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fraugwinska · 16 days

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I tried my hands on an Human!Alastor fic ;> It's still very different to write for Human Al, but I hope y'all like it ;> Special thanks to @hurthermore for beta-reading and encouraging me <3 This one's for you, love! !! NSFW - Heavy Smut Ahead, Minors DNI - 6k words !!

„You need technical assistance, sir?“

Alastor looked up from the papers on his desk, adjusting his glasses that slipped down the bridge of his nose. He didn't expect her to come in this late, or at all, not while he was still at the station. The curious little sound engineer that had started half a year ago was standing at his office entrance, hands in the pockets of her outrageous trousers. She was tiny, her small figure barely filled the door frame, even with her bulky tool bag that hung from her shoulders. Alastor leaned back in his seat, folding his hands, focusing his tired gaze on her defensive expression.

She was a novelty, that one. Not the first woman working at the station of course, but the first to assert herself in the male-dominated field of technical engineering. Her male colleagues saw the spunky, brass girl as a joke, either ignoring her or trying (very amateurishly) to bed her – both which didn't faze her at all meeting both scenarios with the same contemptuous indifference. The women – secretaries, errand girls and concierges – were much more organized and refined in their bullying. Shortly after her arrival rumors had already spread, one more abstruse than the other, and they had collectively decided to pretend the engineer didn't exist in their periphery. More than once he witnessed her talking to his own secretary Ruth, just to be left standing while Ruth got up and walked out with the other girls to lunch in the middle of her sentence.

The little engineer took it all in stride, though. Never complained, never became outright disrespect- or revengeful. Gradually, her expressions steeled, her answers shortened and her work hours shifted to evenings or nights, with less people to run into.

Alastor had been fascinated by her the moment they first met. He had just started his usual 'Saturday Golden Hour', his favorite and most popular segment to host, broadcasting the newest releases of jazz and swing in the evening, just before sundown. Not even ten minutes in, right after he started playing Bing Crosby's new song 'Dancing in the Dark', listeners started calling the station by the handful, complaining about horrific feedback's and sudden blackouts. While Alastor watched Rufus Ellis, the head of the tech team, frantically run around, yelling at his workers, the little engineer had wordlessly grabbed a few tools and vanished. Five minutes later, his broadcast went back to working perfectly, sound crisp and quality flawless once again. She had returned, put back the tools from where she had taken them, and when Ellis – flabbergasted – asked her what she had done, she had calmly explained that she went up on the roof to check the transmitters connected to the radio tower and fixed a broken generator that had malfunctioned due to some doves nesting in it.

No one thanked or even acknowledged her, they just shrugged and went back to business as usual. But Alastor didn't forget, and from this day he was determined to find out more about this extraordinary girl. She reminded him of his own struggle as the exception to the rule – it was a well-kept secret throughout the station exactly what Alastor looked like and who he was. That was the only reason he was able to do what he felt was born to, a cruel, unfair compromise. So, he felt an unusual sympathy for her, in addition to just his natural curiosity for oddities. However, he didn't expect her to be so elusive.

Whenever he tried to engage her in a conversation, she gave short, finite responses, avoided his eyes and hurried to get away from him, sometimes even bordering on rudeness in her haste to flee from him. Alastor was, to be frank, perplexed - his charm usually drew in the ladies unwantedly. That it had failed him now, with the little engineer, when he welcomed it for a change? Peculiar. To a degree, it angered him, but it also awakened his hunting instinct, just not the one he was used to.

“I'm afraid so, dear.”, Alastor smiled, standing up. He rounded his desk, hands behind his back, and went to her side, looking down a t her. Granted, he was a tall man, but next to her, he felt almost gigantic, which satisfied him in a strange way. “I noticed my microphone was acting up today, and would like you to take a look at it, if you don't mind. Before it decides to give up on me mid-broadcast.”

“That's my job, sir.”, she just answered, eyes intensely staring at the carpet. Alastor's eyebrow twitched in slight aggravation. But he lead her to his booth, unlocking it to let her in. She went straight to his seat, dropping her tool bag next to it and started to pull his microphone to her to inspect it. He quietly closed the door, locking it discreetly – just as a precaution so she couldn't flee him again so easily, now that he finally had her in his vicinity.

Alastor walked over to her, leaning over her shoulder to watch her carefully taking the device apart. She startled when she saw him out of the corner of her eyes. “It may take a while, sir.”, she mumbled, an obvious attempt to make him leave. Alastor laughed. “I've got nowhere to be, dear, take your time.”, he said with a hint of mischievous delight. He heard her scoff, turning back to her work. There was a prolonged silence, her fiercely ignoring Alastor's quiet, content humming while her fingers picked apart and put together parts and cables. He used the time to analyze her appearance – her hair was smooth but more unkempt than for a girl her age – how old must she be? Twenty, maybe Twenty-one? Vanity surely wasn't a flaw of hers, she didn't wear much make-up and Alastor saw various faint, light scars on her arms and hands, little bookmarks of mishaps and failures of her chosen career – the sight of them sent a sick shiver down his spine. Given his... hobbies, he found twisted appeal in scarred skin, finding beauty in those white, shimmering lines where blood once dripped from. He roamed her supple, curved body – unlike the recent fad of skinny, androgynous frames she was built womanly, round and fleshy... how beautiful could he paint her with white streaks on this vast canvas, add some masterpieces of his own to the collection?

“Alright.”, she pulled him out of his thoughts, mounting the microphone back on it's flexible stand. “A few cables were starting to corrode, I've replaced them, it should work fine now.” Alastor grinned down at her, putting one of his hands on her shoulder. The first real contact. “What an efficient engineer you are, dear. Always coming to my rescue, I have yet to show my gratitude.” She didn't look up, didn't even acknowledge that he said something to her, just packing up the various things she had spread out for the repair. Now that was just rude.

“Hello? Is this thing on?”, Alastor strained himself to sound lighthearted as he knocked two times on her head, feeling the shivers of impatience rising. The engineer closed her eyes and took a deep breath in, shifting in his chair with furrowed brows. “I'm getting paid to do my job. I don't need anything else.” She attempted to stand up, but his hand, still resting on her shoulder, holds her in place. “If that's all, sir?”

“Now now, not to hasty. I'd think it's unlike you to leave work halfway done. Normally you are quite thorough, aren't you?” Alastor cooed, tilting his head at her. “My work is done.” she said, her voice now intense and a faint tint of red on her cheek and neck. My, there's the little ferocity he thought she'd lost at the job. “Why we haven't tested the thing, dear – How can I be sure it works properly?”

“Because I know what I'm doing.” She looked outright offended at the implied possibility that she failed the task he asked of her. He had to chuckle, such a childish reaction to something so innocent. Maybe it was because implications like these grated her thick skin, but Alastor had no problem with being the straw that breaks that camel's back. He was skilled in putting people back in their place, and with her, it would be much more entertaining and much less fatal than with his other... acquaintances. He decided to tickle this sleeping dragon just a bit more, with a funny little idea in mind.

“No one is infallible – especially when they are so young. No fault in that, dear, but I'd like to be sure.” Alastor swiftly grabbed her wrist, pulling her up to stand. Putting up no resistance, most likely because of sheer perplexity, he twirled her almost like in a dance, side-stepping to his chair, and sat down, pulling her onto his lap, locking her there by an arm wrapped around her waist. The look on her face was worth it's weight in gold – eyes wide, mouth agape in stunned shock, and tips of the ears reddened. Her hands grappled the armrests so forcefully her knuckles were as white as the scars on her arms, and within seconds of regaining her active conscience she squirmed against his body. “What... that's so... sir, please let me g...” “There you go, dear.”, Alastor ignored her babbling, using his free hand to put the headphones on her. Her pulse under her thin, clear skin drummed faster against him, it's heat felt like it could boil his own blood.

He grabbed his own microphone, swinging it up between their faces and leaned forward, chin resting on her shoulder and the grille brushing his lower lip. She stared, dumbstruck, a bead of sweat forming on her forehead. He chuckled against her cheek, leaning his mouth to the mic as he pushed the switch on the control panel up, and his rich, sultry baritone echoed in her headphones.

"How about it, darling, do you hear me?"

She breathed deeply, gulping, and her heart sped up even more. Alastor smiled devilishly against her soft skin, delighted and in awe by how far he got her worked up as she just nodded sharply.

"No soundrops, feedback or small interferences?", he hummed, his voice dripping sweet honey. She took a moment to answer. "N-no... everything seems alright."

"Lovely." He almost whispered, but she heard it crystal clear through the headphones. He let a low sigh and took off his glasses with one hand, slowly, teasingly, his nose tracing over her neck, as if it was coincidental, as if he'd never ever do such a thing intentionally, putting the accessory on the table next to him, eyes locking on the hazel ones of hers mirrored in them. "Although I wonder..." He pushed the mic nearer to her mouth, seeing a tremble running over her body. "... if the higher pitches might be a problem... You wouldn't mind help with that, would you?"

She stiffened up, barely daring to breathe, her skin erupting into goose flesh underneath his lips, he felt the impulse to press them against her, lick the salt and nervousness from it.

"Sir, I-I can't.."

He chuckled at her strained, whispering voice. How beautiful was her distress, so rich, so fragrant, almost strong enough for him to savor its essence without even needing to touch her.

"Then, may I assist you?", Alastor felt himself giddy with impish delight, his hands slowly trailing upwards from her waist to her bust, cupping her gently through the thin fabric. This made her wriggle again, a small, high pitched squeak leaving her lips that his microphone just amplified in glorious reverberations. Alastor chuckled darkly as she froze, neck burning red in deep embarrassment from the sound she heard from the headphones.

"Now we're talking. A wonderful first try. But let's see what else we can get out of you, darling. After all, we want to be thorough."

His hands palmed and kneaded the supple flesh through the cotton, feeling her squirm and tremble and the warmth of her bosom, imagining the blood rushing through her heart. How exquisite was she?

He could hear a small whimper as her head slightly lowered. Was she closing her eyes? He imagined it so. Imagined she'd shut her pretty eyes closed, furrow her brows in conflict as her legs pressed against each other in fruitless desperation. Her hands tightened on the armrest.

"You are so very quiet, dear. Why don't you relax and turn the volume up for me?"

With one of his hands he quickly loosened the two buttons that kept her blouse close and tugged at the collar to widen the neck hole, then slid under her brassier and gripped one breast with a tight squeeze. Alastor caught his breath as he realized just how sensitive and sweet the freckled skin under his fingertips was. Soft. Warm. So fragile... He would never have imagined this was hiding under her daily uniform, her sagging shoulders and loose jacket hiding those lovely features. Alastor felt a delightful spark crackle in his head and shoot up the nerves of his spine. His hunting instinct pulsed under the mask. But... with a slight delay, Alastor recognized it as a different type of hunger... one of the carnal and more depraved kind. Another novelty for him.

Alastor suddenly wondered what her lips tasted like, how soft and warm would they feel on his, her teeth biting, her tongue teasing him. How many ways could he break her - and could he do it quickly, with his bare hands, with his words alone maybe, or with his undisciplined arousal pushing against her rear-end through the fabric of his trousers? How often did she think of him? How did she think of him? Did she fear him, or dislike him even? He could hear her breathing hasten as he was trying to compose himself.

There was the devil's urge to just let himself go. To shove the equipment aside and tear those outrageously inadequate clothes away from her flesh, run his hands over the skin he didn't get to see yet, trace and map those scars of hers until they fade underneath his fingers. Mark her more thoroughly than any machine mishap ever could. Make her cry, moan, beg and whine under him until there was nothing left in her and this novel hunger was satisfied.

A wonderfully loud moan escaped her, a sweet, silky, vibrato sound of passion, that went right from Alastor's chest into his pelvis. She opened her eyes wide, pressing her hand firmly over her mouth, mortified at her own pleasure.

Oh, Alastor thought to himself, smiling mischievously as the shock of lustful rapture coursed through him, how easy it was for him to undo her. So unexplored, so fresh... "Do you wish to stop, darling?", he asked with a teasing pinch of her hardened nipple, which made her cry out and her other hand fly up and cover her mouth, too. She shook her head, her cheeks flushed and hot, eyes hazed with confused pleasure. He rubbed and teased the nipple gently in his palm, holding her close, making her struggle in defiant silence. The only sound was his gentle, patient humming.

But oh, she was breaking, crumbling like a stale beignet, and the noises his hand bullied out of her turned from hushed whimpers to barely muffled groans and cries for him, long and wanting 'Sir's and 'Oh's. She was melting under his palm. He grinned wickedly, his lower body hard and wanting against her as he put the microphone to his own lips again and spoke into it.

"Say it with your words, dear, should I stop? Or is it that you can't hear me?"

"Y-yes! I mean... No sir... d-don't... stop." There was a suppressed crack in her voice, and Alastor sighed with lust at her gasping affirmation, grinding against her plushy backside. He has found it amusing to push her limits, break through her thick skin and riddle her, like an ice pick cracking open a glacier. And now it would shatter her so gorgeously. "It's Alastor, darling." He whispered into the microphone with a dragging, sultry voice, his hand retreating from her breast, only to snake it's way to the hem of her pants. Her legs twitched, pushing together to futilely protect her modesty, but her body eagerly arched in a way that gave such easy way for his fingers to slip under the garments, feel and stroke the short, coarse hair, following it's trail, only to meet soft, silken and slippery wetness. A startled gasp escaped her and the only reason she didn't leap up was because Alastor kept his firm grip on her waist, pulling her tight against his throbbing erection. Her head fell back onto his shoulder, exposing her delicate throat as she whimpered, hands flying from her mouth to the armrests again, gripping so hard her fingernails dug into the hard wooden surface.

He tried to restrain himself but couldn't, he testily bit into the thin, soft flesh of her neck as his fingers found their way into her entrance and dipped deep in, coating his palm in generous wetness and crooking, exploring carefully, but with a patience even he was surprised at, eyes fixated on the taut fabric as he thrust into her in tandem with the waves her body undulated at the new sensation, her sweet taste on his tongue.

"S-Sir, please...", she groaned against his hand that still remained pressed over her lips, as if it could suppress the bliss Alastor wrought her into. He withdrew his hand for a moment, fingers wet, glistening and slick, as she was breathless, but she couldn't hide how her hips were chasing his retreating touch. He leaned into the microphone, barely lifting his mouth from her neck.

"Say my name, and I shall listen, little engineer."

She hesitated for just a heartbeat, before opening her eyes, hazily staring at the ceiling as Alastor patiently waited, his fingers drawing idle circles around the sweet pearl on her outer folds. She pressed her lips together for a second, seemingly mentally preparing herself, and then opened her mouth, to give in, to submit to him.

"...A-Alastor, please..."

"I like the sound of my name from your lips, darling." He almost purred in return and resumed his movements with added vigor and focus. He put down his head on her shoulder, nuzzling into the juncture of her throat, watching her reaction and every detail of how his hand worked her over with the rhythmic hump of his hips, forcing him to breathe harshly as he was starting to be deprived of blood. He had barely noticed it, how incredibly erotic and sinful this whole thing felt not just for her, but for him, too. Partly of course, because of the chase, the coaxing, the hunt to have her call and writhe for only him, not for any of these imbeciles that tried to get their pick with her, his ears pricked and eager to savor her wanton sounds... A surprising need to be connected, closer to her than anyone ever could be in her whole life, and it made him even giddy to know no man had touched her like he was doing now, taking her purity with ease and glee.

But there was another part, something he thought slumbered too deep within him to be ever awoken, a roaring fire in his guts as the alluring, delicious scent of her arousal assaulted him like a siren's song, lulling, cajoling him with sensual desires to drown in them, to abandon all else and indulge, to completely give in and surrender. It wasn't tactical, calculating or strategic, but wild and primal and primitive, and not at all as painful or awkward to him as he had always thought it'd be.

What a revelation a woman's body could be.

He almost missed her coming into his eagerly working hand - a sudden, full-body twitch that went through her spine, a whine in her voice that ended in a choked sound as her orgasm claimed her and washed her away in the torrent of rapture - eyes going wide as the air escaped her in a desperate cry, hands gripping his thigh and the chair's armrest so hard the nails left little scratches in the wood. He barely had time to notice it before her climax hit him like a truck - the convulsing of her inner walls, gripping and spasming tightly around his fingers as he slowed and stroke out her high.

This moment was pure madness in his veins - his head foggy and airy, like a drug, like a vicious new addiction he would do almost anything for. Her body went slack against him, and the only thing that held her upright was Alastor's arm still securely around her, still keeping her pressed onto his hard length, still pulsing for some release of his own. Alastor wanted more, already was plotting what his hands could be doing to her body next as she came down from her high and back to earth, the heat leaving her body slowly as the soundproofed air trapped within the booth hung heavy with her hot breath and the smell of her passion.

The first movement of hers, after having come undone so beautifully for and on him, was to lift up the headphones.

"Well then, little engineer.", he huffed into her ear, laughing with barely hidden delight. "What is your final assessment?"

"Your microphone works perfectly. J-just like I said it would." She was determined, if nothing else. And unbearably cute when she was defiant. Alastor simply adored a fiery spirit, even as he was already thirsting for more. He looked up, her sharp tone prickling his pride. He shot her a glare from the corner of his eyes, his usually calm smile tugging upward in a half smirk as she avoided his eyes. Oh, was she starting to have second thoughts about her tone towards him?

"I always admired your work ethics and knowledge, my dear, even though you eluded my attempts to give you your well-deserved recognition." The hand not occupied in playing with her still moist, delicate flesh lifted the arm that she had still buried in his thigh, brushing his fingers lightly over her knuckles as he brought it to his lips. She went still as a stone under his fingertips. "I asked myself, what would be the reason you ignored and evaded me for so long? Do you dislike me that much, little engineering girl?"

"No." It took her a moment, a little quiver in her voice, but it seemed like this was the first time in a long while that her answer was as blunt and truthful. He sighed contentedly, planting a soft kiss on her hand. "Quite the contrary, in fact."

His eyes snapped to her, narrowed. She still refused to look at him, still tense and obviously embarrassed, her free hand trembling on her lap. So it hadn't been animosity that made her behave so coldly towards him, not aversion that made her flee his presence and not prejudice that made her avoid their encounters but...

"Ah." Alastor chuckled softly at her awkward behavior, grinning delightedly at the revelation. "Of course."

Shyness was a curious thing, he thought, often misinterpreted as either prude modesty or cold antipathy. And it seemed Alastor had fallen for the latter interpretation - he would've been miffed at the thought if it hadn't brought her here, into his lap, and into his hands - alas, better late than never, he guessed. And there was still something to take care of.

"Well, since you're not running from me now..." His hand left hers and joined his other one in pulling the belt of her pants open, gently tugging on the metal buckle until the strap slipped free. "Let me finally show my gratitude in kind, for the lovely engineer and her marvelous work."

He loosened his tight grip on her, enough so that he could turn her to face him - for once, she glanced at him from under her lashes, not only out of bashfulness now - but he thought he saw something like cautious anticipation there, too. His grin became even wider as she kept his gaze, even if barely. A last stubborn act of shy rebellion - in another situation it would have enraged Alastor, but now, he was delightfully fascinated and challenged by her stubborn nature, by the unpredictability of her reactions even now, as she herself hooked her fingers under the hem of her pants and pushed them down over her shapely hips.

The last barrier of decency fell between them, revealing the full picture before him - there was her reddened face framed by cascading locks, eyes lowered in embarrassed defeat; Her stiffened nipples prominent on her perky, tight breasts; The damp patch of dark pubic hair that barely hid her glistening privates and the plush roundness of her thighs. And the whole body covered in tiny, white streaks, healed cuts and burns scattered in between her freckles. Oh, she would be delightful to ruin over and over again.

He took a step towards her, his hands immediately moving to her hip, exploring, caressing the soft flesh. This time, she did not move away from his touch and watched him with big, wide-blown eyes, full of expectation and a new type of uncertainty as he lifted her up onto the main control panel. He discarded of his jacket, the cloth too heavy and hot for him now, and threw it aside carelessly, leaving his bow tie hanging loosely around his neck as he went back to the woman, his little prey. Her knees parted slightly when his body wedged between them, an inviting gesture from her, though Alastor suspected she herself didn't notice. He grinned darkly, lifting her chin up by a finger, before bending over and planting a firm but restrained kiss on her lips, feeling his own skin crawl in electric stimulation, eager to finally taste her. His hands made quick work of his slacks, freeing his almost painfully erect member with a pleased sigh. From the way she gasped and her eyes widened, he could easily deduct that she had less to no experience whatsoever.

Oh, what a fortune. Alastor relished the thought of claiming precious, well kept treasures, his breath quickened as he broke from the kiss, hands running over her heated skin in swift, soothing motions, goosebumps trailing in their wake as he felt her shudder with hesitant desire beneath him. Oh, this would be fun.

"Let's be sure you'll hear my message loud and clear, this time, hm?"

He took her mouth again before she could protest, discreetly angling the microphone down with one hand just near enough where she would soon enough be connected to him. With a sly grin, he lined himself up to her waiting entrance and slowly pushed in. She stiffened at the unfamiliar invasion, a mewl muffled against his lips and hands in his shirt, and he stilled, enjoying the way her body reflexively tightened and squeezed around him as she tried to cope with the sensation of him stretching her.

She gasped as her chest heaved from the feeling, her walls convulsing around him like a vice. He allowed a low groan to escape him, she felt so gloriously tight and hot he had trouble keeping his composure, hands twitching to rut into her and just plow through.

"Ready for the final test, darling?"

"T-test...?"

He didn't bother to give her an answer as he started to move. In and out, with slow and drawn out movements, keeping his thrusts shallow at first, deep and precise enough to press against her innermost point and making her moan helplessly. The wet sounds of their coupling reached his ears, coupled with her wanton cries, an obscene and enchanting noise he was waiting for. With a mischievous smile, he picked up the headphones from where she had put them down, lifting it to one of her ears. Her face flushed in such lovely shades of red when the squelching echoes of what the mic picked up reached her ears, amplified and oh-so-clear thanks to her own handiwork.

He let out a guttural chuckle as he leaned into her, still thrusting slowly, her head falling on his shoulder and hanging onto his shirt for dear life, knuckles white as she could hear all the sweet sounds their bodies made and how they connected, each inch of her body singing praises for only him, for his size and rhythm. He could tell the moment her walls began to relax around him, squeezing the blood into his member as she took him in again and again, accepting it's size wholeheartedly with greedy eagerness.

"Such a talented woman.", he praised into her free ear, sighing at the delicious way her slick, swollen lips slid over his length, her thighs twitching against his with every single thrust and every word that fell from his lips. "Just listen to the fruits of your impeccable labor, dearest. Almost wasted in a place like this."

A moan, shaky and delirious, a shuddering sob for him, so high and flustered she sounded almost pained escaped her throat. She pressed against him and with a jolt that reverberated through her spine, convulsing so sweetly against him he almost came from the tremor that rushed through his cock. But it wasn't her peak. Alastor hadn't gotten his fill yet and he wouldn't stop now until it was both of their turns, but damn if he wasn't tempted.

He reached to the other ear to put the second headphone on her. Now her world had no escape, she could only listen, only hear every filthy wet noise of his slick slide, his ragged breathing and the beat of her own heart- a heavy, cacophonous staccato.

Her eyes were heavy-lidded, head clouded and flushed, looking up at him with rapt fascination. His own gaze met hers as his pace increased, suddenly snapping his hips with harsh precision, and his voice was low, carnal.

"But their loss is my gain, darling. Don't you ever forget that, now."

And his thoughts went to of those incompetent, thickheaded dunderheads who took their jobs, but were no where as skilled or invested as her, knowing full well they were inadequate and undeserving to get close to her, trying to touch what clearly should have been for him alone to do, and it sent a nasty spark of possessiveness through Alastor, igniting a furious hunger, a beast waking up within him and snarling with unbridled desire, to claim, to mark her as his. And nobody else's.

He grinned devilishly, a low rumble in his throat as a needy whine escaped his little engineer and he grabbed her waist tightly, digging his fingers into the fat there as he picked up speed and drilled into her with more intensity, savage, merciless and utterly ruthless, finally throwing all composure and rationality overboard to replace it with feral instinct and possessive desire. Her hands clutched him desperately, thighs tensing and pressing against his moving hips, her choked cries of his name were nothing else but heavenly and he was filled with lecherous obsession and greed - yes, he could get addicted to the sound of his name being screamed and moaned from her lips, her sweet, wet flesh fluttering around his throbbing length, the violent stuttering of her breath that just enticed and pleaded him to continue.

"Mine. My own, little, eager engineer." he hissed against the shell of her ear, headphones slipping from her, hips still pounding away at her heat with feverish pace and an undeniable pleasure coiling low and tightly within his pelvis. With every harsh thrust, every desperate, salacious cry, he pulled her deeper and deeper into sinful depravity, her head thrown back in bliss, the headphones slipping from her head as her nails scraped desperately over his clothed chest. The sharp bites of pain mixed with a sweet ache and tightening within Alastor, telltale signs of his climax nearing rapidly. "No more avoiding me, no more elusion or flight for you, understood? You are mine and mine alone."

Her toes curled as his words spurred her over the edge with him, her core spasming and quivering around him as her moans became ragged and desperate, jaw agape in rapture but no words found as she toppled into her orgasm, dragging and taking Alastor with her. The immense wave crashed into him and swept him along, and he growled in the sensational and exhilarating feeling and his head fell against her shoulder, with a growl ripping from his throat, low and guttural. His seed emptied in her with long, forceful spurts, her body tensing and relaxing as each twitch and jerk pushed his release deeper and deeper, the pleasure so acute, so sharp it was almost painful, until both their highs subsided and Alastor had to rest against her for a moment, their labored breaths the only noise that reached his ears.

Alastor sighed contentedly, his hand loosened it's grip and his fingertips gently traced over the angry, red lines they had left behind on her tanned skin of her waist, feeling her shivering underneath him. His lips pressed into the soft crook of her neck, placing a tender kiss on the flushed skin. He would have to do something about the bruising and marks... His eyes wandered up and he noticed that she was staring now, hazily and exhausted, her pupils still wide, lips bitten swollen and reddened, her cheeks and chest still painted pink with lingering arousal. The sight was so deliciously debauched and lewd, a smirk crept on his face.

"It seems that the equipment is indeed in perfect working order again, thanks to you, darling."

"...Yes, sir." she replied warily, her voice still breathless. Her usual demeanor returned, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes she tilted her head away from him. He chuckled, lifting her chin and capturing her lips once again, not much for hers but more for his own gain, and then moved off and out of her. He took a moment to savor the view - the red, swollen flesh, leaking his essence that pooled on the metal surface of his control panel he would work on in a few hours, and her thighs glistening in the faint orange light of the booth.

"Please, darling, from now on..." Alastor took a handkerchief from his breast pocket, wiping the mess of his hands and cleaning her with careful gentleness, her legs twitching weakly at the contact.

"...call me Alastor."

He hummed quietly and lifted her from the console, closing the buttons on her blouse again with fastidious efficiency after she slipped back into her pants. Then, with a few quick motions, Alastor picked up his jacket and fixed his own appearance, before helping her stand properly on her trembling feet.

"I trust we won't have any misunderstandings anymore?" He smiled at her, tilting his head slightly, a soft and yet challenging smile, his hand cupping her face and the thumb brushing her lower lip. Her cheeks grew warmer and redder again, her eyes flickering downwards, then back up, before she nodded silently. "Excellent."

Alastor put the headphones back on their rack, before taking his glasses, slipping them back on and reaching for the door handle, his other hand extended towards his little engineer in an inviting motion.

"Come along, my dear. Let me treat you to a nice cup of coffee, I find there's nothing better after a job well done."

She paused, her face going a shade darker and her lips pressing together. Then, after a heartbeat, she stepped next to him and through the door he opened for her. He could see the small smile that crept onto her lips as she hurriedly passed him, a shy glance shot towards him, but this time it didn't feel like she wasn't fleeing, but almost daring for him to chase her.

Another kind of hunt, he mused, and the thought made him smile as he closed the door and followed her out.

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 months

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something i noticed

A while back, I wrote this analysis reviewing how unfair the magic education system is in Twisted Wonderland. I would recommend reading that before this post, as it provides tons of context for what I’m about to talk about and add onto the discussion.

In 2-6 of the Tapis Rouge event, Vil has stylists from Luxe, a high end fashion brand, dress up Azul, Jamil, and Ace to be a part of his red carpet entourage. Once the boys come out in their new threads and makeup, Jamil and Azul, two individuals who are meticulous about details, provide some telling commentary.

According to those two, the team of stylists that helped them were mages. Azul further remarks that they were quite skilled mages and that having this kind of talent indicates a “first class brand store”. Their hair and makeup is also suggested to be done via magic, though this service is not normally performed for customers. Previously, we knew that skincare can be infused with magic (Vil does so with his own) and that magic can be used to style one’s hair (Jamil tells us in his Birthday Boy vignettes that he does his intricate hair with magic and used to take far longer with it when he lacked the precision). Idia states in book 6 that Jamil had no formal magic training before NRC, so that means Jamil was self-taught in his hair-handling magic.

… Okay but 😭 WHAT DOES THIS IMPLY ABOUT MAGIC AND CLASS??? Is it just a coincidence that the teams of stylists who staff a high class store are ALL mages? Surely not, given how uncommon mages are in the general population. The store (or maybe the brand itself?) must be going out of its way to hire them because I guess being dressed with magic is a more “luxurious” experience than the normal way. We can also guess from Azul and Jamil’s accounts that the degree of magic these staffers use requires significant skill and precision, which either means they need formal instruction or lots of practice on their own. Neither option is afforded to people with naturally low or no magic reserves at all 💀 meaning jobs like this are gated to mages only.

Now, this doesn’t inherently mean the rich and famous people who frequent these stores are also all mages (Kalim’s dad and Vil’s dad are two non-mages who are extremely wealthy and influential); the majority of them must still be regular people since humans seem to be the majority, and 90% of humans are non-mages. It also doesn’t guarantee that the Luxe stylists are paid more than a non-Luxe stylist (although I do think this is possible for a prestige brand, especially if we factor in commissions on sales).

What’s sticking out to me here is that there exists an association between magic and luxury. The reverse also appears to have some truth based on what little other lore we have; Ruggie states that there are not a lot of mages from his hometown, which could imply a history of non-mages being driven into poorer communities. It all fits together a little too well to seem coincidental… but obviously, Ruggie’s hometown is just one place and could be an outlier rather than the exemplar. We know that most non-mages must live an average lifestyle, not the extremes that Ruggie has experienced. Still, the claim that magic is typically associated with the upper class holds and it continues to be perpetuated in the lore.

Anyway, Fellow and Rollo were right—

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hellsslibrary · 10 days

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Hello! There's just not so many sub! Kaiser fics and I'm d y i n g to read those 😔😔

Can I request for a sub! Kaiser x male reader where Kaiser has a praise kink but doesn't ever want to admit it 👀

#a.n. :This is so same! Kaiser is such a babygirl, I want to kiss him, eat him, hug him, and then rock him in my arms and let him relax... But no, this bitch is always top, lol. Even funny.

"I don't like your damn praise! Just fuck me alre—...What?"

!!Warnings: Bottom!Sub!Michael, Dom!Top!Reader, sex on an indoor football field (it's empty, it just seemed interesting to me, imagine the echo there...), praise kink obviously, Michael tries to be dominant, but he's too much of a pillow princess (he came out so gentle... In his own way), in fact everything is quite vanilla, but he kicks you when he's unhappy, also very romantic in general. × And the reader is somehow connected with football company. You can be a manager, a football player, or even a cleaner there, honestly.

The football field in the building was closed at night, knowing full well how persistent football players in the leagues can be. Darkness, silence, idyll... Except for the flashlight from the phone somewhere in the middle of the field and quiet groans echoing from the walls.

"Why did you decide to have sex here? Plus, at this time?" You ask, looking over at Michael, who was clutching at the trimmed grass in the lawn as you thrust into him at a careful, almost tremulous pace.

“I think you said yourself that you wanted to experiment... So we’re starting with something easy,” Blonde whispers, wincing from the unpleasant feeling of artificial grass in his hands, so he just hugs your neck lazily.

“Well, yes, but... You obviously have some other reasons. But I won’t push if you don’t want to talk,” Michael just sighs at your words, but it immediately turns into a soft moan when your lips touch his neck.

“I just love the atmosphere in here, as weird as it sounds, so shut up and fuck me,” A disgruntled mutter escapes his lips, only to be cut short when he tilts his head back, giving you better access to his neck.

You look over his face, surprisingly too peaceful for him. Maybe this place really brought inner comfort to his soul, erasing all the doubts and burdens that he kept inside and sometimes shared with you. Maybe it was. But your heart broke at the sight of him for some reason, you understood his feelings more than anyone... Because you were probably the only one he was able to open up to so much.

“Micha? You’re a good boy,” echoes from your lips almost casually, but with a sickly sweet note that you want to listen to forever and drown in these sweet speeches.

"What was it?"

You find yourself torn from examining his face by his question. And really, why did you say that? He didn't do anything special during your entire session, which lasted about half an hour. And you too... But one look at him is enough for you to understand why.

Your attentive gaze glides over his perfect facial features, long eyelashes giving his eyes an unusual softness and warmth. Instantly you feel the desire to say that he is beautiful, extraordinarily beautiful. Faithful hands, strength and tenderness in every touch, sincerity and warmth in every word, just for you. The desire to praise, to say how much love and kindness he has, how he is able to bring a smile even in the most cloudy weather.

His soul shines brighter than the stars in the sky, his smile can melt the heart of icy granite. The desire to praise, express gratitude for all the beauty and kindness that he brings into this world. He is not just a person, he is magic, miracle, a spark that pushes you to move even in your most difficult moments.

The words seem unfair, but the heart is filled with feelings that are impossible to carry on the wind. Praise, approval, love — all these are small before the greatness of his soul and his existence. You really want to tell him about this so that he understands how amazing and significant he is to you. Just as the sun rises every morning, he awakens in you a feeling of awe and admiration that seems endless and will remain so.

“Because I love you,” You say without thinking, and immediately catch a light, rare blush on his cheeks.

His hand immediately drops down from your shoulder to cover the pink dust on his cheeks, but you intercept his hand, kissing his fingers tenderly, intertwining your fingers together.

"You idiot... Why so suddenly?" He asks, even if he doesn't wait for an answer, lightly kicking you in the side, groaning when you lean over him a little closer, hitting his sweet spot at a pleasant angle.

You find yourself thinking that you would worship him if he were God. It’s not that you didn’t already worship him... But he was definitely the person for whom even an atheist would reconsider their views on the world.

"Why suddenly? I'm always ready to praise you. You are tenacious, driven, incredibly smart, caring for those you care about in your own way... You are simply magnificent."

"Shut up, please shut up. I don't need your praise, just fuck me and..." He trails off, kicking you in the side again as he realizes something, "You didn't say that I'm handsome."

“Your beauty is a fact. But your appearance is far from the main thing that you have, even if you think differently... But if I started to list what I like about you externally, then we would move on to dithyrambs and ballads, and not to the climax."

Michael chuckles, finally distracted from contemplating you in response, realizing that he really feels a knot growing in his stomach. In general, he would never admit that he would be glad to listen to these dithyrambs and ballads and much more if it came from you. He's always taken praise for granted because, yes, he's Michael Kaiser, but now? He's just a puddle in your hands that's trying to look like ice.

“I’m not clenching around your cock right now because...” He cuts himself off, groaning as your mouth sucks on his neck in the area of his tattoo, “It’s not because I liked the praise, is that clear to both of us?”

“Of course, my King, as you say,” You say, biting the skin of his neck, causing him to whimper quietly as one of your hands slides to his cock, stroking it in time with your thrusts.

Your pace gradually picks up as you get closer too. And the sight of Michael, who clearly enjoyed your previous praise, did not at all ease your hard-on, nor did the warm walls around him.

"Call me!" He suddenly shouts, kicking you in the side once again, although you have no idea what he means at first, pulling away from his neck.

"Good boy?" You ask cautiously and to your surprise and pleasure, his cock twitches in your palm, and after a few thrusts he actually comes, squeezing you tighter than usual, which is why you can’t help but cum, thrusting into him a couple of times in post-orgasmic bliss, and then laying down on his chest.

The quiet rhythm of his heartbeat calmed you as he lightly ran his hand through your hair. You were both regaining your more than ragged breaths before the comfortable silence was interrupted by a question that made you chuckle hoarsely.

“Why did you ask this and not state it as a fact?”

#seme male reader #top male reader #dom male reader #a!writes.#sub character #sub blue lock #blue lock smut #blue lock x male reader #blue lock x reader #sub bllk #bllk x male reader #bllk smut #bllk x reader #michael kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x male reader #sub michael kaiser #michael kaiser smut

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babyleostuff · 8 months

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partner privileges | hip hop unit

vocal and performance unit coming soon also, thank you guys for the ideas and help <3

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ CHOI SEUNGCHEOL

We all know that Coups is Seventeen’s Jeonghan’s sugar daddy. But with them it’s more like - they tell him they want something, and then he buys it. With his partner on the other hand, it would be more like giving his card away to them. He would baby the fuck out of them, he would get seriously o f f e n d e d if they didn’t use his card to buy things for themselves. Forget about paying for anything for the rest of your life when you have Seungcheol by your side. And if you ever think about paying for, I don't know, even a simple meal at the restaurant, he will fight you if you pull out your own money.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ JEON WONWOO

Wonwoo likes to tease his members by saying “no” to stuff, just to mess with them. He loves the sulkiness that it brings out in them, and he can’t help but laugh anytime that happens. It’s like a reward after a long day of work. With his partner though??? A word like “no” does not exist. One look from them and he melts, so it’s basically impossible to decline them anything. He’s just so soft for them :((( And because of that, the members use his partner as a way of getting stuff, because one look from his precious love, and he says “yes” immediately (which in members opinion is very unfair, but oh well). There is nothing Wonwoo wouldn’t do for them, even if it’s the silliest thing ever, he will do it for them, that's how much he loves them.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ KIM MINGYU

Obviously the members’ love language is bullying Gyu, and we know that he doesn’t really mind it, especially after all of those years together, and I’m sure if he was ever offended he would let them know immediately. BUT, because Mingyu is such a precious human being, sometimes he doesn’t have it in him to scold them or tell them to stop, and that would definitely be the partner privilege his partner would get - to defend him when things get too much. And not only with his members, in general too. Mingyu is just such a nice person (sometimes too nice). It doesn’t mean he can’t stand up for himself, but his partner would definitely be the one to defend him first, before he could even fathom that someone just offended him. The urge to protect Gyu is strong gyus :(((

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ CHWE VERNON

While working on music, for the band or solo, Vernon obviously listens to other peoples’ opinions and thoughts, always taking them into consideration. But if he had to choose a person that has the most influence on his work, it would have to be his partner. One word from them and he’s like “omg, babe that’s such a great idea”, and kisses them before pulling out his laptop immediately. He always lets them listen to snippets of the songs and shows them the new lyrics he is working on before anyone else.

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @eightlightstar @itza-meee @immabecreepin @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree

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fantastic-nonsense · 5 months

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I think people who genuinely wanted Percy to rebel against the gods and overthrow the system kind of...miss the whole point of the series

The question is not whether or not the gods deserve to rule; the books are kind of unambiguous that they don't! That the gods are generally undeserving of their children's loyalty is the one thing that Percy and Luke both agree on! But PJO is less about divine right to rule vs. ruling via consent of the governed and more about improving dysfunctional family systems. It's not about whether unfair rulers deserve to continue ruling; it's about forcing the gods to be better, fairer rulers and a better, fairer family given limited alternatives.

Because what are the alternatives, as presented to us within the scope of the original PJO series?

Option 1: allow Kronos to topple Olympus and take over. Clearly not a viable alternative for all of the reasons the books show us.

Option 2: the demigods overthrow the Olympians and rule the world themselves. Okay. How's that going to work out long-term, given demigods are mortal and cannot control or protect their parents' domains? Demigods will die out within a generation or two, so that's potentially a one-generation short-term solution, and then everyone's right back where they started. Except worse, because now the world has been out of divine balance for a century and the gods have a completely legitimate bone to pick with all demigods. Materially worse outcome.

Option 3: demigods ignore the gods and their will entirely. They integrate into the mortal world, refuse to participate in quests or talk to their parents, and pretend prophecies don't exist. Except that's clearly not a viable option, since we see that demigods usually can't safely exist in the mortal world without monsters coming after them, the gods are cruel enough to use blackmail and engage in hostage situations to get demigods to act as heroes, and prophecies have a way of coming true regardless of everyone's best attempts to circumvent them. Again: materially worse outcome.

And for Percy, for the demigods at Camp Half-Blood, for Luke and for everyone else who defected....for the most part, they don't actually have an inherent problem with the gods ruling them. They just want to be acknowledged, valued, and loved by their families, to be treated as more than a tool for their parents to wield whenever their services are needed. That was the core thesis of the demigod rebellion, which was wholly separate from Kronos' specific motivations for overthrowing the Olympians, and it's why Percy's asks at the end of TLO were what they were.

The point was always that had Percy grown up in a slightly more dysfunctional family environment...had he grown up with Frederick Chase's seemingly conditional love or May Castellan's madness instead of Sally Jackson's steady, quiet, unconditional love...he could have turned out like Luke. Like Ethan. Like the dozens of demigods who defected from camp to join Luke's cause. Percy could have turned out just as a bitter and angry and vengeful. Just as ready to tear down the system. Just as willing to betray and kill his own family for the sake of making a point.

But instead, Percy openly reprimands the gods for abandoning their families and using them as cannon fodder in their own petty disagreements. He forces them to acknowledge and claim their children. He demands that everyone who is part of the godly family be recognized and accepted, not just those related to the Twelve Olympians. He asks for those unjustly punished (like Calypso) to be set free and accepted back into the family. Because that's the point at the end of the day: not forcing bad rulers to step down, but changing an insanely dysfunctional family system that the gods and demigods are all members of into a better, safer, and more accepting environment for demigods to grow up and live in.

Overthrowing the gods wouldn't solve the problem at the heart of the series, which is the gods' shitty parenting and family management skills. It would only exacerbate the massive familial fault-lines that Kronos exploited and leave the demigods open to more godly manipulation. Which is why the series ends as it does, with Percy using his wish to tangibly improve the lives of his family instead of selfishly improving his own life (via accepting immortality/godhood) or overthrowing the gods. Because the conflict isn't about the gods as rulers. It's about the gods as parents.

PJO's core thesis is Percy, who grew up knowing unconditional familial love, looking at this whole world of children who didn't and saying "that's not fair. Gods should be better than this!" But instead of destroying them the way Luke wants to, instead of overthrowing them and putting himself on the throne, he instead challenges them to be better parents and family members. To be part of the solution instead of the problem. And Percy's demands don't solve everything, but they were necessary first steps! Without forcing the gods to acknowledge a bare minimum floor of inclusion, the cycle would simply begin all over again the next time a major conflict popped up.

So that's the problem Percy solves and how he successfully fulfills the prophecy: by believing that the gods had the capacity to change and forcing them to break the cycle of familial abandonment, he preserves Olympus and takes the first steps towards a new status quo, one that is objectively better for demigods than the one he grew up in. That's why he succeeds, and it's why Percy overthrowing the gods would have made for a much less satisfying ending than what actually happened.

#pjo #pjo meta #percy jackson #luke castellan #ethan nakamura #annabeth chase #long post #pjo tv #wow it's been awhile since I've written proper pjo meta lmfao

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changbunnies · 6 months

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All About You, (18+)

♡ Pairing: Royal Knight/Bodyguard!Minho x Princess!Reader

♡ Genre: royal au, historical au, arranged marriage au (reader only), age gap, angst, kind of forbidden love? (maybe more than kind of), basically porn with plot

♡ Word Count: 7.5k

♡ Summary: You, the princess who ran away from the castle after finding out your father, the king, has finalized your arranged marriage. Minho, your royal knight and glorified bodyguard, tasked with bringing you back home at all costs. When found, you hit Minho with a very interesting proposition- for him to be the one you share all your "firsts" with, instead of your inevitable husband.

♡ Warnings: age gap !! reader is ~23 while minho is in his 40s, please don't read if this makes you uncomfortable!, uneven power dynamics, outdated traditions and views on women to suit the setting, brief reference to death by guillotine, and death in general, mentions of injury and swordfighting

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): lowkey corruption kink, loss of virginity (reader), petnames (princess (mostly as a title), good girl), slight sub + dom dynamics, soft dom minho, submissive reader, a lot of kissing (should be expected from me atp), nipple play, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), slight overstim, unprotected piv, multiple orgasms, creampie

♡ Notes: at this point i am determined to write a royal, historical au fic for every member, and my newest offering to you is minho <3 i was literally possessed writing this like once the idea hit my brain i had to get it out asap lmao you can also read the story on my ao3 here, and if you're interested you can also check out my fic rec and feedback blog @stray-dreams

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

Fuck. Minho was absolutely fucked. In recent years, he had one job, and one job only, and that was to take care of the princess. Make sure she’s safe, escort her to where she needs to be and watch over her at all times- that’s all. Not always an easy job, but one of vital importance that Minho took with utmost seriousness. In the 3 years it’s been since becoming your royal knight and glorified bodyguard, he never messed up this critically.

You always had a rebellious streak and challenged authority, everyone in the castle knew that. And part of Minho’s job, apart from keeping you safe, was keeping you in check- and the king made it extremely clear that failing to do so was not an option. So he lost track of the amount of times he uttered the words “Princess, please think rationally,” or “Please consider your responsibility to the kingdom, don’t do this,” in a near desperate attempt to get you to listen to reason.

And today, he fucked up the worst he ever had. He knew you were upset tonight, but he was under the impression he successfully calmed you down, and that you wouldn’t do anything rash. He turned his back to you, thinking the storm had been quelled, and that you’d listen to your father, even if doing so felt like pulling teeth. He underestimated however, just how deep your sadness and anger truly ran, and the very moment you saw an opening, you took it.

You fled from the castle with blind determination, nowhere to go and with little of value in your hands, fueled purely by the desire to escape your unfair circumstances, and live your own life by your own means. You may not believe it, but Minho understood, and felt for you- he really did. But that didn’t change what his duty was, and even if it made you hate him, he had to do his job to the best of his ability.

So now here he was, roaming the streets looking for you, the hours passing in a blur. You must’ve done a good job of concealing your identity, because no one he asked had seen a young woman matching your description, and as the minutes ticked by, and sunset turned to midnight, he was at a complete loss of what to do. He made record time combing the entire bustling town, stopping into places full to the brim with people in the hopes he’d catch a glimpse of you in the crowd, and yet there seemed to be no trace of you anywhere.

It was easy for someone to hide their presence in a crowd, or in the rowdy environment of a tavern, and you were more than intelligent enough to blend into a crowd and divert attention away from yourself. It was entirely possible that Minho had seen you at some point, and simply didn’t realize it, though he liked to believe he’d recognize you anywhere, no matter what you wore. Minho scowled, clenching his teeth as he scanned the dark horizon of the treeline; should he check the outer walls of the town for a clue, or double back and check the streets again?

He doubts you made it out of the town easily, considering you likely had no money on your person and little experience with the realities of the world. You were intelligent, yes, but sheltered; he could easily imagine you quickly getting in over your head, thinking you could make it to the next town without issue, only to end up lost and in need of help, with no one for miles to hear your desperate cries.

Fuck. If he couldn’t find you, his head would most certainly be meeting the cold steel of a guillotine. He had no family who would mourn his loss, but still, he wasn’t ready to face his mortality. And the king, despite being someone he could call a close friend, would spare no mercy if he failed to keep his one and only daughter safe. But really, there was more to it than just the threat of death that kept him searching for you. Believe it or not, he genuinely wanted you safe and well, and he'd do anything to ensure you made it back home, even if it made you curse him for the rest of his days.

As if God himself heard his prayers and decided to grant him a miracle, Minho sees you- there, on the outskirts of town, holding your cold hands up to your face and letting your breath warm them. It’s dark, the street barely even illuminated enough to discern your recognizable features, but he knows without a doubt that it's you standing there in the cold street, because truly, he knows you anywhere.

By the time you realize you’ve been spotted and recognized, it’s already much too late to flee. Minho approached you with utmost haste, reaching out and grabbing your arm, lest you make the foolish decision to try to escape again. His hold, while not rough enough to hurt you, is firm, and it only takes one attempt at pulling your arm from his hold to know this is it; your escape attempt has failed, and you’ll be dragged back to the castle and reprimanded for your “temper tantrum.”

Your father never listens to you, no matter how hard you try to make him understand and see your point of view. Maybe if you were born a boy, your opinions would be important to him, and he’d see you are more than an object to pawn off to whatever man gave him the most political power. “Princess-” “I’m not going home,” you interject before he even has a chance, though you already know it’s in vain. There is no avoiding returning to your glorified prison now that Sir Minho has you in his grasp.

He sighs, but his face changes to one of sympathy, his grip on your arm loosening ever so slightly. “Can we at least go to an inn room? It’s not safe for a young lady to be on the streets at night,” he reasons with you, as gently as he can manage. Normally Minho is quite stern with you, but you get the impression that he feels being stern isn’t the right approach tonight. You’re known for expressing yourself very vocally, even when doing so is extremely ill-advised, and he is well aware of how opinionated and fiery you are.

But treating this display as anything other than a genuine act of desperation, a culmination of years of perceived disrespect and conformity, would be another critical error- one he can’t afford to make. So he will be firm, yes, but gentle in his approach. You frown as you look at him; you’re stubborn by nature, and part of you wants to fight against him until the bitter end, but he’s not wrong about the streets being unsafe for you at night. You know he won’t let you escape again come morning, but that’ll have to be a problem for later; for right now, you really should heed his advice and go to an inn for the night.

“Fine,” you concede, much to Minho’s relief. He could’ve forced you to go with him if he really needed to, but he’d rather avoid doing something so unpleasant. He leads you to a nearby tavern, which is still bustling with activity even at the late hour. He keeps you close as he pushes through the crowd of rowdy drunks to the dual innkeep-bartender, hoping that there is still a room available. The man departs, coming back with a key dangling in hand, “You’re in luck. Last room’s all yours.”

Minho thanks the man and pulls out his satchel to pay him, leaving a few extra coins as a tip before stashing it back in his pocket, along with the key he was given, and the two of you go up the stairs together. “There’s only one bed,” you comment as you step inside the room, though Minho doesn’t seem to care much about that fact. “That’s fine, don’t plan on sleeping anyways,” he says as he removes his leather scabbard from his back, resting it against the back of the chair in the corner of the room.

You frown as you sit on the bed and watch him; he must’ve been in a hurry when he received word you fled from the castle, as he wasn’t wearing any of his armor, strictly in casual wear you’d very rarely seen him in. Probably for the best, you think, because if anyone saw a royal knight desperately searching the streets, multiple alarms would be raised. He lights the fireplace, hoping to quickly spread some heat throughout the cold room, before he sits in the chair, crossing his arms and watching you carefully.

Deserved, you suppose. How is he supposed to trust you’re not going to flee at the first available moment just as before? You certainly don’t make his job easy for him; he can’t take his eyes off you for a second. The silence between you lingers for some time, the crackling of the fire the only sound either of you hear, apart from the muffled patrons enjoying their drinks downstairs. Minho, despite his relaxed posture, looks like he’d be ready to jump up at a moment's notice should he need to.

You sigh; should you just try to sleep? It’d feel awkward and uncomfortable to try to fall asleep with someone's eyes boring holes into you, but you really didn’t give him much of a choice. “Do you want to tell me why you ran away from the castle?” Minho asks suddenly, breaking the tempered silence between you. “You already know the answer to that,” you respond, crossing your own arms now.

“Is marrying Sir Jin really so bad?” he asks, and you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Yes, obviously. I don’t want to. Not that you or my father care about me or anything I think.” Minho’s brow furrows, the frown on his face growing. “Princess, you know that’s not true. I do care about you.” “Do you? I haven’t been able to tell in the slightest,” you counter a bit harshly, “and you could help me if you wanted to, you know. I’d be fine out there if I was with you.”

Okay, maybe you’re not being fair to Minho right now. You do know he cares, but realistically, what is he supposed to do? If he disobeyed your fathers orders, he’d be lucky if his only punishment was a swift death. He was assigned to you because your father trusts him to do the right thing and follow orders dutifully, a trust that is usually not misplaced. But he has to admit, the more and more time he spends with you, the more he feels for you.

Minho never knew your father, the king, to be an unreasonable or cruel man, but in your eyes, he might as well be the devil himself. And maybe he is cruel- because how do you strip someone of their freedom and choices for your own gain, and not see the harm it causes, the wrong in it? You are more than a pawn, more than a subject, more than his daughter- you are a person. A person with thoughts, feelings, and opinions as real as any mans, who did not deserve to be treated lesser than for the simple crime of being born a girl.

But what is Minho if not an upholder of the status quo? He was just a single man, and even if he recognized how unfairly you were treated in comparison to the golden child that was your elder brother, what was he supposed to do? He always performed his tasks dutifully and without question, and it wasn’t until he met you that he began to struggle with what he should do, and what he wants to do.

And maybe he could get you out of this town, help you live a quiet, modest life somewhere new, away from the watchful eye of your father. Where he could be your protector, same as now, but without the guilt, burden, or threats. You know you shouldn’t take your frustrations about your life out on Minho, but he’s really all you have. You trust him with your life, and he’s shown you multiple times that he cares about you beyond the duty he has to you, or to your father. He's your only confidant, the only person in the world you can rely on.

Your eyes linger on the scar across his nose- he got it protecting you, the other man’s sword barely missing his eyes and cutting just across his face, and it was only one of many scars he obtained in his service to you. He’d pick you up and run with you in his arms when you were injured, he’d fight off attackers without breaking a sweat, sustain injury after injury all to make sure you were safe. You’d watch his back, always stunned and mesmerized at the ease at which he cut down your enemies, as if they were nothing but paper.

When he’d turn back to you, breathing heavy and sweat only just starting to trickle on his brow, his eyes would turn from the harshest winter chill to the gentle warmth of a spring morning. He was quiet, stern, but his care ran far deeper than one would think just by looking at him, and all you had to do to see the true depth of his feelings was look in his eyes. So you knew it was unfair to accuse him of not caring about you, to expect him to go above and beyond for you, to ask that he go against your father to give you what you want, but you were just so sad, frustrated, angry, that you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Maybe you’ll grow to love him if you give him a chance,” Minho suggests; you both know that’s never going to happen, but what else can he say? He never married, and had no children, dedicated to his duty as he was; he had no real advice to offer someone when it came to love, romance, and the like, but he imagined it wasn’t impossible to fall in love if you just met Sir Jin with an open mind.

But as stated, that’s never going to happen. You’re stubborn to a fault, and once you’ve decided something, there’s no changing it. The best Minho can ever manage to do is get you to reconsider, but even then, you’re still likely to go about things the way you originally wanted to, with no regard for consequences or keeping up appearances. You’re a fiery woman, there was no doubt about it, and you don’t let go of things easily.

“The mere thought of giving that man all my firsts makes me sick, it’s vile,” you scrunch up your nose, making your distaste for the man very clear. Minho doesn’t even think you’ve actually met the man yet, but you’ve already decided you hate him, that you don’t want to marry him, and so you’ll be firmly stuck in your opinion no matter what anyone says.

“Maybe this isn’t advice I should be giving you, but.. You don’t necessarily have to. To give him your firsts, or love him. Find someone you do love, even if you have to keep it a secret, and hold him with all you’ve got. It still wouldn’t be ideal, of course, but.. Well, it’d be something, at least.” Really, Minho is supposed to encourage you to be an obedient daughter and listen to your father without question, but he knows you well enough to know that’s a fool's errand.

You’re never going to listen, never going to be obedient, never going to stop being opinionated. So what’s the next, most realistic piece of advice he can give? Lie, of course. Make your father and inevitable husband believe you’re a good, obedient wife and daughter, and then go live the life you really want behind their backs. It's dishonest as all hell, and there would be consequences if you got caught, but if you’re going to be miserable no matter what you do, you might as well try, right? It’s what Minho would do if he were you, anyways.

“What about you?” you ask and Minho raises a brow in question. “What about me?” he asks, and what you respond with makes him feel like the air has been punched out of his lungs. “What if I gave my firsts to you?” Did he hear you right? There must be some mistake with his ears, there’s absolutely no way you said what he thinks you did. “You.. what?” Surely you can’t be serious about this. You’re the princess, and he’s just the man who happens to be your guard, a man who is your fathers age at that.

But the way you look at him, he can tell you’re not joking in the slightest. “Princess, I couldn’t possibly accept that,” Minho says sternly, his arms no longer crossed but instead resting on the arms of the chair, hands beginning to grip tightly so he can ground himself and try to make sense of this insane situation. “Why not? I’d be happier if I gave it to someone like you. I trust you,” you say so nonchalantly it makes his head reel. What the fuck is happening right now?

Minho was the ideal man, at least in your opinion. He was handsome, mature, realistic and practical, knew how to reel you in without disregarding the root of what you feel or being disrespectful to you. He never dismissed how you felt, made you feel over emotional or like a fool who overreacts; he’d ask you to see reason, sure, urge you to think more before acting, but he never, never made you feel like your feelings were invalid. And he genuinely cared about you, and you liked him, were attracted to him, so if the opportunity presented itself then.. Why not take the chance?

Fuck. Minho was absolutely fucked. You were just freshly 20 when Minho first met you and became your guard, and hard as he tried to never see you beyond the platonic, he’s always viewed you as an attractive young woman. He liked your fiery spirit, liked how you had the bravery and gall to challenge authority, a skill that in recent months he felt he was sorely lacking. Your attitude was refreshing, and despite your circumstances, you never acted like a damsel in need of his help.

In a different life, in another world, maybe you two could have met as equals, not painfully stuck to the rules of an unfair, unforgiving reality. You’d be each other's foil, you, the impassioned dreamer with as many thoughts and ideas as there were stars in the sky, and he the realist, who didn’t dim your light but tempered it into a steady, sustainable flame. You’d take him out on adventures, out of the strict box of his comfort zone, and he’d ground you more firmly to reality, never discouraging your dreams but making sure you took the necessary steps in the right way, responsibly, matching one another perfectly, complementary and meant for each other.

But that’s not your reality, and you both know it. There would never be any coming back from this if you go through with it, and there’s no ideal, happy future for you two to share. “I’m not so disillusioned to think this would be anything other than sex for you,” you continue, and he swallows, mind still racing impossibly, “but it’d be much more meaningful for me with you than some bastard I don’t like in the slightest.”

You’re wrong. So wrong, and you don’t even know it. It would never be “just sex” with you. You mean much, much more to him than you even realize. “You won’t regret asking a man like me? There’d be no taking it back once it’s done,” Minho can’t help but ask, rationality and reason desperately trying to gain control.

Despite what your father may believe, you’re a grown woman capable of making your own decisions. And this is a decision you make with full knowledge of what it means for you, more than willing to accept whatever consequences may arise for committing such a sin. In an ideal world, you’d be allowed to love who you wish, live where you wish, do what you wish.

But this isn’t an ideal world, and if there is only one thing you can ever be granted in this life that feels as if it isn’t even your own, it would be this- to have one night, just one night, where you can be the person you want to be, with Minho by your side. “You’re free to reject me if you’re not attracted to me, but.. My only regret would have been not trying. So I ask, are you not attracted to me?”

He looks you over carefully, grip on the armrests tightening. Admitting that he’s attracted to you may as well be a death sentence. But he can’t lie to you, completely at your mercy. Fuck the king, it’s you he’s really loyal to. All he’s ever done, all he ever will do, it’s always for you. He’s always tried to act in your best interest, to do the right thing, to keep you safe and protected. But does keeping you safe even matter if you’re miserable?

“I am,” Minho swallows, answering honestly despite his better judgment, “You have no idea how attracted to you I am.” “So why hesitate?” you ask, fingers trail down your lap, over your knees, to where the very bottom of your dress lies. He watches you, eyes darting from your hands back to your face. You’re watching him too, carefully, considering his every reaction before you make your next move, impressively calculated.

You take the hem of your dress in your hands, pulling it up leisurely, getting it halfway up your thighs, and Minho is in front of you in an instant, his hands grabbing your wrists and stopping you from lifting it any further. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Princess,” he breathes, voice low and strained; he can’t lose control of his desires, but fuck, you’re making it so hard. You look up at him, meeting his gaze with the same fiery determination you always have, but there’s more there than just that this time. Desire, want, need- all for him.

Fuck it. He’s going to get burned, but maybe it’s worth it. You’ll be his funeral pyre, engulfing him in your flame until all that remains are the ashes of the man he was supposed to be. And what a beautiful way to end his life it will be, lost between your thighs, feeling your nails dig and claw at his skin. He lets go of your wrists, one of his hands coming to cup your face, thumb tracing over your bottom lip.

“Has anyone ever kissed you, Princess?” he asks and you give a slight shake of the head, breathing a soft “No..” He hums, and there’s a twisted sort of pleasure he derives from knowing he’ll be your first in every conceivable way. You’re not “innocent,” he knows you’re not, but there’s something about being your first kiss, your first cock, your first everything that makes him crazy.

“And you want me to be the first one to kiss you?” he follows up with another question, corners of his mouth threatening to twist into a smile when you nod, a soft, honest “yes” leaving your lips effortlessly. He leans down towards you, keeping your head tilted up so he can easily meet your lips. He does so softly, treating you with care. His lips are softer than you expected, and the feeling of them against your own fills you with butterflies.

He carefully tilts you back, and you let your body fall back onto the mattress, head hitting the surprisingly soft pillows. Minho crawls over you, spreading your legs apart just enough to get between them, your dress now hiked all the way up your thighs. He’s hovering over you, looking down at you with so much love and lust and that it leaves you speechless. “I’ll need you to listen to me tonight. Can you do that for me?” he asks, pressing light kisses to your jaw, under your ear, your neck.

You can, because it’s Minho. He’d never hurt you, never try to control you, never make you feel lesser than. So you can listen to him, because you trust him with your care; he’ll take good care of you, you know he will. He smiles when you nod, and you see him smile so rarely that it makes your heart skip a beat; his role always requires him to be so stern and straight faced, that seeing him smile down at you like this is enough to melt you into a puddle.

“You’re a good girl when you want to be, hmm?” he hums against your neck, resuming his trail of kisses against your skin, and you can’t explain why, but the words and tone he says them in makes your stomach flip. If you were in a different world, and didn’t have to return home to the castle tomorrow, he’d take his time marking your neck, filling it with pretty shades of blue, purple, and red, sinking his teeth into your soft, supple skin.

He just knows you’d look so pretty like that, and the way you react when his breath tickles your skin and his lips linger, tells him you’d like it too. His fingers trail down your body, finding the hem of your dress and pulling it up over your chest. You lift your back off the bed when he separates from your neck, pulling your dress off the rest of the way and discarding it to the floor. He kisses you as he fiddles with the straps of your bra, effortlessly unhooking it in the back and pulling it down your arms and off your body.

He may have never married, but he’s no stranger to being with and pleasuring women. And he’ll make sure he makes this a night you’ll always remember for all the right reasons. Capturing your lips in another kiss, his hands take in your now bare breasts, gently kneading and squeezing. You try to squeeze your legs together, but his place between your thighs stops the act from happening, and he chuckles against your lips when he realizes what you’re doing.

“Be patient, Princess, I’ll take good care of you,” he whispers before kissing you again, and you let out a small whine, not knowing exactly what you want but knowing you want something. You gasp when he takes your nipples between your fingers and pinches them, not too hard of course, but enough to give him the chance to slip his tongue into your mouth. Your body shudders, you feel dizzy with pleasure and excitement, and the feeling of his tongue circling yours is impossibly intoxicating.

One of his hands travels down, over your stomach, coming between your bodies to feel your heat over your panties. He’s barely even begun and you’re already soaking the fabric, your eager anticipation for more of his touch palpable beyond all else. He nips at your bottom lip, gently tugging it between his teeth before soothing the sting with kitten licks, his hand slipping inside your panties to feel how slick you’ve gotten directly.

Your body jolts when his fingers run between your folds, and he barely has to move them at all to get his fingers completely coated in your juices. He pulls back to look at you, taking in the sight of your flushed face and swollen lips, pretty and perfect. You’re panting, breathless, overwhelmed in the best way possible. You keen when his fingers rub over your clit in circles, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you lift your head from the pillows to watch.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asks, suppressing a grin when you whine and quickly nod your head. “Want more, want you,” you mutter, the most timid you’ve ever been in regards to a man. He coos, giving you a sweet kiss as he continues his stimulation to your sensitive spot. “Remember what I said? Patience, Princess, you’ll get what you want. We can’t rush and have you getting hurt, can we?”

You pout as you concede, and God, he finds that so cute; he’s never seen you actually act shy and pouty before, and it makes him want to give you the entire world. He’ll give you everything you want, anything you ask for, but he’ll have to remember to tease you first so he can see that cute expression on your face before he gives in to your whims. “I’ll make sure you’re nice and ready for my cock, so just be a good girl and follow my lead until then. You can do that for me easily, can’t you?”

Another shy nod, another adorable flushed look that makes his cock throb in his trousers. It was a little intimidating for you, knowing how experienced Minho must be due to his age, and feeling like you must fall short in comparison to other women, women who knew what they were doing, but really, that was just your own insecurity talking. He didn’t mind at all that you were inexperienced; in fact, it excited him for reasons he didn’t entirely understand.

Maybe it was the knowledge that he was the first to touch your skin, or maybe that someone as determined and fiery as you are is allowing yourself to concede control, to let him be in charge of your pleasure, trusting him to bring you to utmost bliss. What bigger display of trust could you ever show him? Your glassy, pleading eyes, begging him for more but still waiting for it just as he asked- you’re too good for him. He’s going to ruin you.

He takes his fingers away, and you have to physically stop yourself from whining at the lack of contact, lest he remind you again about “being patient.” “Open your mouth for me,” Minho requests, and though you are a bit confused, you do as he asks immediately, obeying without question. Fuck, that’s hot; the image of you, mouth open, tongue slightly sticking out and waiting to receive whatever he gives you is something he never wants to forget.

Minho slides two of his fingers into your mouth, instructing you to lick, to get his fingers nice and wet. Truthfully, you were more than lubricated enough to take his fingers without this step, but he couldn’t resist the urge to see you this way. He pushes his fingers in your mouth down to the knuckle, and you persist with coating them in your saliva even as you gag and tears prick the corners of your eyes.

He showers you with praise, slipping his fingers out of your mouth when he feels satisfied with the work you’ve done on them, kissing your cheeks, feeling the heat of your face on his lips. Slipping his hand back inside your panties, he presses the tips of his wet fingers to your hole, and you instinctively suck in a breath, body unconsciously tensing from the anticipation. “You have to relax, Princess, it won’t feel good if you’re tense,” he explains sweetly, shaking his head when you mutter a soft apology.

“Don’t be sorry, not for that. Just focus on me, hmm? On this,” he whispers, his lips lingering on yours in a deep, impassioned kiss. His fingers stay completely still until he feels your body start to release its tension, heeding his advice to focus more on his kisses than the motion of his fingers. He keeps kissing you even as the first of his fingers finally starts to push inside you, and you moan into his mouth, hot pleasure licking your skin.

He moves his finger in and out slowly, making sure you’re well adjusted before he pushes in another one, hooking his fingers to find that delicious sweet spot he knows will have you crying his name in no time. You gasp loudly when he finds it, your hands twisting the sheets beneath you between your fingers, your entire body trembling. It feels so good you almost can’t breathe, and when he picks up his pace, hitting your spot over and over as he brings his thumb to your clit, you know you won’t last long at all.

“M-Minho, I’m- I’m gonna-” you try to warn him, but the words die in your throat, the pleasure too overwhelming to continue to try and form a sentence. He simply hums, continuing his motions until your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, sharp, shuddery gasps and moans tumbling from your lips as your orgasm takes you. “That’s it, just let go, just like that, I’ve got you,” he praises, pressing kisses to your hot skin, helping you ride out your high.

Before you can even fully recollect your breath and get your racing heart back under control, he’s pushing a third finger inside, the trembling in your body intensifying from the addition. “You need more to get ready for me,” he tells you, and in your fucked out state all you can do is nod, taking his word as gospel truth, “need to stretch you good to make sure my cock fits.” All you can do is lay there and take the onslaught of pleasure, unable to think of about anything other than how full and good his fingers make you feel.

You don’t even register that he’s moved your down your body and tugged your panties to the side until his tongue is meeting your clit, swirling around it in expertly practiced circles, making you desperately cry out his name. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging harshly as your hips buck up to keep feeling the delicious sensation his tongue provides you. He flattens his tongue and lets you grind against it as you want, the motions of his fingers not stuttering or ceasing despite the movement of your hips.

You feel the familiar heat pooling your stomach, another orgasm approaching quickly, the sounds you release turning into desperate whines and whimpers as you chase the feeling. It only takes a few more rolls of your hips and thrusts of his fingers to have you releasing all over his face, your juices gushing around his fingers. He sits up and pulls his fingers out when your body falls limp, chest heaving and ears ringing as you try to recover from the mind-blowing experience you just had.

Your eyes are closed, and you can feel his weight shift, can hear the soft clink of his belt unbuckling, followed by the rustling of clothes. You open your eyes to see Minho’s cock is now out, his hand lazily pumping it and spreading the pre-cum that accumulated and dripped over his time focusing on you. You reach a hand out to touch it, to replace his hand with your own, but he grabs your hand before you can, instead making you intertwine your fingers.

“Tonight’s all about you, Princess. Don’t worry about taking care of me,” he says, kissing the back of your hand and then holding it down right above your head; you’re not quite pinned, easily able to snake your hand out of his hold if you wanted to, but you have to admit, you like the feeling of his hand keeping yours held down. He rubs his cock between your folds before he lines himself up with your entrance, though you didn’t miss the subtle smirk on his face when you whined from the feeling of his tip rubbing against your clit.

“Squeeze my hand if you need to,” Minho tells you before taking your free hand and bringing it up to his shoulder, “and hold onto me.” Your heart squeezes in your chest; the hidden romantic in you yearns to tell him you love him, to thank him for taking such good care of you, to express how you never want this night to end, but you know that would be a mistake. Neither of you can afford to let your emotions spill out, so you swallow them down the best you can, deciding to just live in this moment, to experience it for all that it is and all that it means for you.

The initial push is slow, and thanks to his diligent preparation, there is little physical pain or discomfort you experience from the stretch of his cock. A slight sting, sure, but nothing you can’t easily handle, and it’s barely even recognizable when compared to the pleasant fullness you feel. So when you squeeze his hand, and your eyes well with tears, it’s not because you are pained; it’s because you finally have something you want, a happiness you thought would forever elude you.

He takes his free hand and wipes away the tears from your eyes, a soft look of concern on his face. “Hurts?” he asks, but you shake your head quickly. “Feels good, I just.. I..” you struggle with the words, knowing you can’t express how you actually feel even if you felt you could. “I know. You don’t have to say it, I know,” Minho speaks to you softly, and the kiss he gives you very nearly makes you sob.

There’s still a few inches left before he’s fully inside you, and he pushes the remainder in slowly as he continues to kiss you, his free hand now rubbing soothing circles on your hip with his thumb. Minho does well at maintaining composure, staying firmly in control of himself and his body despite the way your walls squeeze and suck him in, despite the way you whimper when you feel him throb, or cry out against his lips when his tip kisses your deepest spots.

“That’s a good girl, taking all I give you, doing so well,” he praises you some more, and you love when he tells you how good you’re doing if the way you clench around him is any indicator. “Fuck, Princess-” he groans when he finally starts to move, pulling out and pressing back in much more slowly than he normally would, but the wet friction you provide him is delicious. “Minho, I-” you start, interrupted by a sharp gasp when he finds your sweet spot with his cock.

He looks at you as he stills his hips, patiently waiting for you to continue in case what you have to say is important, or a request for him to stop. You swallow, face heating up but determined to get out what you want to say. “J-Just this once, I don’t want to be the princess. Call me by name, please-” Oh, that’s what you want? He can do that, easily; he’s already groaned your name countless times in the privacy of his room, stroking his cock to the thought of you.

The sound of your name falling from his lips as he resumes the thrust of his hips has you clenching hard, stars erupting in your vision as he picks up his pace, beginning to quickly and mercilessly hit your spot, over and over again. He takes one of your legs and props it up over his shoulder, allowing more of his cock to fill you up, the creaking of the bed and the sound of skin slapping beginning to overpower the noise from downstairs.

Taking his other hand away from yours, you’ll have to forgive him, he licks his fingers and then brings them to your clit, wanting nothing more than to see and feel you release on his cock. It only takes a few more thrusts and circles from his fingers to have you crying out his name as you cum, fingers digging into the sheets beneath you as your body shakes and legs tremble. But Minho hasn’t cum yet, so he’s not quite done with you, not that you mind in the slightest; you’ll let him chase his pleasure as long as he wishes, even if it leaves you a drooling, fucked out mess in the end.

He pulls out of you, just long enough to sit against the headboard, and then he’s pulling you on top of him, guiding you to sink back down on his cock and sit fully in his lap. The new position has you rolling your eyes to the back of your head, Minho guiding the movement of your hips with his hands as he thrusts up into you. He’s quite literally doing all the work, but that’s perfectly fine; this night is supposed to be about you, after all, and he doesn’t want you to lift a pretty little finger. Just let him use you a little until he cums, that’s all he needs.

You’re panting against his neck, head laid on his shoulder and nails digging into the skin of his back beneath his shoulder blades. The sting of your nails in his skin is just how he imagined it to be, and his head is falling back against the headboard, low grunts and groans of your name leaving freely as his cock throbs and twitches, getting closer and closer to his release. He uses one of his hands to grab your face and lift it up to his, crashing his lips to yours in a desperate, impassioned display of love and lust.

A few more snaps of his hips and you feel his cum spurting inside you in long, thick ropes, the sensation sending you forward into yet another orgasm of your own, your desperate sounds muffled only by Minho’s mouth on yours. Your body collapses against his when the moment slows to a stop, both of your chests heaving and breaths heavy as you lie against him, his arms wrapped around you snuggly and keeping you upright against his chest.

You can hear the quick, erratic beating of his heart as he catches his breath, looking up at him to see his eyes closed and sweat trailing down his brow towards his cheek. He looks beautiful like this, you think; you hope he thought the same of you. Even as his cock starts to soften, neither of you move, and though your legs protest and beg to be stretched out, you refuse to leave your spot on Minho’s lap.

“Are you alright, Princess?” he asks once he’s collected himself, pushing your hair from your face and wiping the sweat from your brow. “Mhm, just want to stay like this,” you reply, and Minho smiles softly, rubbing over your shoulders and down your back in a sweet gesture of comfort. You’re silent like this for some time, just simply enjoying the feeling of him, the sound of the crackling fire, the warmth he and this room provides you.

“Does my happiness really have to end here?” you can’t help but quietly ask, and Minho is quiet for a moment, carefully considering before he speaks. In a different world, in a different time, in a different place, maybe the two of you are meant to be. There’s comfort in imagining yourself there, truly happy with Minho, letting him care for you while not snuffing out the flame that is your pride, ambition, and spirit.

It’s not meant to be, you both know that to be true. To be with each other required great risk, sacrifice, hardship. But again he has to wonder, is being safe worth the cost of happiness? Would you even truly be “alive” if your every moment was spent miserably? He doesn’t want to see the very core of what makes you you be snuffed out by selfish, idiotic men and their expectations of what you should be.

You’re much younger than him, and it would be impossible for him to be there for you for the rest of your life, but he can be for the rest of his, at least. “Maybe not,” he answers, unsure of what the future holds for the two of you, but not entirely ready to give up so easily. He could accept his fate, accept that love is something out of his reach, but it’s your happiness on the line that makes him want to fight for it.

There’s a lot he could lose by helping you escape this life you feel trapped in, but he’d rather see you happy than wasting your days away in the castle, subservient to a man you loathe. Your love isn’t meant to be, but that’s okay; he’ll help you all the same. He’s loyal to you, and only you, he’s decided- so if you make your future husband, your father, the entire kingdom your enemy, then they’ll be his enemy too. And it’ll all be worth it just to see you smile for a little bit longer.

#skz x reader #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #skz smut #lee know smut #lee minho smut #skz imagines #skz scenarios #not me posting a fic again literally 4 days after my last one i am serious when i say i was possessed to write this #also not posting between the hours of 4-7am for once that is a win for me !!#mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune

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dogwithrabies · 7 days

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【★】 gn reader but described as afab, kinda mean scara, reader is a masochist lol

【☆】 ignoring the fact that i disappeared for like 8 months, hi, new thingy (reup)

word count: 4.3k

There’s no coming back from those offices. Everyone knows that, it’s like an open secret between the ranks of the fatui.

One gets called in for a “little chat” and then just disappears, there are no deserters allowed in an organization like this. Too many secrets.

The lower ranking soldiers always gossip about whoever the next one is gonna be, it keeps everyone on edge, just one measly mistake in front of a general, or worse, a harbinger and it’s over. It doesn’t help that other privates will often turn on eachother, reporting their comrade’s mistakes to get on their supervisor’s good side, in a sense, the fatui has eyes everywhere.

Your days of walking on eggshells are long over, thank the Tstaritsa, but it doesn’t mean you’re completely safe either. Being a general yourself, you’ve been faced with many hard decisions, sometimes covering up the mistakes of a soldier, sending back touched up reports hoping no supervisor will notice any discrepancy.

“Your empathy will come back to bite you in the ass”.

It’s a sentence the Balladeer threw your way once, it wasn't advice out of the goodness of his (non-existent) heart. Matter of fact, he didn’t even spare you a glance before walking past you, on his way to scold another soldier. How stupid, he must've thought, sharing your already scarce meal with a tiny bird that sought refuge under the shadow of your feet.

But you just can’t help it. In your early days you could only pray someone spared you the same kindness you give out now.

But that was a long time ago. You went on many other expeditions in the Balladeer’s team, somehow always managing not to fess up and prove yourself worthy of your role. It was a noteworthy achievement, after all his bad temper was notorious to anyone who spent even a few minutes in his presence.

The Balladeer does not go out of his way to compliment anyone, flattery is not his style. Just the absence of any reprimand is more than enough to tell you you’re doing good.

However, that does not stop you from wasting time fantasizing about such scenarios.

“You’re doing good.” What a dream it would be to hear that. “You’re being good.”

But the image you have of him in your mind is a far-fetched, rose-tinted version of the one in front of you now. You’re not as stupid as to warp his essence into anything even remotely kind. You know of his temperament, sometimes you’d even go as far as to think he’s not even human.

During an expedition, he slapped a soldier once. It was late in the evening and some soldiers decided to let out some steam with a few drinks. It just so happened that one of them got a little too… feisty.

But the Balladeer did not let go of his face. He just kind of stared at the red mark his hand left, squishing the fat of his cheeks in some weird torturous ritual, moving the skin around to admire the shape of the coagulated blood under his skin. He was so close he could feel the shaky breaths of the poor guy fanning on his face.

He relented only once he was satisfied. He enjoys the fear in people’s faces. No, fear is just an expression, it’s the pure terror that spreads in someone’s whole body that excites him.

He can tell the exact moment when someone switches from being scared to dreading losing their life.

It’s something you’ve seen several times yourself, never hesitate, to end someone’s life. Hesitation makes you waver, staring at someone’s eyes makes you acknowledge that they’re scared, they’re human.

He never wavers. Hm. He’s either incredibly cruel… or just above your kind? You take a mental note of that.

The first thought excites you, that tiny familiar buzzing feeling running down your spine.

It’s so unfair.

No, that’s not right, you quickly shake that thought off. Who would ever dream of being at the receiving end of the Balladeer’s ire?

It’s not the first time you find yourself spiraling that same line of thought. But he’s just so pretty.

You suppose that in order to make it out alive of his squadron one needs to grow tough skin, tolerating his humiliation tactics and aggressions. You just never thought you’d develop a liking to that.

How the mighty have fallen. You used to be so respectable.

You can’t even begin to picture his disgusted expression if he found out that deep down, a part of you hoped he would lay his hand on you.

Or if he knew how many sleepless nights you spent rubbing your thighs together, trying to get rid of a heat that just wouldn’t go away.

Or, additionally, if he knew that the first thing you did in your new private (perks of being promoted) room was to disregard your clothes and immediately push your fingers in your aching needy cunt. Thinking of him.

How absolutely shameful. You wonder if your stay in the fatui awakened something in you. Or maybe you were always like this.

But you’re always so composed. And your fatui mask covers any blushing on your face;

No one would be able to detect your attraction to him based on your behavior.

After all, it was very common to hear creaking sounds at night. That’s just what happens when you force young adults in a shared room together. People just turn the other way. Ignore the sound and go to sleep.

You feel yourself getting warmer at the sight of him walking towards your squadron.

It’s another of those annoying training sessions, you don’t have to participate, just surveil the cadets. It doesn’t fall within your assignments, it’s your Lord Balladeer’s job, but he so kindly sacked you his responsibilities. After all, he’s above watching insignificant men stumble in knee high snow.

But you’re just so distracted.

He’s sitting on a chair with a tiny table in front of him, quickly skimming through huge piles of paper. The huge fur of his coat shields his face from your view (a shame, he looks so cute when concentrating), but he’s not covering anything else. His tiny shorts slightly hike up his legs as he shifts to put one leg over the other, revealing even more skin.

Just how is he not getting cold?

You huff, your breath crystalizing in front of you, forming a tiny mist as if proving your point.

It’s freezing. And he’s out there with his usual attire. Not that you’re complaining, you always had a thing for his legs. Always looking at the way they crease and shift on his thighs every time he crouches to look at something. You always watch him with such an intense gaze.

It’s not weird. It is your job to ensure his safety after all.

Not that he needs it. You’ve seen him in combat, not many enemies survive after the first shock of electro.

It’s scary. It’s exciting.

He also uses it to correct small mistakes. He’s shocked you once after you almost tripped while serving him tea.

It was tiny and barely audible but your finger spasmed in an uncomfortable position, and then it was over.

He let out a humorous hum at your shocked expression, then quickly dismissed you.

You spent the rest of the day thinking about that small encounter.

Thinking about all the other ways he could use his shocks on you. Maybe they could simulate the effects of a vibrator (just a slightly painful one). You’re not allowed to bring anything with you when you join the fatui. And using your hands or humping your pillow always leaves you yearning for more.

So lost in thought. You didn’t even notice the way he was staring at you, an unreadable expression on his face. Not anger, not disappointment, something more akin to… disbelief.

He knew you would cover up your underling’s mistakes sometimes, he couldn’t be bothered to call you out on that. But to let so many incompetent cadets trip on the same wall, face-planting on the snow and mud without even taking note of that? Right in front of him?

Were you hoping he was too busy with his papers to not notice that, or are not even paying attention?

Your tendency to sometimes space out is something he was very aware of. But you never actively slacked off on your tasks. This is new, not unexpected but new. You were bound to disappoint him, after all, it is in your nature as a human. He needs to stop this before it becomes a habit and gets in the way of his work.

He quickly calls some other general to take your place. You barely register when he calls your name. His voice makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up in shivers.

“Come.” He firmly says before walking off the training grounds.

You hesitate for a second, your eyes focusing back on the view in front of you. Your lord wants a word with you? Just how deep in thought were you to not even notice him staring holes in your back? It can’t be any good.

You follow after him, catching up with him and watching the back of his coat sway with each step.

The inside of the palace is just as cold as the outside. The only relief a fatuus gets is the mercy of being shielded from the icy winds. It’s only when you set foot inside his office that you finally let yourself breathe.

The whole walk to his private office is full of agonizing spiraling thoughts. Surely this isn’t one of those “little chats”, right? The soldiers guarding the door don’t even spare the two of you a glance, their masks covering your expression, but you’re sure they pity you in some way.

The Balladeer is not known for his kindness, but even through his hate filled vision of humanity, he knows the intrinsic need of every being for validation. Not that he’s going to give them any, he has no interest in building any amicable relations in this organization, lest it serves him to reach his goals the future. But it would also be very troublesome to replace even more of his subordinates. Were he in an altered mood he would’ve just electrocuted on the spot.

Recognizing when one of his useless soldiers actually has a shred of potential is not something he’s very keen on doing, but the alternative is to put up with more incompetent fools, and that’s not on his agenda.

He sits on his chair, moving papers around on his desk. You watch him as he smacks his lips and lets out a silent huff as he finally rearranges the papers to his liking.

You’re shacking, he attributes it to the cold. Humans have always been so much weaker and more vulnerable than him. His skin is cold, glacially cold, but it’s not a feeling he registers.

Even his coat is just for show.

Your cheeks are red, but it’s (at least partially) not from the cold. Now that his coat is off you get a full view of his face. His dashing red liner perfectly contours his eyes, giving them a sharp intense look. He begins talking to you, his voice is calm and smooth, at least he’s not mad at you.

It’s about your zoning off.

It’s not something you do on purpose, but it’s just so hard to focus when you're so damn horny.

Frankly, you’re more surprised he didn’t just slap you on the spot, not that you would’ve minded. Maybe your Lord is showing you his mercy? The thought of him showing you any form of kindness makes heat slowly creep up your face. The cold slowly leaves your body as warmth replaces it, the overwhelming feeling leaving you to fiddle with the hem of your clothing.

“My deepest apologies, it will never happen again, my Lord”.

This is to be expected, addressing him with the right honorifics and apologizing is the correct (and preferred) outcome. He blinks slowly, at least he saved himself a migraine.

What he doesn’t expect is to not see you when he opens his eyes. He didn’t dismiss you. He gets up from his chair but stops when he finally spots you, on your knees with your forehead touching the ground.

“I want to make it up to you, my Lord”, you say, still not moving from your position.

This. This he likes. Usually, he’s the one forcing his subordinates to kneel in front of him, and not in a kind way either. Pressing their face on whatever unfortunate surface they were standing on, purposefully applying more pressure than needed, hoping his boots would leave a heavy mark on their face. Sometimes they would do it out of their own volition, but it doesn’t stem from an urgent need to show him their worship, it was out of fear.

“Hm.” He makes his way to the couch on the side of his desk and sits crosslegged. “Come here,”

But he interrupts you before you can push yourself on your feet- “No, stay like that.

It takes you a second to process that he wants you to crawl your way to him. You awkwardly move your body, trying not to trip on your own coat before settling in front of him.

He puts his hand on your cheeks, lightly squishing them before raising his fingers and taking your mask off, leaving your expression bare before him. It’s no different than any other fatuus mask, but he slowly examines it regardless.

“Go on, show me your devotion, (Name),” he says, shifting so his knees are on each side

Just the fact that he knows your name makes you shudder. You’re not sure of what exactly he wants from you, but you’re already in a bizarre enough situation, so you decide to follow your instincts.

You slowly wrap your hand around his boot, raising it until you can comfortably lower your face, letting your lips come in contact with it. His eyes widen for a moment, as you continue rubbing your face on the side of his boot. Their surface is clean, that bit of snow remaining gets smothered on your skin, melting away.

“Hah”, moving to other boot, you repeat the same motion “At least you know where you belong.”

His voice has a layer of malice to it, like he’s elated by this outcome. Your hand comes in contact with his skin, it’s so cold, like touching freshly piled snow. Opting to rub his legs in a meek attempt at warming them up, you press your lips to his knee, savoring the moment.

Any other person would feel humiliated in this situation, worshipping at your Lord’s feet, but this, it’s like a dream come true to you. Being so close to the object of your attraction makes your head go spinning. It feels unreal just being able to lay your hands on them. You shouldn't press your luck. but it’s so tempting to just reach over and grope him all over.

He would probably kill you.

Maybe.

Perhaps if you’re slow and methodical about it you can manage to get a tiny bit closer to his thighs. Masking your need as devotion.

You place your lips just above his knee, your hands moving under it, rubbing at the soft skin. He’s also curious about how far you’re willing to push yourself. He’s no fool, he knows you’re scared of crossing a line you’re not even aware of. He could be kind and point you in the right direction, but watching you struggle to restrain yourself while mindlessly mouthing at his skin is a show too good to pass on.

Eventually, he widens his legs, just enough to allow you to sit deeper in between them. This new position allows you to reach further. It stuns you for a moment, hesitantly putting your hands on his thighs, looking at his face for any sign of vexation. When you don’t find any, you deem it safe to push further, lowering your face to latch your mouth on the exposed skin. Leaving a slightly wet trail everywhere you go.

He’s let you get this far, and if the way he moves his legs giving you even more access is any indicator of his enjoyment, it encourages you to try your luck.

Your hand slips under his shorts, slowly pushing them up. You lock eyes, and for a second you fear you’ve overstayed your welcome, luckily that’s not the case.

“No markings.” His hand now rests on your head, slowly moving your hair out of your face.

Would it even be possible to leave marks? His skin shows no imperfections and it’s so smooth it makes you want to lose yourself in it. But it also feels… tougher? While rubbing it with your hands, it felt robust, like if you sunk your teeth in it it wouldn’t break even the upper layer. Maybe just leave a mark. A sign you were there.

But now is not the time to get lost in your imagination. Not when the real deal is in front of you, inviting you to have your fill.

You pinch lightly at the flesh of his inner thighs, you’re so close to his crotch, if it wasn’t for that piece of armor around his waist, the side of your face would be squished in it.

“Enough teasing,” He says, and almost as if he was reading your mind, he rids himself of the armor and other superfluous frills attached to it. “Get to work.”

Now that nothing is blocking your view, you can see the bulge that formed under all those clothing.

The sight makes you drool, as you immediately reach a hand to slightly squeeze it. Your eagerness amuses him, but he’s grown impatient. His grip on your hair is much tighter now, dragging your face until it’s directly flush with his clothed erection.

“You better not waste my time” His tone is harsh and firm, and it just makes the heat between your legs worse. When his grip relents, you push yourself away just enough to pull down his shorts. He shifts his hips up, aiding you in sliding them off.

Now that his erection is free, it bounces slightly as your breath fans over it. The tip is a cute shade of pink, beads of precum leaking from it. But he doesn’t give you the time to admire it any longer, grabbing himself from the hilt to slap it on your face a few times. The sound of skin slapping against skin is the only audible thing in the room. It makes your head spin. To think you’d have the privilege of being the one he unleashes his sexual frustrations on.

He pulls your head up, tapping his dick on your lips. You open your mouth, letting him rest his tip on it, and your lips wrap around him, tasting him.

Were it any other situation, you’d take your time in savoring this moment, slowly sliding your tongue around his girth, letting his desire grow. But this is different, like if your performance doesn’t satisfy him he might just kill you on the spot.

And the thought shouldn’t turn you on, for a second the thought of biting him just to piss him off crosses your mind. What a way to go that would be.

Alas, not wanting to keep him waiting, you make an effort to take as much of him as you can, until your nose is flush with his pelvis.

He lets out a satisfied sigh and that slight expression of annoyance leaves his face, your mouth is warm and wet, and the movement of you swallowing around sends shivers down his spine.

“That’s it,” his grip on your hair tightens, holding you in place. “That’s good.”

The mere hint of him praising you makes you shudder, you’re so soaked your underwear is sticking to your cunt. You want to thank him, but speaking with him in your mouth proves to be difficult, it comes out as an unintelligible hum, whether he understood you or not he seems to appreciate the vibration of your throat.

He pulls your head back, urging you to start moving, seemingly done with just enjoying your throat. You drag yourself back until his tip is once again resting on your tongue, and then push it all back in, as far as you can go. You manage to work up a steady rhythm, one that leaves small moans escape from his mouth. They’re breathy, but every time you manage to wring one out of him is like a win to you. Each little noise of his spurs you on further. One of your hands reaches up to grab the rest of him, moving up and down in synch with your mouth, while the other reaches down and inside your uniform pants, rubbing at your clit.

“F-fuck… You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Your eyes trail up to look at his, his flushed face looking back at you.

“Me using your mouth turns you on.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement, and to put more emphasis on it he shifts his legs until one of them is resting between your own.

“You’re doing a good job… I guess I should reward you.”

He shoves his boot up, as if kicking your hand away. He wants you to…. oh.

Complacently, you shift lower until your full weight is resting on him, the absence of your fingers replaced by him. It takes you a moment to adjust to this new position, but once you get back on your rhythm you resume your ministrations on him, while slowly grinding on his leg.

His other hand reaches your head, threading your hair before settling a firm grip next to the other, you’re given a moment of reprise before he shoves his hips forward, roughly, holding you in place.

His thrusts are fast and merciless, each one reaching deeper inside your throat. You close your eyes, trying not to gag when he reaches a bit too deep, not that you have the ability to complain, all you can do is try your best to accommodate him as he uses you to get off. Your hips start moving a bit faster too, the thought of you being a mere means to an end in his eyes is turning you on more than you’d like. And he notices.

His cock throbs in your mouth and he lets out a breathy laugh, “So pathetic. Humping my leg like a dog in heat.”

You open your eyes for a moment to look at him. He’s grinning at you, looking at you as if you were something truly beneath him, pushing his hips in rougher as if to accentuate that. The sounds of saliva and cum smacking around your lips are so obscenely loud, you’d have half a mind to almost be embarrassed by it, but there’s a knot tightening in your stomach, and it grows tighter and tighter with every thrust of your hips. It doesn’t help that with every thrust his leg moves slightly up against you, coaxing you into an orgasm.

Your hands clamp on his thighs, hard, the shuddering of your hips slowing down as you unwind on him. You let out withered moans, barely audible but still sending pleasurable vibrations up his length.

You’re straight up drooling around him at this point, saliva sliding down your chin and on his balls. He’s sounding a bit breathier above you, and you can feel him twitching with more vigor inside your throat. Your body limp on his makes it easier to thrust deeper.

He pushes in as far as your throat allows him and stills there. You’re prepared to feel him coming down your throat, but he pushes your head back suddenly, so far back his dick slides off your mouth with a wet pop.

He’s stroking himself above you for a moment until there’s a brief pause, interrupted by a breathless curse as he finishes on the top of your lips, riddling your face with his come.

He sags back down on the couch, basking in the aftermath of his orgasm with you still in between his legs. His chest heaves up and down, catching his breath, but his moment of peace is short lived as he speaks up.

“I guess you did prove yourself,” he says as he slowly tucks himself back in his pants. You squint up at him. You don’t move from your position, still sitting even as he removes his leg from underneath you, breathing slowly and deeply now that his dick occupying your airways.

When you come to your senses you start searching around with your gaze for a tissue or even some rag to clean yourself up, you’re truly in an unpresentable state. Your hair is messily pulled out of its ties, strands flying everywhere and some glued to your face. Your face… Awkwardly, you wipe your lips, trying to at least dry up the saliva but there’s nothing you can do to hide the very evident cum sticking on… everything else. You can’t just walk out in this state- you do have a reputation to uphold. And rumors travel fast- by the end of the day every cadet would know of the shameful state you left the Balladeer’s office in, and it wouldn’t take long for them to put two and two together-

“Oh. This belongs to you.” He says holding your mask, seemingly noticing your inner monologue. “You’ll be needing it out there.” He adds as he puts it back on your face, squishing that bit of cum on your cheeks.

“You can go now. I’ll call you again when I need your… assistance.”

#dog writes #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche smut #wanderer smut

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walliedarling · 1 year

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You are transported into an unfamiliar, colour-soaked world, with nothing except the clothes covering your skin and a pounding headache. When you stray into the first village you find, you look nothing like the people there. But though you think your body and your ways must seem monstrous to them, they take you in with nothing except acceptance.

Or: You are transported to Home as a human, and the rest of the inhabitants are puppets.

Frank is always frustrated when he’s as stumped by something as the rest of his neighbours. He’s supposed to be the one with the answers, after all. But no matter how hard he tries, he simply cannot classify you into a single genus existing in this world. Your bodies are, at least in general shapes, similar enough. And yet, the texture of your skins are entirely different, and you have things in your mouth you refer to as ‘teeth’ that he is entirely unfamiliar with. The fact that you call yourself an adult, and yet have parts of your body that are still growing, is strange to him as well. Even if it’s just your hair and ‘nails’, none of their bodies do anything similar. After the realization that your closest match would be a tree, rather than anything talking, he simply gives up on coming up with a conclusive answer. You deserve a category of your own.

The first noticeable difference is, of course, the differing amount of fingers. Julie decides, lightheartedly, that this gives you an unfair advantage in arts and crafts! So many things are easier... She’d like to have an extra finger to crochet with as well, really!! Besides that, she’s absolutely fascinated with your hair and how it feels- She’ll want to try doing all kinds of different things with it.

You’re going to be glomped by Sally more times than you can count. It’s much easier for her to do so with you, you’re one of the few who doesn’t immediately topple over! There might have been the risk of one of the points of her stars poking you but, fortunately, they aren’t sharp at all. She tells everyone about how squishy you are and, soon enough, you’ve given almost everyone a hug.

Barnaby, for a day or two, makes it his life’s mission to try and lift you up. But though he towers over you in height, he simply can’t lift you off of the ground at all! (It doesn’t matter how much you weigh. It’s simply impossible for people made out of fleece, stuffing and foam to lift a person of flesh and blood.) He asks you whether you’re filled with rocks or not, and while you say that you aren’t, you’re not sure if he entirely believes you. Every resident has their own theory of what’s ‘inside’ of you, you think.

Wally is the one of who is most curious about you, though. He asks you lots and lots of questions, and is especially fascinated by the way you eat. He won’t stop staring. One of the first few things that he’ll ask you if he can draw you. He’s more intrigued by the sound of your heartbeat than he’ll ever directly tell you, and he tries to press his ear to your chest when he gives you a hug. After seeing you get a minor cut once, Wally has become convinced that one of the things that makes up your body is red paint. Perhaps he’ll ask you if he can use some to draw with, one day.

#i have more specific ideas abt wally with this scenario specifically i might make a seperate post abt that <3 #welcome home x reader #welcome home arg x reader #welcome home #welcome home arg #wally darling #sally starlet #barnaby b beagle #julie joyful #frank frankly

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lundenloves · 6 months

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“ 𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍𝐍𝐘’𝐒 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 ” ¹

≔ simon refuses to come to terms with soap’s death and it eats at him. his grief follows him into the house and you’re growing tired of it, ultimately resulting in a fuck off argument.

⤷ i had fun with this and though it’s unedited and likely mid, the general idea of simon being unable to grieve is something my brain really believes in.

∷ no warnings, primarily angst and arguments | 1.3k

masterlist | dad!simon masterlist | taglist | request info

If this was a cinematic, cameras would’ve been thrown around the house. In every corner, every false window and crevice, complete with one or two camera men on the move — walking through the set with purposeful footstep recoil to immerse the audience.

The others would be crouched to catch shots of power, hands dropped to sides and balled fists. It would all come together so nicely, the false stairs that led to nothing and the kids that sat by the top, huddled together as if it was a cold night and not a shouting match. Except it wasn’t a cold night, and this wasn’t a show.

There was no flashy equipment with dozens of foot traffic and the industrial sized lights didn’t exist. Neither did the hangar a home scene was to be constructed under. There weren't trailers filled with makeup artists and hair stylists because everything has to be just right. No. This was reality.

This was late nights, eyebags and fatigue induced arguments. This was baby cries and projectile sick, a sequence of unfairness. One child sleeps, one comes alive and two in the morning hadn’t ever seemed so restless. Simon would’ve given his life for this all to be a show that night. Something he didn’t have to live. To face.

You recklessly followed him through the house, the wood creaked under each step and hands ran through his hair to join at the back of his head. “This is your fucking issue. You just—“ You waved your hands, coming to a halt opposite him in the kitchen. His hands fumbled the drawers for a lighter. “You store everything away until it bursts in your head and I get the brunt of it.”

He laughed at that, shoulders briefly rising in amusement before sticking a cigarette to his lip. “That right is it?” A mumble for the way he stilled to light it, head tilted with the action.

“I’m not fucking doing it anymore.”

His brows creased at that, sliding the lighter back onto the counter with eyes locked onto yours in a certain deadness. The ember burned with his inhale, chin tilted upward to exhale the smoke by the now open door.

Your chest heaved in frustration. “You never talk to me about things. I'm your wife. Your fucking wife.” Your words landed on deaf ears for his chuckle, lazily shifting to tip his cigarette before rubbing at his upper lip. “Talk to me. This isn’t a threat, or an interrogation or fucking anything to do with your job.” You closed a step. “Learn to seperate your work from your home, fucking hell.”

The cigarette was slowly ditched, left on its ashtray to create a trail of upward smoke and Simon took a step closer. Physical space between you now limited for his frame and right then came a quiet, “If it was that easy, do you think I'd be like this? Hm?” His tone hardened, body shifting ever so closer to raise his voice in your ear. “Eh?”

There was a pause for him to linger above you. The smell of his cigarette still clung to the air and you pulled your face up at his immediate presence. “He’s fucking Dead!” The roar was one that pushed a physical reaction from you, a step backward and a scowl. By now, the cameras would have taken a solo shot on his mannerisms. The way his fingernails dug into palms, resting in their familiar dents of anger. “He’s dead.” And a second camera would’ve caught his falter after a voice break, shaking his head in out of body denial.

“And what. Eh?” He took his own step back to reach for the cigarette. “What the fuck do you want me to do about it?”

You shook your head, no doubt accompanied by a reluctant tear for the mention. “You know what?” A laughless chuckle came, puffing out your lips in exasperation before eyes had fixed back onto the man before you. And for a second, a brief second, he looked panicked. Frightened almost. As if his whole world had come crashing down and he had only just noticed in a matter of seconds.

“Fuck you.” You point to his chest, a finger pressed against the hard muscle twice in punctuation. “For all I care you could’ve joined him.”

Simon laughed, clapping his hands in aggressive amusement. “Oh that’s good.” His voice would raise just a notch though plastered with a defensive smile, landing his palms back onto the counter to watch you grab keys from the unit. His shoulders sunk inward, shaking his head once you had reached the hall. “Would’ve been better if it was me, eh!”

His voice echoed off the walls, and the creak of the top step was something you selfishly couldn’t deal with. Your kids wouldn’t easily forgive you for leaving that night, though in your defense it was all a blur. Simon leant forward on the counter, just enough to see you angrily fumble with your shoes. “Because I was fucking thinking it too.”

Though the shoes were picked up in an instant, and the stomps of your feet hit the hardwood flooring abruptly. In mere seconds you found yourself in front of him. “You don’t get to be like this.” A finger prodded to his chest once again, your step forward forcing his reluctant step backward. “You don’t fucking get to say that.”

He stared, slow blinks defeating any hint of outward care for your words. Words that were clawing at your insides, turning a nausea in your stomach. “Do you know just how much bullshit you’ve put me through?” Your hand raised to your height, gesturing the scale of his intolerability. “Do you even know the half of it?”

Simon wasn’t lost for words, though he let you have your moment. The welling of tears in your eyes was somewhat betraying the fire your tone wanted to hold. Fingernails continued digging into his palms, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if blood was drawn hadn’t it been for bitten nails.

“Do you even know how many times i’ve cried? How many times— because you’re so fucking,” Your hands waved in attempts to find the right word. “Unclear! You’re so, so,” A laugh escaped you, “So self-centered.”

Simon broke then, standing up straight from his previous lean and ridding the cigarette he had picked up once more, brows raised while tipping it. “I’m self centered?” A chuckle. “Fuck off.”

Though you’re already backing down the hall, shaking your head with a grin. “Hah,” Hands dropped to your sides. “You’re unbelievable.” Tone dull, the lack of shock condoning a tinge of pain in Simon’s chest.

The door slammed and he laughed. He laughed in deflection and knowing that he would sleep bad that night, that the cameras would now be shakily walking backward from the door and his laugh would echo. The slam seemed to shift the whole house and little feet were heard scurrying back into rooms, their doors clicking shut with upmost quiet effort.

“Text me when you’ve grown up, yeah?” Were your last bitten words, leaning on the bannister to slide old shoes on and Simon lit up another cigarette.

Silence hadn’t ever seemed so loud. His ears rang and his head spun for your exit, a symbolic line in your marriage for thus far you had never left.

Your patience was finally running out.

“Let me feel something, mate.” Came a mumble to no one in particular, though it was meant for Johnny. An arm crossed to his chest with the opposing elbow leant on the crease, cigarette ash blowing across the kitchen floor for his lack of care.

The cameras would cut and you wouldn't really be gone.

Neither would Johnny.

≔ idk man, i just write and then dance and dance and write. my tags didn’t work so pls help signal boost this or i’ll spiral due to lack of engagement 🫵🏼

simon 'ghost' riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkbbyx3 @gressseyy @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @cliosunshine @bloobewy @lazybutsmexy @iluvoaldmen @yyiikes @tieflingteatime @cosmoscoffee @lilvampirina @cinnabeanz @st4rluvrz @spencerreidisbae123 @paperbag-prncss @cookiecutta @sluttyforsimon @loveangelic @st4rluvrz

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley x female reader #cod fanfic #cod modern warfare #cod mw3 #cod mwiii

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lipglossanon · 1 year

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The Darkest, Most Depraved of Joys

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{next installment}

Stepbro!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ so minors DNI, stepcest, bully Leon, perv Leon, reader is a bit sassier in this so heads up I guess lol, dirty talk, slight somnophilia, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, strong breeding kink, leaning heavy into the stepcest kink so for real be prepared haha, uhh I think that’s it 🤔

Not proofread; literally banged this out in a few hours this morning 🤣

Title from Monologue by She Wants Revenge

Shoutout to all you lovely readers 😘 😘

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It’s been a few months since your mom remarried some businessman from the city who decided small town life was more his speed. Everything’s going smoothly for the most part. The only exception to your idyllic home life is the absolute terror that is now your stepbrother. Leon is the bane of your existence. He’s older by a few years and he lords it over you every second he gets. And he’s such a jerk to you.

It’s not overt bullying cause Leon doesn’t want to get in trouble, but away from prying eyes he likes to pick on you. He tugs your hair or steals whatever you have in your hand and, just in general, behaves like a complete asshole. What drives you even more crazy is he acts like a complete angel around your mom and his dad so you can’t even say anything or else get scolded.

Your mom laughs and says he’s joking, but it leaves you fuming— especially since you also find Leon ‘the asshole’ Kennedy extremely attractive. Life is so unfair. You’re sick of his bossy attitude and his stupid good looks.

Because of the utter dismissal of your mom, you’ve taken to jotting down your thoughts in a journal. A diary. Whatever.

At first it was to vent about what asinine thing Leon had done to you that day. Him purposefully taking your favorite seat on the couch so you’d have to sit in the recliner. Leon throwing his leg out just as you walk by, sending you stumbling into the wall and him smirking at your angry scowl. Volunteering you when your parents asks for suggestions on who should do dishes or the laundry.

He always seems to follow you randomly throughout the day, taunting you about your choice of wardrobe or how you try to one up him or, sadly, how single you still are. You spin around to argue with him but he just breezes past you, shoving your shoulder as he heads back to his room.

The list goes on and on. But then the venting in your journal starts to meld into a mix of how good he smells (sandalwood and vanilla) and how pretty his hair is even on those overcast drizzly days where it’s more rain than sky outside. Or how nice his arms and hands look doing something so simple as setting the table.

At some point even those diary entries devolve into how hot it would be if maybe Leon got a little physical. Maybe pushing you against the wall when no one’s looking and kisses you until you can’t breathe. Maybe he’d drag you into an empty room and convince you to give him a handy. Maybe even corral you into sucking him off or coaxing you into letting him eat you out until you cry.

After writing some of these you realize that maybe you’re a little more pent up than you thought, but then promptly shrug it off. It’s not like you’re hurting anyone.

Until one Saturday afternoon that is; you think you’re all alone and as you set your journal on your dresser, it’s yanked out of your hands.

Leon stands to your side making you realize the house is empty save you two, and dangling your diary full of unspeakable thoughts just out of your reach.

“Give it back,” you grit out, feeling that familiar rage creeping into your posture.

“Aww, upset sweetheart?” he mocks you, “I’ve always wondered what goes on in that pretty little head of yours.”

“Leon, I’m being serious, give it back.”

He smirks holding the diary up higher as you reach out on your tippy toes, hand going to his shoulder for stability.

“Nah, don’t think I will,” he presses his index and middle finger to your forehead and pushes you until you have to step back or lose your balance and fall.

“Fuck off asshole,” your voice raises, “that’s private shit. Private? I’m sure even you understand what that means”

His smirk drops and his brow furrows in irritation, “Are you insinuating I’m stupid, princess?”

You give him a sickly sweet smile, “Oh a multi syllable word? That’s a big one for ya,” you simper up at him, “do you need to sit down?”

He glares at you before a slow grin spreads across his face making your heartbeat fast.

“Well maybe some light reading might strengthen my vocabulary,” he shakes the book in his hand.

You jump up and try to make a last ditch effort in grabbing it, but he swings his arm up and out of the way.

He clicks his tongue, “Manners, sweetheart.”

You stomp your foot, “God you’re such a dickhead! Give it back!”

He sighs, “Alright,” and goes to hand it back but then yanks it away at the last minute and takes off to his room.

“I’ll have it back to you later! Thanks, princess!!”

You yell at his disappearing figure, feeling rage and embarrassment warring in your chest. Following him, you slam your fists against his locked door. After a few minutes of getting nowhere, you slowly shuffle back into your room. You might as well go dig a hole and lie in it cause anything would be better than Leon reading that damn journal.

You morosely flop face first down onto your bed. You scream into the pillow before rolling over onto your back to stare up at the glow in the dark stars that have been stuck to your ceiling since you were seven. Maybe he won’t read it all. It did start out as a hate journal so maybe after the first few entries he’ll get tired and quit reading. God you hoped so.

Sighing, you raise up and scrub your face until you feel a little less like you want to jump out a window. You scroll mindlessly on your phone, keeping an ear out for any noise coming from Leon’s room. Giving up after a few minutes, you heave a sigh and get out of your bed and make your way next door to Leon’s room.

Rapping your knuckles on the wood, you call out, “Leon, can you give me my diary back, please? I’ll.. do your chores or something.”

You hear the click of the lock being undone and the door swings inward.

“All of my chores?” he crosses his arms and props his shoulder on the doorframe, smirking at you.

You roll your eyes at how stupidly hot he’s being, but bite back your sarcasm, “Yes, all of them. Can I please have my book?”

You feel a spark of something when his eyes drag down your body and back up to your face. Leon grins at you as he straightens up from the doorframe.

Flicking your forehead, he steps back into his room, “Okay, princess. Come in and get your book and then I want you to do something for me.”

You bite your lip to stifle any complaint and rub your head as you step further into his room.

It’s similar to your own, a bed and dresser with a side door that leads to a closet. You frown to yourself; it is pretty sparse considering all the posters and photos you have tacked up on your walls.

You snap out of your thoughts when Leon waves the diary in front of your face.

“You good?”

Blinking, you scowl up at him and grab the book.

“Now I am; what do you want?”

He pouts at you mockingly, “Aww you don’t want to know what I thought about such riveting writing?”

Your heart rabbits in your chest and your palms tingle.

“You didn’t really read it, did you?”

You know your voice wavers and the mocking look on Leon’s face morphs into a sly grin.

“Don’t worry your undying hate for me will remain close to the chest,” he ruffles your hair, “after the first few pages of it, I quit reading.”

“Oh,” you duck your head and chew on your bottom lip.

Looking up again, you give him a shy smile, “Thanks, Leon.”

He stops ruffling your hair and drags his hand down to the side of your neck. He rubs his thumb over the column of your throat.

“I wouldn’t thank me just yet, sweetheart,” he presses you to step backwards until your back is touching the door.

You put your hands up on his broad chest, still clasping your diary, “W-what’re you—“

“Think this was about 20 pages in, right?” he muses, blue eyes darkening as he dips his head down to be closer to you.

The hand not gripping your neck comes up to cup your jaw, tilting your head back.

“Just let me,” he breathes out, the motion causing his lips to brush up against yours.

Your eyelashes flutter closed as he presses a searing kiss to your parted lips. He groans and kisses you harder, his body pressing yours against the door completely. You try to push him away but to no avail; his strength outmatches yours easily.

Leon moves his hands down to grab your hips, holding you still while he molds himself against you. Your hands are trapped between your chests. You can feel his dick beginning to chub in his sweats.

"Damn," he murmurs as he pulls away, grinding against you.

A soft gasp passes your lips, which he zeroes in on. Leon presses against you more firmly before slotting your mouths together. You try to push against him but can feel your resolve weakening under the constant barrage of wet, tongue filled kisses. Arousal pulses in your clit with every wet press of his mouth.

You’re finally able to pull away from his hungry mouth.

“What’re we even doing?” you gasp as his mouth finds a sweet spot on your neck.

“Just trying to make my little sis’s dirty dreams come true,” he snarks, before taking your mouth once again.

You moan, letting yourself be swept up in the sensations Leon’s bringing out in your body.

He kisses you slow and deep, tongues tasting each other before pulling away to suck on your bottom lip. He slides a hand along your thigh, caressing softly as his fingers drift closer to the apex of your thighs. You’re so wet already just from kissing him. You cant your hips towards him and his fingers brush against the zipper on your jeans.

A loud door slam pulls you both apart; you hear your mom call your name from downstairs.

Leon tugs you away from the door and into his chest. He spins you around and pulls the door open for you.

“We’ll be picking this up later, ‘kay princess?”

He smacks your ass as you cross the threshold back into the hall. You whirl around but he’s already closed the door in your face. You look down at the diary in your hand, glaring at the inanimate object.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter out loud.

Walking to your room, you toss the book onto your bed and head downstairs to meet up with your mom.

:::::::::::

The rest of the afternoon passes by pretty quickly. Luckily for you, Leon keeps to himself so you don’t see much of him until dinner. Your mom is very adamant about having dinner together as a family.

“It builds those familial bonds, honey,” she pats your cheek when you try to weasel out of it.

So here you are, sitting across from Leon, trying to eat with him staring a hole into you. When you reach for your glass to take a sip, you raise your eyebrows at him.

He smirks at you then glances at your parents; seeing that they’re not paying attention to you two, he brings his hand up to his mouth and makes a ‘V’ with his fingers and thrusts his tongue between them a few times.

You press your thighs together and glare at him. You flip him off and that’s when your mom gasps.

“No vulgar displays at the table!”

You shoot her a disbelieving look, “What? But he started it!”

“Well, that goes for both of you then,” your stepdad cuts in, “behave you two.”

You take a deep breathe and let it out slowly.

Leon laughs, “Just joking around, dad.”

Your mom smiles at him, “I’m so glad you two get along so well.”

Leon catches your eye and gives you the fakest smile, “Of course, that’s what a big brother’s for, right?”

You roll your eyes and go back to your plate.

Pushing around the food, you look over at your mom, “May I be excused?”

“Sure, honey. Just take your dishes into the kitchen.”

Nodding, you gather up everything and head into the kitchen. You scrape what food is left off in the trash and set the dishes in the sink.

You feel a line of heat press against your back, pushing your hips into the countertop. You see Leon’s hands on either side of you, holding onto the counter’s edge; his thick biceps flex as he ducks down to mouth at your neck.

“So mean to me, princess.”

Goosebumps race across your neck and down your arms from his moist breath on the shell of your ear.

“What would they think of you wanting me to stick my cock in your wet little pussy and stretch you out, hmm?”

A bolt of heat flares in your stomach, nipples hardening as you stifle a whine.

“Leon,” you whisper, “shut up, you’re gonna get us in trouble.”

He chuckles into your neck and drops a kiss on your jaw.

“What? It’s the truth; your little diary will just confirm it.”

You press back against him trying to get him to move but he just pushes against you harder, grinding his half hard dick against your ass.

“Don’t be that way,” he coos, one hand slipping from the counter to cup your hot pussy.

You gasp and toss your head back, “We’re gonna get caught.”

“So?” his voice is low and rough in your ear, “don’t want me to play with this needy cunt? C’mon baby thought that’s what you wanted?”

Using the last of your self control, you elbow him in the ribs and duck around his lax arm. You run from the kitchen to the stairs, aiming to lock yourself in your bedroom. You make it to the upper landing before Leon wraps his arms around your waist.

You squeal when he jerks you back to his hard chest.

“You little brat,” he hisses, “I��m gonna—“

“No roughhousing near the stairs,” his dad calls out from the bottom, looking up at you two.

Leon gives him a sheepish smile and drops his hold on you, “Of course, pops.”

You take this distraction for what it is and rush off to your room, shutting and locking the door. Listening, you hear Leon pause outside your door.

He lightly taps the wood, “This isn’t over, sweetheart.”

You shiver, feeling hot at those words. You hear him make his way over to his room and shut the door. Walking over, you collapse down onto your bed with a sigh. What have you gotten yourself into?

Later in the evening, you make your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth and get ready for bed. When you return to your room, it slips your mind to lock your door for the night. Tiredly, you slip under your cool sheets and drift off.

You’re slowly coming to, still half asleep. You question what woke you up and right as your about to be pulled back under, you feel a pair of hands caressing and pinching your nipples over your thin sleep shirt.

“So pretty. Pretty girl don’t even know what you do to me. These fuckin tits just begging me to play with’em.”

You hear a low voice muttering next to you. You struggle to remember who else would even be here but that’s wiped from your mind as the hands keep teasing and tugging your sensitive buds.

“God I wanna suck’em. Leave bruises all over you.”

Leon your mind supplies. You forgot to lock your door earlier.

“Always walking around the house wearing those little outfits. Practically begging me to just bend you over and fuck you til you can’t think.”

You feel a warm hand smooth up your ribs before cupping one of your breasts while the other softly pinches your nipples.

“Wha-“ you groggily reach a hand back to the body behind you.

“Shh, princess,” his low voice rumbles in your ear, “let me make you feel good.”

You sigh out in response and let him snake his other hand underneath the side you’re laying on to grope your other breast. Your nipples harden to the gentle strokes of his fingers circling the sensitive buds.

You arch your hips back to grind against the bulge pressing into your ass. Your pussy starts to leak slick into your panties.

He groans aloud and slips his hands underneath your shirt to glide fingertips across heated skin. You sluggishly shrug out of the shirt with his help. Immediately afterwards, he grabs each breast in his hands and squeezes, the fat dimpling between his fingers.

“Fuck, that’s— you’re so good,” he presses wet, open mouthed kisses on your neck and shoulder before scraping his teeth along your shoulder blade.

“C’mon, roll over for me, sweetheart.”

Your eyes are heavy with sleep but you can blearily make out his dark eyes as they drink in your half naked body.

“Gonna let me eat this pretty pussy, baby?”

You’re so tired you can only let out a low whine.

“I know, sucha sweet girl when you wanna be,” he kisses your cheek then your lips, dipping his tongue into your mouth for a quick taste before pulling away to lie between your spread legs.

He eases your panties down your legs and tosses them to the floor. You can feel how wet you are when the cool air of the room hits your pussy.

“Can’t believe you wrote all that shit down where anyone can read it,” he eyes your leaking slit hungrily before meeting your gaze with blown out pupils, “fuckin made me so hard, baby.“

“Leon,” you whisper, voice cracking in pleasure, “‘m sorry.”

He presses soft kisses to your thighs, bypassing where you most want his mouth, laying soft open mouthed kisses to your hips and lower abdomen.

“Why’re you apologizing? I think it’s hot that y’need your big brother to take care of this sopping wet pussy,” his hands are softly running up your legs, massaging the skin randomly.

“We can’t,” you whisper, pressing your hands against his head to keep him from moving, “it’s dirty. And plus don’t you have a girlfriend?”

He growls at you, “So? I’ll dump her tomorrow once I have a taste of this sweet little cunt. And it might be dirty but doesn’t it get you wet, princess? I read all about your filthy thoughts of me eating you out.”

He grins at you from between your thighs, eyes hungry, “You can even be my new girlfriend.”

Leon finally presses his lips to your mound, “And now I’m gonna eat out my girl’s pussy.”

You sigh out in pleasure as he places sloppy kisses to your clit over and over making your legs twitch. Your hands come down to tangle in his messy hair.

“Leon,” you moan, “please.”

Ignoring your urging to go lower, he laves his tongue across your pussy lips. He pulls back just to press his pouty mouth softly against the hood of your clit making you arch your hips upward with a moan.

His tongue darts out to lap at your sensitive bud before trailing down to your leaking hole. He teases his tongue around the entrance, dipping inside briefly, before pulling away to messily kiss your clit. Your thigh muscles jump underneath the palm of his broad hands. He continues to drag his lips across your aching clit, giving it soft kisses repeatedly.

“Fuck, so good,” you squeeze your eyes shut, “please Leon I need more than just kisses.”

“Nah,” his eyes darken even further, lips ticked into a mean smile, “just wanna give my girl’s pretty pussy lotsa love. She only needs my kisses.”

He presses another sloppy, spit filled kiss onto your swollen clit.

You whine pitifully, “Such a tease.”

“Oh I’m the tease?” He pulls away from your slick cunt leaving you gasping out in disagreement, “You’ve been teasing me for the longest time, princess. Wearing those slutty shorts, showing off those fucking thighs of yours.”

He shucks his sleep wear off until he’s only in his boxers. You can see a prominent wet spot where the head of his dick has been pressing against the fabric. You whine again, hands scrabbling at his forearms.

“‘m sorry Leon. I’ll be good, promise,” you pull on his arms, trying to make him move up closer, “I didn’t mean to tease.”

“I bet you didn’t,” his voice is rough, deeper than you’ve heard before, “those flimsy little tops showing me your hard fucking nipples.”

You watch as that mean expression comes back into his face. His thumb presses down on your swollen clit making you gasp in pleasure.

“But I guess that’s what slutty little sisters do to their big brothers, huh? You were just trying to get me hard so I can fuck you good later, right?”

You feel tears pooling in your waterline.

“Leon,” you hiccup, “please.”

His expression softens.

“Hey don’t worry,” he moves up to cage your head between his forearms, bent so your faces are nearly pressed together, “I’m gonna take care of you.”

You keep eye contact as you ask, “Really?”

“Yeah,” he gives you a soft look. “Gonna make you feel good.”

You bite your lip and run your hands through his hair, “Yeah? Gonna show me stepbrother’s big cock?”

“Fucking hell,” his hips grind down onto yours. You feel the scratchy material of his boxers press against your wet cunt as the heat of his cock drags across your pussy lips.

“I’m gonna fuck you hard, baby. Hope you’re ready for it,” he kisses you, thrusting his tongue into your open mouth.

Leon presses you on your back; he brings your knees up to your chest and pushes you down into the bed as he drags his thick cock across your sensitive clit.

You look down and watch as his hand wraps around his dick, pulling back the foreskin to smack at your clit and leaky hole.

“Think I’ll fit, princess?”

He’s so big but that just makes you arch your hips up, angling to get his tip to slide into your clenching hole.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, eyes watching as he glides his cock through your wet folds to tap your clit again.

“Guess we’re about to find out,” he grins.

You both moan when he presses the fat tip inside and sinks into your tight, wet cunt.

He gives you a second to adjust before pulling halfway out to slide back in your hot pussy.

“Fuck,” you pant.

Your hole stretches to accommodate the thick cock fucking into you.

“That’s it,” Leon’s raspy voice washes over your ears, “you can take it.”

You whine, “Too big.”

Your hands claw at the sheets, trying to gain purchase. Your cunt drips slick all over the bed while Leon stretches you.. filling you up so good. Sweat begins to bead up around your hairline making your hair stick to your skin.

You can’t stop clenching down on the thick length spearing you open.

“Please move,” you choke out, lifting your head to peer up at Leon’s dark stare.

“You can use your manners,” he chuckles, “aren’t you full of surprises.”

Your eyes flutter as Leon pulls out to slowly slide back in. You moan unabashedly as you’re fucked slow and deep.

“Please, please,” you chant, “so good. Feels so good.”

Leon’s hands grip your hips, fingertips digging in, “Don’t you make a pretty sight. Such a lovely hole.”

You whine as arousal pulses through you at those words.

“Please, I want more.”

“Yeah?”

“Please,” you mewl, as his thumb starts to circle your clit.

“Mmm so fucking sweet,” he moans, using one hand to hold your hips down and the other pinches and strokes your clit.

“Gonna breed this pretty little cunt,” Leon grunts as he thrusts harder into your pussy walls clamping down onto his thick cock.

“Leon,” you moan out, nails biting into his shoulders.

He grins down at you, “Yeah you like that sweetheart? Yeah you do. Want me to put a fat load deep in this tight pussy.”

Punched out moans are all you can manage as his hips piston harder into you, the wet squelching between your thighs getting louder.

“Shit so fuckin good f’me,” Leon hikes your legs up higher onto his shoulders, “gonna cum in you baby. S’what big brothers do, right?”

“What?” You choke out, feeling the tip of Leon’s dick nail that spongy spot inside you repeatedly.

“Yeah, wouldn’t dream about coming in my girlfriend, but you? My little sister? It’s the only thing to do,” his mouth drops hot, tongue filled kisses on your bite covered neck.

“Ohh,” you keen high in your throat, feeling your walls squeezing onto Leon even harder. Just the thought of him cumming inside you has your clit throbbing.

“Baby fuck yeah only wanna cum in you,” Leon slurrs, “you’ll let me right? Let your big brother fill you up? Show you how much I care.”

“Yes yes yes. Please! Want it so bad Leon.”

You’re drooling from how good he’s fucking your pussy. His fat cock bullies into your cunt on every thrust, spreading you open and filling you up.

“So wet and tight," he grits out, voice rough.

You toss your head back in pleasure, "Fuck, Leon. Your cock feels so good."

You can’t stop your hips from meeting each one of his powerful thrusts. Your pussy clenches around his dick like a vice.

He moans, "That's it, take it, such a sweet girl."

"More, please,” you pant, pushing sweaty hair away from your face.

He bottoms out in your cunt to kiss you sloppily.

“You on some kinda birth control, princess?”

You are, but a dark pulse of arousal makes you want to see what he’d do if you said no.

So, you shake your head no, “I’m not on any.”

His hips stutter and buck deeper into your squelching pussy.

“Fuck,” he’s panting, pupils blown, “really? Fucking hell. I need to—“

He moans and grinds so deep you can feel his tip kiss your cervix.

“S’okay that I don’t pull out?” He slips his cock out and slams back into your pussy, making your eyes roll back.

“But you gotta promise me not to get pregnant, yeah? Otherwise I can’t cum all in this needy little pussy. Promise me, baby and I’ll give you a nice creampie.”

Whining, your nails scratch and claw at his shoulders as Leon rails you into the bed; your bed frame is rattling and the mattress squeaking. You’ve never been more grateful your parents slept on the complete opposite side of the house.

“Promise, promise,” you gasp out.

“Hmm yeah, okay then baby. I’ll fuck you raw and cum in this little pussy. God damn,” he groans, thrusting harder, “fuck, don’t even care if I knock you up. So fucking hot.”

He fingers pick up their speed, flicking and pinching your clit as he hammers into that spongy spot in your pussy.

“I-I’m gonna cum. Leon, you’re gonna make me cum,” you mewl.

“Yeah gonna cum on your big brother’s cock?” He kisses you, tongue fucking into your mouth.

“Uh huh, yeah gonna cum all over my big brothers cock,” you whine, “oh fuck, Leon! You’re gonna have to cover my mouth.”

He grins down at you, hips pistoning harder into your pussy.

“Gonna get loud, baby? Fuck that’s so hot. C’mon cum all over my cock.”

Your eyes roll back as your thighs shake with the force of your orgasm. Leon clamps a hand over your mouth as you scream, pussy gushing and clenching around his hard cock.

“That’s it, fuck me, princess. Best pussy I’ve ever had,” he groans, “gonna cum, gonna cream this little cunt.”

He bites down on your shoulder as his dick buries itself deep in your pussy. Your still clenching walls milk his cock until you can’t feel his cum spilling inside anymore.

“God damn,” he pulls back from your neck, “sorry bout the bruise, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, “S’fine.”

He slips out of your cunt with a low hiss. Greedily, he watches as his cum drips out onto the sheets.

“Mmm so hot, baby,” he rubs the cum into your pussy lips, “do I need to get you the morning after pill?”

You laugh at him, “No, I’m on birth control.”

You laugh even harder at his scandalized expression.

“You serious?”

You nod, still giggling, “Yeah.”

He huffs a laugh and cages you in against your bed; he gives you the filthiest kiss and when he pulls away there’s a string of saliva connecting your lips.

“Fucking tease,” he drags his half hard cock over your sensitive pussy, “just means I can cum in you as much as I want though, princess.”

You moan and pull him into another hungry kiss. The kisses turn wet and sloppy, spit dripping down your chins as he sucks on your tongue.

He pulls back to take in your hazy eyes, “Give me a few and we can go again.”

You run your hands through his messy hair, “Mmm sounds good to me.”

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