuvs · 1 month

Text

⊹ ׂ wjh — boobjob virgin

pairing. jun x afab!reader tags. established new relationship, reader is wearing a bikini, reader is implied to have big boobs, reader is referred to as girl, boob worship, first time tittyfucking & just so dirty omg, smut. wc. 2k

note. if u saw me post this twice... no u didn't.

as soon as jun's eyes laid on you showing off your latest purchase, he had to physically swallow down a moan because oh my god he could swear you just popped out of a wet dream of his.

the bikini he bought for you while out and about in the city the previous evening fit you like a glove. its design was simple, but fuck if the sight of you in it, of your stunning tits being held up by thin straps, of such little, tiny pieces of fabric covering your nipples and pussy, both of which he considered to be his personal heaven on earth, didn't turn him on.

and you, catching his eyes lingering a tad too long on your boobs (and knowing how whipped he was for them), teasingly shook your top half, making them jiggle and him groan at the sight, a noticeable blush on his cheeks and neck and chest spreading, highlighted by the 7 am tropical sun rays flooding your room.

he licked his dry lips as his eyes burned every inch of your body into his brain, and a dreamy sigh left you. he looked ethereal, exquisite, so devourable with his sunscreen covered skin glistening under the warm light, you wished the rest of your friends weren't already up and running around your rented holiday house, ready to head out in around 30 minutes to secure good spots on the nearby beach, because his confident demeanour and hungry eyes eating you up from afar made you all but want to suck his cock dry, and 30 minutes weren't nearly enough for that to happen—he always came so so much.

warmth started to pool in your lower stomach and between your thighs when you noticed a slight movement under his swimming trunks, and you grinned, almost innocently as you walked towards the foot of your bed until you stood in front of him, in between his manspread legs, in all of your glory, flaunting your divine, perfect body.

placing your hands on his broad shoulders and a knee on the bed, you asked, “so? what do you think? you like?” the sultry tone in your voice didn't go unnoticed by him—on the contrary, it only caused his already stiff dick to harden even more.

your fingers moved to rest on the back of his neck, nails lightly scraping his skin, and you simpered at the chocked, “yeah...” he let out before his hands went to your bare asscheeks, softly fondling them as his wide eyes stared at the way your barely covered boobs jumped and moved with your every breath and word, right in front of his face. “so so gorgeous, baby...”

he didn't even realise drool had gathered at the corner of his mouth until you wiped it off with your thumb—but could you really blame him? you were hot as fuck, your tits were in his face and you were talking to him with that sweet, honey-dripped voice of yours; if anything, you deserved to know how much he wanted you.

so, with a grin and no hesitation, he pulled you closer so he could nuzzle his face in between your full tits, moaning your name when you pressed his head to your chest, the smell of your perfume mixed with sunscreen going straight to his head and making him dizzy. “god, so perfect–”

and though he'd sucked on your tits plenty of times since you started dating months ago, his tongue was still as frantic as the first time—and you fucking loved it. it was quick to lap and bite at your skin, dampening the valley between your breasts, covering the whole area with kisses and love bites before one of his hands left your ass to cup your boob. “jun—” you suspired, and he looked up at you as his warm, familiar palm made contact with your barely covered, hard nipple, and you licked your lips, your fingers running through his brown hair.

you watched as his red lips trailed over your soft mound, as his warm hand squeezed, groped it before swiftly pulling to the side the fabric covering it. a desperate whimper left him when your boob bounced at the loss of support, and you could feel his dick brushing against your thigh jerk, causing your slick cunt to clench around nothing, and to remember how deliciously heavy his cock always felt on your tongue... and shit, you needed him in your mouth—and you needed him right now. fuck it if you had less than half an hour to do that.

tugging at his hair as his fingers fondled your curves, your body impatiently thrust itself against his face, making him snicker and bite down on the softness of your tit. you whimpered, not so subtly rubbing your knee against his crotch, making his tip drool through his swim trunks and your boyfriend hiss and lick and suck harder on your skin.

“hah—junnie?” you moaned, and he hummed, looking up at you, mouth latched to your exposed nipple, soaking it with his spit. you gushed at the way his big eyes stared into yours, at the way his tongue circled your areola as he waited for you to continue, both of his hands played with the softness of your mounds—and all you could imagine at that moment was how his cock would feel in between them, what it would be like to jerk him off with them, and you whined at the mental image.

“please, junnie! let me- let me�� fuck-” you could barely speak from how turned on you were, so you just quickly trailed your fingers down his cheek and neck and chest until you reached the waistband of his trunks, at which you immediately started tugging as you got on your knees in between his thighs. you couldn’t wait anymore.

it wasn't long before his swimwear laid somewhere on the floor and your whole body was on fire, core pulsing and panties uncomfortably sticking to your cunt as his big, wide eyes watched as you fisted his cock, pumping him a couple of times before gathering most of his precum and, with no hesitation, spread it in between your boobs, looking him straight into the eyes, moaning out a pleading, “please please please let me fuck you with my tits. please, junnie!”

it's a miracle he didn't straight up just cum on the spot.

gulping, his eyes roamed all over your pouty face, glossy pupils, and hands squeezing and toying with your boobs, and the butterflies in his stomach went crazy—because oh my god you were about to give him a fucking boobjob, and looked like you would cry if he said no.

jun grunted, tongue swiping his bottom lip as his hands lunged forward to press your tits together in front of his leaking cock, thumbs rubbing your stiff nipples, fiery eyes staring you up and down, breath staggering at the low, needy, breathy moans you let out. sliding closer to the edge of the bed and fisting his dick once more, you brought it to rub against your nipples, and you could swear you saw his soul leave his body for a moment—and it made you feel so sexy and hot and wanted the knot in your lower stomach started tightening. he groaned all of a sudden, “fuckin’ go ahead then-”

while chewing on your bottom lip, you rested your hands over his much bigger ones and sat up straight so you could envelop, completely cover his throbbing, red, angry cock with your boobs—and he was so fucking glad he'd forced his eyes to stay open, because the sight of you pressing your tits together around his leaking length, of your mouth letting out short, laboured breaths, of your tongue darting out to lick his peeking head, of your eyes rolling back at his taste, was one in a million.

“good girl... hah— makin' me feel s-so good–” he managed to stutter out, his hands groping and squishing your boobs as you moved them up and down his length, their warmth and your breathless moans causing his mind to go completely blank. you looked up at him through your lashes, and he groaned, mouth hung open, forehead and chest damp with sweat, cheeks red, muscles flexing, heart threatening to jump out of his chest as his eyes stayed trained on you—you and the way you let a dribble of spit land on his tip to slicken him up just to lap at it the next second, the way the sounds of your tits fucking him became dirtier, louder, more sinful as more of his precum progressively coated his entire cock and your chest, now glistening under the sun rays, as you repeated through clenched teeth the most perverted of words he'd ever heard you utter.

his hips started stuttering, jerking forward as you brought him closer to his high, and a satisfied smile popped on your face, knowing how good you were making him feel.

“hah- yes, fuck— keep...” he blabbered, more of his cum drooling out of his cockhead, “keep, keep— shit, b-baby... squeezing me s' good-”

you grinned, proud and happy waves going through you with his every sound of approval, “yeah? makin' you feel good, junnie?” you inquired, speeding up your ministrations, aiding yourself by gently jumping up and down in your spot, the sight of it causing jun's eyes to roll back.

“mhm-- yes— it's... such a good girl, my g-god—” a high-pitched whimper left his puffy lips when you squeezed him right at the base, making his head fall back. you could feel his length start to throb and jump erratically, his gradually whiner voice repeating your name over and over, so you picked up your pace, now fucking his poor, spewing with precum cock ruthlessly while feeling as if you were about to cum as well, even if untouched, and who could ever blame you? you had the prettiest boy's dick in between your tits, making him moan and look at you with such a fucked out expression, making him drool and his abs clench and his toes curl and his length throb, about to release.

“'boutta cum, huh?” you asked, core quivering when his teary eyes locked with yours before he nodded, licking his dry lips as he stared at you swipe your tongue over the head of his cock, “let go then. cum all over me, junnie— know you want to see my... ah– my tits all white with your cum... please, give it to me- wan' it—”

you barely had the time to finish begging before he squeezed his pretty, pretty eyes shut and he whined your name while hot, white ropes of cum spurt out of him, painting your boobs and chest and neck with his release.

happily helping him through his high as moans of your own reverberated in him, you looked up at him, and saw him panting, eyes glossy, sweat dripping down his face while soft trembles, spasms of pleasure visibly ran through his veins, and you grinned wider, satisfied, knowing you'd reduced him like that.

dropping the hold on your tits when his body finally calmed down, you watched with amusement his mouth open and close repeatedly, his eyes jumping between your eyes and lips, and you giggled at his next, breathless words, “gonna marry you, my god, you’re fuckin’ unreal-”

“YAH! YOU TWO! STOP FUCKING AND COME OUT IN THE LIVING ROOM IN THE NEXT 10 MINUTES UNLESS Y'ALL WANNA PAY FOR EVERYONE'S DINNER TONIGHT!”

oh. right. the others. you'd completely forgotten about them.

“GOT IT! BE OUT IN 10!” you yelled before pulling yourself back up, but now on wobbly legs and aching knees, both of which made you whine.

and he pouted at that, eyes traveling down to your drenched panties and inner thighs, and next thing you knew, your lips were locked into a passionate, mind-blowing kiss as he swiftly untied your now-ruined swimsuit, letting it drop on the floor while before being dragged inside of your en suite bathroom, then into the shower.

quickly crouching in front of you and throwing your legs over his broad shoulders, holding you up by your butt, he turned on the shower head, and the warmth of his breath hitting your core, of his puffy lips latching to your cunt made your hips jolt, your pussy grind against his face, causing your both to moan and you to tangle your fingers in his messy, wet hair, “b-but... jun, hah- we need...”

“just think about cumming on my face, yeah? 10 minutes is plenty of time. just focus on my tongue and let go.”

taglist: @c-hanniehae

#svt smut #seventeen smut #junhui smut #jun smut #svt hard thoughts #svt hard hours #seventeen hard thoughts #seventeen hard hours #kpop smut #wen junhui smut

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becauseicantthinkwritings · 2 months

Text

Teeth

Part 20!

Masterlist

Warnings: Angst (god, I'm so sorry), discussions of stalking, mentions of nightmares, kissing, sex dreams, more angst, Billy's sad childhood.

In the early hours of Saturday morning, Dinah knocks on his front door.

He knows it's her, he can almost smell her impatience.

You haven’t woken up yet, and Billy really wants to let you sleep. You’d had another nightmare- he’d heard the moment you woken with a sharp gasp last night. He’d waited, waited patiently to see if you’d come to him, if you’d ask to crawl into bed beside him. He’d listened to your footsteps as you’d made a cup of jasmine tea.

He’d wanted to go to you, but he didn’t want to make it seem as if he was… monitoring you.

Lying on his side, he’d listened to you sigh, making sure you were okay, using his keen sense of hearing to listen to your racing heart.

He wasn’t too sure what to do. How did he reassure you that he wanted to be with you, that your entire relationship was built on something stronger than pity?

Perhaps, he could encourage you to seek out therapy, help you through your erroneous thoughts and make you see reason.

He shuddered at the reminder of therapists, and his failed relationship with a certain one in particular.

He’d listened to you have your tea and go back to bed, then he’d listened to you toss and turn and make little sounds of irritation that made the beast inside of him alert, tugging at him to go to you, to lie beside you, soothe you into sleep.

He thought about how you’d feel in his arms, the way he’d bury his nose in your hair and wrap his body around yours, a smile pulling onto his face the more he thought about it.

Then, he’d remembered what you’d said, that you might just take his actions as pity, and not the movements of a man utterly and hopelessly obsessed.

In a way, he sort of understood the insanity that being deprived of you could cause, shaking his head as he fell asleep, knowing exactly how unhinged his thoughts sounded.

Billy pulls open the door, wearing only the grey sweats he’d fallen asleep in, rubbing at one eye with the base of his palm.

“Madani.” He greets grumpily, the first peek of sunlight just starting to light up the street behind her.

She looks unbothered by his prickly greeting, in her red shirt and sensible work pants, a coat thrown over the ensemble to shelter her from the chill of the oncoming winter season. Billy steps to the side to let her in, the glint of her badge on her hip when she moves.

“You got coffee?” Dinah asks, eyes scanning the area, most likely looking for changes in his home. It had been years since she’d set foot in his place.

“Upstairs.” He answers, and she nods, pulling her gloves and coat off, hanging it on the little hanger near the door.

He leaves her in the kitchen for a moment so that he can grab a shirt, not wanting to be exposed to her for longer than necessary.

She’s sifting through his collection of coffees when he finds her again.

“So, how is she?” Dinah asks, not looking up. He watches her open a bag, take a small whiff and shakes her head. Billy studies her for a moment, gathering his thoughts, making sure to keep himself calm, stoic. He’d already had an idea of where this conversation was headed, and he didn’t want Dinah prying too much.

He clears his throat.

“She’s alright- yeah- shaken, which is understandable, but she’s a fighter.”

“I know, I saw her background. Hell of a girl.” Dinah says, raising her head with a light smile that suggested she knew something that he didn’t.

“What are you implying?”

Dinah makes a sound of amusement, selecting another bag of coffee, this one, harvested from the mountains of Peru.

“I read her file, Billy. Her statements, her firsthand account of that night. I saw the autopsy report for those two muggers. I know.”

He keeps his emotions in check, wrapped tightly with a rubber band and shoved deep down inside of him. His head is full of static, denial in his veins.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” He says measuredly.

Dinah has the audacity to laugh, full blown, head tossed back, he’d roll his eyes if he was a little bit more comfortable with the direction of the conversation.

“I forgot how easy it is for you to lie to yourself. Don’t worry, Russo I won’t tell a soul.”

“There’s nothing to tell, Dinah.” He says, inching closer to her, desperate to make the were-cheetah understand his words. “There is nothing to read into, nothing to know. She means nothing to me.”

Dinah’s eyes slide from his face to something behind him, he turns his head, stomach twisting as he spots you, having just come upon the conversation.

God fucking dammit, Billy swears internally.

“Good morning Agent Madani.” You greet evenly, pretending that you didn’t hear what you definitely just heard, “Is everything going well with the investigation?”

She says your name in greeting.

“Are you doing alright?” She asks, grabbing a bag of coffee from Billy’s selection.

“Peachy.” You respond sarcastically, with a smile, entering the kitchen, unable to look him in the eye at all.

You watch her set up his coffee machine, as you slide onto one of the stools at his kitchen counter, unlocking your phone to look through your notifications.

The place is silent, save for the hum of the coffee machine, you can feel Billy’s eyes on you, but you refuse to acknowledge him in any way, shape or form.

I’ll show you nothing.

“So,” You say, clearing your throat, “any news?”

Dinah turns, looking at you both, before stepping over to an unmarked cupboard, opening it to grab a mug.

You blink, tilting your head in acknowledgement that she so easily knew where to find things. Maybe they were in a relationship before.

“We have a… working theory that maybe you’re not the target.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise, waiting for her elaboration.

“When we assembled the timeline of events, and analysed the photos properly, we noticed that Billy hadn’t been around at any point that the stalker was there. Every time something happened, he was nowhere around.”

“Are you implying that he’s the stalker?” You say dryly in disbelief, looking down, not wanting to meet his eyes.

“No, more that the intended target of this harassment isn’t you… but rather… Billy.”

At that, you finally look up.

“How does that make any sense?” You prod at Dinah.

“Thing is, Billy is a security expert, catching him off guard would be really difficult. But, threatening a close friend of his, forcing him to watch your fear… we think that was the goal the entire time.”

You blink, looking down.

This wasn’t about you at all?

“That’s why taking several photos of you being mugged was so important,” Dinah continues, “Your fear, they’re using it against him.”

“Which reminds me,” She mutters, turning to Billy, “Can you send me a list of any enemies you have? We’ll start big and work our way down.

“You kidding?” Billy asks, raising a hand to wipe at his brow, “That list would be ten pages long. I’m not in security to make friends.”

“We have to start somewhere.” You hear her mutter to him.

“So… this is good right?” You say interrupting their little conversation, with freshly sprouting thoughts, “This means that I'm- I'm not being obsessed over, yeah? So I'm not in as much danger as I thought? No one is learning everything about me because they like me?”

There's a stagnant silence between the both of them that makes you think that you weren’t very correct in your assumptions.

“Not exactly.” Billy says, glancing at Dinah who looks back at him and makes you think to yourself that they really made a cute couple. The thought makes you press your teeth together angrily.

For a moment, it feels like someone's taken a hammer to your chest again, more and more you realise that maybe Billy had never really desired you.

“If this person isn't actively interested in pursuing you, and just trying to hurt Billy, then they have nothing to really gain from keeping you alive in the long term.” Dinah explains.

It just makes your heart sink more.

“Well it makes sense that my death would be worth much more than my life.” You grumble, crossing your arms.

In your peripherals, Billy turns away, when your eyes follow his movement, you catch him shaking his head.

Great, now you’d disappointed him.

“What if I left the city? Got as far away as I could and never came back?”

You watch his shoulders stiffen.

“You’d probably be safe but there’s a chance the person doing this could go after your friends to make a point, or maybe they follow you, we’re not entirely sure about anything, all we have right now is just a working theory.” Dinah answers.

“Oh.” You mumble, “So you could be wrong, and I could still be the main target.”

She’s silent for a while.

“We’re still exploring every option, but based on analysis, Billy does seem like the real target.”

Great.

You turn away with a nod of your head, trying to figure out how to excuse yourself from the conversation and retreat into hiding.

“Wait a minute,” You say, turning back, “Why me? I’m sure there are a lot of people they could target that mean more to him than me.”

His head drops, and Dinah glances at him with a wry smile on her face.

“I think you might be his only friend that isn’t ex-military.”

Are we even friends? You want to jab.

“Actually, the harassment might have even been orchestrated to get you both closer together, knowing that Billy might have taken you in if he knew you were being stalked.”

You think you were going to be sick.

The idea that you were just being used as a pawn in someone else’s game this entire time, like a mouse in a maze, with doors shutting all around you, forcing you to go in one direction, made you want to sink into the nearest abyss and never be seen again.

You wanted to claw at the walls, you wanted to scream.

You take a deep breath, holding it, closing your eyes and pressing your face into your hands. You let it hurt, you let your lungs beg for air, you feel your body begin to sag under the weight of itself. When you can’t keep it in anymore, you let the breath out in a rush, feeling your mind calm down, too busy focusing on the mild oxygen deprivation to keep panicking.

“Alright well, it was a pleasure seeing you, Agent Madani, I look forward to speaking with you again.” You say diplomatically, sliding off the stool and stepping purposefully back to your room. You don’t stop until you’ve collapsed onto your bed face down, your face buried into a pillow, hoping that you could close your eyes and have all of this go away.

A while later, there’s a soft knock on your door.

You raise your head, sitting up and facing the door.

“Yeah?” You answer.

The doorknob turns, and you feel your throat tighten as you meet his eyes.

“Are you alright?”

“Great.” Is your clipped answer, “Things have never been better.”

He says your name on a sigh, opening your door wider to step into your room.

You look away, down at the spot on the floor where the glass of water had been smashed to pieces a few nights ago. You wonder if you would still find any remnants of splinters there.

“You and Dinah look nice together.” You comment softly.

“I suppose we might have,” He accedes, coming to sit beside you on your bed, “A long time ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. I’m not.”

You give him a tight-lipped smile.

“She's really pretty, I almost want to congratulate you on being with her.”

“She's alright.”

You make a sound of disbelief, raising your eyebrows in surprise.

He tilts his head in curiosity.

“What?”

“Well if you think she's alright, it's no wonder that I mean nothing to you.”

The silence is stiff, like the air is made of honey, trapping you both in place.

“I'm sorry you had to hear that, but it wasn't true.”

You shake your head.

“Look- It's alright- you don't have to say anything to make me feel better I get it-” You stand, fighting the thick feeling of the air around you both, “-I'm probably not pretty compared to all the other women you've dated, and maybe you've just realized that-”

Your voice cuts off when he stands too, your body freezing up once more as you catch the stern expression on his face.

He's like a predator, the way he moves forward, corralling you until you're pressed against the bedroom wall.

You try to appear calm, though you can feel each time blood pulses into your brain.

His eyes are so dark, you can barely see his pupil, you have to tilt your head up to keep eye contact the closer he gets.

He gets close enough that you can feel the soft brush of his breath on your cheek, his arms pressed to either side of you to cage you in.

“Dinah and I were only together for a few months. I wouldn’t open up to her, and she wouldn’t open up to me. She once told me that I was incapable of making a real connection with someone, and maybe I carried that into my next relationship, but you… are the first real connection I’ve made in a really long time.”

You blink, your insides responding positively to his words.

“I said those things to her because what you really mean to me, is absolutely none of her business.”

“And what do I mean to you?” You ask softly, a depth of challenge in your voice, a silent plea to mean more to him than you think you do.

The corners of his mouth just barely tilt upwards, one of his hands move to cup your cheek.

“So much more than you know. It hurts me to hear you talk down on yourself, it pains to hear you suggest leaving.”

He leans in further, his face beside yours so that he can whisper in your ear.

“I want you, more than I can even understand and I've been thinking about you from the moment we first met.”

You gulp, raising a hand to touch his shoulder, smoothing down the length of his arm.

He takes your wrist in his hand, pressing it against the wall beside your head.

You gasp, turning to look at him in surprise at the meaningful way he moved.

His nose brushes yours, and you can't help tilting your face up in hopes that he kisses you.

“It's not easy to find words for,” he thinks for a moment before smiling, “If I liked you less, maybe I would talk about it more.”

“That's Jane Austen.” You whisper.

The corner of his lip twitches.

“Yeah, maybe she's on to something.”

You feel his thumb swipe gently over the fluttering pulse at your wrist.

His head moves, his nose trailing a path over your cheek, to your ear. You stay perfectly still, heart hammering, but unwilling to break him from whatever thoughts he seemed to be in.

He drops his head till his face is pressed to the base of your neck, you feel and hear him take a deep breath.

“You smell good.” His voice is a low grovel.

“Thank you.” You whisper in response, feeling him take another slow breath, your body growing aroused at your positions.

He lets out a soft hum of appreciation, you stand there a little surprised at his actions. Was he just breathing you in?

His lips brush your neck and you feel a jolt of heat spear into your stomach.

Your skin tingles, all you can feel besides his mouth on your skin and his breathing in your hair is your body begging him for more.

You wanted him to touch you, to trail his hands over your skin. You ached to just be felt, and not even in a sexual way. You wanted him to learn you, explore the feel of you so you would know what that felt like.

Do people even do that? Do they explore each other simply for the pleasure of it? You're not sure, but more and more you want to know everything about him.

You feel his grip tighten on your wrist, feeling him lean more against you as if he can't bear the thought of being apart. He stiffens, raising his head from its place, buried in your neck. His eyes are…

strange, there's something a little odd about them, but you don’t get the chance to investigate further.

“Excuse me.” He grunts out before he's drawing away, and stepping out of your room with meaningful steps.

This time, your stomach fills with warmth and affection to watch him go. Almost intuitively knowing that his departure is based on a heavy desire for you, one that he was worried about losing control over, and not dislike, as you might have previously thought.

He really likes me, is what you think to yourself as the door closes.

You swear you're not trying to torment him on purpose, but it's funny how things work out like that.

You tap your pen against your lips, raising your eyebrows curiously when you glance over at him and find him already looking at you.

He looks so calm, except you know him a little bit better now, you watch his eyes drift to your lips, the same dark red you'd worn before.

Somewhere at the front of the room, there's a presentation happening, some routine safety briefings being spoken about.

You smile, looking down, and when you glance back at him, he's still got his eyes on you.

You could feel it in your bones, in that spot behind your navel- it was only a matter of time before you gave in to the tension between you.

The image of it just pops into your head with no warning, the way he might tug at your clothes frantically, breathless kisses, low groans as he gets you naked. His firm press of your body against his desk, or the first flat surface. The reminder of the way his hands feel on your skin, his mouth- you blink, swallowing, looking down at the pen in your hands as you let the memories of him overwhelm you.

You wanted him in so many ways, over and over, you almost felt insane with need. All you could feel is the ache inside of you, a space craving to be filled.

Your body responds eagerly to your thoughts, you swallow, shifting uncomfortably in your seat as arousal dampens your underwear.

You try to avoid looking at him as you let the debauched thoughts consume you. The imagery of him naked, all those delicious scars on display for your mouth to explore, the way you wanted to taste the path from his cock up to the base of his navel. You press your thighs together, aching for his touch.

He'd probably touch you too, if you asked nicely enough. Maybe he would give you just what you needed.

You fight the groan of desire that builds in your chest, blinking and looking up to reorient your mind in the room. The HR rep is on his closing speech and you're thankful that this is almost over. Your eyes drift to where Billy is sitting, and your breath halts suddenly when you find his eyes on you.

You feel warmth flush in your face, his eyes are heated, the expression on his face is calm but- but the look in his eye promises pleasure beyond comprehension.

It’s like he knows exactly what you’re thinking, and for a moment you wonder if he can hear your thoughts.

The sound of a binder closing breaks you from your daze. You blink, breathing in a slow breath, looking around. You meet some of your coworker’s eyes, smiling at them, hoping that they hadn’t witnessed you and Billy basically eye-fucking each other into next week.

You spare a glance at him, wondering if you should take the time to say something, or just leave. You’re unsure of how to navigate here, knowing that no one else knows how close you really are to each other.

You decide against causing any drama- or give anyone a reason to chat about you. You suck in a slow breath, gathering your items before rising to a stand, to walk out of the conference room.

You feel his eyes on your back all the way out.

You keep your breathing even as you walk, there’s a pounding in your ears, the thump of your footsteps on the ground.

When there’s a sudden grip on your arm, you gasp, head swivelling in shock and mild fear to see Billy right beside you.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He hums, pressing you somewhere. Your legs move where he guides, trying to stay upright with his firm steer on your body.

It doesn’t really register that he’s pushed you into a dark supply closet until you hear the door locked behind him.

“Is- everything okay?” You stutter out, heart hammering in anticipation.

“No it’s not.” He grunts out, taking the little items from your hands and placing them onto the shelf above your head in a meaningful motion.

You open your mouth to ask him what he was doing but you don’t get the chance. His fingers grip the back of your head, pulling your body against his, Your hands reaching up to steady yourself on his shoulders.

His forehead pressed to yours, you feel his breath on your lips as he exhales.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, voice almost hoarse, “please say yes.”

You’re shocked at the desperate way he sounds, as if there’s no sanity left in him.

“Please please please, let me kiss you.”

Fuck. Did you really have him this way?

“Yes.” You rush out, before lifting your chin to seal your mouth to his.

Absolute sparks, tingles where your lips meet his. You share a groan, before drawing back so that you can kiss him again. His other hand raises, both gripping your neck with such tender attention that you get lost in it so quickly.

It's not enough, none of it is, you rise onto the tips of your toes, a smile on your lips as you press your body to his. A shared breath between you, remarkably slow for two desperate people.

His mouth leaves your lips, a kiss to your cheek, another right below your ear.

“I'd get down on my knees right now if you asked. Workplace etiquette be damned. Just say the word and my tongue is yours.”

You groan.

Holy fuck was he real? You tilt your head back as his mouth peppers kisses over the column of your neck, you're not sure who moves, if it's you looking for purchase, or him guiding you, but your back presses to the door, nowhere to go.

Your hand dips into his hair, pulling him close, he hums, one firm hand drifting down your body to grip your hip.

You're about to give in, tell him that you need him so badly that you can't wrap your head around it. However, at the same time, you stiffen when you hear several footfalls outside, and laughter as clear as if there was no door between you.

If you could hear that, then it's no question whether you'd be heard, maybe discovered before anything really good happened.

Billy pauses, raising his head having felt you go stiff in his arms, you study his dark eyes for a few moments, longing to live within the few seconds you'd gotten with him.

“We shouldn't.” You whisper, hands smoothing over his broad shoulders.

He nods, accepting, a hand raising to push an errant strand of hair out of your eyes.

“You're… really beautiful.” He responds next, and it feels like a cord’s been looped around your intestines, tangled in your heart, tugging gently in any direction it can.

You can only give him a shy smile, before looking away.

“And you,” you reply, lifting your head to return a compliment, eyes catching on his mouth and you notice something is off. You smile, raising a hand to the corner of his bottom lip, “-have lipstick on your mouth.”

He grins, teeth on display for you as you work carefully to rid him of any lipstick remnants.

“I'd wear it with pride if I could.” He confesses, studying you intently.

All you can do is smile in response, feeling so light in his presence.

He's lying in the forest, thinking about your cunt.

He feels at peace here, body lying in the dirt with the trees all around him, the sound of rushing water somewhere in the distance and he sighs, thinking about your wet little cunt.

It's like you hear him, your slow footsteps approaching, the crunch of grass beneath your bare feet.

Another dream, he realises, when he lifts his head to look up at you and he finds you naked, realising that he's naked as well.

He watches you approach, and when you're beside him, he extends a hand to help you remain balanced as you seat your body on his, that delicate cunt of yours pressed to his adonis belt.

Your fingers trace his skin, he can feel his cock swelling at the sensation.

Your hand drifts up, cupping his face your thumb pressing against his lips.

He feels like yours, wholly, lying in his most peaceful spot, ready to give himself over to any whim, any desire, parting his lips so that you can press your thumb into his mouth.

He feels a connection building in the back of his head, swears he can almost feel you there, and he wishes with every fiber of his being that it could be possible.

He reaches to grip your hips firmly, no words need to be said as he guides your body upwards, your thumb slipping from his mouth as he settles your thighs around his face.

He takes a deep breath, basks in the scent of your desire, of a cunt just as desperate for him as he is.

His eyes roll back in his head as his tongue darts out to taste you. A sweet sigh from your mouth that only encourages him. He starts slow, he wants to savour this, he wants to wring every drop of pleasure from your flushed body.

You whine his name. He grips your hips to press your cunt more firmly to his tongue.

So good, so good, is the only thing his brain can formulate, licking your clit repeatedly, getting high on your moans and the tart taste of your cunt.

He feels you rock your hips against his face. He simmers with the delight, loves his precious mate using him for her pleasure, taking what she needs.

He is yours, after all.

Hands tighten in his hair, you must have gripped it at some point, your grinding growing sharper, desperate. He keeps his tongue out for you to rub against.

Gripping your ass tightly in anticipation, knowing you're right on that edge and he'd do anything, anything to taste your orgasm.

He's alone when he wakes up. Upset and unhinged, he angrily climbs out of bed and is out of his bedroom in seconds.

He wants you, he wants to barge into your room and drop to his knees so he can bury his face between your thighs.

He needs this- he needs- he feels his body shudder at the desire that spreads through him. The panther awakens fully, growling in his head, reminding him of every detail of his dream.

The smell of strawberries fills his nose as he gets your door open quietly.

There you are, asleep in your bed, he tilts his head at the peaceful way you look.

It's what makes him pause, blink in realisation of what he was about to do. He backs away in shock, the predator surging forward angrily, urging him to go to you.

He takes another step back at the way he feels himself losing control. Something was wrong with him.

He blinks, sudden awareness of what day it was, or rather, what phase of the moon was almost above head.

Billy backs away from your door, cock swollen and aching, needing a cold shower more than anything.

The full moon was close.

He'd verified it after an icy shower, the panther demanding he give in to his base urges, clawing at him to feed, to fight, and most importantly, to fuck.

He squeezes his eyes shut, shakes his head, he couldn't give into it now, who knows how rough he might be, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to go softer if you asked, and that was the most sobering thought of them all. The first time he'd been with you, he'd bruised your wrist, and that hadn't even been near a full moon.

It was safer to wait this out, keep you at arm's length until he had his full sanity back.

But of course, the universe is seldom kind, especially to him, and he watches as you step into his line of sight from his spot in the kitchen, wearing nothing but a towel.

He watches you evenly, fingers tightening on the mug of coffee in his hand, his sensitive hearing warns that the cup might shatter if he squeezes any tighter.

“Going for a swim. You can come if you like?”

He keeps his expression calm, tries not to think of how you look naked, fights the panther for the braincells necessary to respond.

“You go ahead, sweetheart, I've got some work emails to glance at really quickly.”

You smile at him, and he feels like the air has thickened, slowing time in his head so that he can look at you for a few moments more.

“Okay.” You say happily, turning to make your way down his staircase, the smell of your skin lingering in the air.

The panther isn't kind to him this time, pushing images of you, lying in your front below him, face pressed into the bed while he fucks into you from behind.

Billy stifles a groan, thinking about the sweet sounds you make, about how tight your delicious cunt is.

He was in so much trouble.

He's a little distant, you notice.

Not unbelievably so, but it's definitely there.

He can't seem to spend time in a room with you, always finding an excuse to leave, or maybe work really had gotten stressful for him.

He was a CEO after all, maybe he was just busy.

You sit in his sunroom, looking out with a sigh, you'd been feeling antsy lately, stuck between his house and your work and the occasional visit to Amy’s. Other than that, you'd felt really stagnant.

For a moment, you find yourself wishing you were in the woods camping again. Exploring with your friends, photographing any amazing thing you'd find. You frown when you remember the way your lungs felt while running away.

Maybe you could do something for him that would help you take your mind off of feeling this way. It couldn't hurt to show him how appreciative you were of his protection and it would hopefully help him feel better too.

To lift your phone to your face, smiling as you begin planning.

He's been sitting in his office, listening to your heartbeat for the last two hours.

As a precaution, he'd shoved his desk against the door, to slow the panther down if he somehow managed to take control of him.

His nails are embedded in his palm, the pain keeping him locked into his body and all he can hear is the thumpthumpthumpthump of your heart.

His office is the one place your scent is weakest, he can't even go into his own bed without scenting you in the sheets. You're everywhere, like his home is yours and though on a normal day he'd relish the thought, today it's torture.

Would things be different if you were actually together? Maybe. He wouldn't have been so frustrated in the first place.

Billy tilts head back, sucks in a deep breath. He can't see this desire for you fading. He worries that he'll always be this unhinged around you on a full moon.

He squeezes his eyes shut, giving the panther the right moment to push more thoughts into his head.

He'd stalk you through your home, enjoying the scent of your arousal in the air. He'd tear your clothes to shreds, bury his face between your soft thighs and listen to you cry with need.

He'd hover above you, ask you for permission, make you beg to be fucked as hard as he wants to fuck you.

The sounds you'd make, as his hips met yours furiously, he'd feel you clench around him, he'd lick the sweat off your skin.

Your eyes, full of tears as he gives and gives, ridding you of any doubt of who you belonged to.

He doesn't realize where he is until his nose is pressed to the column of your neck.

You make a small sound of surprise, turning to look up at him, he's somehow found himself in the kitchen, an arm wrapped around you as he stands behind.

You smile up at him, unaware that his control is crumbling, you tilt your head up, a silent ask for a kiss.

The panther purrs in his head when your lips meet, he feels you sigh into the kiss, your body relaxing.

His hand grips your jaw when he tries to move away, keeping your head tilted up for him, so that he can kiss you for just a little longer.

“Sorry.” He says- can't believe that's the sound of his voice, “Got a little carried away.”

You turn in his arms, smiling up at him.

“That's okay.” You hum, your hands wrapping around his shoulders as best as possible.

The smell of raw meat catches his attention.

“What are you making?” He asks

“Steak for you, chicken for me. Just something to say thank you for all your help.”

The panther purrs louder in his head.

“You're- cooking for me?”

“Mhmm, we can't go out much, so I could use a distraction, and you've been so caught up working. I just thought I'd make you something.”

“Thank you.” He hums, still in disbelief.

He's not sure why he's surprised, you've cooked many meals together, but usually he's there to help. The idea that you'd feel comfortable enough to use his kitchen without him, only reinforces how comfortable you are in his space.

You smile, turning back to what you were doing, and before he can make a second thought, the panther shoves the image of his cum dripping from your cunt into his mind.

He backs away, retreating into his office quickly before you even notice that he's gone.

Something’s so weird about him right now.

For the first time you can see anxiety written into his movements, unsure and hesitant when he reaches for his glass of water.

You’d worked hard, maybe turned the steak just a little bit past rare. Placed beside some creamy asparagus and some crispy fries that were amazingly delicious and it was safe to say you were proud of the final product.

You’d taken the food up to the sunroof, lit candles all around the table and the space heater running, hoping to warm up the space with winter almost upon the city.

You’d knocked shyly on his office door, letting him know to come up, and you’d grabbed some drinks on the way back.

He’d given you such a happy smile, one that had looked so gorgeous on his face, made you want to kiss him right then and there.

It had made it worth it, and then his further delight at tasting the food made your insides flutter all over again.

He stops looking so unsure of himself the minute he starts eating, you can tell he’s focused on the meal for the time being, and you get to relax and enjoy each other’s company.

“So, you told me you liked cats- are they your favourite?” You ask, giving him a smile as he looks up.

It’s light, you know that, you don’t want to pry into any deep personal questions right now, you just want to hear the sound of his voice as he sits across from you.

“I think so. I can’t think of another animal I like more.”

“Interesting.” You say, leaning forward to grab your glass of wine, “I don’t know a lot of men that like cats.”

He nods in understanding.

“It’s the consent. It’s hard for some people to wrap their heads around the idea that animals need their boundaries respected too.”

“You’re not a real person.”

It’s such an absurd thing to say that it makes him laugh, which in turn puts a smile on your face.

“Did you have any pets growing up?” You ask.

Your heart sinks when he stops smiling almost instantly.

You can see the memory of it cross his face, the heartbreak of it all. You can tell whatever it was is ingrained into his psyche so deep that it’ll never leave him.

He swallows, looking down.

What do you say? Tell me more? It’s okay if you don’t want to? What would be the right words?

You stand, his eyes flit up to observe you as you thump across to his side of the table, before dropping into the space beside him and pulling him into a fierce hug.

He takes a deep breath of surprise, one hand moving cautiously around you, before he goes all in, pulling you into him, pressing his face into your neck.

“It can’t hurt you now. I promise.” You mutter against him, and his hold tightens in response.

“Her name was Della. She was a- a little kitten searching the dumpsters for scraps just like I was. Her fur was soft, so soft that I can never forget the feeling of it.”

Tears spring to your eyes, being soaked up by his shirt almost as fast as they come.

“The group home didn’t allow pets, I snuck her in anyway. I’d feed her before I would eat. Every potential foster that came by, I’d ask them how they felt about cats. If they were against them, I’d act out. Until I finally found a family that would take me and her.”

He’s quiet, shaking his head.

“When they found out they were expecting, they put me right back in the group home, but they kept her. After a few months, they moved away, and I never saw Della again.”

“It was probably for the best. I could barely take care of me, I would never be able to help her if she got sick but…”

“But you loved her.” You finish for him.

“I did. I do. I don’t say that much, but she was everything to me when I had absolutely nothing.”

You bury a hand in his hair, holding onto him tightly, wanting him to feel some semblance of the adoration he’d had back then.

Even more, you want to take that pain away from him, you wished you could soak it up, all of his hurt and his endless supply of trauma and replace it with something good.

After a long while of you holding each other, you finally find the willpower to pull away. There’s an understanding between you now, a line that’s been crossed.

You smile up at him, and you turn, reaching across the table to grab your plate of food, settling against him as you continue your meal.

“You’re a good man, Billy.” You say after a while, deep in contemplation.

“Maybe the best man I’ve ever met.”

You can almost feel his fond smile.

You finish dinner peacefully, using small talk to avoid deep conversations. You spend the evening enjoying his presence, laughing with him, leaning against him.

Kissing him.

You can tell there’s something there, beneath his cool exterior, something that urges him to press his mouth to yours harsher than he usually does, his fingers so easily gripping the back of your neck, demanding your submission.

He manages to keep himself in check though, despite the fire in his eyes, he doesn’t do more than kiss you.

Yet, you find yourself yearning for it more and more.

You bump his shoulder as you wipe a dish dry, staring at the distorted kitchen sink through the wine glass.

He makes a sound of amusement, gently bumping you in return.

“I’ve been thinking…” You start, and struggle to find the right words to finish your sentence.

He passes you another dish when you find the right spot for the wine glass.

You hesitate for too long, deep in your own thoughts, fear and the worry of rejection holding your mouth hostage.

He bumps against you playfully, and you almost drop the dish, cupping it securely after a moment.

A quick laugh of surprise and you glance at him to see that playful look on his face.

“What is it?” He asks, reminding you of what you had just been about to say.

“Oh god, nevermind.” You groan, feeling embarrassed.

“Tell me.” He pries in a light tone of voice.

You shake your head.

“I was only going to say- that I think I might be ready? Well, I know I am, I just said ‘think’ because I didn't wanna come on too strong but uh I've never really had to say this out loud so forgive my awkwardness about it and I just wanted you to know- I mean- we don't have to do anything now and maybe you might not even want to but I just wanted you to know with no doubts in case it gets lost somewhere-”

The sound of your name on his lips interrupts your mindless rambles, and you give him an apologetic look. He takes the very dry dish from your hand and puts it in its proper place calmly before turning back to you.

His hands on your cheeks, cold and raisined from having his hands in the water, but you smile up at him softly.

He studies you, eyes tracing across your face like you're a book he wants so badly to read.

“What do you mean by ready?” He asks.

“For… us.” You confirm hoping you get your point across.

“Us?”

“You and me.”

“Us.”

“Yeah.”

He stands still, studying you, as you can feel your beating heart, squeezing in your chest, pounding in anticipation of what he's going to say.

“I- would really like to be an ‘us.’”

It makes your heart beat that much faster.

He closes his eyes, a look of regret briefly crossing his face that makes your stomach twist.

He presses his forehead to yours, and you're forced to look down or get a headache from trying to focus on him.

“I can't stay. I have to go.”

You blink in surprise, drawing back so that you can look him in the eye for an explanation.

“For work,” he elaborates, “we were having such a good time I didn't want to mess it up before I really had to.”

You feel sadness overcome you.

You take a deep breath in, slowly let it out.

“Oh.” It's the most you can voice.

He has to leave for work, in the middle of you asking to be with him?

“I'm sorry, please believe me when I say I'm not running, I want to stay. I want to be with you. I won't be gone long, just three nights. I'll ask Dinah to increase patrol outside, and you can go anywhere you want in my house, treat it like it's yours.”

Agony twists inside of you at the idea of being away from him, paired with the shock of having this dropped on you so quickly.

Your head spins, you're not sure what to say, all you know is that you'll regret it if you let him leave on an upset note.

You reach out to take his hand, smiling up at his beautiful face.

“I get it. You manage a lot of people's safety, not just mine. I'll be fine, and we can talk about it later.”

He lets out a shaky breath.

You reach for each other at the same time, his hand on your cheek, yours to his.

The kiss is soft and earnest, open and vulnerable, a parting gift between you.

“I'll see you in three days, yeah?” You whisper lightly, trying to squash the undeniable despair threatening to choke you.

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

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baphmochii · 3 months

Text

Valentine's with Tomura (HC's) 💘

Since it is February and usually that is the season for Valentine's Day, now I'm not really all for Valentine's Day. Here is something for you all, it's not good but.. I tried.

Content Tags: SFW material, just fluff. f!reader implied. 🧤

~°. 💘 .°~

Tomura has never cared for Valentine's Day, the man has always viewed the "holiday" as dull and a waste of his time.

He never liked having to see others when he was out and about, in disguise that is, always viewing other people around him holding hands or wrapping an arm around their s/o's waists. It fueled him with hatred for this idiotic holiday.

That is.. until you had come along.

Once you had joined his little villain alliance (League of Villains). Tomura had been strucken in awe with you, he couldn't take his eyes off of you and thankfully you had never noticed due to father always being on his face.

Tomura would make efforts to try and talk with you, ask you questions to try and get to know you a little better. This man (again) is painfully awkward, let's say.. he is not that great with social skills.

After some time and patience and becoming very close with each other, so close the two of you share a bedroom. Tomura's bedroom to be very specific, he adores it. The two of you had become a couple.

Back to the topic of Valentine's Day...

Tomura used to view the holiday as pointless and apart of him still views this however, despite his opinions Tomu will make this day a special one for you.

Tomu will want to you to stay in bed with him and to stay in bed while he tries to make this day a wonderful one for you, which means: attempts at him making breakfast for you, literally bathing you like washing your back, giving you a relaxing massage (he's careful not to use his quirk), and getting you gifts.

The man will bend over backwards for you and only for you on this day. Tomura loves seeing you smile, he loves seeing you're beautiful eyes light up. It makes Tomu all warm inside.

A feeling he has never met before.. it's nice.

At the end of the day, Tomura's favorite activity to do with you is getting to sleep with you.

Tomu gets excited (inside) when it comes to laying down with you, your bodies pressed together all comfy and cozy in his bed. His arm carefully draped over your small figure. He really loves this even when it isn't Valentine's Day, he just loves you.

Also when it comes to sleeping I really like to think, Tomura wears his special gloves since he has a fear of accidentally dusting you in his sleep.

He cannot ever dream of losing you due to his quirk.

~°. 💘 .°~

Again.. I'm really not that great when it comes to writing, I'll try my best to write as much as I can. I also haven't been drawing lately.. I've just been so unmotivated to draw, no ideas what so ever. I feel so pathetic.

#shigaraki tomura #tomura shiragaki #shimura tenko #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki x you #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x oc #shigaraki x reader fluff #shigaraki fluff #shigaraki headcanons #league of villains #mha #bnha #shigaraki simp

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mypoisonedvine · 4 months

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you know your last zemo piece RUINED me I think about it at least once a day 😭 what about zemo/reader + 41? 👀 if you feel like it of course! I would read even your grocery list probably

okay well then eggs, milk, greek yogurt--

just kidding c: (not kidding that i need to buy greek yogurt tho. i ran out the other day)

41: "don't do that. don't act like you don't feel this too."

warnings: smut (18+ only, ever so slightly dubcon because of all of the denial?), fingering and overstimulation, glove kink, angst, enemies to lovers, descriptions of injuries and violence, reader is very generally implied to be an avenger?

100 random prompts - send me a number and a character!

"What are you doing here?" you asked sharply, pretending to be focused on your book even though your heart had been beating too fast to let you read another word as soon as he stepped into your room.

"I just wanted to speak with you," he said. You knit your brows together, because obviously you just want to talk, what the hell else would we be doing in here alone? but you didn't say anything. "About what happened today--"

"It doesn't mean anything," you insisted, rather dramatically flipping the page of your book. "You're an asset to the mission, my job is to keep the mission on track. That's it."

He didn't react, really. "I... never said it meant anything," he explained, "I simply wanted to thank you."

You cursed yourself internally, staring blankly forward at your book, trying so hard to ignore his dark form in your peripheral. Did he have to keep staring at you like that?

"So, thank you," he said.

"That's not necessary," you insisted, "I would've done it for anyone."

"You'd take a bullet for anyone?" he pressed.

You closed your book in frustration, finally looking back at him; you wished you hadn't. You couldn't even begin to react to everything you saw on his face, the way he was looking back at you... you stopped yourself before you even thought about trying to describe what emotion that could be. It took you a moment to even remember what you were going to say: "I didn't take a bullet," you corrected him, standing up off the bed, "I had Kevlar on. I just blocked it."

"Yes, Kevlar-- not magic," he clarified. "It must have still injured you."

You shrugged. "I'll live."

"May I see?" he asked softly, stepping forward until he was uncomfortably close to you, and you nodded slightly. You couldn't look at him as his gloved hand slowly pulled up the bottom of your tank top, until the massive bruise on your stomach was revealed. "Christ..." he whispered under his breath.

You shoved the fabric back down and wiped under your nose, trying to act normal and stern again.

"I didn't know you were wearing a vest," he explained. "The feeling that went through me when I thought you were really hit-- that you might..."

He trailed off, but you nodded, knowing what he meant.

"I haven't felt that feeling in a long time," he continued soberly, his gaze a little darker. "I never wanted to feel that again."

"Well, I guess I'm sorry if I... distressed you," you mumbled.

"Surely you know I'm not here asking for an apology," he scoffed.

"Then what do you want from me?!" you snapped.

"Don't ask me a question you don't want me to answer," he warned, and your heart jumped.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you mumbled, crossing your arms tightly and looking away.

He didn't answer, just stepped closer to you-- you wanted to step back, but the bed was in your way. Damn these insanely tiny rooms...

You looked back at him, trying to keep a straight face, hoping he couldn't hear your racing pulse somehow.

"Ask me again what I want from you," he ordered darkly, "if you really want to know."

You stammered a bit but eventually choked it out, almost a whisper: "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to promise you'll never do that again."

You weren't sure what you were expecting, but it wasn't that. "What?"

"Never put yourself in harm's way like that again," he demanded, "I can't take it-- if you were really hurt, or even killed--"

"It's my job," you reminded him. "If my orders put me in harm's way, that's where I go. And my orders come from Bucky, not you."

"James doesn't care about you," he interjected sharply, and your eyes went wide. "And you don't care about James-- not in that way, at least."

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," you blurted out, not sure what else you were supposed to say to that.

"Don't do that," he pleaded lowly, shaking his head. "Don't pretend that you don't feel this, too."

You tried to step away but he grabbed you by the wrist, pulling you back into him-- closer than ever; his other hand came up to hold your face, a gloved thumb tracing over your cheek as you looked back at him.

"I can't watch you get hurt again," he breathed, "least of all for me. Just let me protect you."

"I don't need your protection," you assured, "I can fend for myself."

"But do you want to?"

When your mouth opened with a little gasp of denial, he took the opportunity to kiss you-- hard and passionate, pulling your body close to his.

You put your hands on his chest like you were going to push him away, but you found yourself melting into it instead, and your fingers weakly clutched at the fur lapel of his coat.

"Fuck," you mumbled against his lips, kissing him back with more intensity than either of you expected. Weeks of tension finally broke as you clawed at each other, falling onto the bed and struggling with a mess of bulky clothes.

His kiss moved to your neck, his teeth digging into your skin until you whined. "Would it be wrong of me," he wondered, "to be responsible for another mark on you?"

"Shut up," you hissed, 'cause how the fuck could he be all poetic and shit right now? You could barely even think straight-- clearly you weren't thinking straight, because you were in bed under Zemo of all people. "I can't fucking stand you sometimes."

"I know," he mumbled against your skin, his hands moving down your waist until he could start opening your belt.

"But I wanted you so fucking bad..."

"I know."

He slipped his hand into your pants, cupping your sex for just a moment, before roughly shoving two fingers inside you-- with his fucking leather glove still on. You moaned low and loud, tossing your head back as he stretched you on those fingers, the intrusion thick and sudden and making you insanely desperate.

Your back arched as he thrusted those fingers inside you, your legs spreading naturally as your body craved more. He pulled away from your neck to stare down at your face, mesmerized by the way you responded to him.

"O-oh my god," you gasped, "fuck--"

"Right there?" he assumed as he curled his fingers against your spot, making you shudder and hold tight onto his arm.

"Yes, yes!" you whimpered.

"Quiet, draga," he cooed, "James is only one room away--"

"Fuck, j-just fuck me," you begged, "I need you-- just fuck me, please."

"No," he denied flatly, though it clearly pained him to say it. "One of us has to stay in control."

You whined in frustration, amazed at how much he could say in so few words. I'm in control right now. I wouldn't be able to control myself if I was inside you. I wouldn't hold back, and everyone would hear us. You couldn't pick which underlying meaning was the one that made you that much more wet all of a sudden.

He purred through a smile as he rubbed harder against the spot inside you, moving his covered thumb to press to your clit as well. "I can feel how badly you need this-- it must have been so long since anyone pleasured you, hm? And you must have known I could take care of you."

Your legs were shaking already, your hand reaching up to hold onto his shoulder, then weaving into his hair. You tried to pull him down for a kiss, but when his face came close to yours, he stopped and stared right into your eyes-- and his other hand grabbed yours and pinned it down roughly beside your head. You bit your lip, hating how much you loved the helplessness you felt right then.

"I just need you to come for me now," he explained with a growl. "I need to watch you give into it."

"I-I'm close," you nodded, and he smiled again.

"I know," he said, making you feel a little stupid for even saying it. "Show me. I want to see what it looks like when you let go."

With your one free hand holding tightly onto the sheets, your hips started to rock up into his touch-- or maybe trying to get away from it, the feeling was so intense. Either way he had no trouble keeping you where he wanted you, shoving his fingers deep until your eyes rolled back. You knew you were saying his name, you heard it echoing around the walls, but you refused to believe that it was really you begging for him like that. You would've given him anything he wanted right then, just to get through that feeling and let ecstasy wash over you: thankfully, all he wanted was exactly that.

It was actually quiet at first, you were holding your breath without really meaning to; only when you just barely started to come down from the high did you make a sound again, a moan going out along with a big exhale of everything you'd been holding in.

Except the feeling didn't stop, because he didn't. Actually, he started going even harder.

Your eyes shot open and your body rocked. "F-fuck, fuck!" you yelped, both your hands tightening into fists before the unrestrained one grabbed at his wrist to try to slow him down-- which obviously didn't work.

He was biting his lip and flaring his nostrils from the force of it, staring down at you with fire in his eyes as he kept going.

"Oh my god," you sobbed, "I-I can't-- fuck, I-- oh!"

You wouldn't really call it a scream... he would, but you wouldn't. You might have said it was more like a high-pitched moan or maybe just a loud whine, but really, to anyone else who heard it (which may not have just been Zemo) it was definitely a scream. A scream of overwhelming, painfully-perfect pleasure. And only when your whole body was a shaking, useless mess did he stop moving his fingers inside you and gently pull them out.

You were so exhausted, going limp against the mattress and fighting to blink your eyes open, that you didn't even really notice him bringing his soaked glove to his mouth and getting a taste of you, humming contentedly.

It was only when he let go of your wrist and stopped hovering over you, sitting on the bed with a sigh, that you really noticed him again and (mostly) came back to reality.

His hair was messed up, and his face was flushed-- and you'd tugged his shirt to the side and exposed more of his chest. Only now did he look even a quarter as affected by this as you were. "There will be a time and place for more, draga," he promised you with a sigh, "soon."

"When?" you asked, and he smiled a bit deviously at you before wrapping his hand around the back of your neck and kissing you again-- sweeter, slower, but with a hint of dominance as he gently bit on your bottom lip.

"Whenever my patience runs out," he answered with a grin.

#baron zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #zemo x reader #zemo smut #daniel bruhl x reader #daniel bruhl smut

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another-lost-mc · 10 months

Note

heyyyy there, i just found ur profile wondering around and i was wondering would u do the brothers with shy reader NSFW

thanks if u accept it and if not it's fine

thanks again and i hope u have a grateful day :)))))))

Reacting to a Shy MC THE DEMON BROTHERS 2.3k words | NSFW | gn!Reader Content warnings: Demon fluff sprinkled with suggestive content (implied oral/penetrative sex). Some of the brothers' sections are more explicit than others but not overly so. A/N: I was in the mood for something soft when I wrote this because being shy/socially anxious in the Devildom sounds like a nightmare. lol

Lucifer is surprisingly tactile, but not in an obvious way. His small gestures can be perceived as platonic or innocent—leaning over your shoulder when he reads over your work, a hand on your back when he walks next to you on a busy street, his nimble fingers plucking a loose thread from your shirt. He doesn’t like it when you look away from him either. There’s a soft scratch of leather under your chin, and his fingers turn your head so you face him once more. His thumb presses down near your bottom lip and you can’t break his grip even if you wanted to. His stare pins you in place and it’s like his eyes pierce your soul. You tremble from nervousness at first, but later with anticipation.

When he takes you to bed, he cages you beneath him. His wings block other distractions from your view so all you can focus on is the blazing heat roaring in his crimson gaze as he stares down at you. Sometimes you turn your head when something embarrasses you—the way he murmurs appreciatively about the way your body feels, or how he licks his lips after feasting between your thighs, or the obscene squelch as he teases your entrance with the tip of his cock. But when you look away, he touches your cheek or under your chin, and the gloves he's still wearing smell faintly of your musky arousal now, and he directs your attention back where it belongs—on him.

(After he's taken you to bed for the first time, he doesn't mind if you get a little shy when you glance at his gloved hands and look away—he knows exactly what you're thinking of when you do.)

Mammon loves the way your heart races when he compliments you. You bite your lip while you try to think of something to say in response, and your eyes that dart quickly to his and then away again, but he catches the glimmer of happiness and affection that softens your gaze. He boasts proudly, to everyone that's listening or anyone that needs reminding, that he's your first. You don't need anyone else for anything.

He's greedy for everything you are and everything you can give him, and he wants you to be greedy too. He’ll lavish you with attention and gifts and praise and when you're ready, all the things he's desperate to do to your body. He's the only one that can give you what you want. The simplest fantasies are enough to drive him mad—whether he imagines your body moving eagerly with his, or your lust-thickened voice whining in his ear, it doesn't matter—he wants it all.

He'll gladly take the lead in bed if that will get things going. He wants you to use his body to satisfy all the urges you’re too shy to admit out loud. He encourages you to grind back against his tongue when he eats you out from behind, and he drags you onto his lap and helps you bounce on his cock. He gives you that semblance of control so it’s easier for you to relax. Once you're overcome with pleasure, he hoards all your blissed-out expressions and sounds for himself.

Leviathan is awkward, but he’s not shy in the same ways you are. Your kindness flusters him because he doesn't think he deserves it. You compliment him for the most mundane things, and you include him even when he lingers on the sidelines. He learns that it feels good to have a friend like you. You become the rare person that he can share his hobbies with, and he offers you imported snacks from the secret stash in his room no one else knows about. When friendship turns into more complicated feelings, he realizes it’s because of all the little things you do that prove you love him. It boosts his confidence so he can make the first move if you’re too shy.

He might be a little out of practice, but he starts slow: he holds your hand while you watch a movie together, and he kisses you quickly after you finally beat him at Devil Kart. He grows bolder and eager for more. He trails his fingers along your spine, tail curling around your leg possessively, when you cuddle together in his tub. He doesn't try to hide the blush that spreads across his cheeks when he rubs himself against you; he's so hard just from being close to you. He savors your quiet laughter when his fingers tickle your tummy as he tugs your shirt over your head.

There’s nothing cuter than the way you bite your lip when you wrap your legs around his waist and roll your hips against his when he starts to grind against you. Nervous smiles and teasing laughter fades, replaced by the soft, quiet groans and whimpers you both pant against each other's mouths.

Levi figures that it's fine if things are a little awkward or silly at first—you’re figuring things out together, and he wouldn't change a thing.

Satan has fucked before, plenty of times—meaningless encounters to blow off steam or scratch an itch. It’s so incredibly different from the romantic desire he feels when you looks at you. He craves more. He taps into all those cliched love stories he's read and the love songs he's listened to because he wants to show you how much you mean to him. He adores all of your cute, shy expressions when he catches you off-guard with a murmured compliment in your ear, or when he sneaks a quick kiss to your lips when no one's watching, or when he mouths I love you from across the room.

He's so sweet and gentle when he takes you to bed at first—there will be time to explore his rougher tendencies later. Your bodies grow hot and slick with sweat because he envelops you in his arms, blurring the lines of where he ends and you begin. He kisses you when he rocks his hips, teasing you with the slow glide of his cock moving gently inside you. He cups your cheek or the back of your neck when he rests his forehead against yours and you can't see anything but him. He would drown in the blurry sea of your eyes if he could because no one's ever looked at him the way you do. He murmurs his affection against the delicate column of your throat as he guides you both towards the precipice.

The soft, whimpered utterance of his name from your lips is enough to pull him apart at the seams. Before you bury your head against his shoulder to stifle your groans when you come, he catches a fleeting glimpse of your expression and he swears you've never looked more beautiful.

Asmodeus loves to be close to you and compliment you. He assumes it’s a human flaw when you deflect even the most simple praise like you don’t believe him. It confuses him—why would he ever lie to you? He loves you and thinks you’re gorgeous and so sweet. If he tells you that nothing brightens his mood more than seeing you smile, or that there’s nothing he wants more than to take you to pieces between his sheets, he wants you to know because it’s the truth. It’s his truth.

You don’t need to agree with him right away, even though he secretly hopes that one day you will. He can’t deny what he feels for you. It’s impossible. He’s too far gone to pretend what he feels for you is anything less than overwhelming love and admiration and desire. You make his head spin and his heart race and his cock ache, and everyone else can see that he looks at you like he’s never looked at anyone before.

When he takes you to his room and peels the clothes from your body, he stands behind you so you can watch yourself in his full-length mirror. He tsks when you squirm and try to look away, and he coos into your ear between soft barely-there kisses against your neck.

Don’t you see how lovely you are? Can’t you feel the way my fingers tremble because I’ve waited all day to touch you?

He knows you can feel his cock trapped in the confine of his pants—it twitches against your back and he rolls his hips slowly so it grinds against the curve of your ass as he undresses you. Once you’re naked and a little breathless, he finally leads you to his bed and crawls on top of you, or he leans back against the headboard and settles you on his lap so you can straddle him. He whispers his feelings for you against your lips and trails his fingers along your warm, soft skin. He’s patient and he waits while he holds you in his arms, prolonging the inevitable. When you finally beg for him to move, to give you what you both desperately want, he rewards you with all the pleasure his body can give you.

Beelzebub mistakes your shyness for fear—not just fear of living in the Devildom, but fear of him. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were afraid of him in the beginning. Humans are so frail—you could be as tall as him, as broad as him, or as muscular as him, and you still would seem so small in comparison. His strength made him a formidable angel and it makes him even more threatening as a demon. Eventually he gets to know you better, and friendship turns into something more, and he realizes that he never wants you to be afraid of him again.

He tries to understand your shy nature and how to make you comfortable. Sometimes you can't enjoy dinner parties or Diavolo’s dances without being bothered by the other curious guests—you like to pick and choose when you want to be sociable. He tries to draw unwanted attention away from you so you can escape for some fresh air. He’ll even bring a plate of desserts to split while the others wonder where you’ve both snuck off to.

Things change when he admits how much he wants you, and it's not long before chaste kissing simply isn't enough to satisfy either of you. Dark, hungry thoughts are difficult to control when passions run high, and Beel knows he could hurt you by accident if he's not careful—the thought terrifies him. He's not timid when he undresses you or lays you in his bed, but he's hesitant when he touches you with his hands and his mouth and eventually his cock. He glances at your face to watch your reactions and he asks you what feels good. Above his own needs, he desperately wants to please you.

You whimper or groan his name, or you whine when he touches the most sensitive parts of your body. He stops to remind you—with his rough voice thickened with lust—to use your words when he asks if you’re okay. All you have to do is tell him what you want, what you like, what you need, and he'll give you everything you ask in return.

Belphegor is surprisingly protective of you. It doesn’t take a genius to realize that you squirm or avoid eye contact in public settings. Your voice wavers when you have to present something in one of your classes, and you don’t like being the centre of attention at Diavolo's parties. He tries to help and take some of those burdens off your shoulders. He sticks close to your side so he can deflect away unwanted attention, and he glares at the other demons that might try and approach you.

Somewhere along the way, friendship stops being enough for him. He disguises his genuine desires as teasing remarks or jokes to test the waters and gauge your response. He invites you to nap in the attic, and he strips down to his boxers and suggests you do the same. It’s cute when you stammer and insist that you’re going to keep your clothes on.

(For now, anyway—eventually you agree to take off some of your burdensome layers as long as he turns the lights off first. He obliges because he can still see you perfectly, but he figures you’ll be more comfortable believing he can’t.)

Sometimes when you sleep cuddled together, your dreams bleed over into his. It happens by accident, but he doesn’t do anything to prevent it either. It gives him a glimpse of the world through your eyes, and he realizes that his face flickers across your dreamscape more and more often as time passes.

Those dreams of yours encourage him, and he starts teasing you just a little more. He wakes up half-hard and pressed against your side, but he pretends not to notice when he asks how you slept. He wears nothing but a loose towel wrapped around his hips when he walks past your room after showering. He leans close and wipes at the corner of your mouth with his thumb, claiming you have something left there from dinner. Your breath hitches when he lets his eyes trail down to your lips, and he pulls back with a smile when you try and fail to hide your disappointment.

One day he might grow impatient and finally close the distance, but for now he tries to be patient—he’s curious if you'll overcome your nerves and kiss him first.

Taglist: @l-d-8 @mithrakira @your-next-daydream @haezen @xpixie @lemonivall @meggsngrits @flemmingbamse @tortibomb @amberrskiies @angelsdilf @rensphilia @4allthefours4 @a-hidden-gem @lust--on--my--lips @beelsjuicytitties @goldenglow149 @callmesaya @cosmicstarlatte @alexxncl @sirimirihiro @i-am-empress-irish @ezraiix @bizarrebankai @devildomd0ll @alexxavicry @moon-i-v @ablondehoe @vinsmouke

Join the taglist here. | Obey Me! Masterlist

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rookthorne · 6 months

Text

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑯𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 𝑯𝑨𝑳𝑳𝑶𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑵

》 𝐀 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

It had come time for the final chase. Halloween had loomed in the back of your mind, until the night finally came. The Soldat’s promise from your first encounter rang true as you prepared — a promise that terrified and excited you in equal measure. Time would only tell, and you had to hope you were ready for the final hunt.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 》 Scare Actor!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 》 3.2k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 》 Fluff, consensual stalking, primal, knife play, implied spice, use of a mask in an unorthodox situation, possessive behaviour

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 》 The conclusion to my first published multi-chapter fic and it has been some of the most fun I have ever had. 》 Thank you all so much for the love and interaction. 》 Happy Halloween, my chaos kittens!

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒂 》 @smutconnoisseur

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 》 @rookthorne's Fright Night — Masterlist

》 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

》 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑯𝒖𝒏𝒕 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

Halloween night loomed, rushing closer and closer as you worked feverishly. The hours flew by faster than you could catch them, and you were growing desperate to gain a semblance of control over the chaos that was your costume.

The moniker of kitten had inspired the last minute changes to your outfit – soft, fluffy, white ears sat on a headband, while the rest of your outfit followed the theme, too.

By some miracle, you had found gloves that resembled white paws, and white boots that shone under the light of your bedroom. It was a comfortable fit – easy to move in, which would serve you well, and you had a very strong feeling that Bucky would love it.

Since he had dropped you home that morning, you had texted one another non-stop to the point he had to put his foot down and tell you to switch off your phone to sleep. You had cursed him out with numerous, foul emojis, and said goodnight. He had laughed and wished you sweet dreams.

Later that morning, when you finally awoke, you found he had texted as he prepared for that night’s celebrations. There were photos of his costume, stripped and cleaned, hung up on a coat hanger to dry with the caption attached: battle ready, it’s going to be insane tonight. I can’t wait to hunt you down.

The words had made the butterflies in your stomach roar and pitch such a fit you had to sit on the edge of your bed to get your bearings back. Texts followed on from that promising threat, and he said that he would not be wearing kohl that night, but he would be carrying more prop weapons – his favourites, as he so giddily stated.

It was an odd situation to sit back and think about. With such a fast connection, unlike any you had developed before, you had grown to crave his presence and his touch. Bucky was a man that had his head on straight, prioritising respect and kindness – a feat most couldn’t even be bothered to achieve.

With that thought, and realisation, a strange, foreign feeling settled in your stomach – the butterflies that fluttered there seemingly becoming lighter, as though they would take flight and carry you with them.

Nightfall arrived quickly once you had finally sorted and dressed in your costume, and the moon was high in the sky as you journeyed to your haven.

The sheer amount of people that crowded the entrance of the park was astonishing. Every single visitor, of all ages, were dressed head to toe in costumes that ranged from expert to home crafted. Colours, props, and contrasts made few stand out amongst them.

An hour prior to your arrival, you received a text from Bucky – he was on shift and he was now in costume. Since his suit had no viable pocket for his phone, that meant that he would also be unreachable from that point on. With that announcement, he had also doubled down on the threats of being hunted from the moment you would step foot in the park.

If you were honest, you weren’t sure whether he was given help to find you via a comms device in his ear, or if he truly was that skilled in tracking and finding you in the crowd.

Music blasted from the numerous speakers that lined the entryway and fogged billowed from machines as you neared the entry booth. It was almost unrecognisable from the first night of your visit, and compared to the night before, the decorations were even more intense.

The park pyrotechnics lit up the fences and buildings in beat with the music, a song you recognised to be a tune similar to something resembling Rob Zombie – though it was hard to tell over all of the yelling and screaming from those already in the park.

You watched as actors stalked up and down the lines, jostling visitors and riling up the try-hards, when a familiar face came into view.

“Ah, there she is,” they said, and your eyes widened as they approached. If you weren’t mistaken, this was Bucky’s best friend, Steve – the man clad in black that you had bumped into the night before. “I was told a little lamb would make it back tonight. A certain Soldat has passed on the message that you were to…” He looked up and down the line, gesturing boredly. “Skip the crowds. C’mon, no point waiting out for your slaughter.”

Steve offered his hand, and you hesitated in taking it. “This isn’t a ploy to corner me, is it?”

He laughed, a deep rumble in his chest. You couldn’t help but stare at the blazing red insignia there. “No, no, I think I’d end up dead if I decided to target you myself. He’s a bit ruthless, not to mention territorial over what’s his.”

You blinked and looked at Steve, he only shrugged. “His?” you repeated, walking side by side with him.

“Yeah,” Steve laughed. He led you between the booth lines and waved to the worker as he walked past. “It seems our Soldat has taken to the little lamb that ventured out of her depth. I can’t blame him, though,” he said, arching a brow as he looked at you from the corner of his eye. “You are sweet–feisty, too.”

“You flatter me,” you deadpanned, and Steve barked a laugh. “So, where is he?”

“Oh, he’ll find you, lamb. Run along–get a head start if you want to make it out alive tonight.” With that last threat, Steve turned and strode off, leaving you in the entryway of the park between the arches of the rides and food court.

Pyrotechnics and fog plagued your vision – yellow and orange flames followed by glowing green and purple smoke that roiled and rolled at your feet. The lack of any markers like there had been the previous nights left you feeling disorientated; lost and scared for your fate at the hands of the one that hunted you.

There was a crowd of people moving past you when the first scare of the night overtook you. A middle-aged man pointed up towards the top of a prop building. “He’s there, look!”

Your stomach swooped and your heart rammed against your ribs. The implication of him sent a harsh shiver up your spine, but you still looked to the sky, searching the top of the surrounding buildings.

A blast of fire silhouetted a crouched man on the building furthest to your left. He was crouched on the edge, perched with a rifle in his hands; the scope was pointed straight at you. Time slowed as you stared, taking in the way the man’s hands flexed over the trigger before there was a shot, not unlike the sound of a cannon blasting off, and the ground at your feet was splattered with red.

Tendrils of it landed over your shoes and pants, splattering over your white costume and marking it for all to see. You yelled in shock as you rapidly stepped back, treading on the shoes of passersby in an attempt to get away from the scene.

“Sorry, sorry! Shit-” you hissed, stopping only once you reached a few paces from the splattered red. The state of your costume was alarming – it was as though you had been an extra on the set of Carrie.

Instinctively, you looked up at the prop building to find that man standing tall on the edge. The gun was pointed down towards his feet, and the strap was over his chest. You watched as Soldat tilted his head, long hair swaying to the side with the movement, and he pointed directly at your chest, then your feet.

The message was clear. You had been marked – marked for the hunt, and he was after you.

“Fuck.”

People parted quickly as you rushed off, running in a random direction to get some semblance of a head start against him. Your feet pounded against the pavement in time with the beat of the music and it fuelled your adrenaline – a game of chase unlike any you’d experienced before. “Excuse me, move,” you shouted over the music, shoving the people who didn’t move in time.

Actors called and whoop after you, the signature bloody mark over your clothes a sign they evidently knew well.

“And there goes our little lamb,” Widow called as you dashed past. “Run, run! He’s after you!”

“Thanks!” you yelled over your shoulder, and you took a sharp turn towards the amenities. There was a small building to the side, it was shrouded in the dark and considering its distance from the main crowds, you wouldn’t be discovered. At least, not by a bystander – Soldat was another beast entirely.

The stitch in your chest pulled you up short and you stumbled to the building, putting your back against it with a gasp for air. Muffled sounds echoed from the grounds; screams, music, and pleas to be left alone, but there was not a single sign that Soldat had followed. “Maybe I’m safe,” you mumbled, looking from left to right. No moving shadows, no shrouded figures…

You moved off the wall, stepping slowly and deliberately towards the lights of the overhead spotlights. The pad of your shoes squelched with the wet substance that coated them – of which you prayed was in fact, just paint – and you peered around the corner. No one was there, and you released a sigh of relief.

“You really must learn to be better aware of your surroundings, kotenok.”

The scream tore from your throat before you could clamp your mouth shut, and you whipped around to find the source – Soldat was leaning against the opposite wall, foot propped up against it while he flipped a knife in his metal hand, ignorant of the glint of the blade as it flashed. “Bucky!”

Soldat tilted his head. “It is not that easy, little one. I promised that by the fall of this night, you would know just who you belonged to–as far as I can tell, you still do not seem to understand that you are in my world now, and at my mercy.”

“You son of a bitch,” you groaned, putting your hands on your hips. “That’s not fair.”

“Not fair?” He pushed off the wall. The graceful way he moved entranced you and you flinched as he stepped in front of you, head tilted the opposite way; grey irises shrouded with shadowed intent. “Oh, kotenok–if only you knew just what I plan on doing to you when I catch you in our little game. You would not be so petulant.”

“Game?” you blustered, staring back at him with indignation. “This is a game to you? Making me run for my life, this act all for fun?”

Soldat leaned in close, his breath hot over your lips again – if he had not been wearing the mask, you would have taken the chance to kiss him. “Run, kotenok, run.”

The implicit danger of his words made a shudder of fear ripple down your spine. You turned and bolted, not caring as you passed by crowds that stared; pointedly ignoring the whoops of actors that watched your progress with sneers of amusement.

Your legs ached with exhaustion but you didn’t dare stop for rest. There were shrieks and calls behind you, each of which sounded more exhilarated and fearful than the last: “It’s him! Look!” and “Soldat’s here!”

“You are not fast enough,” Soldat rasped behind you, his voice trailing all the way down to your last nerve. You shrieked and jumped, pushing your tired legs harder, the pounding of your feet on the pavement quickening. “If you concede, little kotenok,” he continued, this time from right next to you, “I will go easy on my prey. Just this once.”

“Bastard,” you huffed, and with all the strength you could muster, you pushed forward and darted between two food stands, forcing him to fall back. “Can’t catch me now!”

Your bravado soared when you glanced back over your shoulder to see he was no longer tailing you. The ache in your legs reached such a pitch that you stumbled to a choppy walk, limping as you panted for breath and frantically thinking of where to run next.

“Fuck, fuck,” you huffed, and you sat down on an empty bench, careful to not have your back against the shrubbery, lest he surprise you again. “I can’t keep doing this.”

For a second, you closed your eyes and breathed deeply, collecting your scrambled thoughts, when a hand covered your mouth and another cupped your throat. “You can, kotenok. And you will.”

You jumped and looked up. Soldat was looking down at you, eyes narrowed playfully. A cold, metal thumb brushed against the front of your throat, and to an onlooker, it would appear as though he was adjusting his grip. He bent down so his hair tickled your cheeks. “Are you alright, doll? Do you need to stop?”

The words were quiet, but assuring, especially while dressed in character. You shook your head and looked into his eyes. “I’m okay–promise, you’re just giving me a run for my money.”

He chuckled and stood up straight, the brightness of his eyes completely out of character. “Why don’t you walk with me?” He gestured around at the crowds, and he pulled out his knife to flip it. “I have been told I can make an appearance and stay out in the open tonight–keep the myth alive.”

“Why not,” you replied, getting to your feet with a groan. “I could do with just a walk.”

“That is fair,” he hummed. “I must admit, our game of cat and mouse has grown to be such a rush. You make it far too easy for me, though.” You looked over at him and narrowed your eyes. He shrugged indifferently and walked ahead of you, still flipping the knife. “Stay with me, kotenok. You can watch these people lose it.”

“Okay,” you laughed, and you kept a steady pace, careful to stay behind Bucky – the distance allowed you an opportunity to stare at his ass while he walked, which led to the discovery that the tactical canvas pants of his costume clung to his thighs just as well as his jeans. “You have a nice butt.”

You heard a snort of laughter that was covered by a cough, and you watched him shake his head. “What? It’s true.”

“Do not distract me,” he growled lowly – just audible over the pounding music. “Or you will pay for it.”

“That a threat or a promise?” you fired back, and you could have sworn you had flipped a switch in his mind by the tense line of his shoulders and sudden rigid posture.

The look he fired you over his shoulder made your legs turn to jelly, and you vaguely filed away that tidbit of information away for later – much, much later.

At a small distance, you followed Bucky as he walked through the crowds. There was one instance where, like you, a man must have signed the waiver to be handled by The Soldat, because Bucky pinned him against the wall and stared into the stranger’s eyes as he stared wide-eyed back.

Music boomed to the right of you so you couldn’t make out the whimper or the words that escaped his lips, but Bucky pulled back off of the man to watch him slump down onto the floor.

With his back turned and the stillness of his body, you took the chance to take in his costume. High on his back, between his shoulder blades, a gun was holstered with a magazine attached, while holsters on his thighs and hips were full to the brim with other props. The rifle he had used on you at the beginning of the night wasn’t strapped to his back, but you took note of the large knife strapped to his belt where the scope would have sat.

The outfit did something to you, something that you couldn’t understand, and you filed that away for further thought at a later time – unable to think with the heat that settled low in your hips at his intimidating stature. “Stop it,” you muttered to yourself quietly, shaking your head once. “Get it together.”

Soldat turned towards you and you baulked at the glint in his eye – on an ordinary man, you would have described it as anger, or fury. On him, while in costume, it looked as though he had been possessed by the Devil himself. As he neared, he arched a brow in question, when you realised you were still staring. “Nothing, nothing,” you rushed, stepping back.

“No. Move,” he ordered, gesturing for you to walk forward.

Hesitantly, you stepped forward and started to walk, glancing over your shoulder at him. He continued to stare at you, then flicker his gaze to a passerby and flipping his knife. It sent a rush of power to your head to have someone as dangerous as him walk behind you – seemingly in a guarding disposition, but that went out the window when you felt a knife on your throat.

“You did not think I would be that easy on you, little kotenok–hmm?” Soldat purred, his mask cold against your ear. Your breath hitched and you moved to pull away, but he snarled and grabbed your throat with his other hand. “Stay where I put you or you will regret it.”

“What-”

“Nyet. Quiet.” The crowds moved around you, staring transfixed as he manipulated you into standing against his chest, just like the first night. “I think my trophy deserves to be shown off. They need to know that you are mine.”

Fear pulsed through your body, confused with his words, you didn’t know what to expect, when cold, hard plastic covered your mouth. You furrowed your brow as he stepped back from you, then clipped something behind your head. “What–? Buck-”

Your hand moved to your mouth, and your eyes widened. A mask, identical to his own, covered the lower half of your face and it fit perfectly – not pinching or pulling at any point of contact or movement. “You gave me–?”

“My trophy,” he edged carefully, bringing the tip of his knife to your chin and tipping your head up. “Mine.”

The possessive behaviour made a thrill of arousal sing through your every nerve, and you gulped. “I do not think they would dare go after you now, my little kotenok. And, look at that,” he said, directing your face to the sky. The night had lightened and dawn had approached, much faster than you had anticipated. “The final night has now fallen, and you belong to me–just as you should.”

You blinked owlishly, the cogs of your mind freezing and clunking into place. “Is this you- Are you-” The words were muffled by the mask over your mouth, but the glint in his eyes were as knowing as ever – vulnerable and open.

He stepped closer so he was in your space, his breath coming in slow, deep pulls. Ever so quietly and out of character, Bucky asked, “Be my girl, kitten?”

The world fell away, the music, the screams – all of it fell to the background and became non-existent. You had hoped, after the night before, with how fast you had developed a connection with Bucky over those milkshakes, that this would happen. It felt reckless and otherworldly, saying yes to such a proposition in the middle of a haunted attraction to a scare actor dressed in costume.

But what was a little rebellious adventure?

You looked into Bucky’s eyes – not The Soldat’s, and smiled. “Hell fucking yes.”

nyet = no

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fluff #rookthorne's works

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ddarker-dreams · 2 years

Text

He Who Hides Behind a Mask.

Scaramouche x F!Reader.

Warnings: Scaramouche is a mess, Reader is honestly a mess too, implied not SFW. Word count: 6k.

Note: originally, this story was going to be lot darker (haha), but after the 3.1 cutscene... i decided mr. mouche can have a break just this once. as a treat. please handle him with care. he really needs all of it he can get. anyway here’s my love letter to my fav genshin character.

You are, without a doubt, the worst human in the world.

If Scaramouche was labeled an eccentric by his peers throughout the centuries, he wonders what that would make you. Whatever conventions you abide by are a complete mystery to him. Perhaps you damaged your head at some point in your life and are now living with the consequences. Or, your head has made it out mostly unscathed, and you really are just this foolish for no good reason. That miserable doctor might say there’s an explanation behind every phenomenon, but the charlatan surely would change his tune if he met you.

What else could possibly explain why you have the audacity to waltz into his office, entirely unannounced, scuttling about like you owned the place?

… And if that isn’t worse enough, why does he let you?

“I brought some reports from Yaroslav and Stepan,” you slap said reports on his desk, then stretch your arms over your head. Scaramouche purses his lips as he contemplates how wide open you’ve left yourself to attack. He considers chastising you but decides against it this time, feeling otherwise preoccupied with your words. He’ll save that lecture for another day. Lord knows he has plenty building up already.

“Did they offer any explanation as to why they sent you in their stead?” Scaramouche scoffs, straightening the papers out and giving them a once over. If memory serves, this time-sensitive information was supposed to be here hours ago. He would’ve hunted the two aforementioned slackers down himself had he not been so inundated with other matters. Really, he shouldn’t be dilly-dallying with you at all, he should just wave you off so he can focus again.

Emphasis on the word should. He knows he most definitely won’t. Not when he had to bite his lower lip to stop a smile from spreading upon you barging in.

You unclasp your standard-issued Fatui mask from your face and toss it aside. “Well, if you want my opinion—”

“I can’t say I ever do, really.”

“—Okay, I’ll be ignoring that comment. Anyway, back to my opinion. I believe they find your lordship unpleasant. Horrifying. The worst company anyone could ask for. Had it not been for the fact they were wearing gloves, those papers would’ve been soaked from how much they were sweating.”

Gross mental image aside, he laser focuses on the insults you so freely flung in his direction. “If my company is ‘the worst anyone could ask for’, why is it you seek me out like a pest so often?”

You help yourself to the chair in front of his desk. Scaramouche had never seen anyone aside from you use it, since the few trembling Fatui agents that managed to survive their encounters here never risked staying long enough to test the furniture. It might as well belong to you at this point. As does the windowsill you somehow manage to balance yourself on when the sun is beaming in, the couch, his bed in the attached room…

“What kind of pest are we talking about here? Bugs or rodents?”

He rolls his eyes. You’re so purposefully obtuse that it’s a wonder your back isn’t bent a hundred degrees. “A mutation between them that maximizes both of their worst qualities.”

“One, that’s too cool to be an insult,” you put a gloved finger up, “And two, I’m convinced that if I didn’t keep you company, you’d go crazy from loneliness and zap everyone to death. I consider this a community service.”

Oddly enough, you might be spot on. What was that phrase again? A broken clock is right twice a day? He mentally rephrases it so that the ‘twice’ becomes ‘once’. He can’t be giving you more credit than is absolutely necessary. While he doesn’t have definitive proof you’re a telepath, it’s too much of a risk to presume otherwise. Your ability to read him is just… uncanny. He has his suspicions.

“You’ve been slacking in your supposed community service then, seeing as you’ve been gone the past week.”

Oh no, that came out way more bitter than he intended. And oh no, now you’re smiling, not the kind he’d begrudgingly call cute should his enemies ever waterboard the information out of him, either. This variation is the worst. Malignance hidden behind a veil of purity. The stuff of nightmares. It’s the ohh-you’re-so-taken-with-me-aren’t-you smile that puts his reputation of being cool and composed on the line. He can’t have that, not with you. It does away with the telepath theory that he desperately clings to.

If you’re somehow not a mind reader, then the only other explanation is that he’s made himself vulnerable enough for you to understand him. He doesn't like the thought of that. Not at all. The possibility pricks at him like a thousand needles, jamming in from all directions. Sharp and digging so deep past the surface, that removing them would cause him to bleed out.

With far more confidence in your gait than he would’ve preferred, you stride over, slinging an arm around his shoulder. The touch fills him with warmth, and still, he shivers.

“Did you miss me?”

There it is — a final blow worthy of taking him out. He wouldn’t succumb to flesh wounds, time’s passage, or elemental attacks that could level nations. It was only the sweet words that left your lips that held the high honor of potentially doing him in. Scaramouche is left stupefied. He doesn’t think about the two bumbling idiots that used you to avoid his wrath, the workload piling up as each second passes, or how grating his fellow Harbingers are.

Absolutely nothing else in this existence registers aside from you.

How close you are, how right it feels when your bodies connect, the scent of pine trees and brown sugar that make up the shampoo he knows you favor. The very shampoo he uses in your absence to try and placate himself until you return.

Emotions brew within him like the tempest above Seirai Island in his homeland. He hides it by biting down on his bottom lip, somehow managing to keep the cracks of his porcelain façade from spreading further. Once the damage is done, he hasn’t the slightest clue on how to go about fixing it. All he knows is that you are the one inflicting the damage. Far more than you could ever know. Far more than any veneer could ever polish.

With a strained tone, he manages to free the words that were lodged in his throat.

“You’re so full of yourself. Of course I didn’t.”

ii.

Scaramouche never thought he’d be able to desire a human body as much as he does yours.

It wasn’t until he made your acquaintance that he could understand how scholars went mad in pursuit of knowledge they’d never obtain. They knew it was a fruitless endeavor too, as did he, and still, what other choice did they have but to continue their studies at the expense of themselves? He was a creation — you were created. A line separates you both that he would always pass if it meant he could get the slightest taste. The blame all lies with you. Had you not tempted him, he’s certain he would’ve had the wherewithal to resist.

Or maybe that was just another pretty lie he wove, for he’s more comfortable claiming you’ve trapped him when he’s every bit the willing prisoner.

He once found the human body to be a miracle, something to envy in his earlier days. An unobtainable treasure for a tossed aside husk like himself.

He’s since rectified that naive line of thinking. What was so good about blood that couldn’t clot itself fast enough to heal mortal wounds in an instant? Skin that inevitably withers and sags from brittle bones? A heart that could kill its host should it beat too slow or too fast? The design was subpar. His being triumphed over it in every conceivable category. In the same way a swan would never pause to consider the appearance of a worm in light of its own beauty, Scaramouche thought he lacked the capacity to admire anyone other than himself. He figured that if he’d gone five centuries without finding anyone worthwhile, such a mythological figure must never exist. His modus operandi remained firm. Distrust miserable humanity, mock the foolish gods who are far less omnipotent than they’d like to admit.

Then you stumbled into the picture. No grace, no poise, only offering whatever it is you offer that he apparently just can’t get enough of. Addiction would be putting it lightly.

He runs his fingers over the hand-shaped bruises forming on your hips, then the blotches he greedily left behind on your neck. He considers the faded bites he had left around your collarbone upon receiving news you were to be away for a week on a job. He shifts himself, allowing the light from the full moon to illuminate where you returned the favor in kind, only to find the skin had healed completely. He frowns and tugs at his yukata to hide the perfection.

Indeed, you were subpar in comparison to his own divine design, but he couldn’t help but take a liking toward what your body was capable of. Far from revulsion yet not quite envy. This new emotion that bloomed in his chest went unidentified on purpose, for he never wished to give it a name.

Your body told stories, whereas his scrubbed the words clean from the pages, lest anyone ever read them.

A soft exhale from your sleeping figure draws his attention. You help yourself to snuggling deeper into his pillows, a content little smile on your lips that were raw from his various ministrations. He fights back a laugh at the state of your hair, sticking in enough directions to rival a compass. Absent-mindedly, he smooths out what he can. He’s probably not in a much better state himself. You were such a hair grabber. Perhaps all his spoiling made you impatient.

After running out of good excuses to stare at and touch you, he lays back down. His bed is far more inviting now that you’re back in it. Even if you have an unseemly habit of hogging the blankets.

“I did miss you… a bit.”

He whispers it as if it were a confession he’d clung to his entire life, only letting go moments before eternal slumber so that he may know peace. Scaramouche isn’t sure why he’s so adamant about denying you the truth. Is it pride? The thrill of being chased and sought after? Or, more realistically, and far uglier, could it be cowardice? He thought he had removed the filth that is emotion from his being. He declared it to be so, reveled in it, found solace that stretched centuries because of it.

You’ve reawoken that which lays dormant within him. If there’s anything the discarded puppet understands, it’s the danger that comes from rousing things from their sleep.

Much to his alarm, you stir, and he freezes like a thief caught in the diabolical act. You mutter some words that he can’t quite make out. Then, seemingly content with your change in position, you’re out like a light once more. His tense shoulders relax and he almost sighs from relief. He decides it’s too early to entirely let his guard down, not until he can confirm you aren’t faking slumber for some insidious machinations. He wouldn’t put it past you.

“You irritate me,” he murmurs, using the same volume that he did before.

Nothing.

“Your plant died because I forgot to water it like you asked me to.”

Still nothing.

“... Personality aside, you have some attractive qualities.”

Nada.

Huh. So he was being paranoid for nothing. He huffs in frustration, whether it can be attributed mostly to you or himself, he cannot say for certain. What he does know is that the sun will be rising in a few short hours and he hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep. The fault lies with you, he decides. If you weren’t so pleasant to look at, he’d have been well on his way to dozing off. Every anomaly in his life can be traced back to you like an elaborate tapestry. He’s thought about ripping it off from the hinges, igniting each thread until it frays, warming himself with the fire that he’d start and maintain.

While it might be difficult at first, in the long run, it should make everything easier. Get his focus back onto his lifelong grudges and goals.

But when he feels how your palm locks perfectly into place against his, he decides the warmth he gets from you as you are now is superior. Even if it means that he might possibly be the one to go down in flames instead.

iii.

“Hey, [First].”

“Hm?”

“If I said that I hated you, would you believe me?”

You take a pause from sipping on the tea he prepared. Your fingers trace the outer ring of the yunomi, eyeing the steam rising from the murky green liquid inside. Unfortunately for Scaramouche, you’d witnessed him preparing matcha tea in the classic Inazuman style, and often bugged him to make you some. He always complained about how high maintenance you were yet never refused the request. The one time you pointed this out, he hastily made the excuse that you talk less and are generally more bearable when your mouth is preoccupied. This earned him a wink that set his face ablaze.

“I think it’d depend on your reason for hating me,” you decide.

He raises an eyebrow at this. “Do I have to have a reason?”

“Well, yeah. Otherwise, you’re not putting your heart into it. It’s too tepid. Go big or go home, as they say.”

Who exactly says that…?

“And what if I don’t have a heart?” Scaramouche proposes. You’re giving him a weird look. He knows he’s being overly cryptic and searching for answers you could never give, but he can’t stop himself. There’s a certain satisfaction to be found in getting all passionate over a perceived wrong. Searching for offenses hidden beneath the reeds that simply aren’t there, yet settling on labeling the rough shape of it just that. He likes it when others make mistakes in his presence. When he has an excuse to belittle and berate them.

What that says about himself, he could care less. Very few have the power and or courage to call him out on it.

He’s scrutinizing your every movement. From the fluttering of your eyelashes against your cheeks to how you readjust your posture, searching and searching for the perfect opening for him to lunge at. He needs it from you, he realizes, in the same way lost humans in the desert need water.

Scaramouche starts drumming his fingers on the ground. Why are you taking so long to respond? Normally, you would’ve rattled off on some nonsensical tangent by now that he’d claim to only be half paying attention to when he actually soaked up every word. Could it be that you sense the underlying severity that he tried so hard to mask? Or is his telepath theory gaining newfound credence again?

He has to sever this connection with you. If he doesn’t, every time he tries to pull away, he’ll snap right back in your direction.

“The way I see it,” you start, five words that make him internally cringe yet lean in nonetheless, “Your heart is a work-in-progress. An ongoing project.”

“What?” He deadpans. Whatever he was expecting, it certainly wasn’t this.

“Hold on, I’m not finished yet. You can’t judge me until I’m done.”

He has reason to disagree but keeps that sentiment to himself.

You set the near-empty yunomi onto the ground and look him straight in the eye. “A heart is what guides you. It takes you in all sorts of directions, good and bad. You’ll think to yourself, ‘why did I do something so stupid, when I knew it was stupid’, and well, that’s because of your heart. So as far as I see it, anyone capable of messing up has a heart.”

You tap your head with your knuckles and he’s semi-amazed it’s not a hollow sound that comes forth. “See, if we only used this and abided purely by logic, we’d all be super boring and perfect. That’s where our heart comes in. It sends us spiraling all over the place and makes things interesting.”

“So you’re saying because I’m stupid and have the capacity to ‘mess up’, I have a heart?”

“Well, I would’ve gone for an artsier flare in trying to sum up what I said, but I guess that’s the gist of it.”

“I’ll be generous and overlook the incredibly foolish nature of your words that defy all sensibility—”

“Wow, thanks.”

“—And entertain your assertion with one final question before I drop the subject. You still haven’t elaborated on the work-in-progress part. Explain.”

“Oh, this one’s simple,” you nod with confidence that makes zero sense to him. “It’s only a work-in-progress because you haven’t realized you already have a heart. Once you figure that part out, you’ll be all set.”

You have the audacity to conclude this world-shattering statement with a thumbs up. Scaramouche gawks at you, vacillating between incredulity and sheer awe over your apparent nerves of steel. Grown men cower in his presence. Villages and settlements are razed on his command. He could very well ascend to godhood one day so that he might tear the false stars from the sky. And here you sit, speaking candidly with him, as if it was the most normal thing.

You interrupt his thoughts by holding the empty yunomi in his direction. “Would it be okay if I had some more of this stuff? It’s delicious.”

He yanks the yunomi with far more force than necessary, turns his back to you, and starts assembling the necessary tools while muttering obscenities under his breath. The matcha powder is all but flung into the bowl. Stupid woman with a stupid pretty face making him do stupid things—

Scaramouche freezes.

You make him do stupid things?

Oh no, this is really, really bad. Wait. There’s still hope. A light at the end of the tunnel that he must run towards. If he doesn’t believe your mad ravings, because that’s definitely what they were, no doubt about it, then he’s safe. In the clear. All good. Above reproach. The implications that would arise otherwise are too damning, possibly enough to rewrite his entire existence—

You wrap your arms around him from behind and rest your head atop his. “Are you okay, Scara? I’ve seen statues move more than you have in the past few minutes.”

He swallows thickly.

“... Kunikuzushi.”

“Huh?”

“My name isn’t Scaramouche, you dullard,” he can barely ladle the hot liquid into the bowl from how much he shakes. “It’s Kunikuzushi. Remember that.”

He feels you hum, the sound low and remarkably pleasant. “Ku-ni-ku-zu-shi. Kunikuzushi. Okay, got it. What a relief. That’s way better than what I thought your actual name was.”

“What did you think my name was?” He questions, momentarily forgetting that giving into his curiosity around you often spelled trouble for him.

“Balladeer,” is your instantaneous response.

He lets out a sound he didn’t think he was capable of making anymore. You must believe this as well, for you release your hold on him, swiveling around in front with wide eyes. Scaramouche covers his traitorous face to the best of his abilities, but it’s too late. You caught a glimpse and now he will have to live with the consequences. He swats you away as you try to pry the hand covering his smile.

“Oh wow, I made you laugh!”

“You did no such thing.”

“It wasn’t a derisive laugh or anything either! I thought you could only do evil little chuckles. This is a discovery worth celebrating.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Look who’s talking.”

For once, he doesn’t have a good response ready to fire back.

iv.

Fate is an unfunny joke, as far as Scaramouche is concerned.

He was destined for more than the hand he was dealt. A creation torn away from the higher purpose it was handmade for. Godhood, divinity, a seat amidst seven holy thrones. Fate had spat in his face and turned its back on him. Some — a certain pink-haired kitsune comes to mind — might label his various schemes a tantrum. That could be exactly what he was doing. What the fruits of hundreds of years' worth of labor ultimately amounts to. He doesn’t care if that’s the case. People could look down on petty revenge all they want, but at the end of the day, what matters is that it feels good. Vindicating, exhilarating. There is unrefined beauty in disaster when he is the orchestrator of it.

Yet for some reason or another, he doesn’t want disaster to rip its claws into you.

Your touch is different tonight and so is his. There’s a raw urgency behind it that he doesn’t care to conceal, whereas yours is sluggish, almost apathetic. It’s the antithesis of everything you are and he can’t help but find his mood soured because of it.

Scaramouche is doing everything he knows you like. Touching you in the places that normally produce such lovely noises, devouring you with his lips and body. He’s giving you everything — more than that, even — while you give him nothing. You don’t goad him on or push him away. This impossible to decipher situation has his head reeling. He wants you, he needs to have you, but not like this. Not when you aren’t yourself. For that is what he desires the most.

When he pulls back from his heated kiss, saliva connects your lips in a thin line. He grimaces at your blank expression. Why isn’t this working? In the past, when words failed him, he compensated with his actions. He’d encourage you to sing, make you throw your head back and abandon all sense of propriety, freely handing the worthless notion over to him without a second thought. You never refused to give when he went to take. So this drastic change is both abnormal and unwelcome.

“... What?” He demands, breathless. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Why does it bother him so much?

Scaramouche knows he could get up and leave. Perhaps that’s what he should do, and what he would’ve done years ago, but he’s paralyzed. You’ve injected your venom so deep inside him and he didn’t realize until it was too late. Death’s tolls are ringing in his ear to come claim him, with you standing as his executioner.

“You’re going to Inazuma,” the words come out slowly and in a tone that hardly fits you.

“Yeah? And?”

“You’re going to Inazuma without me.”

“I’m failing to see the issue here,” he grits his teeth. “Spit it out already. You’re testing my patience.”

You both glare at each other in silence for some time. A little voice in his head that he repeatedly tries to silence tells him he already knows where you’re going with this; you’re trying to give him the dignity of fessing up before he’s pressed further. You were an unrivaled master when it came to navigating the complex maze that is his existence. In any other instance, he might cave and give in. He can’t with this, it’s too imperative, the driving force that’s erred him on for countless years.

Scaramouche scoffs and moves himself off of you, settling on hanging his legs from the side of his bed. You don’t try to stop him or chase after him. You just lay there, your eyes burning on his back, ensuring that the atmosphere remains thick.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. There has got to be nothing worse than when one realizes they’re in the wrong. He can count the times he’s felt this way on a single hand, most of the experiences connecting back to you in some way. Conviction eludes him otherwise. He could shock sobbing and pleading individuals to ashes without batting an eyelash, but no, the moment you’re upset, it’s all too much and he can’t handle the pressure.

Fine. You want him to come out and say it? He’ll do just that.

“I’m going to leave and betray the Fatui,” he says as if he’s discussing the weather. “I want that deplorable Electro Archon’s gnosis. I’ve waited centuries for an opportunity like this to present itself. So, if you have half a working brain, you can see why I don’t plan on having you tag along. You’ll likely be labeled a traitor too for fraternizing with me.”

He’s grateful you can’t see his face, for he doesn’t have his hat to conceal it.

If he has little reason to stick around, you have infinitely less after a cold confession like that. He’s admitted to endangering you despite knowing his plan to one day betray the organization you both are members of. He selfishly embedded himself in you regardless, soaking up your warmth and everything good you had to offer. A parasite, he thinks. That’s what I am. A parasite that grew addicted to you and took more than it could ever hope to give back. He’s discarding you in the same way his mother did to him, once his existence was deemed unfit for its desired purpose. If he considered humans untrustworthy, what does that make him?

“... Is that all you want, Kunikuzushi?”

He’s never heard your voice so soft and delicate. What a shame that out of all the times he’s felt he deserved it, it had to come now, when he knows he doesn’t.

“It is,” comes his curt response. “You’re a fool if you think otherwise.”

He has no better defense other than to say you knowingly got entangled with a Harbinger. You could argue the point, call him on his bluff, hurl every insult under the sun at him. He’d let you too — it might as well be your right. You do no such thing. You don’t even storm out of the room in a huff. Instead, you pull the sheets up to cover your bare chest, fluff out your favorite pillows, and smooth out the wrinkled blankets. Scaramouche has to glance over his shoulders to confirm what it is you’re actually doing. Sure enough, you’ve closed your eyes, and are well on your way to falling asleep.

He shakes his head in complete and utter disbelief.

It would seem that he could never understand you, not even in your last night shared together.

You don’t come to see him off on his voyage.

His ego might be larger than any numerical measurement could hope to quantify, but not even that could make him believe you’d have any kind words left for him. That was the point of him pushing you away, wasn’t it? To enjoy you up until the very last second then make a clean break? Still, he can’t help but feel troubled by the dejection looming over him like storm clouds in your absence. What a pain. It appears you’re destined to annoy him no matter the circumstances.

Standing atop the upper deck, he overlooks the desolate landscape of Schenzaya that seemingly stretches on forever. Muted grays and blues blend together in a dreary canvas befitting of his current mood. Fatui soldiers rush around from all directions, though they do their best to avoid the space Scaramouche occupies, leaving him to brood in silence. The dark aura emanating off of him does well to warn others off.

Scaramouche doesn’t understand why this debacle is troubling him so when he knew it was coming. His ultimate goal has always been obtaining a gnosis or any other path to divinity, that didn’t change when you came stumbling along. He needs to get over this inconvenience promptly. For him to fulfill his lifelong dream, he must ensure his chest is a blank slate. He even abandoned his childlike longing for a heart upon recognizing this. Everything must be stripped clean for what is to come next. This mire plaguing him is no different — he’ll wash and drown it out.

Suddenly unable to stomach the view any longer, he pivots and makes for his private cabin. The mere thought that you’re somewhere out there, far beyond his grasp, where others take kindly to you… he could almost get sick. If you were likable enough for him to ease up in your presence, who else would succumb to your charms? He balls his hands into fists by his side. You could do so well for yourself and he loathes the thought. There’d be some admittedly petty satisfaction if he was confident you’d be alone forever after him, but it just isn’t realistic. Irksome woman. Damn you for being enjoyable company and easy on the eyes. Damn you for making him care in the slightest.

Those he strides past either scramble to occupy themselves with busy work or fixate on the floor. He pays them no mind, viewing them as insignificant as the chipped wooden planks beneath his feet. By the time he gets to his cabin’s doors, fatigue falls upon him, though his long journey is just beginning. He shoves the doors open with enough force that the hinges shriek in protest. His kasa is pushed slightly askew from the doors slamming shut, yet he cannot think to fix it or anything else. Not when he sees what awaits him inside.

Not when he sees you. Lounging on his bed as if it’s the most regular thing ever, a framed picture of yourself in your hands that he brought along against his better judgment.

“I’ve got to say, this shot looks pretty good,” you hum. “Although I have no memory of it being taken, so that’s creepy. Do I even want to know how you got this?”

… You probably don’t, but that’s beside the point.

Scaramouche all but stomps over to where you sit. He is a bundle of unsteady energy that is ready to explode at the slightest trigger. You smile at him as he leers down at you, his eyes twitching from how nonchalant you are about this intrusion. Yes, that’s exactly what this is, an intrusion, you’re entangling yourself into something beyond your scope. Beyond your comprehension.

“How,” He narrows his eyes, jamming an accusatory finger in your direction, “The hell did you get in here?”

His personal security might completely pale in comparison to him, but they should be competent enough to keep the likes of you at bay.

“The same way you did, I imagine. The door.”

Scaramouche growls and you put your hands up in defense. “Okay, bad timing, sorry. I told the guards that if they didn’t let me in, I’d tell you about the time they came back from town drunk and tried flirting with me.”

The lightbulb overhead flickers from the electricity Scaramouche exudes.

“They what?”

“Ah, sorry Grigoriy and Igor…”

He shakes his head, deciding to return to that egregious revelation later.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t throw you overboard.”

You part your lips and then close them, eyebrows furrowing together. Whatever it is you’re mulling over, he doesn’t know why he gives you the time, or why he waits with bated breath. He longs to chalk it up to you being dense. How much simpler that would be, if he could insult your intelligence and call it a day. Deep down, he knows the truth is far more complex than that. You have your reasons for doing what you do. There’s intentionality interwoven into your being, no matter how casual you act. It’s what lures him in and keeps him trapped.

He never knows what you’ll do or say next — and he always wants to stick around just a while longer to see.

“Last night, you told me you only wanted the gnosis,” you set the frame down and fold your hands onto your lap. “I thought about that for a while. Not because it surprised me, but because you chose to stop at that. I couldn’t understand why. I know you’re greedy. I know you want more… you want me.”

You tilt your head, your eyes crinkling and full of mirth. It’s enchanting. “So be greedy. Want me as much as I want you. If your kindness is pushing me away, then I don’t care for it, because I’m greedy too. I only want kindness from you if we can both enjoy it. Talking for hours about the silliest things… arguing about topics neither of us really care about… you making me matcha tea in the middle of the night ‘because I whisk it like I’m trying to break your bowl’. That’s the weird, twisted kindness that I’ll accept.”

Scaramouche has never felt so light and heavy at the same time.

“You’re serious about this?”

“One hundred and ten percent.”

“I’m worse than you think I am.”

“That isn’t too surprising.”

“Way worse,” he’s breathless, his face is on fire, and he wants to kiss you senseless until you are too. “If you think I was greedy before, you haven’t seen anything yet. You can’t promise yourself to me without knowing that. I won’t stop at anything to keep you all to myself. If you betray me like my m…”

His voice threatens to crack, but he manages to smooth it over, “If you betray me, I might just destroy this world and everyone in it.”

Including himself.

Your hands are cradling his face. He sees his reflection in your eyes and it's a vulnerable sight that hasn’t stared back at him for centuries. It disgusts him, taunts him, and unearths memories that he thought he buried six feet under. He’s at his ugliest and you look at him as if he were beautiful. Despite himself, he leans into your touch. You were a priceless find. Some treasures were meant to be displayed for the entire world to envy; he decides that method isn’t for him. Your logic-defying ways were to be reserved for his viewing and no one else's.

“And if I never betray you?” You inquire, the pad of your thumb rubbing circles into his cheek. “What then, Kuni?”

His eyes are lidded when he responds. “I don’t know.”

He doesn’t understand trust or the concept of depending on another. In his earliest days, when these imperative truths were beginning to take root, the world burned it to the ground. He always thought the soil was poisoned beyond repair and left it at that. For if tried only to fail again, he’s certain he’d doomed himself to a cycle of disappointment in others.

“Well, I guess that means we’ll have to find out, won’t we?”

You make it sound so easy.

“... Fine. Suit yourself,” Scaramouche fights back a smile at the way you cheer in victory. “Something tells me if I threw you overboard, you’d just cling to the boat, anyway.”

You shoot him a wink. “I’ve been told I’m relentless at getting what I want.”

The imbeciles you surround yourself with might have a point.

Scaramouche knows the words were spoken in jest, yet he fixates on them. You want him. You want him. You want him. For better or for worse (he’s leaning toward worse), you’re still willing to put up with his endless list of negative qualities. He can’t remember the last time anyone offered him that, probably because no one ever has.

You start to move away and he holds you in place, stealing the kiss that’s been on his mind since you had the audacity to show up uninvited. His mouth slants against yours, his appetite voracious and demanding everything you could possibly offer. You reciprocate in kind, your lips curving upward, and your hands guiding his to settle on your hips.

You are the worst human, he thinks, pushing you back onto the bed and eliciting a gasp from you in response.

So it’s his job to see that you’re dealt with accordingly.

By him and him alone.

#scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #reader insert #genshn impact reader insert #fatui x reader #harbinger x reader #not sfw #my stuff

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nanamimizz · 11 months

Text

𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍 𝐇𝚬 𝐆𝚶𝐓 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘…

…𝐓𝐀𝐊𝚬 𝐇𝚬𝐑 𝐅𝐑𝚶𝐌 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝚬𝐀𝐕𝚬 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐍𝚶𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆.

author’s note: set in the yandere blade universe! part of a more significant piece in mind willing to answer questions about it. reader, the daughter of a cloud knight general was in an arranged marriage with blade before he became a criminal and took on the mantle blade - we aren’t aware of what his name used to/was so he is referred to as blade continuously. the reader is a social pariah and is married to a second husband. while we do not know exactly what blade and dan heng did together, we assume it was a creation of sorts, so that is implied. please keep in mind there is kidnapping in this piece but when this is out in it's bigger state there will be more heavy dc within the story!!

tags: +18 minors dni! dc content within, fem reader! arrange marriages, implied cheating/unfaithfulness, jealousy, angst, kidnapping, crying, mentioning of murder- let me know what i missed !

synopsis: a ghost shows his face - the past never dies, especially here in the xianzhou luofu.

You were frightened - it’s what you say to yourself as you grip the pillow beneath you, trembling in your inner clothes. It was like seeing a ghost, an apparition of your shameful past as red eyes leered at you from above, framed by long blue-black strands of his hair. Tilting his head you can hear the ornaments of his clothing and his earring clink quietly, paired with your trembling breaths; it’s all that can be heard in the room you share with your second husband. The man in front of you is like a cursed statue, unflinching, unmoving and unbreathing.

Still and present - like a stain you can’t get out, the past that will never die. He will lick his wounds and even if he were to lose a limb, his memories or his mind, the man known as Blade will always appear before you like a dog that doesn’t know any better. His eyes never leave you, even as you choke out the words and clutch the thin jade necklace he gave you as a wedding gift you still wear.

“Are you here to kill me?” Your words are punctuated by the cold sweat that runs down your cheek that he eyes with hunger.

“No. Of five people, three must pay a price…you are not one of them. Destiny has decreed that we will be together again.” His words turn your fear to anger. Fear, anger, betrayal - you think of your marriages. Though you grew to love the man he was once, your love had always been for the highest bidder. Blade’s former self’s talent was unmatched and your current lecherous husband’s money were the reasons for you being promised to these men. Love was never in the cards for you and even the man you did love had caused you so much strife because he couldn’t stay away from what intrigued him. Despite your counsel, your pleading, your begging - your life turned to ash in your mouth.

“Destiny? That is why you are here before me - because of the ramblings of a mad man?” You ask, tone impudent and harsh. If this was anyone else you’d be embarrassed, you were raised better than that but you just can’t help yourself at this moment. You didn’t even realize that you had tears stinging your eyes until he had drawn closer, knees to the bed and a gloved hand reached to cup your cheek. You couldn’t stop him even if you wanted to, once you were a proud warrior, the apple of your father’s eye and strong.

But after the incident you were stripped of it all - your weapon, your strength and even your father’s love.

You are weak and alone, a frightened woman with tears in her eyes at the mercy of the man she once loved. How pathetic you are, still the same from when you lost everything crying before all at the gravity of your loss.

“I made you cry.” He speaks finally, the artificial moon making his eyes glow like a crow’s in your room. His thumb rubs at your cheek and the affection is haunting as he would do this when his name was familiar to your tongue. You haven’t been touched so gently in a time, depraved of it for so long you don’t have it in you to smack his hand away. You’ve heard him say those words before - the memory makes you flush.

“You’ve always made me cry.” You say, tone warbling as you look at him with red eyes that almost match his. Blade makes a sound, confused but wanting and you look away to bring forth memories from when your lives were intertwined.

“Throughout our arrangement you didn’t say a word when we first met, I cried because I thought you found me repulsive. And you only gave me swords as gifts in the beginning, I thought it was because you didn’t find me womanly.” You laugh a little at that one, teary and soft because at the time you were driven mad about what to do but now you can’t help but find it humorous. The man before you was your blue spring of youth, and the winter of your death all the same.

“Were we arranged?’ He murmurs, confused as his eyes scrunch in the same way they did when he would begin to craft some new tool for the artisans. You nod, letting small drops of salt water drip down your face.

“Yes. My father thought you were brilliant. He wanted to sponsor your talent, and through our marriage, you received financial help for your crafts.” You explained, feeling your cheeks turn tacky at the talk of finances. He nods, and again there’s a fog in his eye - a glaze that dulls his warrior sense as he begins to reach back into his mind for his ghosts of the past.

“That’s how me and Dan Fen-”

“Don't mention that man’s name to me.” You cut him coldly and it makes him laugh. Despite what you may think he does have some memories of you - your smile and the gentle way you would hold out your hand for finches to rest in your palm. It’s humorous to see you so harsh, like a lion cub growling.

“Don’t worry, I plan to kill him when the time comes.” He says and it shames you to admit but that promise does soothe you some.

“I don’t care, I hate him. I hate you.” You say and Blade huffs an amused sound. Condescending and almost patronizing, you are aware that you sound like a petulant child.

“You’ve let me get rather close, for a man you hate.” He tries to tease but his voice is too monotone and you only grow more annoyed as you narrow your eyes and hiss at him.

“That’s because for as much as I hate you, I still love you. You were my first love, how could I possibly let you go?” You mutter the last bit but he still catches it and something smug grows in his chest at your admittance.

“Only love.” Blade says and you look at him bewildered.

“I am your only love. Unless you’ve fallen for the pig that is your current husband.” You blink and a new emotion glitters between your lashes and he wonders if he has made you cry again.

“Only love…yes…that’s right. A curse I must bear.” You say and he says nothing, as he supposed he must be like a stain on your life.

“Are you happy here?” Blade asks suddenly and it makes you glance at him from under your lashes that are still dewy with saltwater. It's a redundant question, the answer hangs in the space between the two of you - the liminal space that can be seen between the sun and the moon. Your voice cracks, and you answer him with a voice so bitter it makes Blade grin.

“No. No I’m not.”

“Would you like to leave?”

“Yes.”

Red eyes close to let his grin widen, a sight that before made you smile back then when he was younger and an awkward young man. Now all it does is drive a chill down your back, cold sweat like icicles down the fabric of your inner clothes as dread fills you up to your head. His head comes closer, you drown in a sea of banners and wine, your breath stutters and you don’t even see it - the tranquilizer in his hand that he is quick to inject you with. He is the last thing you see, and the last thing you feel is the ghost of his lips brushing against yours.

He laughs - a dark and cool sound that makes you whine like a frightened dog.

“Come with me then, just like it used to be - back then, now again.”

The celestial boat continues its journey, the artificial night sky filled with the stars it imitates but the only thing, when you wake up in a bed that is most unfamiliar next to a man who is both past and present you finally see the true stars for the very first time.

#lamb.writes #blade x reader #yandere blade x reader #honkai star rail x reader reader #cw: dark content #cw: kidnapping

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