SYNOPSIS (of part). In this fourth life, life was much kinder and happier to you. Born in the region of songs and wind, you're a shy librarian assistant in the Knights of Favonius' Library, preferring books over people. However, when tasked by Lisa to talk to people and collect their borrowed books, you happen to encounter an extinguished gentleman.
PAIRING. diluc ragnvindr x gn!reader
CONTENT. angst/no-comfort, fluff, mentions of illness, major character death, possibly ooc and potential grammar errors!
WORD COUNT. 3560 words
WEAVED MASTERLIST / NAVIGATION
PREVIOUS LIFE / NEXT LIFE
Unlike your other lives, this one did not begin with prophecy, blood, or brilliance.
It began with dust.
Fine motes of it drifted through the air of the Knights of Favonius Library, illuminated by tall windows and gentle afternoon light. The scent of parchment and ink clung to your clothes more faithfully than any perfume ever could. Your days passed between shelves and ledgers, between the careful turning of pages and the quiet satisfaction of returning books to their rightful places.
It was peaceful.
You liked it that way.
While others sought glory as knights, adventurers, or bards beneath Mondstadt’s open sky, you found fulfillment in silence. Stories lived more vividly in your mind than they ever could beyond the city walls. Heroes, dragons, ancient gods—you met them all through books, safe and sound, with a cup of tea growing cold beside you.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
Or so you thought.
“Reading again?”
You startled, nearly dropping the book in your hands as a familiar, amused voice chimed behind you.
“M–Miss Lisa!” you blurted, snapping the book shut far too quickly. “I didn’t realize you were—!”
“Lisa, darling,” she corrected with a laugh, leaning casually over the desk beside you. “If you keep calling me ‘miss,’ I might actually start to feel ancient.”
You flushed, fingers tightening around the book’s spine. “S–sorry…”
Her eyes flicked down to what you had been reading. “Now,” she said lightly, “what sort of story managed to steal your soul so thoroughly that you didn’t notice your dear old friend approaching?”
You hesitated, then slid the book toward her. “It’s… an old journal. Written by an adventurer.”
Lisa’s brows lifted in recognition as she leaned closer. “Oh? This one?” Her smile softened. “I remember this. I found this old thing back when I studied at the Akademiya and managed to find a copy of it to bring it here. It was certainly one of the earliest attempts to document Teyvat’s creatures in detail.”
You nodded, brushing your thumb over the worn leather cover. “It was one of the first books I ever read. I keep… coming back to it.”
“I can tell,” Lisa teased gently. “You always do have a sentimental streak.”
Then, with the unmistakable tone of someone about to ask for trouble, she straightened. “I need a favor.”
Your stomach sank immediately.
“I have a lunch engagement I absolutely cannot miss,” Lisa continued breezily. “Normally, I’d be the one reminding borrowers about overdue books—but since you’re the only other librarian, I’ll need you to handle it today.”
You stared at her.
“…You mean,” you said carefully, “go outside?”
“Yes.”
“And talk to people?”
“Correct.”
She grinned wickedly. “Socialize!”
You were doomed.
And so, by sunset, you found yourself wandering Mondstadt with a list clutched in your hands, heart pounding each time you asked a stranger for books that they borrowed. One by one, you found the names—until only one remained.
The last led you somewhere you dreaded.
Angel’s Share.
The tavern was loud, warm, and overwhelmingly alive. Laughter spilled from every table, mugs clinked, and the smell of alcohol made your nose wrinkle instinctively. You kept your head down, weaving carefully through the crowd.
You tapped the nearest man at the counter. “E–excuse me, have you seen—”
“Hah?” He spun around, eyes glassy. “What’re you pokin’ me for?”
“I–I’m sorry, I was just—”
“What’s that got to do with me?!” he snapped.
You stumbled back. “I’m sorry! I’ll just—”
You collided with something solid.
Strong.
Warm.
You gasped, spinning around in panic—only to freeze.
A tall man stood behind you, crimson hair catching the tavern’s light like embers. His gaze was sharp, unyielding, fixed squarely on the drunk man before you.
“What seems to be the problem?”
The voice was calm. Cold. Cutting.
The drunk sobered instantly, muttering excuses before retreating into the crowd.
You exhaled shakily. “I-I’m sorry,” you rushed, holding up the list. “I was just looking for someone.”
The red-haired man glanced at the paper without taking it. “…They don’t live in the city.”
You blinked. “…Oh.”
“They’re in Springvale,” he added. “That’s why you couldn’t find them.”
Your shoulders sagged in relief and embarrassment all at once. “That explains it… Thank you.”
He checked the time. “You should go home. It’s late.”
You followed his gaze, startled. “Oh—! You’re right! I should just visit them tomorrow morning.” You bowed quickly. “Thank you again, mister! Have a good night!”
You fled before your nerves could betray you further.
It wasn’t until you returned to the library—Lisa fussing over you—that you learned his name.
“Diluc Ragnvindr,” she said knowingly. “He’s the owner of Dawn Winery and operates Angel’s Share. Though if you ask me, I’d recommend you talk to someone who knows more about him than I do.”
You pretended not to care.
Later that night, halfway home, a familiar voice stopped you.
“You dropped this.”
You turned—and there he was, holding your list.
“Oh!” Your face lit up as you took it. “Thank you, Mister Diluc! I didn’t even know I lost it!”
He made no change of expression. “…Just Diluc,” he corrected, “and it's fine. I only happened to find it when I was closing the tavern.” He said.
You smiled shyly.
And so, he walked you home without another word, steps steady beside yours. It was strange, but you didn’t reject him as you let him walk with you. The silence was something you appreciated from him, as your social battery had already drained down from the amount of people you’ve approached for your errand.
But as soon as you finally closed your door, heart racing, cheeks warm after saying goodbye to the red-haired gentleman, you thought to yourself, “maybe going out wasn’t so bad.”
If your first meeting with Diluc Ragnvindr had been brief and startling, then every meeting after that was… quiet.
Not awkward—no, never that. Just quiet in a way that felt deliberate, as if the world itself lowered its voice whenever the two of you happened to occupy the same space.
At first, they were coincidences.
You saw him early one morning while sweeping fallen leaves near the library steps. He passed by without stopping, coat fastened neatly, expression composed as ever. You lifted your head just in time to catch his gaze flicker toward you.
“…Good morning,” you murmured, barely louder than the rustle of leaves.
“Good morning,” he replied, voice low, measured.
That was all. He walked on, boots echoing softly against the stone.
Yet your heart lingered in that moment long after he disappeared from view.
Another time, you were crouched not too far from the Knights’ headquarters, breaking bits of bread for the stray dogs that lingered there. They wagged their tails eagerly, noses nudging your hands as you laughed under your breath.
“You’ll spoil them,” a familiar voice said behind you.
You startled, nearly dropping the bread. “O-Oh—!”
Diluc stood a few steps away, arms crossed loosely, gaze fixed not on you—but on the dogs.
“They deserve it,” you said timidly, offering a piece to the boldest one.
“…I suppose they do,” he conceded.
He stayed without saying anything more. The dogs eventually grew brave enough to approach him too, sniffing his boots before retreating.
You glanced up at him, your smile growing. “They like you.”
He huffed quietly. “I doubt that.”
“They do,” you insisted softly. “Animals can tell.”
Something unreadable passed through his eyes then. He nodded once, as if accepting a truth he hadn’t expected.
After that, you began noticing him everywhere.
At the market, standing silently while vendors greeted him with respect. At the plaza during quiet afternoons, watching Mondstadt from the edges rather than its center. Sometimes, when you were shelving books near the windows, you swore you could spot a flash of red hair outside—only for it to vanish the moment you looked properly.
You never chased him. Never waved. Never forced conversation.
And neither did he.
But slowly, inevitably, silence became something shared.
When you passed him on the street, there would be a nod. A pause. Sometimes, a single sentence.
“How is the library?”
“Quiet today.”
“…Good.”
That was enough.
Weeks turned into months.
Sometimes, he would walk you home—not always speaking, just matching your pace every time. The night air would be cool, lanterns glowing softly, your steps syncing naturally.
“Thank you,” you’d say at your door.
“Rest well,” he’d reply.
You would linger, fingers curled against the hem of your sleeves, wishing—just a little—that he’d say more.
You never asked.
Neither did he.
And yet somehow, you began to fall in love.
It wasn’t sudden as there was no dramatic moment nor a realization that struck like lightning unlike the books you’ve read. It was much quieter than that, if not gentler.
It was the way he noticed when you shivered and wordlessly removed his coat to put it around your shoulders. The way he remembered your favorite drink without being told. The way his presence alone made the city feel less overwhelming.
For Diluc, it was similar.
You were calm where his world was sharp. Gentle where his nights were violent. You never asked too much about anything, never pried into his life. You listened when he spoke, and respected his silence just as much.
One evening, as you walked together beneath the stars, you finally spoke what had been hovering between you for months.
“…Would you like to come in?” You asked quietly, standing at your door. “For tea.”
He hesitated.
“…If you don’t mind, then yes.”
That night, words came slowly, but they came. You spoke of books, of your childhood, of how you preferred stories to reality. He spoke of responsibility, of Mondstadt, of handling his business while also trying to do his part in protecting Mondstadt.
When he reached for your hand—his hand warm and comforting—it felt inevitable.
Your relationship bloomed softly through shared mornings, late-night conversations, gentle touches. Laughter whispered rather than shouted. Love that felt like coming home.
And time passed like a dream.
Eventually, you two married beneath Mondstadt’s open sky. It was simple, yet heartfelt. Lisa cried openly. Kaeya smiled knowingly. Diluc held your hands as if letting go was unthinkable.
Since then, the two of you have gotten closer than ever.
There were mornings where you would force him to eat breakfast before the two of you could leave for work, much to his resignation, and evenings where he would return to find you waiting by the fireplace with a book in hand despite the late hour.
"You're still awake."
You looked up from your book immediately. "You're late."
"...Work."
"I know." You smiled softly. "Welcome home, Diluc."
He would never admit it aloud, but those two words quickly became his favorite in the world.
You accompanied him through grape fields during harvest seasons, sat beside him during paperwork just to keep him company, and filled Dawn Winery's halls with warmth that had been absent for years. The servants adored you, with Adelinde often remarking that the manor had finally begun feeling alive again.
Eventually, your quiet life became filled with countless little routines that belonged only to the two of you.
Reading together in silence by the fireplace.
Waiting for him after his late-night ventures as the Darknight Hero with bandages already prepared (you later found out about his secret when he came home late at night one time with a few bruises that certainly didn’t belong to any reckless drunkards).
Taking walks around Mondstadt after closing hours.
Listening to you ramble excitedly about books and creatures while he listened with more attention than he ever gave to anything else.
Three years passed like that.
Three peaceful years.
Three happy years.
Diluc had spent so much of his life surrounded by grief and responsibility that he had forgotten what peace felt like until you arrived.
Home stopped being Dawn Winery.
Home became wherever you were.
Until, something changed.
It started small with you—fatigue that lingered too long, dizziness that came too often. Diluc noticed before you did. He always did.
“You’re having a fever again,” he said one morning, concern etched deep into his voice as he placed a hand against your forehead.
“I’m fine,” you insisted.
But you weren’t.
The doctor’s visit was quiet. Too quiet. Diluc had been insisting on his visit after noting that it’s already been more than a week since you started getting more tired and sick.
“…I’m sorry,” the physician said eventually, eyes heavy. “There’s nothing more we can do.”
From the moment the physician left your chambers, Diluc did not leave your side.
He did not step into the night as the Darknight Hero. He did not come to his office. He did not visit Angel’s Share. The world beyond your bed might as well have ceased to exist.
You needed him.
He sat beside you through the long hours when sleep refused to come, your breaths shallow and uneven. When pain stole your strength, he held your hand and whispered reassurances he wasn’t sure you could still hear. He learned the rhythm of your suffering with the way your fingers twitched before the ache set in, the way your brow furrowed when it became too much, and the way you looked so pained.
He wanted nothing more than to take your pain away and bear it himself if it meant he got to see you happy and healthy again.
“I’m here,” he would murmur, again and again, as if repetition could anchor you to the world.
“I won’t go anywhere.”
“You’re not alone.”
Sometimes you smiled faintly at him, eyes glassy but warm. Other times, you simply stared at the ceiling, exhaustion weighing heavier than words.
On the nights when your fever worsened, he pressed cool towels to your forehead, his hands trembling despite himself. He had faced abyss mages, Fatui agents, and monsters born of shadow without fear—but this helplessness hollowed him out in ways no enemy ever could.
“I should have noticed sooner,” he whispered once, voice breaking in the quiet room.
“You always notice,” you replied weakly, forcing a smile. “This… isn’t something we can fix.”
He squeezed his eyes shut at that.
Days blurred into one another. You grew lighter in his arms, thinner, fragile as parchment. You no longer had the strength to leave the bed. Even speaking costs you more than it once had.
Yet your mind remained sharp.
One afternoon, sunlight filtering through the curtains, you asked him to open the window. The breeze carried the distant sounds of Mondstadt—laughter, bells, life.
“I used to think,” you murmured, “that I was boring.”
Diluc frowned. “Never.”
“I didn’t go on adventures. I didn’t fight monsters. I just… read.”
“You built worlds,” he said quietly. “You lived a thousand lives through books.”
You smiled, eyes drifting toward the shelf across the room.
“Do you remember the journal?” you asked. “The adventurer who recorded the creatures of Teyvat?”
“Yes.”
“I always felt… connected to them,” you continued. “Like they were speaking to me. Like… there’s something about them that made me feel like I know them.”
Diluc brushed your hair back gently. “You don’t have to think about that now.”
“I want to.” You insisted softly. “Promise me something.”
“…Anything.”
“When this is over,” you whispered, “don’t lock yourself away. Don’t drown in work. Don’t burn yourself out at night.”
He swallowed. “I won’t.”
“You will.” You breathed. “So… You should travel. See the world. I know you’ve done it before and you’re not allowed to come to Snezhnaya, but… I think traveling will do you good.”
His voice shook. “We’ll go together.”
You looked at him then—truly looked at him—with a sadness so deep it hurt to witness.
“…You know I can’t.”
Silence fell heavy between you.
He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. “Then I’ll go,” he whispered. “And I’ll tell you everything when I come back.”
You exhaled softly, content. “…I’d like that.”
That night, your breathing slowed.
Diluc noticed immediately.
“Hey,” he said quietly, sitting upright. “Stay with me.”
Your eyes fluttered open, unfocused. You smiled faintly.
“Diluc…”
“I’m here.”
“Thank you,” you whispered. “For choosing me.”
Tears slipped down his cheeks before he could stop them. “There was never a choice. It’s always been you.”
Your hand slackened in his grasp.
And just like that—
You were gone.
The scream that tore from his chest never left the room.
The funeral passed like a nightmare he couldn’t wake from.
Flowers, condolences, soft voices—all meaningless. The city mourned quietly, respectfully. Everyone came. Everyone cried, most especially Lisa, your dearest friend who had watched you bloom and love like no other.
Kaeya stood near Diluc, watching, observing, but never spoke a word.
Diluc stood still.
Unmoving.
That night, he returned to your chambers alone.
The bed was cold. Too large.
He sat where you used to read, staring at the bookshelf until his gaze landed on the familiar, worn journal. With shaking hands, he picked it up.
The journal was your “something old” given by Lisa on your wedding day. He remembered rushing to your assigned room before the wedding worriedly when he heard your sobs and cries, only to relax when he realized they were tears of joy. He knew how much the book meant to you, how it stayed with you throughout your childhood to adulthood.
And now, the journal became your memory.
Diluc did not sleep that night.
He sat in the armchair beside the bookshelf until dawn threatened the horizon, the adventurer’s journal heavy in his hands. Candle wax pooled uselessly on the table; he hadn’t noticed when the flame burned low, or when it finally died.
Page after page, he read.
The handwriting was neat but lively, filled with curiosity that bled through every careful line. Notes about creatures—their habits, their calls, the way they reacted to kindness rather than force. Small personal remarks slipped between observations.
Day by day, I grew eager to finish this book and come back to my home. My dear readers, if I can find my own home, then so can you.
Diluc’s throat tightened.
Finally, he reached the final entry—the one that was cut off abruptly, mid-thought, as if the writer had been pulled away before they could finish. The last page was the publisher informing about how the original journal was found in Snezhnaya in the writer’s campsite that had most of their things, and it seemed they had died from an illness before they could complete it.
He then turned the page, and his breath immediately caught.
The illustration greeted him in silence.
It was not identical. It shouldn’t have been. The clothes were unfamiliar, the setting foreign, the era wrong.
But the eyes—
Diluc’s fingers trembled as they traced the page.
The shape of the eyes. The softness of the smile that seemed to carry both wonder and melancholy. The way curiosity shone through the drawing as if the artist had captured a soul rather than a face.
His breath hitched.
“No…” he whispered.
The author… looks like you.
The resemblance was undeniable. Subtle enough that a stranger might dismiss it, but Diluc was no stranger. He knew every expression you wore—every smile you tried to hide, every thoughtful gaze when you were lost in a book.
“This isn’t possible,” he said hoarsely, though the words rang hollow.
Memories resurfaced unbidden—your fascination with this journal, the way you spoke of the adventurer as if they were someone you missed. The longing in your voice when you spoke of lands you had never seen.
Or perhaps… had.
His attention remained fixed on the page, heart pounding as a single thought took root.
ONE WEEK LATER
Jean adjusted the papers on her desk, exhaustion evident in the tight set of her jaw. Reports had been piling up far too quickly for the past few days—too many incidents, too many unsettling patterns.
Her gaze paused on one document in particular.
Fatui activity increasing near Dawn Winery.
She frowned.
It was unusual. The winery was well-guarded, discreet, and—until recently—of little strategic interest to the Fatui. Yet sightings had surged. Scouts reported unfamiliar agents lingering near the outskirts. Some claimed they had seen figures near the vineyard at odd hours, always vanishing before they could be confronted.
Jean exhaled slowly.
“…This timing,” she murmured.
She reached for another report.
Unidentified individual observed near a civilian grave. Repeated visits. No signs of theft or vandalism. Purpose unknown.
Her grip tightened.
She stood abruptly, chair scraping softly against the floor. She knew who to talk to.
Outside, the wind stirred the trees of Mondstadt—gentle, mourning.
Far beyond the city walls, near the quiet resting place beneath the shade of old oaks, the air felt wrong. Too still. Too watchful.
Boots pressed into the earth where flowers had been laid not long ago.
A gloved hand hovered above a grave, not touching—never touching.
“So this was the life that took you,” a voice murmured, amused and contemplative all at once.
“Peaceful,” the man mused. “Almost boring.”
He straightened, coat rustling softly. “But no matter. I shall find you again.”
Somewhere nearby, Dawn Winery stood tall and silent—its master unaware that forces long buried were once again circling something precious.
The grave remained undisturbed.
For now.
And far away, a cycle tightened its grip—patient, inevitable, and cruel.
DAD'S!BEST FRIEND NANAMI
tags: afab!reader, age gap, spitting in mouths, cumming inside, unsafe sex
“QUIET.”
The words are not a request — they are an order.
The pressure builds deep in your belly as you stare up at Nanami, bowed over you with one hand on your thigh and the other clamped over your mouth. Even with wisps of his hair falling over into his face, the shadows drawn sharply over his features with the outdoor string patio lights, the glisten in the narrowed slits of his eyes, Nanami is a total vision.
The same vision that roped you in to begin with. The same man you practically worshipped — now shoving his cock between your legs.
A slight vibration of music beyond your bedroom door thrums under your back as Nanami pushes himself deeper into you. His hand unclamps from your mouth ever so slightly as he sinks deeper and feels you tighten around him, enough so that a shuddery moan escapes beneath his palm and into the indigo darkness of your bedroom.
And yet nobody can hear.
“Quiet,” repeats Nanami, his hand clamping back down over your mouth. His hands are so big that they dwarf every feature on your face, but his size never mattered to you — not in that way.
You ought to have been more cautious when proceeding to pursue your father’s best friend. Nanami ought to have been more morally intact when deciding to pursue you, as well; having known you for a good chunk of your life, he knew the ambiguity of this relationship. He knew how it looked, how it would sound if he were to explain it to somebody.
One simple beauty about this whole affair, however, is that he didn’t need to explain it to anybody. These moments were entirely for yourselves. For the last four months it had been as such: stolen, secret moments in equally secretive places.
Nanami shifts; he hoists your legs higher up over his forearms so that the heels of your feet are in the air, determined to stretch you wider to accommodate his size.
By now, you’ve grown accustomed to him. It no longer takes much work to slot himself inside of you. There has been enough practice at pushing himself inside and pulling himself out that the act is second nature to Nanami. Natural, in a way.
And yet, even after countless encounters, after fucking you stupid more times than he can bother to keep count of, the feeling never grows old.
Nanami could shove his cock in your cunt ten thousand times and never, ever get used to how good you feel, how easily you take him, how warm and wet you are before he’s even slid himself inside.
Sinking himself deeper inside of you, Nanami stares down at your face concealed in the dark, searching for your expression drawn out with the pleasure of his performance.
When somebody on the back patio shifts from in front of a light it comes flooding over your face and Nanami’s cock grows extra hard.
There you are.
You whimper against the palm of Nanami’s hand, eyes rounded and pleading like a faun begging for the hunter’s mercy. He refrains from crooning, feeling the desire tingle across his body like electricity.
There’s his wonderful girl.
“There?” Nanami thrusts slowly, feeling you tremble once his balls smack with a light sound against your ass. Your brows arch in contrasting directions and he grins. “Yep. There.”
“Nunnmimmf.” You mumble something behind his hand, unintelligible, barely even audible. It’s a secret language that only you and him can understand.
He cocks his head to the side. “What’re you muttering about?” His hips stagger suddenly with a deep jolt — you think he might have just ended up next to your lungs and you cry out loudly, this time loud enough for Nanami to get goosebumps.
“Mouthy today,” he mumbles, grunting when he pushes himself into you again. “It’s like you want them to hear us.”
No need for elaborations; a chill runs up your body, the thrill of knowing that your parents and their entire agency of friends are just behind your bedroom door, completely oblivious to the fact that Nanami is fucking you relentlessly, possessively.
The mere mention of your parents, even in its ambiguity, sends a rush of greedy shame through your body.
It wouldn’t go down well if anyone were to find out that Kento Nanami was fucking the living daylights out of his best friend’s daughter. The humiliation it would bring upon your entire family should be what puts you off spreading your legs for him, and yet it does the polar opposite.
This older man, the man who you once felt that ditzy shyness around whenever he came to visit, now being your lover? The man who your father trusts like a brother, burrowing between your legs like it’s his destiny to be there? Even just thinking about it leaves you wet and writhing.
It wasn’t always like this, mind you. It took a lot of effort and patience on your part to even get Nanami to look at you as a woman, as a singular being separate from your father. You’re sure that if you hadn’t left breadcrumbs across weeks of allocated time trying to gain his interest, then he wouldn’t be here right now.
So thank God you let your lucky tequila shot lead you into — or rather, onto — Nanami’s lap in your shortest skirt and soaked panties on the day of your father’s biggest promotion to date. Thank fucking God for that.
Nanami feels your wet lips against his hand, the warmth of your hallowed breaths with each thrust he delivers. The mattress sinks beneath you both as he fucks you, Nanami’s knees occasionally hitting the very edge of the bottom of your bedframe.
His shirt bulges around his tensed muscles and your hands smooth across him, marvelling. You know every inch of this man and yet you still look at him like he’s godly, as if being in his presence is impossible.
He grunts with each thrust, shifting the hand from your left thigh to your stomach. Nanami presses down and feels his pride swell when you cry out against his hold. You’re folded up like origami beneath him, and Nanami forgets to breathe for a second as he gorges himself on the picture of you beneath him.
“My gorgeous girl,” Nanami grunts, moving his hand once your legs tremble around him. His forearm straddles your waist as he lowers himself down over you, his hand tightening across your mouth.
Nanami’s eyes bore into yours and his head drops to the side slightly, a small smile on his face.
“My favourite woman,” he murmurs, staring so deeply into yours eyes that it’s almost as if he can see into you, into your mind. A squelch sounds between your legs as he slowly spears himself in and out of you. “Mm. You feel like heaven.”
His praise is like taking a hit of heroin. Making him proud…making him feel good… Those were your priorities at the best of times. And now, your third was keeping him here for as long as you can.
Kento Nanami might be your father’s best friend, but above all else, he was your lover. Your man. Yours.
Nanami’s clasp over your mouth loosens and he puckers your lips tightly. As he leverages his lips over yours hungrily, his eyes flitter from left to right as he scans your expression. There’s a hardness to his gaze that still makes you nervous even after everything he’s done to you.
A noise grumbles deep in his throat before he pushes himself so far inside of you that it actually hurts, and as you whine out suddenly, Nanami’s lips find your own. He kisses you with a gentle ferocity and you drink him up, desperate to be as close and as intimate with him as humanly possible.
“My girl,” he mumbles between kisses, dragging his lips from yours to your cheek, then your jaw, then your neck.
You shakily moan, squeezing your hands around his biceps. “Kento…”
The hand around your mouth squeezes slightly. Something flashes across Nanami’s eyes as they immediately cut to stare at you.
“What did I say about noise?” he asks — no, states. Gone is the voice of wonder and adoration; he’s back to commanding you. His brows raise as if unimpressed. “I said, quiet.”
“...They can’t hear,” you manage to say, despite his iron grip on your face. One eyebrow arches higher on his face and you tighten your legs around him desperately, bowing his body lower over your unbuttoned shirt.
It’s true, anyway. Your parents’ New Year parties are infamous for their loudness and large attendances — every neighbour and their invited guests would pile into your home ready for the ball to drop after midnight.
There’s so many people outside your door that Nanami’s disappearance isn’t even noticeable, which made it so easy for him to lead you by the hand to where he knows your bedroom is, via a specific pathway he’s mapped out and saved in his mind.
The door hidden behind a thin, lacy curtain leading out to the backyard is the only invitation of eyes Nanami left open — just for the fun of it.
“Fortunately for you,” Nanami says. “You’re insufferably noisy.”
“And yet you like me anyway,” you point out, tightening around his cock and forcing a groan of pleasure from his mouth.
Nanami’s groan is loud and open-mouthed. You laugh slightly, swollen with pride, and his eyes flicker down to your shiny lips.
With less ferocity as before, Nanami settles his hand back on your face; his thumb is indented into the hollow of your cheek, his fingers on the other, his palm over your chin. Then, he bows over your face and forces your mouth wide.
“I do,” he mutters softly. Then, he spits. It lands with a sting against your tongue and you blink furiously with surprise, arching yourself up to touch your tummy against his.
When Nanami pulls away, there are tears in your eyes.
God, you love this man.
“I love your dirty mouth,” Nanami goes on, sliding his hand down the length of your body slowly. Both of his hands then settle around your waist and tighten. His hips pull back before pushing back against you, harder and faster, the slap of skin aggressively loud.
You moan out loud, mouth hanging agape. The force of his thrust shifts the hair across his forehead, damp with sweat. His collarbones are glistening in the dim light, the sweat dampening through his clothes.
Fucking you sure as hell takes a lot of work, he thinks, and yet he barely has to try to make you feel good.
Nanami’s rhythm builds slowly, your wetness letting him slide in and out of you with about as much effort as blinking or breathing.
“I love your tight-as-shit pussy,” he continues, his voice low and sultry and somewhat gravelly with the strain on his body that was placed there after twenty minutes of deep, unrelenting sex. Your moans become trembling snippets of noise as he fucks you, the mattress gaining a creak as he slides in and out, somehow going deeper with every thrust.
Nanami closes his eyes and runs his tongue over his lip. It is with every inch of his effort that he doesn’t just cut the prolonged fun short and cums inside of you.
“I love that the beautiful daughter of my best friend begs for my cock every time she sees me.”
You cry loudly, the head of his dick pushing against the spongy walls of your insides. You don’t think he’s ever fucked your pussy like this before, with this much intensity.
Nanami moans deeply, his hands trying to pull you faster against his cock as his hips stagger forward.
“I love this pussy,” he says, his voice strained somewhat. He moans again, shuddering. “I love fucking you.” Nanami angles his face over yours, the tip of his sculpted nose brushing across yours. “Fuck, you are incredible.”
Something unspoken sits there as his face disappears, his head angled downwards as he, out of nowhere, picks up the pace. The words hang on the tip of your tongue like a promise — or a threat.
This man is your father’s best friend. This man is so much older than you.
And you are so fucking in love with him.
If he had more time, Nanami would ravage you entirely. He thinks about it in his mind for a second before he gives up on it; he thinks about wrapping his arms around you and arranging his body over your own. One arm beneath your hips and around your waist, the other snaking up your back with his hand around the side of your face. Nanami, under less risky circumstances, would want to devote himself to the act of fucking you, would take it slow with rousing an orgasm from deep inside you.
But his eyes just caught sight of the time on the alarm clock on your bedside table. 11:50PM. Ten minutes until his disappearance becomes noticeable.
His focus shifts; Nanami lets the fantasy of your parents floating around the house in search of their two missing guests push him to a new limit. His hips jerk forward viciously and you whimper, your knees bent up towards your chest as Nanami rearranges and buries himself deeper — if it was even possible.
The faint smell of sweat and whiskey fills your senses now that he’s closer to you, and you feel drugged off the combination of him. He fucks you intently, in and out, in and out, until it becomes his programmed mission.
The only things in the room are you and him.
The only thing that matters aside from finishing before the final countdown of the year is you.
“Although I could fuck you for hours,” Nanami begins, barely sounding out of breath as he repeatedly fucks himself in and out of your stretched, quivering cunt, “I’m afraid we’re on a tight schedule.”
You try to reply — unsuccessful. All you can produce is a mixture of incoherent nonsense, the language that Nanami can miraculously understand with acute accuracy.
“But don’t worry,” he assures you, pressing a wet and long kiss to your mouth. When he pulls away, it leaves you in a hungry state of agony, “we can pick it up again next year.”
You attempt to laugh, but the noise escapes you in a breathless kind of cry.
“Bet you’ve been waiting all night to use a line like that,” you gasp. The warmth of his cock moves in and out of your pussy with a kind of numbness that has your head reeling. You’re so tight and yet so stretched out that you feel the pressure between your hips releasing, giving in to his movements.
Nanami laughs under his breath, his smile widening. “You know me too well.”
“Mm, that I do.”
He tuts playfully, thrusting extra sharply into you as the numbers flip from 52 into 53.
“And there’s the cockiness that got us both here,” he says, feeling your walls tighten around him in an awfully familiar kind of squeeze. You’re just a few thrusts away from cumming around him. His eyes glimmer as he adjusts inside of you, “Just like your daddy.”
The line. The reminder of your own shame — exactly what Nanami knows you need to bring you over the edge.
A hot flush consumes your entire body in a flash. The knot in the centre of your stomach tightens furiously as he quickens his pace, his grunts in time with each slap of skin. Your hands stretch up to find Nanami’s face, one clawing up at his hair as he lifts himself up on the mattress by his knees and arches over your chest.
The headboard slams against the wall with a dull thud — if not for the music flowing through the body of your house, you think the sound would have echoed halfway down the street. A roar of rambunctious laughter deafens the hallway just as your mouth stretches wide, a chorus of pleasured sounds leaving your throat helplessly.
Beneath you the mattress creaks and Nanami nestles his face next to your ear, each grunt brushing a breath of air down your eardrums, sending a glossy ripple of goosebumps over your body. Your ankles are hooked over one another on Nanami’s back, holding him in place as he roughly fucks you back and forth.
The sound of Nanami fills your ears and you clutch him tighter, desperate to be closer to him.
“Mmhf. Fuck, Kento!”
Your hand immediately rushes to your mouth. Too loud. Too risky. Your face burns with morbidity and Nanami’s eyes bore down on you. His expression is unreadable for a second before the look in his eyes softens.
“Hm?” Nanami looks at you with faux concern. “You want to make noise?”
You say nothing. Only whimper helplessly against your own goddamn hand.
“Did before,” Nanami murmurs gruffly, pressing a kiss to the skin next to your ear, “didn’t you? You were begging to make some noise.”
Your bodies are basically conjoined with how deep he is inside of you.
He sighs into your ear, stroking his hand across your hairline before dropping it down the length of your body.
“Go on, then,” Nanami complies. His teeth grasp against your neck slowly. “Do your best for me, my love.” The noise that rumbles into your skin sounds like a goddamn growl. “Let yourself go.”
Well, if he’s giving you permission…
Taking a fistful of his hair, you push your lower body up the length of his cock, feeling every vein as you slide him inside. You’re positive that you look like a total whore beneath him, fucking yourself on his dick as he chuckles against your neck, clearly enjoying the desperation of your desire.
You know that he thinks your desperation for him is addictive, just like he knows that your desire for him is the same. The impatience of your need for him is growing even as your body grows tired, and Nanami’s pride soars.
You’re so desperate to be with him; it drives Nanami fucking insane.
“Oh my god…Ken…Kento...” Each frantic thrust forces a moan from your throat, and Nanami’s entire body scorches with lust. “Don’t stop… Please, please, please…don’t stop…”
Now why the fuck would he ever stop? He doesn’t bother commenting on that.
With each slap of skin, with every inch of your pussy that Nanami sinks himself into, your voice raises in both octave and volume. He’d happily go deaf from the sound of it, and he actually grins against your neck and finds the willpower left within him to fuck you faster and rougher than he ever has before.
Your head lulls to the side with exhaustion, the pressure growing heavier between your legs. Even as your vision blurs with hot tears, you can see dark blobs of human shapes in the backyard, moving to look at premature fireworks going off down the street.
Your heart hammers in your chest so hard that Nanami can probably feel it. It’s certainly throbbing in your pussy, which you know for a fact he can feel. You know he’s only going so fast because you haven’t cummed yet — there’s no way Nanami would ever allow himself to finish if you hadn’t done so first.
Could one of those silhouettes outside be your parents, searching through a drunken crowd for their absent daughter? You feel the shame and thrill simmer inside of you like meat on a grill. Then, you burn like the hot flame when you blink and see someone’s head turned in the direction of the door separating your ground floor bedroom and the backyard.
Shit. Are they looking at you and Nanami?
“You are fucking divine,” Nanami grunts, all whilst you stare in mortification at the door poorly concealed by your pointless, thin curtain.
Then they move. A glow of purple and teal light fills the sky and their attention shifts to it, the door forgotten about. You and Nanami are once again alone, and once your mind shifts from the stranger to the man who you’ve known for years, who’s cock is so far up your snatch that you think he’ll touch your ribs, and the rush of pleasure hits you like a rogue wave.
“Kento…!”
Nanami hums with satisfaction. His clothes are sticky with sweat against his body. “There we go,” he coos. “There we are, sweetheart. Let it go.”
Fireworks flash across your vision. It’s not even midnight yet; the fireworks are entirely your own, a display put together by Nanami for you and only you. Your legs shake uncontrollably around his body and you cry out so loudly it’s almost a scream.
As the orgasm bursts within you like the explosions of light outside, Nanami shows no relenting; he continues to fuck you quickly and aggressively, forcing your orgasm out with a loud string of groans, the most vocal Nanami has ever been with you before.
Between your thighs, you burn; your muscles feel overworked as if you’ve run a marathon, your body shuddering as you cum around Nanami’s cock. He falters as you squeeze furiously around him, your walls fluttering as they usually did whenever he forced an orgasm from you.
“Mmmf, my word,” Nanami’s voice is a gravelly muffle against your ear. You can feel the curve of his lips, the scrape of his teeth, as he smiles against your skin, “you have enjoyed yourself, haven’t you?”
You can’t even remember how to speak in order to reply to him.
“My turn,” he decides, nipping your ear before moving both of his hands up to the sides of your face and crashing his mouth against yours.
You welcome him in with exhaustion and need, numbed to the way Nanami continues to fuck himself into you until he’s satisfied with the work he’s done on you. At any point now, you’re expecting him to pull out and cover your stomach and chest with his cum — but the empty feeling of his dick pulling out of you never comes.
What comes instead is, quite literally, him.
Five more deep, rough, slow strokes is all it takes for Nanami to find his own orgasm, and once it rips through him, all you can think about is the warmth settling in the pit of your stomach.
Nanami just filled you like a fucking cream pie with his cum, and then the clock dings into the next year and the party screams with joy outside. Nanami moans loudly into your mouth as his cum fills your cunt, his hands trembling as he desperately empties himself into you like his life depends on it.
Your pussy is his, and his alone. And for the first time in the four glorious months of your affair, Nanami has decided to leave you with a reminder of who you belong to.
His muscles tense beneath your hands as you steady your trembling body. Nanami is breathing heavily on top of you, his eyes closed in an almost comatose state.
In attempt to rouse him back to reality, you shift to cup his face with your hands, but even the slightest movement sends a sensitive shiver down Nanami’s spine and he hisses, his eyes widening open as he restarts his brain and enters reality again.
“Don’t. Just—” Nanami starts, his face tightening. “Don’t move just yet.”
“Sorry,” you whisper, eyes searching his face with concern. Has he ever looked so wrecked? “Are you okay?”
Nanami’s eyes flash to yours and he frowns. “I should be asking you that.”
You manage to smile. It’s taking all of your energy to try and catch your breath and steady your heartbeat so that you don’t go into cardiac arrest.
“I’m okay,” you tell him, breathing heavily. “Just…”
You clench naturally and feel his cock still buried within you. How is it even possible that you forgot he was there?
Nanami groans inadvertently, his body shuddering. His eyes close momentarily before he settles the clench in his jaw and relaxes. Then, he looks back down at you and really stares.
It’s impossible to know what he may be thinking. You can hardly think of anything to say, instead letting the fireworks outside fill the silence with bangs and squeals, the neon lights illuminating the side of Nanami’s face. You see the glossy outline of his face, his sunken cheeks, his long nose and stern eyes…and your heart murmurs shyly.
His brows slope up when you blink and look away from him, suddenly self aware of the fact you’re sprawled beneath Kento Nanami, entirely naked, in your childhood bedroom in your parents’ home on New Year’s Eve… And Nanami scoffs.
“Don’t go shy on me,” he says in a low voice.
“I’m always shy with you.”
“You haven’t been shy with me in years,” he points out. “And you weren’t shy when you rubbed your cunt across my crotch four months ago.”
You squirm, “Well…I’m shy now.”
You can still feel the heat of Nanami’s body when he peels himself off you. With his hands flat on the bed on either side of you, he slowly slides himself out of your pussy whilst studying your face intently. You whimper as he removes himself from you, feeling his cum dripping out once he’s no longer plugging it inside of you.
“Well, I suppose it’s nice that you get shy around me,” Nanami begins, leaning back to admire his work. His eyes gloss over you appreciatively; he carefully parts your legs and uses his thumb to pull at your pussy, watching the warm and white ribbons of cum tumble out of you, impressed that he had so much left inside of him to give you.
“Means you’re not getting tired of me,” he finishes.
“Are you being serious?” you reply, hoisting yourself up on your forearms. “You’ll die of old age before I get bored of you.”
Nanami grins with amusement. “Hey, now.”
His amusement is contagious. You’re struggling to think of things to say to keep him here; you know that he needs to get back to the party, to try and act like he hasn’t just fucked his best friend’s daughter. But is it so wrong of you to want him to stay? To just say fuck it and fall into you completely?
You let him rise up from the bed and feel your heart sink with disappointment, as it always does when you both need to return to pretending like this never happened. Nanami reaches for the towel that’s hanging over the back of your desk chair and returns to mercifully clean up his mess.
“It’s not the princess treatment that you’re used to,” Nanami says, his lips quirking with a smile, “I apologise.”
“Time is of the essence,” you reply, taking it from him to avoid the spots that are making you wince. “You should go back to the party before my dad puts out a search warrant.”
He grunts with agreement. Nanami carefully rearranges his attire before deciding to watch you finish up, avoiding his gaze with every dab and swipe.
“And yet I don’t want to leave,” he reveals.
You pause. “I don’t want you to, either.”
There’s a beat of uncertainty before you brave a look at him and feel your body deform into jelly.
“But you have to,” you finish.
“I know,” he sighs heavily, hands on his hips and a look of disappointment fresh on his face.
He hesitates for a moment and you agonise over why. Is there something on his mind? Something that he wants to do, or wants to say?
You feel those traitorous words rise up your throat and you, with great effort, manage to swallow them back down.
Stay. I lo—
Nah. Better not to spoil a good thing with the truth neither one of you wants to address.
Eventually, Nanami straightens up and lifts his jacket from the floor, finding his glasses from the pocket and sliding them back up the bridge of his nose. It’s amazing that it takes such little effort for him to look normal again; you’re sure that you look completely unfixable.
“Well,” he announces, then pauses again. Good lord, he’s hovering, and he almost cringes at himself. Nanami then leans forward and cups his hands around your face, pressing two kisses to your lips before pulling away. His face is concealed in the dark, unreadable. “Happy New Year, my love.”
And then he’s walking to the door and twisting the lock, allowing the throb of music and cheering to enter your room as he opens the door and slips back out into the throng.
Silence settles. Your heart stammers.
A phantom pressure throbs in your pussy and you throw yourself back against your mattress and groan loudly.
For something as simple on paper as fucking your dad’s best friend, it sure as hell is complicated.
summary: fem! reader x zayne | established relationship, summer heatwave and ice play
genre & word count: smut! | 1.8k
warnings: reader is kinda a brat and zayne is a little mean, oral f!recieving/face riding & fingering (he uses his ice evol), hair pulling, orgasm denial, shower sex, unprotected sex
a/n: happy summer everyone! i live somewhere where it gets ridiculously hot and all i can think of is how bad i need zayne and his evol so i hope you enjoy!
banner credit: @cursed-carmine
the apartment sweltered under the broken air conditioner, the summer heatwave pressing down like a heavy blanket. sweat already slicked your skin as you sprawled across the bed in nothing but a thin tank top and panties, fanning yourself uselessly.
"this is torture," you declared from your spot
then there was zayne, standing by the window, shirtless, his lean muscles glistening. annoyingly composed.
"you don't even look hot."
"i am, i'm simply tolerating it better."
you narrowed your eyes, "show-off."
he turned, eyes darkening when they landed on you. he approached the bed, and the air around his hands shimmered faintly with his evol. then, without warning, cool fingertips brushed your forehead. he was checking your temperature out of habit—you knew that—but his hand lingered for just a second longer than necessary. his skin was cool. not cold enough to make you flinch. just enough to make every overheated nerve in your body sigh in relief. you leaned into his palm before you could stop yourself.
"you've become rather affectionate."
"i'm desperate." you exasperated
"i can tell." he said as his thumb brushed a stray strand of damp hair away from your face.
"let me cool you down."
the words hung in the air. you blinked once, then slowly turned your head.
"what?"
"my evol."
your jaw dropped, "you're unbelievable."
"i've been called worse."
"you watched me pace around this apartment like i was dying."
" i watched you exaggerate."
"i was withering."
"you were dramatic."
he climbed onto the mattress, his hand on your forehead, moving down to brush against your cheek and jaw. you sighed, yet were trying to keep your pride intact. you knew he would give you anything in the world you wanted, yet for some reason, you couldn't bring yourself to ask for more from him.
he hummed quietly. "i could make you more comfortable."
"i'm already comfortable." you muttered out as you were actively sweating through your shirt.
his fingers trailed down to your neck, and his lips followed. your breath caught when his lips brushed the side of your neck. the kiss was light, but his tongue flicked out to taste the salt on your skin, and the coolness of his mouth sent another ripple through you.
"you've been difficult all afternoon," he murmured against your ear. there was no judgment in it, the man had incredible patience. "hot and bothered in more ways than one."
you wanted to complain, bite back at him, but he saw right through you.
his hands began moving with purpose, down to your shoulders to the straps of your tank top.
"you've been teasing me all day. wearing nothing but this flimsy piece of fabric and your underwear. moaning and groaning about how hot it is."
your hands grasped his wrists when he went to the hem of your shirt.
"does my snowflake want this off?"
you nodded and he pulled your tank top off in one smooth motion. his palms, chilled to an icy touch, cupped your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they were hard. he leaned down, mouth hot and lips closing around one nipple while his cold fingers teased the other. you gasped at the contrast. but it was still too hot you needed more.
zayne quickly created an ice cube out of thin air and placed it in his mouth. dragging it slowly down the center of your chest, leaving a wet path. he continued lower across your stomach. your breath hitched when he reached the waistband of your panties.
he hooked them off with one hand, spreading your thighs wide, and guided the half-melted cube straight to your clit. the shock of cold made your hips jerk. he held it there, rubbing slow circles until your pussy glistened, then pushed the cube lower and let it slip inside you for a brief, shocking second before his tongue replaced it.
then just as you were getting used to the warm feeling of his mouth, without warning he pressed two fingers, coated in a thin layer of ice fragments, against your pussy lips.
"even in this heat, you're soaking."
the sudden cold made you jolt and moan. he rubbed slow circles over your clit, the chill making every nerve spark. then he pushed those cold fingers inside you, curling them against your inner walls, fucking you with deliberate strokes while the temperature dropped just enough to make your pussy clench around the invasion.
"zayne—fuck," you breathed, hips rolling to meet his hand.
he pulled his fingers away just enough to say, "ride my face"
he layed back, gripping your hips to guide you up until you straddled his mouth. your thighs framed his head as you lowered yourself onto his waiting tongue. he groaned into you, the vibration traveling straight through your core. his hands stayed cold, one spreading your ass cheeks while the other rested on your hip.
you rocked against his face, grinding down, chasing the mix of heat from his mouth and the cool pats he was leaving on your ass as he guided your motions. sweat ran down your spine. your thighs trembled around his head as you tangled your hands in his hair, pulling him closer. as your orgasm drew close, zayne eased you off of him.
"what the he—" you wanted to scream
he quickly placed his lips on yours, and you tasted yourself. a mix of sweat and your arousal twisting on your tongues. it was dizzying the way he took control. he wasn't always this aggressive unless you asked or provoked him in some way. the heat must really be getting to him too.
zayne pulled your hair forcing you to look into his green eyes. and without a word he took your hand, and led you into the bathroom. the cold shower hissed on the moment he twisted the knob. he backed you against the tiled wall under the spray, water pattering over both of you. his hard cock, chilled by his evol, nudged your entrance.
"i told you i would cool you down...you just needed to be patient." he said as he lifted one of your legs around his hip and thrust in deep. the sudden cold stretch inside your hot pussy made you cry out. he fucked you with steady, powerful strokes, the cold length dragging against every sensitive spot while the shower water streamed down your bodies.
one hand stayed between you, thumb circling your clit with icy precision. the other gripped your ass, holding you steady as he pounded harder. water splashed with every thrust. your back slid against the wet tiles. he angled deeper, hitting that spot inside you again and again, walls pulsing tight around his cold cock. he buried himself to the hilt and came with a low groan, the chill of his release flooding inside you. you felt so full but empty as he denied you the pleasure of orgasming first.
zayne kept you pinned against the cool tile. he pulled his cock out slowly, letting his cum drip down your inner thigh before spinning you around. your palms slapped against the wet tile as he yanked your hips back. he rolled his hips, grinding deep against your ass, letting you feel every ridge of his cock. hard again and hungry for more.
"do you deserve to cum? when i am putting in all the work."
he thrusted heavily back into your pussy and knocked a gasp out of you. he didn't give you time to answer or adjust—he started fucking you hard, each snap of his hips slapping wet skin against wet skin.
one hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back so your neck arched. the other gripped your waist, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. he leaned over you, chest pressed to your back, breath hot against your ear.
"you're such a brat when you're hot. whining, squirming, acting like you can't take it. and yet i'm the only one who can provide you relief."
he thrust once, sharp and deep, making your back arch against the wall. you moaned loud, the sound reverberating off the walls.
"look at you. legs shaking, pussy dripping around my cock, and you still want more."
his free hand slid up to cup your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple. "do you deserve this? do you deserve me fucking you like this, keeping you cool while i use every inch of you?"
he pulled back just enough to slam in again, the wet slap of skin echoing off the tiles. water streamed down between your bodies, mixing with the mess already leaking from you. zayne's grip on your thigh tightened. "answer me, or i'll stop right here and let the heat take you again."
his cock dragged against that sensitive spot inside you with every slow, deliberate thrust, keeping you right on the edge while he waited for your answer.
"i don't deserve it but — fuck" you started whimpering
you tried to move your hips back to meet his movements but he noticed and held you sharply in place.
"tsk naughty girl, use your words."
"please zayne i'll be good now i'm sorry" you sobbed out, turning your head to look at him with those doe eyes he adored.
the urgency was clear in every movement—he knew the second you stepped out of this shower the heat would crash back in, so he fucked you like he was racing the temperature itself. his free hand slid between your legs, fingers rubbing your swollen clit in tight circles while he kept pounding into you from behind. the mix of sharp tugs on your scalp and the relentless drive of his cock was enough to make that bubbling feeling rise up again in your belly.
you wrapped an arm around yourself reaching for his neck or face, whatever part of him you could reach.
"can i cum now please zaynie"
his lips brushed against your ear as he leaned his whole body further into you, smushing you in between his body and the tile wall.
"come on snowflake, cum all over my cock."
the nickname, the feeling of your lover taking care of you in more ways than one, it was just right as the wave of coolness and ecstasy washed over your body. he released on your backside in icy spurts of white, groaning low. you nearly fell down as your knees grew weak, but zayne was always there for you. his hands wrapped around your front, pulling you into his chest, and your head slumped on his shoulder. he placed a lingering kiss to your temple, grounding you back to this reality, even in the sweltering heat.
"thank you baby" you muttered out, completely lost in the moment
"i'll do anything for you, even if you are stubborn."
that forced a chuckle out of you because he wasn't wrong. you could be stubborn, and prideful, and difficult, but he loved you regardless and that made a fire burn deep in your heart that could never be cooled down.
SYNOPSIS (of part). In this second life, you were born in the fantastical nation of both lush rainforest and barren desert of Sumeru as a dedicated scholar of the Akademiya. As you decided to take on a new goal that could risk your entire education, your dearest friend has his concerns.
PAIRING. alhaitham x gn!reader
CONTENT. angst/no-comfort, unspoken love, major character death, possibly ooc and potential grammar errors!
WORD COUNT. 2692 words
WEAVED MASTERLIST / NAVIGATION
PREVIOUS LIFE / NEXT LIFE
In your second life, you were born beneath Sumeru’s canopy of knowledge, where wisdom was praised and curiosity a virtue sharpened to a blade. You entered the Akademiya under the Amurta Darshan with ink-stained hands and a mind that refused to rest. While others sought recognition, accolades, or swift ascension through academic ranks, you pursued something far less tangible.
A journal.
Not yours—at least, not originally.
It was an adventurer’s journal you found tucked away in the depths of the House of Daena’s archives, its pages yellowed and worn, its handwriting elegant yet intimate.
The author wrote about creatures not as specimens, but as companions. They described Crystalflies as though they were fleeting miracles, foxes as clever little souls, Oceanids as tragic beings, and even the most dangerous creatures were written with understanding rather than fear.
You found yourself enchanted.
And as the days turned to weeks, the unknown adventurer became your favorite author. Sometimes, you laughed at their little notes scribbled in the margins. Sometimes, you teared up at the loneliness hidden between the lines.
And often, you wondered what kind of person could write with such tenderness.
The journal chronicled every nation.
Mondstadt.
Liyue.
Inazuma.
Sumeru.
Until—
It stopped.
Midway through Snezhnaya. Not even a conclusion, no final entry, nor even a farewell.
The final page ended abruptly, as though the author had simply stood up one day and vanished. The last page was the publisher’s note that explained what happened to the author, followed by an illustration of said author that you didn’t pay much attention to.
It frustrated you endlessly.
“A shame,” you murmured one afternoon, fingers brushing the unfinished page. “I wanted to know what happened to you.”
There were no records regarding the adventurer beyond what they did in the Adventurers' Guild as well as the publisher’s note. They had no descendants, no additional publications, nor even a documentation of their life.
And from that silence, a dream was born.
You wish to continue what they could not—
“You’re staring again.”
The sharp smack of a book against the crown of your head jolted you back to the present.
“Ow—!” You glared up, already knowing who it was. “Alhaitham.”
The culprit regarded you with complete indifference. “You’ve been sitting in the same position for hours. That was your third missed meal today.”
“I was just reading for research,” you protested, rubbing a spot on your head where he smacked you.
“You’re neglecting your basic needs,” he countered. “That disqualifies it from being productive.”
You scoffed. “You sound like a pamphlet.”
“And you sound like someone who needs to eat,” he replied evenly, handing you the book you’d been staring at. “Come on. Tavern.”
That was Alhaitham—your dearest friend, your constant, your unwanted but reliable tether to reality. Intelligent to an almost irritating degree, rational to the point of cruelty when he chose to be, and somehow always aware of where you were, what you were doing, and what you had forgotten to take care of.
You met him early in your Akademiya years.
He had sat across from you in the House of Daena and, without introduction or permission, spoke up after hearing your crazed mumblings over a class as you wrote down your notes.
“Your argument is flawed.”
You stared. “What?”
“This section.”
He took your notes and circled several lines.
“You’re making assumptions based on incomplete data.”
You snatched your papers back. “Excuse me?!”
He blinked. “You left them unattended.”
“That doesn't mean you get to criticize them! They’re just notes!”
“You’re welcome.”
“I am not thanking you!”
And somehow—
Neither of you stopped talking after that.
Days passed in familiar rhythms. Mornings in the House of Daena, books spread between you as sunlight filtered through towering windows. Evenings in the cozy tavern near the Akademiya, where you bickered over theories and interpretations like an old married couple, much to the amusement—and occasional concern—of onlookers.
Friendship with Alhaitham happened gradually. Neither of you noticed when arguments became discussions. Or when discussions became routines. Or when routines became something neither of you questioned anymore.
Mornings were spent in the House of Daena.
Afternoons often found the two of you seated in study areas around the Akademiya, books spread between you.
And evenings—
Evenings belonged to the tavern.
“Your evidence is anecdotal.” He spoke.
A vein popped up in your head. “Your standards are impossible.”
“They’re reasonable.”
“They’re suffocating.”
“They’re practical.”
“They’re boring.”
“You've said that three times.”
“And I mean it every time.”
Around you, the people often sighed.
Some students genuinely believed the two of you hated each other.
Others swore you were secretly married from how you two argue like one.
Neither assumption was correct. At least, not yet.
“Why are you following me?” You groaned as you tried to lose Alhaitham in the dense forests of the region.
“I'm not.” He spoke, following you casually.
“You absolutely are.”
“I happened to be walking this way.”
“There are no books in Gandharva Ville!”
“There are Forest Rangers.”
You narrowed your eyes.
“And?”
“And someone has to drag you back if you decide to wrestle a spinocrocodile.”
“I've never even wrestled one! Who’s reckless enough to do that?!”
“Says the one who attempted to approach one.”
“I couldn’t help it! Its scales looked fascinating!”
“It looked hungry.”
You laughed.
And despite himself, Alhaitham felt his lips twitch.
Just slightly.
“You worry too much.” You complained.
“I prevent unnecessary incidents.”
“That's your way of saying you care.”
“It isn't.”
“It is.”
“It isn't.”
“Alhaitham.”
“Oh look, a spinocrocodile.” He commented, pointing in a random direction.
“WHERE?!” You whipped your head quickly, trying to find the spinocrocodile before deciding to run.
He sighed, and followed behind you anyway.
Even with the risks of you encountering unwanted company or even trying to touch an animal, Alhaitham always had your back, supporting your endeavors in studying creatures offered by the region and following the footsteps of the author you idolized who didn’t get to finish their book.
He wanted to push you to your goal, and if it meant having to find you all over the forests of Sumeru and keeping you company to prevent you from going places you shouldn’t be in without preparation, then so be it.
It was on one such day, beneath the filtered green light of the forest, that you told him something that he could not support you in.
“I think my thesis will be about Aranara.”
He stopped walking, processing your words as if you said something unprecedented and quite ridiculous.
“That’s irrational,” he said immediately.
You turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“No adult has verifiably seen an Aranara,” he continued, unbothered by your glare. “Accounts are inconsistent, unverifiable, and limited to children. It is not a sound foundation for a thesis.”
“But they exist,” you insisted. “There are patterns. Stories that align across the region. Cultural memory doesn’t form out of nothing. The book I’ve been reading even mentioned them, but the author didn’t get to explore much of it or even thought about them! I’ve talked to a Forest Watcher who also wants to find them. We’re partnering up together to do so.”
“Belief is not evidence,” he said. “And basing your academic future on it is reckless. Even the author you idolized knows that there’s not enough evidence to even bother to try and look for an Aranara.”
For the first time, you didn’t back down.
Instead, you smiled. “Then I’ll gather evidence.”
Alhaitham frowned. He opened his mouth to argue, then stopped.
Because there was something in your eyes he hadn’t seen before. Not naïveté. Not stubbornness. Not the one he always sees whenever you plan to go out again and find a new creature to study and observe.
What he saw was certainty.
After that, things changed.
You spent less time together. Your conversations grew strained, circling the same argument without resolution. Alhaitham tried to dissuade you, presenting logical rebuttals, alternative thesis topics, compromises that would allow you to pursue your curiosity safely and rationally.
And you tried to make him believe.
Yet whenever you excitedly spoke about Varanara, Alhaitham listened. Even when he disagreed.
“I interviewed fifteen children.”
“Mhm.”
“Their descriptions match.”
“Mhm.”
“Three of them independently described identical songs.”
“Mhm.”
“Alhaitham.”
“Mhm.”
“Could you sound less disinterested?”
“I am listening.”
You stared at him for a moment, your excitement quickly dwindling. “You don't believe me.”
He sighed.
“I believe in your determination.”
You looked hurt. And he hated it.
Because he wanted—
Archons.
He wanted so desperately to believe.
To support you.
To encourage you.
But he knew the Akademiya.
He knew how cruel they could be.
How merciless they were toward ideas they deemed foolish.
He didn't want to watch you destroy yourself chasing something impossible.
“I want you to succeed,” he said quietly. “But not like this.”
The argument that followed was your worst. It wasn’t like the usual arguments that you two constantly have together. This one was messy, loud, and ultimately the one that drove you off.
“You never listen!” You spoke, standing up from your seat with an upset look.
Despite your upset look, he remained calm. “And you refuse reason, you know the Akademiya is difficult.”
“Not everything has to fit neatly inside your books!”
“And not everything should be pursued blindly.”
You couldn’t take it anymore. “Then maybe I should stop talking to you if you really think I’m a fool for pursuing this!”
The words hit harder than either of you intended.
You froze.
He froze.
But pride, stupid, terrible pride kept both of you silent.
And so you left.
Three days passed. Then four. Then seven.
There were no visits, no arguments, no… you.
The House of Daena felt strangely empty, the tavern quieter, and his home colder.
He hated noticing. And hated himself more for missing you.
He wished he could cheer for you openly. Push you forward. But he knew—knew—that the Akademiya would never accept such a thesis. That you were setting yourself up for failure at best, danger at worst. He thought if he supported you, you would’ve hated him for not trying to stop you and open your eyes.
He wished he tried harder.
The knock came at night.
“Alhaitham.”
He opened the door to find Tighnari standing there. He was ready to tell Tighnari he was uninterested in whatever he wanted to say, but he stopped his words when he noticed the way his friend’s ears were low, his expression grave.
Alhaitham closed his mouth.
“I’m sorry,” Tighnari said, voice full of remorse. “A forest watcher found them just outside Varanara. It seems they wandered into a Rishboland Tiger’s territory.”
No. No, that was impossible.
Not you.
You knew the forests better than most Rangers.
You knew animal behavior.
You understood territories.
You respected boundaries, you wouldn’t be foolish enough to try and approach one.
You would have noticed.
Wouldn't you?
He closed the door, not offering any response to Tighnari.
The silence that followed was oppressive. He stood there for a long moment, mind refusing to process what his heart already knew.
Were you… really gone? Just like that?
That same night, he went to your home.
Your study was untouched. Books stacked neatly. Notes pinned meticulously to corkboards. Your thesis lay open on the desk.
He sat.
And read.
Hours passed. He traced your logic, followed your methodology, felt his chest tighten as he realized how thorough you had been. You had evidence. Patterns. Interviews. You had accounted for inconsistencies, refined testimonies, eliminated unreliable variables.
And slowly, painfully, he realized something.
Your work…
It was brilliant.
Not irrational.
Not reckless.
Brilliant.
Children could see Aranara because they had not yet lost the capacity to believe, and they are capable of things adults couldn’t do. They can dream.
Because adulthood, you argued, was not wisdom, but erosion.
By dawn, Alhaitham sat motionless in your study, the first rays of morning filtering through the curtains and illuminating the countless pages spread before him.
Your handwriting.
Your observations.
Your dreams.
Hours had passed without him noticing.
Yet the heaviness in his chest had nothing to do with exhaustion.
It was regret.
Because perhaps, had he believed you sooner, things would have been different.
You would still be sitting across from him in the House of Daena, eyes bright with excitement as you rambled about a new discovery. You would still be exploring through the forests. You would still be finalizing your thesis, insisting that he read every page and criticize every flaw. You would still be arguing with him over multiple things.
You would still be alive.
And he had not believed you.
But in the end, he chose reason over faith.
And now, all that remained of you were your notes and a silence he could no longer bear.
Suddenly, someone tried to open the front door.
Alhaitham lifted his gaze.
When he opened it himself, he was greeted by none other than the Grand Sage himself, Azar.
The older man's eyes widened slightly upon seeing him there.
"...Alhaitham."
The scribe said nothing. He merely watched.
The Grand Sage was quick to offer his condolences with practiced solemnity, speaking of tragedy and unfortunate circumstances, of how such accidents were inevitable within the rainforest.
But Alhaitham barely heard the words.
Instead, he found himself asking a far more unsettling question.
Why?
Why had the Grand Sage come personally?
You were merely another student.
Brilliant, yes, but not important enough to warrant the appearance of the Akademiya's highest authority.
Something about it felt wrong.
Too deliberate.
Too convenient.
Because no matter how many times he replayed the reports in his mind, one fact remained.
You were not careless.
You knew the rainforest better than most Forest Rangers. You had dedicated your life to understanding its creatures, you respected their territories, and you knew the habits of Rishboland Tigers like the back of your hand.
There was no world in which you would simply wander into one unprepared.
No.
Your curiosity had not killed you.
Something else had.
Something hidden.
Something sinister.
And judging by the man standing before him with his polished condolences and measured grief, Alhaitham had the terrible feeling that the answer lay much closer to the Akademiya than anyone realized.
The thought settled quietly within him.
Not anger.
Not outrage.
Suspicion.
And suspicion, once rooted in Alhaitham's mind, was not something easily removed.
So when the Grand Sage finally departed, he said nothing.
He asked no questions.
He offered no accusations.
Instead, he returned to your study.
Carefully, reverently, he gathered every page of your research into his arms.
Your thesis.
Your journals.
Your observations.
Even the little notes you had absentmindedly scribbled in the margins whenever inspiration struck.
He took the old adventurer's book as well—the one you cherished so dearly, the one whose unfinished story had inspired your own.
Back in his home, hidden behind a false compartment only he knew of, Alhaitham safeguarded them all, and hid the old adventurer’s journal somewhere in the House of Daena.
Not because he intended to claim your work, nor because he wished to bury it.
But because the world had already taken you.
He would not allow it to take what you loved as well.
As time flew long after your name faded from Akademiya conversations, long after new scholars occupied the desks you once sat at, but not long after the Grand Sage was finally gone, Alhaitham would occasionally unlock that compartment.
He would reread your findings, mentally correct the occasional spelling error with quiet amusement, and sometimes, when the nights were particularly lonely, he would find himself in the House of Daena reading the adventurer's journal you adored and wondering why reading it always felt strangely familiar.
And in the silence of his home, with only books to accompany him and memories that refused to fade, Alhaitham allowed himself one bitter thought he would carry for the rest of his life.
A thought he never spoke aloud.
One that lingered long after the world had moved on.
you think you quite like the idea of the chief justice of fontaine having to stifle his moans while he’s sequestered away in his office.
anyone can hear us, he’d said the night you proposed it, lying boneless and curled up against his side. he’d slid a finger down your cheekbones and down to your jaw when you offered him a cheeky grin. that’s part of the fun, you’d told him. he’d agreed, then—how could he not? you have him wrapped around your little finger. and so, the next week, he’d arranged for a comfortable pillow to be kept under his desk and for his office doors to remain closed no matter what for a few hours.
“it’s important work,” he’d informed everyone, “and i would prefer not to be disturbed.”
to his credit, he is finishing up some work. poorly, yes, but no one can argue against him being productive.
you hear the shuffle of papers above you, the little clink of his pen dipping in the inkwell, and drag your tongue along the underside of his cock.
he taps his foot, and you hear the rustle of his clothes. you do it again, licking across the vein that runs down the length of his cock, before wrapping your lips around his swollen head. neuvillete groans, though it sounds muffled. when you look up at him, you find him furiously scribbling something down, eyebrows knitted together in a frown and one hand covering his mouth. it makes you feel slightly powerful, knowing you can reduce the most powerful person in fontaine to this.
“don’t move,” he commands, bringing the hand which was covering his mouth down and placing it on top of your head. “you’re only here to keep it warm, my love.”
you nod your head in agreement. the movement makes him slip more of his cock inside your mouth, and he groans again. your mouth is so warm, your throat so tight. when you swallow around him, neuvillette groans again, his hand in your hair tightening just a little, as if to hold you in place.
you hollow your cheeks around him, sucking diligently. the scratching of his pen slows down, then stops entirely, followed by a sharp inhale. his hand in your hair tightens—not painfully, but with a firm, possessive pressure that pins you exactly where he wants you.
“i told you not to move,” neuvillette’s voice comes from above, low and strained. he doesn’t pull you off, doesn’t push you deeper. he simply holds you there, his thumb stroking your temple. you feel the tremor run through his thigh where your palm rests. the chief justice of fontaine, reduced to a man fighting for control behind his down desk, while you kneel between his legs with your mouth full of him.
you hear the rustle of paper again. he’s trying to go back to work. you feel him shift, pick up his pen again, and you hear the careful scratch of nib against parchment. but his breathing is too uneven now, his grip in your hair still tight, and when you let your tongue trace a lazy circle around the head of his cock, the pen clatters.
neuvillette exhales. you feel his hand shift from your hair to cup the back of your skull, his long fingers threading through the strands with a tenderness that belies your filthy actions.
“i should have known better,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “i should have known you would never simply do what you told me you would.”
you hear the creak of his leather chair as he leans back. his other hand, the one that had been gripping his pen, comes down to rest on the edge of the disk.
“look at me.”
you obey, tilting your head upward, your lips still stretched around the swollen, flushed head of his cock. the sight that greets you sends a thrill straight to your core. neuvillette has shed his usual mask of authority. his eyes, usually calm as a deep lake, are dark with lust, half-lidded. a lock of his long, silver-blue hair has fallen loose from its usual neat arrangement, brushing against his collarbone.
“there you are,” he breathes, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. “so beautiful like this. so eager.”
he holds your gaze; then, slowly, he begins to move his hips. not thrusting—never that, not yet—just a subtle, shallow roll of his pelvis that pushes his cock a fraction of an inch deeper into your waiting mouth. he tastes like salt and skin and something uniquely him, clean and faintly oceanic, like the breeze that rolls off the waters of fontaine. you moan around him, the sound muffled and desperate, and feel him in twitch in response.
“shh,” neuvillette soothes, though his voice is strained. his hand in your hair guides you, gentle but firm, setting a slow, languid pace. “we must be quiet, my love. the walls of this office are thick, but they are not that thick.”
he punctuates his words with another shallow push, and you feel the head of his cock nudge against the back of your throat. you gag, just slightly; he pauses immediately, his hand stilling.
“breathe through your nose,” he instructs. “relax your throat. i have you.”
you do as he says, focusing on the slow inhale and exhale through your nostrils, the way your throat loosens around him.
“good,” he praises, and the word washes over you like warm honey. “you take me so well. my perfect, obedient little thing.”
but you are not obedient. not entirely. as he resumes his slow, shallow rhythm, you let your tongue dart out, lapping at the sensitive underside of his cock where it rests against your tongue. you feel him shudder above you, hips stuttering.
“ah—” the sound escapes him before he can stop it, a moan that he quickly smothers by pressing his palm against his own mouth. his eyes screw shut for a moment. you imagine what he must be thinking—the struggle between the controlled, dignified chief justice and the man who wants nothing more than to grip your hair and fuck your throat until he forgets his own name.
when neuvillette opens his eyes again, he reaches down with his free hand. his fingers find the collar of your shirt. he toys with the fabric for a moment, then slips his hand inside, his cool palm pressing flat against the warmth of your chest. he can feel your heartbeat, rapid and wild.
“tell me,” he says, “do you enjoy this? having me at your mercy like this?”
you can’t answer with your mouth full, so you simply hold his gaze and hum, a low, pleased sound that vibrates around his cock. his breath hitches, and his hips press forward involuntarily, sliding deeper into your warm, wet mouth.
“fuck,” he hisses, the curse sounding foreign and filthy on his lips. he never swears. never. but you have broken something in him, cracked the veneer of his control.
his hand on your chest slides upwards, his fingers tracing the line of your throat, feeling the slight bulge where his cock is. “i want—” he shakes his head, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “no. i mustn’t be greedy.”
but you want neuvillette to be greedy. you want him to take and take and take until he has nothing left to give in return. so you reach up, your hand finding his where it rests on your throat, and guide it downward, pressing his palm against your breast.
his eyes widen, just a fraction. are you sure?
you answer by taking him deeper, swallowing him down until your nose brushes against the coarse hair at the base of his cock. neuvillette groans, not bothering to muffle it this time. his hips buck once, twice, and you feel his cock throb against your tongue, taste the salty bead of precum that leaks from his tip.
he begins to move, a slow, rolling rhythm that pulls his cock out of your mouth slightly, and back in. the desk creaks beneath him as he spreads his thighs wider to accommodate you. the papers he had been working on are long forgotten, scattered and crumpled beneath his elbows.
“look at you,” neuvillette says, his eyes fixed on the sight of you kneeling between his legs. your lips are stretched around his cock, your eyes watering but your gaze never leaving his. “so beautiful. i could keep you here forever.”
he thrusts slowly at the word forever, making your eyes roll back. you feel him hit the back of your throat, feel the way your muscles contract around him. his pace quickens, just slightly.
“close,” he warns. “i’m close. if you want me to stop—”
you cut him off by hollowing your cheeks and sucking hard, making him moan. the sound of it—the wet, lewd noise of his cock sliding in and out of your mouth, the ragged gasps of his breathing—makes your stomach warm. you rub your thighs together, hoping for some friction. he comes soon after, his cock pulsing against your tongue. you swallow around it, your throat milking every drop from his spent cock.
when he finally stills, his hand in your hair goes slack. he strokes your scalp, a gentle, apologetic gesture.
“come here,” he says, tugging at your hair and guiding you off his cock with a wet pop. you gasp for air, your throat raw and aching, but the look in his eyes makes it all worth it.
he pulls you up, out from under the desk and into his lap. you collapse against his chest, your cheek pressed to the fine fabric of his coat. his arms wrap around you, holding you close, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head.
“i love you,” he says. “you did so well for me.”
“i know,” you say, your voice raspy. “see? i told you it’d be fun. now get back to work, chief justice. you have a nation to run.”
a/n: please do not perceive me this is all @zozo-01’s fault (affectionate)
here is part 2 to the segments having their way with you with Zandik’s permission !!
warnings: mirror sex, mentions of overstimulation, face fucking (lmk if you see others!) || heavily unedited
characters: 35 & 45 || part 1 || part 3
35
Omega. The most selfish and self centered segment of them all, even higher than 25, which says something. The Doctor’s prime in life. Highly successful in every aspect you could imagine.
Omega was not shy when it came to his advances. He typically always made some type of move when Zandik wasn’t present. It started with lingering touches. You handing him his tools and gloved fingers would brush against your knuckles ever so slightly before pulling away, or the pinch of your hip when you just happened to be in his way.
When his desires began to grow more, his actions also began to become more perverted. He would press his bulge up against you from behind when trying to reach for something on a higher shelf. Sometimes his hips would grind into the curve of your ass and love the small gasp you’d produce. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy his little antics.
Omega seemed to have no shame at all. Unlike 18 and 25, he would jerk off to you while you were sleeping. His hand would pump over the tip of his cock, using his pre-cum as lube to fasten his motions. You usually slept in no shorts, much to his approval. He’d stare between your legs intently, wondering how warm you must’ve felt, how tight you were, how much your pussy could take. All these thoughts and those wandering eyes of his helped push him over the edge and he’d finish on your blanket (he would’ve rather it been your face). In the morning you were curious about a specific stain on your blue blanket, but thought nothing much of it.
When given permission from Zandik (finally), he was quite overjoyed but never showed it and you would never admit it as well.
In the prime stage of his life, everything to Omega felt as if he was on a continuous hunt for a new hypothesis in hopes to gather more data for a new conclusion that was far better than the first. So naturally, he takes this as an opportunity to see how much you could take.
He takes you to a room with a huge mirror in front of the bed. The thought of getting fucked in front of a mirror by one of your beloved’s segments was enough for a small wet spot to appear in your panties.
35 has you on the bed, completely nude with him behind you with your legs spread open. This position causes embarrassment to wash over you, but the way his hand rubs your clit in small circles is enough to forget about your emotional predicament.
He continues to play with you, cooing in your ear about how you’re aiding him so much in his study. He praises you for being his good little subject while three of his fingers are pumping in and out of your aching cunt, but you can’t answer. All you can muster is moans of his names and the occasional whimper and “feels so good..” orgasm after orgasm is drawn out from your tired body and even the smallest flicks of your clit has you wailing to him. Oh you looked so pretty in the mirror he can’t help but grin and imagine how fucked out you’d be on his cock.
He may be selfish and care about his own pleasure, but he was more obsessed with your pleasure and wanting to draw out as much as possible. He takes you from behind, holding your wrists behind your back with one hand and uses you as leverage to fuck himself deeper into you. From this position, he’s able to abuse that spot. Each rut of his hips causes your breast to bounce and he loves it. His other hand rubs fast and sloppy circles on your clit and that’s enough to make you cum for the nth time. If you weren’t focused on the mirror, he’d grab your chin and force you to stare, a mask staring at your reflection. Even if you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew they were washed with lust, maybe more than yours.
He may be the most selfish and care about his pleasure only, but he definitely cares about your own (in the name of science of course).
45
This segment was on the opposite end of the spectrum when it came to selfishness, which you came to the conclusion that age was a factor in this.
45 is more of a charmer. He’s way more talkative (in a nice way) and is able to hold simple conversations with you. The one thing you love about him is how attentive he is to you. Sometimes if you were in lab with all the segments and you tried voicing something, the segments were too busy arguing with one another to listen, but he would always give you his undivided attention.
If you weren’t in lab, he would greet you with a kiss to your hand. Not often, but it was a sweet gesture on his end. Unlike the younger segments, he never made physical advancements on you, he would however continue to make flirty or… inappropriate comments.
He always gave you compliments. He complimented if you did something new with your hair, or your outfits (which was usually standard lab safety outfits) or whatever stood out to him. However, his favorite thing to compliment was your intelligence. In his eyes, nothing was more outstanding than a beautiful woman who was highly intelligent. And that was dangerous.
When it’s 45’s turn, he’s sure to let you know how overjoyed he was. You knew he was not one for physical advancements, but he surely becomes touchy now. His hands roam all over your body when he has you in his bed. He squeezes at your breasts and swallows your moans when kissing you, moving his hands down the rest of your body to your ass before giving a firm spank.
He has you on your knees, a gloved hand tangled in your hair and moving your head to meet in time with his thrusts. Strings of curses and praises leave his mouth and his words cause your thighs to rub together in anticipation. “Someone so beautiful and intelligent on her knees to suck someone’s cock, you love that, don’t you?” The tip of his head hits the back of your throat and with a whimper, he holds your head with both hands on the side of your face and holds you in place, finishing with a loud groan and head tilted back.
He doesn’t neglect you at all, which was one of his best qualities. His face is deep in between your legs, his nose nuzzled against your clit as he breathes in your scent, moaning about how good you smell. His tongue does wonders from sliding in between your folds, to barely putting the tip in your cunt before moving up to your clit. His motions aren’t rushed like 18, but planned and executed with purpose.
When he was satisfied with how you looked, he helps you get on top of him. Strong arms are wrapped around your back as your breasts are pressed up against his chest, your head falling into the crook of his neck. He thrusts up into you, the head of his cock bumping into your cervix. It’s so much, too good, it doesn’t help the fact he’s whispering in your ear and blowing hot air.
His thrusts are so rough, his balls slap against your skin that leaves stinging sensations. This segment is obsessed with his lips on yours, and probably the only segment that kisses you while fucking. It’s not romantic in the slightest, but your mouths together form a melodic song that turns him on even more if possible.
Once 45 finishes inside you, he pulls out and sticks two fingers into your pussy, a sick grin forming on his face when you moan about it being too much, but of course like the smart woman you were, you took it. He’d pump his fingers, curling them just right that caused your back to arch in response, your tits displayed right in front of his face. He wanted to ensure his load would be deep enough so he could continue pumping his seed over and over again <3
here is the final part to the mini series of dottore’s segments having their way with you <3
warnings: mutual masturbation mentions (lmk if i missed anything!) || heavily unedited
characters: 65 and 85 || part 1 || part 2
65
It appears after 45 years old, his mood and behavior start changing. This segment is more grumpy, easily to be irritated but can make a joke or two. Often his interactions with you were nice. He’d ask how your day was, how far you got into your research, if you needed help with anything. 65 was more quiet than the rest (most likely because he did not want to be bothered) but he definitely still argues with the other segments.
He may be grumpy but he did enjoy a tea time every so often. In his mind, he worked so much from his younger years till now, he knew he deserved a break every now and then.
He thought of you as a sweet girl but sometimes he thought you weren’t at your full potential. Unfortunately 65 became one of those older men who thinks that ‘younger people’ are full of themselves — a complete 360 from 45’s attitude who thought of you as extremely intelligent. Therefore, leading him to constantly finding ways to correct you.
“I see what you mean, but to be frank, that is simply incorrect and impossible.” Oh he definitely ticked you off often… but you couldn’t deny the obvious attraction you had to the older man when he would rebuttal your claims.
How you ended in this position after Zandik’s permission was unknown. The older man had you sitting on the chair, legs spread open with your pants pooling around your ankles, one hand in between your legs as your fingers pump in and out of your cunt. You whimper, muttering things under your breath as you feel yourself trembling in pleasure and humiliation. The segment sat in front of you, legs spread open as he eyed you intently through the plague mask, one hand lazily stroking his cock.
“Put another finger in. I know you can handle three.” He demands sharply, hissing when his finger grazes over the sensitive head of his cock, using his pre as lube. You nod quickly and slip another finger inside, mouth parting and your head leaning back at the sensation of being filled. As good as it felt for you, the man was deeply unsatisfied with the way you were pleasing yourself. Snapping out from a mindless state, you gaze up through hooded eyelids when the segment appears standing in front of you. “Some things need to be taught, huh?”
65 takes matters into his own hands, quite literally. Both of his gloved hands are occupied on your body. Three fingers are pumping in and out, the leather texture rubbing against your walls just right and the tips hitting that spot that feels as if you’re melting. His other hand holds your face firmly in his grip, forcing you to stare into the red circles on his mask. If you focused hard enough, you swore you could catch a glimpse of his eyes.
“If you can’t even properly please yourself, what makes you think you’re deserving of me, hm?” He asks, leaning closer to you. The tip of his mask bumps into your forehead presses ever so slightly into your skin that you’re sure a mark will be left in place. Your fingers grip onto his wrist, digging your nails into his clothing. Your chest heaves up and down, your nipples erect and reacting to the cold temperature of the lab and beads of sweat trickle down the valley of your chest. You look so erotic in his chair, pleading him to continue as you’re so close and begging him to show you how it’s done to receive your reward.
Nothing turns the older man on that someone so much younger than him was begging for him to show them how to properly please themselves. His cock aches more at the thought of you pathetically playing with yourself in your bed when Zandik neglected you. Your moans bouncing off your bedroom walls, the smell of sinful acts filling the room as you lay naked in your bed. Would you tease yourself? Drag your fingers slowly up and down your folds and rubbing the smallest circles on your clit? Or would you be desperate and try to finish quick? Would you imagine Zandik? Or perhaps did you imagine someone else?
Zandik
Your beloved Zandik, the creator of all the segments that wander aimlessly around the lab. You were the first tester of the Elixir of Immortality, luckily for you it worked, but unfortunately for both, it did not work for Zandik. Every day was borrowed time and you were grateful for each minute to spend with him.
When Zandik first mentioned the idea of splitting his soul into different parts of his life, you thought he was insane — a madman almost. You never told him in fear of upsetting him, but felt as if he was trying to play god and mess with the order of things. However those thoughts washed away when you first met the segments, who equally represented your love at different points in his life, to which you were used to but some did have different behaviors than what was expected (shout out to 25). They were all Zandik, yet different at the same time.
Zandik was the stereotypical perverted old man. Sometimes when he was working, he would love to have you standing beside him and give your thoughts on his paper. A trait that all the segments unfortunately got was how touchy he was. Pale slender fingers would sometimes drag up your hamstring to the curve of your ass and give a small squeeze, much to your dismay. It was his way of making sure his segments know that you were still his.
Occasionally if you wore something a little less lab appropriate, he would click his tongue in disapproval. “I should kick you out of my lab for that. But, perhaps we can work with this.” Due to his decreased mobility, he used his brown cane to lift up the bottom of your skirt to see what panties you were wearing. “So disappointing. You flaunt yourself but couldn’t bother to wear the ones I like.”
Don’t be fooled. Zandik may be 85 and unable to move as he used to, but his cock was very much still active. You just had to do most of the work.
Zandik loves when you bounce on his cock while he sits in his lab chair. Your sinful moans fill the eerie quiet area and echoed off the walls. His fingers grip the skin of your hips, guiding you up and down his aching cock. He leans forward and lets his lips cover your nipple, his tongue swirling around the bud and occasionally nipping at it.
Zandik is VERY possessive of you. He is well aware of his segments and how fond they are of you. They are him after all. His canines sink into your neck, a grin forming on his lips when you cry out his name and slump into him. “Too much.. its too much..” you whine, wriggling your hips in a weak attempt to pleasure the both of you.
Occasionally , Zandik would get that random burst of energy, thankfully. He would have you bent over his desk, his hips moving as fast as his body would allow him. One hand holds onto your shoulder while the other holds onto the steel desk for stability.
It still feels so good. The tip of his cock continuously bruises your cervix with each rut, your walls tightening around him that causes low moans and groans to spill from his mouth. Soon your moans and his deep breaths are drowned out from the skin slapping produced by the two of you. His body is closely pressed up from behind, his lips hovering behind the shell of your ear. Each breath of his grazes your skin and goosebumps appear on your skin. “I know how much you enjoyed my segments. Admit it. Would you prefer I stop and let them have their way with you again?”
Of course no body was better than the original. You whine in protest, shaking your head and moving your hips backward to meet in time with his thrusts. “N-No Zandik! Only want you!” Your fingers begin to lose circulation from how tightly your fists were balled up. The coil in your stomach was so close to snapping and you desperately needed to finish. With the way he was fucking himself into you, you could say that he was close too.
“Tell me you need me, only me. Tell me you hate the others.” He demands, beads of sweat rolling down his face as he focuses on pumping in and out. Only then when you crumble beneath him, squeezing his cock for all he’s worth and telling him what he wants to hear, only then he will finish inside you, panting heavily and whimpering ever so slightly when you rock your hips back. His quivering lips meet the back of your neck, remaining in place before muttering words of adoration. His hands run up and down your back as you come down from your high. Out of everyone, Zandik was the only one to give love and appreciation after your acts on intimacy. You were his beloved after all <3
the most hormonal duo of the bunch. sex with them was a common occurrence. they were far too impatient for any toys or proper preparation, preferring to take you raw. you caught them playing rock paper scissors a few times, to see which one got to choose which hole they wanted to use first.
when you weren't available, or simply did not wish to entertain their perversions, do not be surprised to find your lingerie missing. they often fought about who got which pair, so you better scold them properly or half of your closet will go missing.
the moment you were on your back though, it was a constant competition. you were getting pulled and stretched from all sides, their selfish hands wanting to leave their mark on you. you'd be covered in scratches, bite marks, bruises, and even cuts when 25 was really into it.
the way your body shook and trembled as 25 slid his scalpel across your skin while 18 was fucking you, made them both delirious with pleasure. 18 usually came pretty fast, causing 25 to mock him for it every single time. he'd tell 18 that a man like him could never hope to please you, followed by a few well timed thrusts to hear you moan.
25 loves to stretch you open. while 18 was balls deep inside you, the other segment made him stop, just to shove his own cock into your hole. it was a mess, both of them too selfish to time their thrusts properly, leaving you to take both of them at once without any help.
35/45
mindblowing orgasms duo. forget astral projection, these guys will have you transcending the universe and becoming a separate entity.
unlike their younger counterparts, these two liked to take things slow. breaking your mind and body was a much greater satisfaction than pure physical release. they were both quite meticulous and cunning in their approach, cornering you in the lab, making you feel trapped and anxious.
45's method of getting you needy and pliable was simple. a few drops of his newest creation right into your tea, and in an hour or so, you'd be knocking at their door, suffering from a huge headache and a mess between your legs.
35 inspected every inch of you, berating you for your stupidity. it's your fault for not paying attention to your drink. he'd undress you slowly, as 45 came to hold you in place, his fingers exploring the parts of you that ached the most.
they sat you on the table afterwards, naked and flushed, circling you as you begged them to do something. 45 caressed your hair, whispering how you had to prove how much you needed this. your hands couldn't provide you with much relief, causing them both to chuckle at your whining. 35 urged you to go faster, calling it a pathetic display.
by the time they started their own clothes off, you'd already be a quivering mess, your mind and body thoroughly exhausted from the various 'tests' they have conducted.
65/og zandik
the grandpas sure had a way with words. getting them both in the mood was quite rare, but the act itself felt more rewarding than anything else.
zandik liked to watch how 65 touched you. the way he stripped your clothes, bent you over and took you right before his very eyes. if the segment was being too rough, the man had no issue with using his cane to slow him down. he wanted to enjoy himself for as long as possible.
his hand naturally headed straight to loosen his pants, pumping himself to match 65's thrusts. his free hand wiped the drool from your chin, licking his fingers clean as he savored your taste. hearing his name fall from your lips, even when 65 was pounding into you, was enough to make both his heart and cock throb.
once zandik was sufficiently prepared, you climbed on top of him, while 65 held you by the hips, making you ride the old man. he liked watching the original lose himself in you, especially now that he was the one setting the pace for both of you.
zandik always grew more vocal when he was about to cum, which was the perfect time for 65 to push you even harder down onto him, wanting to see you milk the old man until he was begging you to stop.
the thought of you getting pregnant aroused 65 immensely. he respected the original far more than the others did, and the thought of either of them knocking you up made him want to breed you until you were leaking with his seed.
45/65
both of them are incredibly patient, planning out your encounters to the very last detail. they had specific tastes and desires only you could satisfy. ropes, wax, whips, gags, anything was on the table. literally. they wanted to feel you from the inside out, and they had the tools necessary to drive you mad.
45 took his time tying you up, 65 helping him tighten up any loose knots. shibari was a guilty pleasure of theirs, seeing you hanging from the rope, tied up and helpless, made them feel like you only existed for their pleasure, wanting to make this moment last forever.
one of them trailed a feather over your skin while the other placed a cloth over your eyes, making every sensation feel ten times stronger. they played around, making you guess which one of them was touching you. if you guessed right, you'd earn a reward. but, if you didn't...
with a quick flick of the wrist, 45 hit you with the crop, causing a stinging sensation to spread all over your body. the more mistakes you made, the harsher he'd become. his ego sometimes got the best of him, so 65 had to step in until the other calmed down.
sessions with them lasted for hours, you could easily lose yourself if they weren't careful enough. you begged them to let you free for a few minutes, needing to use the bathroom. they pretended not to hear you, even as tears started to form in your eyes from the embarrassment.
warm fluid spilled over your legs, dripping down on the ground as they both laughed. 65 came closer, patting your face mockingly. how pitiful you were, staining yourself and the floor. 45 perhaps took a sample for the sake of research, but it was better if you did not ask about it later.
18/35
yeah, good fucking luck. this might be the worst combination you could've picked. 18 didn't get along with the others that well, but his relationship with 35 was probably the worst one.
35 overheard that you had plans with 18 later, and he just so happened to have something important for you to help him with, which ended up with you sitting in his lap, warming his cock as he finished up on paperwork.
18 came barging in, demanding to know why you didn't show up, only to see 35 smugly pressing his hand on your stomach, keeping you from moving. the younger segment was pissed, but he couldn't do anything about it. 35 had authority over him, and getting him mad usually didn't end well.
you couldn't stand staying still any longer, trying to seek even a little bit of relief. 35 wasn't happy with that, pushing you from his lap directly onto the floor. he nudged you with his boot, a cruel grin on his face. you needed to be reminded of your place, and for 18 to see what he'll never get to do.
your mouth trailed up 35's boot, licking and sucking on the leather. 18 hated how hard he was getting from looking at you being on your knees for another man. he finally spoke up, demanding to join in on the fun.
the sex had no emotion in it. it was a power play, with 35 making sure both of you knew that he was the one in charge. if he told you to stop, not orgasm, or quit moving altogether, he expected immediate compliance.
og zandik/25
an unusual duo, but it happens more often than you might expect. 25 was more daring and energetic than the other segments, and he had plenty of ideas in that wicked brain of his.
you shared a room with zandik, the two of you sleeping peacefully, getting some well earned rest. neither of you heard the lock getting picked, footsteps slowly coming up towards the bed.
25 climbed in quietly, pulling the blanket away from your legs, making sure neither you or the old man woke up immediately. he was craving your body, missing the taste of your fluids on his tongue.
he gently removed any bottoms you were wearing, taking a deep breath as he savored his favorite scent. his mouth worked you enthusiastically, not caring if you woke up at this point.
your squirming and the wet noises coming from the foot of the bed ended up waking zandik, as he glared at 25 for disturbing his rest. but as you already know, the old man did enjoy watching his segments fuck you.
after you orgasmed, 25 tossed you on top of the old man, pulling your legs down. zandik pushed your head onto his cock, as 25 started thrusting into you from behind. although 25 preferred a faster pace, he didn't want to risk getting thrown out before he even filled you up at least twice.
SYNOPSIS: Seeking to deepen his understanding of the human mind, The Doctor offers a ‘special’ experiment to his favourite subordinate—you—and his dear friend, Regrator. Amidst the heat of the study, the fine line between scientific curiosity and personal intrusion blurs as the Second Harbinger finds himself joining in on the fun.
CONTENT WARNING: DUBCON, fatui!reader, reader is dottore’s subordinate, reader is referred to as ‘miss’, petty bickering between the old men, slight scientific jargon, prob inaccurate science stuff (sorry), slight pervert pantalone, smut (mdni), nipple play (?), pantalone-centric in first half of smut, p*rn w/o plot, exhibitionism, dottore gets FOMO lowkey, implied use of aphrodisiac (m), p in v, protected sex but eventual unprotected sex, threesome, double penetration, anal sex (f receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, not beta read.
WORD COUNT: 8.2k
NOTES: happy june :”3 !! i hope you enjoy this very self indulgent piece! i haven’t written a threesome in ages so apologies if its a bit clunky </3. div: babyg4rlhelps
The hallway leading to The Doctor’s laboratory was eerily quiet, his subordinates—like yourself—were currently on break at the cafeteria indulging in much needed fuel to power through yet another hectic day. The soles of your shoes echoed throughout the metallic floors, it served as a reminder at how deserted the corridor was; even though you’ve walked down this same path for years, the atmosphere never once failed to lick an icy shiver down your spine. It didn’t help how lifeless and dull these hallways were. As for the purpose of your early return in The Doctor’s laboratory, one of your colleagues had told you that the Harbinger required your presence urgently, and given your colleagues' words, it seemed to be a matter of importance.
Though, you wondered why The Doctor had specifically asked for you; as far as you were aware, your ranking as his subordinate wasn’t anything special—merely conducting experiments and quality control were your tasks, just like all the other subordinates under his authority. Ah, you didn’t mess up anything, did you? You always always followed protocols and it wasn’t like The Doctor had previously given you an earful for messing up an experiment.
In fact, he had been nothing but full of praise towards you; there was one instance where the Harbinger gleefully praised your intellect. Although to others, he never held back on his dissatisfaction whenever a colleague of yours messed up certain experimental procedures. The Doctor always spoke to them of the importance of materials as they were not easily obtainable, and to always carefully read the protocols. Unfortunately, his rather strange bias towards you made you the butt of the jokes amongst your colleagues in cafeteria conversations, and you were more than certain they were currently laughing at you behind your back.
“Hah! She’s like a teacher’s pet but instead of a teacher it's Lord Dottore! Hahahahahaha!” One of your colleagues started right after you were told The Doctor needed you back at the laboratory.
Of course, it was all light hearted but you wished they were a bit more mature about the situation because sometimes you couldn’t help but feel . . . weird around Lord Dottore at times—especially at times where he’d lean over your shoulder to inspect your task for the day. Maybe he simply needed a closer look but the way his chest ghosted against your back had you biting the inside of your cheeks.
Stepping inside the laboratory, you were greeted with an empty space, devoid of the man you were looking for. The room was how everyone left it before heading to the cafeteria—powered equipment turned off, hazardous chemicals stored away, and several documents sprawled across counters. For a supposedly urgent matter, you expected him to be at least present in his own laboratory.
Confused, you called out, “. . Lord Dottore?”
Silence stretched for a few moments before you received a response, “I am in my office. It would be preferable if you joined me.”
At the sound of his familiar voice, you followed its origin where it led you to the slightly ajar door to his office. Your heart pounded against your chest, you’ve only been inside there once to drop off research notes because the person who usually did it was absent that day, The Doctor also wasn’t inside when you had entered previously so this was your first time in his office with him.
Something about that unnerved you. Sure, he was somewhat ‘nicer’ to you but there wasn’t denying the fact that he was an interesting individual but you were under the same organisation, so it wasn’t your place to question the Harbinger nor his motives.
As you walked inside, you quietly closed the door behind out of politeness before turning around to get on one knee and bow your head. During the brief movement, you caught a familiar tall figure standing just off to the side of The Doctor’s desk.
“Lord Dottore, Lord Regrator.” But what was he doing here?
There wasn’t much you knew about Lord Regrator other than he was the Ninth Harbinger who was in charge of economic policies in the nation.
“There’s no need for formalities. Sit. I called you here to discuss a special experiment.” Dottore gestured a gloved hand at the empty seat before his desk, the corners of his lips slightly curled.
A special experiment? At the mention of an experiment, your heart calmed a little—it was your expertise after all, so there was no point fretting over it but the strange tension in the room seemed to scream otherwise. It also didn’t explain why Regrator was present, it wasn’t like they were about to start discussing finance with you.
You nodded, standing up to quietly make your way to the empty seat, “Of course. May I ask what this experiment is about?”
As you sat down, Dottore spoke up once more, both elbows atop the wooden desk, leaning a little closer, “Recently, I have been expanding my research on the human brain and its connection to the body regarding its response to bodily sensations such as touch. I have appropriate non-invasive equipment in my personal laboratory, however, the procedure is rather . . invasive.”
Invasive? What could Dottore possibly mean by that?
“Naturally, such an experiment necessitates a suitable candidate and their willing consent.”
A participant—you assumed that was your supposed role, the reason why Dottore required your presence. Once more, your heart thrummed out of nervousness, you weren’t going to conduct an experiment, you were going to be experimented on. The mention of an invasive procedure already had your mind spinning in a million different scenarios; he wasn’t going to cut you open, was he . . ?
“Your intelligence precedes your colleagues which is why I have found you to be the suitable candidate. Of course, it all comes down to your decision but it would be a delight to have your involvement.”
You sucked in a small breath, “May I . . read over the research proposal, Lord Dottore?” He wordlessly nodded, opening a drawer on his desk before sliding a neat stack of papers over.
Written in bold letters was the title: ‘Sensory cortex activation by stimulation’
The human mind remains an imperfectly understood mechanism. This study aims to document and analyze cerebral activity in response to external stimuli such as touch and pressure in order to better identify the relations between the human brain and body. The implications of this experimental research extend beyond mere academic curiosity, a more complex understanding of neurological behaviour under euphoric conditions may provide valuable insight into artificial human enhancement procedures. Experimentation of this nature requires a fully informed and consenting participant.
Methodology: The participant will be situated within a controlled laboratory environment under my supervision to maintain consistency of neurological readings throughout the duration of the experiment. Neurological activity will be monitored and recorded through the use of neural-imaging apparatus for high resolution cerebral observation. The participant will be gradually exposed to sexual stimuli in certain body areas as follows: nipple, clitoral and vaginal (penile penetration) leading up to orgasm which is the expected peak readings.
To ensure authenticity of collected data, the participant must remain aware and capable of providing continuous informed consent during all stages of experimentation and contraception will be used. Furthermore, a second participant (assigned to Pantalone) is set to carry out sexual stimuli mentioned above and is considered a controlled variable along with the primary participant. Collected findings will subsequently be analyzed for potential applications in the fields of cognitive enhancement and artificial synchronisation of human neural patterns.
In simpler terms, Dottore wanted to observe human neural activity during a euphoric state to better understand the connection between the brain and body? In all honesty, you were speechless. Not only was the former supervising the entire experiment but Lord Regrator was also a participant, at this point you were convinced this was some kind of humiliation ritual. There was no denying that The Doctor was extremely professional when it came to research, and you were more than certain it wasn’t going to be his first time seeing a naked human body—he had even written a formal proposal which further confirms that this experiment wasn’t some kind of perverted shenanigan.
“Do I, uh—Does the experiment require the primary participant to be . . fully naked?” You feigned a cough, flipping a page as you tried your best to avoid eye contact with Dottore. Though he wore a pointed mask, you were certain his eyes remained solely on you.
“It is not a necessity. Only stated areas in the proposal are required to be exposed for efficiency. I’d also like to mention that a generous compensation will be given once the experiment concludes.”
At the mention of compensation, your ears perked up. Even though the Fatui was an influential organization in Teyvat, the pay you received was fairly enough to get by but if you were being honest, you could use a bit more mora especially with this month’s bills rolling around. Without another word, you nodded, finally looking up at the Second Harbinger.
“Alright. I will participate in the experiment, Lord Dottore.”
Beneath the pointed mask, his rosy lips stretched into a wider smile, “Excellent. I require you to sign this contract then I shall conduct a pre-experiment interview to obtain better understanding of the participant.” Reaching over the desk, he flipped over to the last page of the proposal and slid a fountain pen over, silently tapping his gloved fingers against the wooden surface as he watched you sign.
With your participation officially sealed with a signature, The Doctor carefully placed the document inside the drawer and fixed his attention on you, gloved hands loosely clasped around one another, “Are you sexually active?” His question settled into the thick silence awkwardly, it stuck out like a sore thumb—all too sudden and personal yet your commander had simply asked it as if he were asking about today’s weather.
You were aware this was part of the protocol but having Regrator present in the office seemed a bit much for you; what was he even here for? Surely, he wasn’t about to start asking you medical related questions, he didn’t even work in the field. Discomfort enveloped your warmed skin, a thousand kisses akin to small prickles—hot and itchy.
Shifting ever so slightly in your seat, you spoke, “N-No . . but I have had intercourse before.” Archons, if you were given the option between Her Majesty unleashing her unforgiving ice on you or to explain your sex life to The Doctor, without hesitation you’d pick the former. Dottore was still your boss, after all but thankfully, he was as professional as you expected, keenly listening to your reply while nodding—nothing more, nothing less. If he had any reaction to your answers, he didn’t let on.
“And when was the last time?”
God, when was the last time you had sex? You simply couldn’t remember. Being a Fatui wasn’t a walk down the park, days in The Doctor’s laboratory were long and tedious, by the time you return home late in the afternoon, you’d only have the strength to eat and wash up before welcoming the night. The routine was monotonous, yes but there wasn’t room to mope around and complain.
“I cannot accurately say but most likely a month ago.” With your boyfriend then but The Doctor didn’t need to know about your past relationship.
The Second Harbinger’s questions continued for a couple more minutes, he asked about every single medical related question you could think of—medical history, current medications, prior injuries, and existing neurological conditions. Naturally, you tried your best to answer as accurately as advised by The Doctor and each response was recorded with meticulous precision.
“Good.” The word sounded less like praise and more like a conclusion. “If at any point you wish to withdraw from the study, you will retain your right to do so.”
Silence stretched inside the cold room.
You stared at Dottore. Through his pointed mask, he stared back. Neither of you spoke as his words lingered in the icy atmosphere like wisps of smoke, light and airy yet it held a bitter taste. A beat passed, then, very slowly, one corner of his mouth curved upward.
“I assume you’re wondering whether I genuinely mean that.”
So The Doctor was aware of your growing suspicion regarding his previous statement; you knew well enough how he worked, his experimental endeavours weren’t obtained through ethical and considerate experiments, and for him to state something like that was clearly out of character. Or maybe he actually housed an ounce of decency in him.
“Pardon my brazenness but yes, a little.”
The smile on his lips widened, “Reasonable.”
“Coerced participation produces unreliable results, especially neurological results.”
It wasn’t concern nor ethics but merely data quality, you didn’t know whether to applaud him for being such a dedicated scholar. Surprisingly, his reasoning was sound, emotions can and will affect neurological scans; factors such as stress can create physiological ‘noise’ which would increase variability in data.
At the lack of your reply, The Doctor merely dismissed your silence as acknowledgement and spoke up once more, “As you’re already aware, this study requires two participants. The reliability of the data is dependent upon minimising external variables and, unfamiliarity constitutes as such.”
“In other words, you’re making us socialize.” Lord Regrator finally spoke up, his dulcet voice curling around your body like a serpentine predator.
Well, it wasn’t entirely odd to familiarise oneself with a fellow study participant, especially if intimacy was on the table but the whole situation felt rather awkward. Under more casual circumstances, you’d feel at ease but being confined in your commander’s office with another Harbinger felt nothing but forced; you felt nothing less than a puppet being forced to interact with another toy at the hands of a naïve child.
“Call it whatever you prefer. Participants exhibit measurably different neurological responses when interacting with unfamiliar individuals.” A gloved finger tapped the wooden desk, “Trust levels, social comfort, perceived predictability—they all introduce inconsistencies. Unless, of course, you want me to find another willing participant. After all, you do have the right to withdraw from the study, Pantalone.”
Hidden beneath Dottore’s words was provocation but to Pantalone, the taunt was clear as day. From where he stood, he could see the way the former’s lips curled into a smug smile—a silent challenge between both of them. But Regrator didn’t bite, no, instead, he shifted his attention toward you.
“Well.” He smiled pleasantly, “It seems we’ve been assigned homework. If Dottore wishes us to become familiar with one another, I suppose introductions are in order.”
Satisfied that events were proceeding according to plan, the Second Harbinger immediately returned to his notes. Lord Regrator watched his companion for a brief moment, “He’s actually taking notes. How amusing.” A gentle laugh escaped his lips, he moved a tad closer to get a better view and the scent of tobacco faintly invaded your senses.
For the next hour, conversation between you and Regrator drifted from formal introductions to declassified Fatui affairs to Snezhnayan politics, and for the entirety of it, Dottore wordlessly sat in his seat, taking notes of everything. The conversation started off stiff as expected—Pantalone may be a participant but he was still a Harbinger, and with it came formality but as words flowed, you eased slightly. You learned about his role as a high ranking Fatuus and despite your lack of interest in his field, you simply nodded along.
Lord Regrator differed from Lord Dottore, and whether that observation was positive or not, you were uncertain. Different in a way that the former was clearly built for conversations, he gave flattery when needed, smiled at your words, and gave colourful responses; you assumed he obtained his mannerisms through his role but even with his authority, he was easier to converse with.
“Alright, that is all for today. I shall require both your presence next week once I have the appropriate equipment set up.”
With that, you excused yourself first and headed back to the cafeteria with a racing heart. On the way over, you questioned whether what you were getting yourself into was something you’d regret in the future but all your mind could think about was the coming week. The mere idea of Lord Regrator intimately touching you shouldn’t have invited heat between your legs but with every step taken closer to the cafeteria, the more it grew. It didn’t help how obscene visuals of you and him flashed in your mind every second or so.
The new week rolled around with slight anticipation; it was embarrassing, really, the slight excitement buried in the depths of your core pulsing with expectation. It was weird to anticipate such an erotic experiment but pure lust fogged your mind primarily due to the fact that you simply haven’t had sex in a month. Weeks of pent up stress and emotions? You were definitely overdue for release. Though, you did have to constantly remind yourself that it was a formal study within a controlled environment, and not some kind of one night stand with your commander’s colleague.
“I trust you’re both well rested?”
The three of you were back inside The Doctor’s office, it was late afternoon, the warm glow of the sun spilled through the frostbitten windows, painting the rather dull room in a mellow hue. The rest of your colleagues had already left the laboratory which meant you, along with the two Harbingers were the only ones present. It made you a little nervous—being alone in a room with two of Snezhnaya’s influential individuals.
Pantalone hummed and you replied with a small nod, already feeling your skin starting to prick.
Dottore led you both into another room connected to his office, it wasn’t as vast and you assumed this was strictly out of bounds to everyone but him. The room felt unnervingly sterile, its walls were constructed from smooth metal panels with narrow seams, and bright white lighting illuminated the space.
At the centre of the room stood the experiment’s primary apparatus—a reclining examination chair surrounded by an intricate arrangement of cables, a machine, and polished metallic arms suspended from the ceiling. The most striking feature of the room was the wall opposite the entrance—a single pane of reinforced observation glass stretched nearly from floor to ceiling; beyond the glass you assumed was the control room, housing machinery responsible for operating the experiment.
“For the entire duration of the experiment, I shall remain inside the control room to oversee the study and note down all results. Remove any unnecessary layers of clothing such as overcoats and gloves, and meet me by the apparatus.”
Left in your blouse and pants, you headed to the center of the room where Dottore stood with Pantalone just a step behind. The former tinkered around the apparatus, pressing a few buttons and flipping switches with a gloved finger, causing the machine to whirr to life; it hummed a low, almost quiet tune that somewhat settled your nerves.
“Lie down.”
The Doctor looked over his feathered shoulder, pointed mask gleaming beneath the harsh lighting before turning his attention to the suspended metallic arms for inspection. You did as you were told, positioning the entirety of your body along the examination chair, the leather was cool against the fabric of your clothes which left tiny goosebumps from the difference in temperature. Wordlessly, you watched as he positioned the metallic arms near your head, several inches away from contact; its tips were equipped with a semi-circle that encased your head. So, this was what The Doctor meant about non-invasive equipment.
“Once I operate the machine, you may feel a slight sensation but do not fret, it is simply the apparatus emitting pulses of energy to record neural activity. And as for you, I require complete obedience—every single word.”
“Hah, you act as if I’m some kind of disobedient mutt. I’m wounded.” Regrator pressed a hand over his chest, a mocking smile directed at his colleague.
The latter didn’t bother replying and instead walked off to the control room, the soles of his boots clicking with every calculated step. Pantalone softly shook his head, muttering a faint “Lovely as ever.” beneath his breath, full of sarcasm.
“Any command given will be spoken through this intercom.”
Your attention quickly moved from Regrator to the mounted speakers on the corners of the room as Dottore’s amplified voice filled the space. Gaze darting over to the foot of the examination chair, just past the Ninth Harbinger’s torso, you watched your commander on the other side of the observation glass. Heat warmed your cheeks at the realisation that you directly faced the latter which meant he’d be able to see everything you exposed.
“Base readings first. In the meantime, Pantalone, I trust you have already taken the concoction I made prior?”
With the metallic arms whirring to life, you could barely hear The Doctor’s words over the pulsing of the machine. Just as he mentioned, there was a slight foreign sensation in your head, it felt like pressure but also not at the same time, though, it wasn’t painful. You could only watch as the two conversed over the observation glass.
“Indeed.” Regrator nodded.
Two days ago, Dottore had given him a curated substance meant to increase one’s libido, thus concentrating blood flow to the genitalia. He had no qualms consuming it but it was foreign, indeed, he had never taken such a drug before and it took all his willpower not to take you right then and there. It didn’t help how his semi-hardened cock twitched inside his pants, involuntarily rubbing against the fabric of his underwear.
Dottore jotted down a few notes as the monitors displayed your real-time cerebral activity; so far, everything looked good, “Commencing the first phase of the experiment: nipple stimulation. Duration: 30 seconds. For the entire duration—without stopping—the nipples are to be stimulated via gently pinching or twisting.”
Thirty seconds didn’t seem too long, right? With that, you slightly lifted yourself off the examination chair, bringing your blouse over your chest before attempting to unclip your brassiere. Seeing your struggle, Pantalone brought himself closer, a faint whiff of tobacco following, “May I?”
Despite his chivalrous offer, his amethyst gaze kept darting at your clothed breasts and the smoothness of your skin—he knew it was impolite to do so but being under the influence of Dottore’s concoction had him acting a tad out of character. He cleared his throat as his cock twitched at the sight before him, swallowing down the low moan he almost let out. Could you really blame him? The garment was a black lace adorned with intricate patterns, not to mention the fabric being slightly see-through—a feature he found rather brazen. Pantalone could almost assume you wore this specific garment today for him to see. And maybe for your commander, as well.
“Thank you . .” You nodded and allowed Regrator to help.
“Pardon the intrusion.” He laced an arm through the narrow space between your back and the chair, lithe fingers expertly unclasping your brassiere with one hand.
Your heart may or may not have skipped a beat.
In one swift movement, the garment loosened around your torso, threatening to slip off. With slight hesitation and a burning face, you removed the fabric and shyly placed it on the chair right by your thigh. Almost immediately, icy air kissed your warmed skin which caused your nipples to harden, a small hiss almost slipping past your lips. While you were occupied with embarrassment, Pantalone’s gaze traced the curves of your chest, each mound sinfully beckoning his large hands—maybe even his mouth too. Obviously, it wasn’t his first seeing a naked woman but how his mind reeled with selfish fantasies was beyond childish.
In the control room, Dottore was unfazed—he had seen many nude bodies before and yours weren’t any different. It was nothing special, really but your cerebral activity on the other hand . . . That was more interesting.
“Whenever you’re ready.” He spoke into the intercom.
“I’ll be starting now, Miss.” Regrator sat on the narrow space of the chair, his clothed thigh brushing against your own; you tried not to think of the warmth which radiated from his body or how your name effortlessly rolled off his tongue like it was meant to be.
A silent nod was all you could muster—not even a split second eye contact to acknowledge his presence out of politeness but from the looks of it, Regrator didn’t mind at all as he proceeded to bring both hands up to your chest. If only you’d look his way you’d see a shy hue of crimson dusting his pale cheeks and ears but alas, your gaze fixated on the ceiling above.
A small yelp forced its way past your lips; Regrator used both index fingers to gently trace your areolas a couple of times, mere centimetres shy from your pebbled nipples, the tips of his fingers were cold—not icy but enough to send a strong shiver down your spine. You missed the way the corners of his lips subtly curled upwards in utter amusement—who would’ve thought Dottore’s lovely subordinate hid quite melodious tunes? There was no doubt his Harbinger colleague thought of the same thing.
As a matter of fact, despite being behind an observation glass, Dottore heard the sound you made all too clearly. The door to the control room was slightly ajar which caused any noise—minute or not—to spill through. It wasn’t foreign for his experimental subjects to create any noise but today differed, what was usually tunes of pain turned into hums of pleasure, and he couldn’t decide between the two which he preferred.
Maybe, just maybe by a tad bit—from how his core twisted with delight—it was probably the latter.
But Dottore had no room to ponder over that, not when your neurological activity displayed exquisite images on his monitor. As expected, a small cluster of highlights illuminated the somatosensory cortex which indicated its activation; he quickly jotted down notes, eyes trained on the screen before him, trying not to let your saccharine noises get to his head.
Another twitch of his now fully hardened cock had him letting out a low groan beneath his shaky breaths. The sight before him was simply exquisite; Pantalone may not have the best eyesight but he didn’t need a perfect vision to deduce the divine beauty—breasts splayed flat, torso arching ever so slightly, your head turned to the side, bottom lip tucked between your teeth, and brows furrowed in embarrassment.
Oh, what a shy little thing you were.
“Lord R-Regrator—!” He gently pinched your nipples which spread a sharp, quick shock across your chest. Another arch of your back pressed your skin closer to Regrator’s digits, he experimented with a slight twist, turning them between his index fingers and thumbs.
Archons, how embarrassing! You tried. You truly tried to hold back any unwanted sounds but the Lord Harbinger seemed to know what he was doing—how to please a woman—you couldn’t help but moan out his name from how amazing his hands felt against your feverish skin. Save for the low hum of machinery, the room was filled with complete silence and any noise made stuck out like crimson ink on a blank ivory canvas.
“Do let me know if my actions hurt you at some point.” Pantalone mindlessly murmured, mind completely fogged with lust, and senses drowned in your muffled moans.
You finally looked up at him through glassy eyes and wet lashes, it didn’t help how the bright lights above drew sparkles in your irises. He almost missed the wordless nod you responded with, too focused on the growing haze painted on your face. As Regrator continued his stimulation, shallow pants filled the space above your face and by this point, your face was as warm as it could get. Occasionally, your body shuddered beneath his expert touch, slowly and steadily driving you over the edge as each second passed.
Before another embarrassing moan could spill from your lips, The Doctor’s voice flooded the room via intercom, “First phase has concluded. Moving on to the second phase: clitoral stimulation. Duration: 30 seconds. As previously mentioned, stimulation has to be continuous for the entire duration.”
Even though embarrassment had slightly subsided, you hesitantly reached for the button of your pants, undoing them with trembling hands. Once more, the Ninth Harbinger offered assistance to which you thankfully accepted—there was no reason getting shy now, he had already played with your nipples earlier. Driving the soles of your shoes onto the cushioned examination chair, you lifted your hips and pulled your pants down along with your underwear with the Harbinger’s help—just enough to expose your cunt.
His eyes zeroed in on your glistening entrance. All for him? Oh, he was being spoiled, indeed. The sight of your cunt fanned the blazing flames of Pantalone’s ego—all this just from mere nipple play? How adorable. You must’ve been really touch starved.
“Before we commence the second phase, Pantalone, I trust you can find the clitoris, right? Perhaps you need my assistance?”
“I am not ignorant, Dottore.”
“I am simply making sure. No reason to get snappy.”
You wanted to laugh. Two Harbingers bickering should not have amused you but the pettiness behind your commander’s voice and the slight annoyance laced with Lord Regrator’s words was all too amusing. If you were to tell a fellow colleague about them two bickering whether one could find the clitoris or not, they would not believe a single word that’d come out of your mouth. Who knew they could talk about trivial matters, too, how interesting.
Lord Regrator returned his rightful attention to you, his dull expression immediately shifted into the soft smile he always wore, “Ready, Miss?” Meek, you nodded. The Harbinger repositioned himself, right knee slotted between your parted legs to get a better view of your wet cunt.
He gathered the slick coating your cunt, spreading it on the pads of his fingers before pushing back your clitoral hood to reveal the swollen nub of flesh all in its needy glory. Embarrassingly enough, a simple ghostly touch on your clitoris had your entire body jerking against the leather of the chair, followed by a wanton moan of the Harbinger’s title. You quickly turned your head to the side and pressed the skin of your forearm against your lips—a futile attempt as the moment you obstructed your face, Lord Regrator’s digit began rubbing your clitoris in tight circles, as though a wordless protest against muffling the sounds you made.
His fingers were good—amazing, even, to the point where you wished thirty seconds went as quickly as a single second. In your head, clitoral stimulation of that duration was doable but you wholly underestimated yourself and the Lord Harbinger’s skills, on top of that, you were still trying to recover from earlier. You weren’t supposed to orgasm on this phase of the experiment otherwise it would ruin it entirely but it seemed like he had a goal: to drive you over the edge before the thirty seconds were up.
“L-Lord Regrator, I think—Mhm!”
“Hm? Were you saying something?”
The arm slung over your face immediately flew downwards to grasp his wrist, attempting to slow down his actions. Your free hand gripped on the side of the examination chair, nails digging crescents into the leather to ground and steer yourself from the impending orgasm. You arched your back and moaned aloud once more, earning a satisfied smile from the Lord Harbinger.
Dottore’s gaze ripped away from the monitors and landed at the centre of the room where you and Pantalone where, he carefully watched as your body pathetically writhed under the latter’s eager touch. He could barely see your lust-bitten face but judging from the moans you let out, his friend was doing exceptionally well at pleasing you—even the activity displayed on the monitors could back that fact; more regions of the brain were now highlighted indicating an increase in activity,
It was indeed fascinating to observe how one’s brain lit up from mere stimulation.
The tune of shallow, soft pants filled Regrator’s ears, it was amusing to watch you scramble and gather the threads of sanity in your palms, refusing to let pleasure take control of your body. Did he feel bad? A little but he was no saint. He switched from tight circles to figure eights, pressing onto your sensitive nub with a little more pressure. Your legs shook with bliss, fingers wrapped around his wrist tightening as you teetered to the brink of an orgasm.
“Ngh—ah! Lord Re—Haah!”
“I suggest you use your words otherwise I cannot understand you.” Mockery laced his dulcet voice but with the hum of machinery mixed with your shameless moans, you didn’t pick up on it.
When did Pantalone last have fun like this? Sure, he was powerful enough to control the nation’s economic state with a mere snap of his fingers but being able to control the pleasure you felt? Beyond satisfying. Not only was he rewarded with your lust-fogged expressions but also how your body squirmed beneath his touch—desperate and pathetic.
Your core tightened, it stretched and stretched further waiting for the recoil called climax but before you could reach it, your commander’s cold voice filled the room once more, “Second phase has concluded. We’ll be moving on to the final phase after a short interval.”
With that, Regrator pulled away his hand which elicited an embarrassing whine of protest from you. In a daze, you stared up at the ceiling and silently thanked Lord Dottore for the short interval because you knew well enough you’d be a complete mess once the third phase began. Though, the Second Harbinger’s reasoning was most certainly experiment-related rather than pure concern for the subject.
The tight knot deep in your core disappointingly dissipated as each second passed without stimulation—it was beyond frustrating to say the least, especially after weeks without sex. Despite the cool air inside, a sheen of sweat lightly coated your entire body and you felt stuffy; suddenly, the fabric pulled halfway down your legs felt too restricting, the blouse pooled around your neck didn’t help either. At this point, you just wanted one thing, and judging by the crimson blush on Lord Regrator’s cheeks, he wanted it too—release.
Dottore simply wasn’t being nice with the interval, the main reason for it was to let your cerebral activity return to baseline, otherwise readings from the second phase would carry on to the third phase and mess with the experiment. But he did have a more selfish reason that didn’t need disclosing—the growing tent between his legs.
He only needed a few moments to recollect himself. His bodily response to the scene before him was normal—he was still a man, after all— but in a professional setting, it was undesirable. Dottore knew what he was getting into when he first wrote the proposal for this serendipitous experiment but he didn’t expect to be aroused by it. He leaned back in his seat, a subtle glance at the prominent bulge before letting out a soft sigh.
How truly inconvenient.
After a couple moments of recollecting himself—or simply trying to—Dottore spoke into the intercom to commence the final phase, “The third will be slightly different, there will be no set duration as the end goal of this phase is an orgasm but restrictions will be in order. That means strictly no touching aside from vaginal penetration, this would count as kissing, groping or holding one another. Doing so would interfere with results.”
Since Dottore observed the sensory cortex, other forms of stimulation besides penetration would also be recorded, lowering authenticity of the results.
“Contraception is located above the machinery.” He added.
Pantalone reached for the smooth surface of the machinery next to the examination chair where he grabbed a sealed packet. Lithe fingers curled around the waistband of his pants, you watched as he unbuttoned and pulled it down just enough to reveal his hardened, leaking cock. It slapped against his clothed abdomen, donning a crimson blush that mirrored the hues on his pale cheeks. The pearlescent glob of pre-cum coating his slit had you salivating a little, tongue subtly swiping over your bottom lip.
Wide eyed and lips slightly parted, you could only wordlessly stare at the foreign sight before you, he was decently thick and merely looking at it had you clenching around nothing—eager to have all of the Lord Harbinger inside you.
Pantalone let out a low hiss, expertly rolling the latex down his shaft, “Ready?” Amethyst eyes clouded with lust found your gaze. Lord Regrator’s expression was different from what he usually wore, the cunning, unreadable smile was gone, leaving room for a flustered one.
With a wordless nod from you, the Harbinger fully situated himself between your legs, both hands each circling around the back of your knees to push them to your bare chest, “Hold your legs open for me, will you, dear?” You did as you were told, hooking an arm on each knee, keeping your legs in place and eagerly waiting for his next move.
Knees digging on leather, Pantalone placed a hand on the wide headrest of the chair while the other curled around his base, slowly guiding his cock inside your sopping entrance. A mix of your moans lingered in the air as he bottomed out, the entirety of his shaft sat inside you—heavy and hard. The stretch was delicious, it almost felt purely sinful, you’ve never taken a cock that stretched you this good before and it was dangerous because you might just get addicted to it.
Pantalone leaned over you, free hand now joining the other on holding the headrest. The silvery chain of his glasses dangled mere centimetres from your face, teasing and ghosting over your feverish skin. He sat still for a moment to relish inside your tight, velvety walls, he felt like a boyish virgin all over again with how stimulated he was, and he hasn’t even started thrusting yet.
But Pantalone had a job to do: to bring you to an orgasm because that’s what he agreed to upon signing the contract of this study—to put your pleasure before his own.
A beat or two passed ‘til he slowly drew his hips back—with only the bulbous tip remaining inside—and languidly thrusted, your nails dug into your soft skin, leaving small crescent-shaped indents. You could really only hold on to your legs and take the steady yet forceful pace Lord Regrator had set which caused your body to jolt repeatedly with every smack of his hips against your own.
It was pure torture for Pantalone, you looked absolutely divine yet he wasn’t allowed to hold you—to grope and squeeze at your bouncing breasts, to rub at your clit, to suck on every part of your exposed skin and finally taste you for himself. Alas, he could only rake his gaze up and down your semi-naked form and fantasize how you’d react beneath his palms.
The examination chair groaned underneath the weight of Pantalone’s thrusts, high pitched squeaks interlaced with the string of moans and whimpers filling the entire space. Pantalone carefully shifted his weight to his upper body, anchoring his hands on the headrest to piston his hips into your own.
“O-Oh, god! Lord Regrator!”
“God? H-Haah! Ngh—‘M no god, my dear.”
Bitterness laced his trembling words, it's almost as though he took offense and now he expressed his disdain by merely picking up the pace, rendering you a babbling mess to shut you up. Skin slapping and the smell of sex dangerously danced in the air, one Dottore couldn’t simply ignore—especially the former.
The Second Harbinger messily jotted down notes, fingers tightening around the pen every now and then whenever you let out a loud moan. He didn’t stop his gaze from wandering to where you and Pantalone were, crimson gaze locked onto your jolting form while his friend eagerly pounded you like a starved man. How your legs vigorously bounced in the air was enough to let him know how roughly Pantalone went on you.
The problem between his legs worsened and Dottore may or may not have rubbed his hard on a few times beneath the desk. Just to get a small taste of friction his hardened cock desperately wanted. Childish? Perhaps but fuck he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of trading places with Pantalone—even for a mere second or two. He was more than curious what you’d feel like around him.
“Lord Regrator! I’m—aah! I’m close—ngh!” Legs burning from holding the position, you let go and opted to wrap them around the Harbinger’s waist, locking him in a rather intimate distance. Pantalone let out a breathless chuckle and changed his pace into deep, short thrusts, he grinded into you every few strokes or so, allowing you to see the stars.
A few more sharp thrusts and the knot inside your stomach snapped violently as pure bliss engulfed the entirety of your body. Pantalone, unable to move due to your legs tightening around him, sheathed his cock deep inside and grinded on you, his fat tip rubbing against your sweet, sweet spot. He watched your limp body convulsed beneath him as shocks of pleasure came crashing into you.
He followed suit, spilling his warm seed into the latex while relishing in the tightness of your walls, a loud grunt forced from his rosy lips.
The two of you stayed still for a moment, individuals merely reduced to a heaving mess as the fog of orgasm slowly dissipated from your bodies. As if on cue, Dottore spoke through the intercom,
“The final phase of the study has concluded. Your cooperation is appreciated.”
A breathless laugh from the Harbinger above you, “I sure hope you managed to collect ample findings, Dottore.”
The latter could only scoff, of course he was able to do so. As opposed to his hypothesis—where he had only hypothesized two regions would be active—a handful of regions were active during an orgasm. It gave him a better understanding of how to map the human brain.
At the latter’s silence, Pantalone spoke once more, “Though, I am rather curious,” He let out a small hiss while pulling out. “Why did you need a second participant? Surely you’re more than capable of executing this task yourself, no? Unless . .”
“Unless what?”
“Unless you simply can’t do it.” To please a woman, he wanted to add.
There was only one way to interpret the Ninth’s words and despite it being ‘friendly’ banter, annoyance bubbled in Dottore’s chest, “Obviously, I would need to record findings hence my lack of participation in the study. But if you ask me, I would have done a better job.”
“Really?”
Silence followed.
Solely due to their brief exchange—or was argument a better word?—you found yourself sandwiched between Lord Dottore and Lord Regrator; every article of your clothing long discarded on the cold tiles, and machinery turned off, long forgotten. With the former laying on the examination chair, you straddled him, trembling legs on either side of his waist while the other Harbinger pressed his clothed chest against your back.
“Lord Dottore . .” You bit your lip.
In a haste, he had unzipped his pants and pulled out his leaking cock, rubbing the bare tip up and down your sensitive slit. Behind you, Pantalone’s hands mindlessly wandered all over your naked form—from the plush of your breasts to the fat of your ass, he left no skin untouched. But it wasn’t his hands alone, his lips trailed open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, leaving a few small bites in between.
Pantalone gently ushered you forward, one hand splayed across your back to bring you closer to Dottore ‘til your breasts squished against the latter’s chest. Both Harbingers lined their cocks to your entrances and slowly pushed inside. Slumped against the Second, you trembled violently as they stretched your holes out—one wrong move and you were sure to come undone.
With both cocks fully sheathed inside, all you could do at that point was pant like a mere mutt in heat, you haven’t had proper time to come down from your previous orgasm so any form of stimulation quite literally melted your brain and brought tears to your eyes.
Dottore cupped your jaw with a large, gloved hand and angled your face, he examined your fucked out expression momentarily before closing the distance. Messy and desperate, the Lord Harbinger’s kiss simply knocked oxygen from your lungs, he eagerly plunged his tongue past your lips and explored the inside of your mouth.
The kiss and the sting of his pointed mask digging into your cheek was enough to briefly distract you from their experimental thrusts. Shameless, you wailed into your commander’s mouth, knuckles turning into a lovely shade of ivory as you gripped the collar of his coat.
The examination chair groaned beneath the weight of the Harbingers’ merciless thrusts and one could only hope it was sturdy enough to last an entire round. Creaks of the chair mixed with the sinful harmony of your moans filled all four corners of the room, thankfully this space was a bit more secluded in comparison to your commander’s laboratory which meant anyone else walking down the corridors wouldn’t be able to hear the lewd sounds as much.
Despite the eagerness behind their thrusts, it was certainly surprising to have their movements coordinate with one another—an unspoken rhythm with the sole purpose of bringing you and themselves to release.
Dottore pulled away to catch his breath, leaving a thin translucent string of saliva connecting his kiss-bitten lips to your own, hot breaths mingling together through rough pants. The corner of the Harbinger’s lips curled upwards upon seeing your drunken expression—who knew you looked utterly divine stuffed with two cocks? It made him twitch.
Pantalone’s gaze fixated on your lower half—how your ass bounced and jolted with every powerful thrust he gave. The mere sight of his wet cock appearing and disappearing between the globes of your ass had him heaving a little harder. Maybe it was also due to the tightness of your rear, or the fact that having another cock inside you intensified the pleasurable friction he felt.
A few more harsh thrusts, the coil inside you finally snapped once more, bringing you to a rather earth shattering orgasm. Your body violently trembled in pure bliss as you tried to moan their names to no avail. With the sensation being too much, you fisted Dottore’s clothed chest as if doing so would somewhat ease the pleasurable pain your entire body felt.
The Second soon followed suit, a couple of desperate thrusts into your sopping cunt—ones that had you wailing in overstimulation—before sheathing himself deep inside and releasing thick, warm ribbons of cum. A string of colourful curses in his mother tongue slipped past his kiss-bitten lips as he came inside. Dottore filled you all the way to the brim ‘til his seed slowly seeped out of your greedy hole and onto the leather cushion beneath.
Ah, he’d have to get it cleaned now.
This left Pantalone who greedily hauled your limp body against his chest; one hand expertly rubbed your swollen clit while the other held your jaw to angle your face upwards so he could plunge his tongue inside your mouth. You choked on the messy kiss as the new angle invited him deeper inside. Dottore’s cock slipped out from the change in position but he didn’t mind, instead, he sat up and took it upon himself to plunge two long digits in your cunt.
His fingers were already long enough to reach far but the added thickness of his gloves had you arching your back. If it wasn’t for Lord Regrator’s firm hold, you would’ve already been slumped against the chair long ago. The former’s fingers moved in a ‘come hither’ motion which allowed him to brush against your sweet spot. Surely you could handle another one, right?
“Oh—hng! Close! Ah—haah!” Hands flew down to circle around Dottore’s wrist, you attempted to pathetically remove his fingers from your cunt which shortly proved futile as he remained unmoved.
You came once more, another blinding orgasm ripping through your orgasm but this time, you could barely even muster a whimper—only a soundless cry and fresh tears streaming down your face. Pantalone grunted and bit your shoulder as orgasm hit him, hot cum painting the walls of your rear; he grinded his hips against your ass to ride out his orgasm before releasing your skin from his bite.
Nothing but the sound of harsh breathing filled the walls and for a long moment, the three of you remained still to catch your breaths with reality slowly seeping in to replace what was once lust. You wanted to sleep right then and there, exhaustion weighed heavy on your body from how hard they both worked you—too tired to even think of the consequences.
None of this was supposed to happen—at least not the unexpected threesome but now that both Harbingers have had a taste of you, they might just come back for seconds.
zayne ⋮ he's too overwhelmed seeing you in white .ᐟ caleb ⋮ you just cannot get your hair right .ᐟ xavier ⋮ your wedding is in 5 hours and you haven't slept a wink .ᐟ rafayel ⋮ he finally gets to fuck his bride .ᐟ sylus ⋮ he's not allowed to see you .ᐟ
CW :☆: MDNI! unprotected sex (p in v), semi-public sex, blindfolding, spit play, overstimulation, edging, dirty talk, thigh-fucking, creampie, rafayel nearly ebbing, LIs being mushy
ZAYNE LI ☆
It’s a modest wedding—just close friends and family gathered to bless the two of you. Still, you’re getting married. So here you are, dressing together, and Zayne—god, zayne, is overwhelmed at the sight of you in white. Ready to marry him.
And he doesn’t know what to do with it than to—
“y-yes, use me.” His hand comes up to your chin, grip trembling as he pulls you into a messy, desperate kiss, your lipstick smearing across his mouth. Your wedding dress is bunched at your waist, layers swallowing your husband-to-be as he pistons his hefty dick into you from below. You grind down into him, fingers tangled in his slicked-back hair, holding him there.
“hah—! how are you deeper than before?” you mewl, face in his neck, sucking marks into his heated skin. “can feel you s’deep…”
“you can, can’t you?” he bites back a sound only for it to rip through as a whimper. Your hot, gummy walls spasm around the whole of his length and his hand spreads across your back, holding you flush to him as his hips falter.
His cock twitches inside you before stilling. “on second thought, stay still.” he pulls away. “Let me move. We can’t have you getting too hot.”
He’s moving before you can nod. And all you can do is clutch him tight while his cock grinds into your cervix at each long stroke of his. Your knees dig into the strong muscles of his thighs.
“mmfuuck—!” you cry, eyes squeezing shut.
“spread your legs. We’ll ruin your dress.” His legs part, guiding you wider for him. and somehow, it gives him enough leverage to pull out of you alllll the way out and then bury himself to the hilt, dragging his thick cock over every sensitive inch of your walls in lewd schlick schlick schlicks despite the layers.
His hand disappears in your dress, fingers brushing over the lace garter around your thigh and then higher to part your soaked folds.
“w-wait I’m gonna cum.” You tell him. his pace grows desperate.
“mngh… don’t worry,” he pants, losing whatever composure he had left. “I am too.”
His thumb finds your clit, moving through your slick—down to your hole—where your puffy pussy lips are stretched around him to the limit—and back up to the throbbing bud.
waves of heat roll over your body as you cum with a silent cry. You feel him jump in you, balls tightening against your ass. “finish in me,” you tell him.
He lets out a strangled moan—unable to muster up the composure to protest—spurting jets of warmth in you, pumping you full of his load. Your spasming cunt wriiings out every last drop of release.
He pulls your face close to his, nose bumping with yours as you come down together. He places a small, shy kiss on the bridge of your nose.
“shall we go get married now?”
CALEB XIA ☆
It was supposed to be right. And it was—on paper. It was a wedding ripped right out of the cheesy dramas you binge. except. Your hair didn’t get the memo. Your bridesmaids sat helpless while you handled it in tears—only to toss the curling wand away.
“heyy, what’s wrong?” caleb invites himself in the room. The women step out immediately. Screw the not-seeing-the-bride-before-the-wedding bad luck. This was bad enough.
You sniffle, pressing your face into his chest. “caleb it’s all falling apart…” you look up at him with teary eyes and before you can even stop yourself, your lips crash against his.
“fuck baby—you’re extra soft today, mm?” his long cock pummels into you. his hand reaches down, peeling away a layer of your dress. “hold it up f’me, pips.”
You’ve clutching the thick layers against your chest like your life depends on it while your fiancé absolutely obliterates your leaky cunt one thrust at a time. “s-slow down ‘leb…” you whimper, back arched like a bow for him.
“slow down? how do you plan on making it on time to our wedding?” he chuckles, leaning down to spread your swollen, slick coated pussy lips to reveal your pulsing little bud for him. he drools at the sight. And doesn’t let it go to waste. His warm spit lands on your aching bud, trickling down to mix with the juices you ooze out.
He watches the way your poor, overstretched cunny still manages to swallow him—and god he knows he’s too big for you but look at you. tears prickling at your eyes, whimpering under him dressed in white to be married to him. how on earth did he get so lucky?
“m’so clooose—!” you whine, thighs attempting to press together.
“good god, pips. Y’look so pretty round my cock…” he groans. His hand curls around your thighs hiking it up, letting his fat cockhead drill its way into your sinfully soft channel. His thumb brushes against your clit, rubbing it in tight circles, making you yelp beneath him.
it doesn’t take long for you to finish, clamping around him in wet pulses that his eyes rolling to the back of his skull. Still, he keeps moving. He keeps pounding you through that vision blanking orgasm, until you’re practically sobbing under him.
“mmf—please… s’too much—hic!” and still, you make no attempt to escape. You’re exactly where you want to be—your overstimmed pussy being bullied into another orgasm.
“jus’ like that, keep clamping baby. I’m right there…” he pants, leaning down to kiss a tear away. “you’ll let me cum in you, right? Let caleb stuff you full?”
“y-yes! yes please—oh?!” His dirty talk alone tips you over the edge again, milking him for his release. And he does. Ropes after ropes after ropes of hot, creamy cum pumping into your pussy.
And when you finally calm, he gathers your hair, fixing it into an elegant low bun—murmuring quiet “thank you”s through sniffles for marrying him.
XAVIER SHEN ☆
“I couldn’t sleep either.” You jolt at your fiancé’s voice behind you. You’re ecstatic. And in that excitement, you were dressed and ready before time. In 5 hours, the wedding you dreamed of begins. an early morning ceremony, walking the aisle under stars, sealing it with a kiss as sunlight finally breaks.
The venue lies hushed as you stand together on the balcony, gazing down at the flowered arch where you’ll soon be married.
“xav—ngh!” you grip the railing harder. Your pussy moulds so perfectly around your fiance’s cock, stretched obscenely wide.
His hand reaches around your throat to tip your chin up to have you watch the place you’d soon say vows at. “a-are you sure this will help you sleep?” his voice sounds too normal for his actions.
He’s nearly jackhammering into your velvety hole, causing it to squelch and ooze more of your love juices down your thighs. His foot nudges your legs farther apart, the need to drill deeper into you consuming him enough to bury his face in your hair and groan low.
“mmhm, mhm ye—ah!” you nod, hips pushing back to meet his deep pounding. “don’t want eye bags.”
By the pace at which he’s ramming into your pussy heat, you can already imagine it—imagine yourself walking toward him with shaky legs, his cum still leaking down your thighs. Fuck. There’s no way you were going to clean up after your session. Your legs are quivering at this point, held apart only by his knee.
“alright,” he murmurs, halting entirely. You bite back a whine. “keep them pressed if you want it that way.” He pulls out. His fingers find your gaping hole, two plunging in to coax out translucent strings of your arousal and his pre cum, smearing it between your thighs. And that’s when you feel the fat head of his cock again—pushing its way where your plush thighs press the tightest, and yet, making sure that your swollen clit isn’t left out.
“you keep looking at the arch,” he leans in, one of his hands guiding his cock between your syrupy slit. Your thighs press harder. You’re so close but there’s no way you’re cumming empty like this. He lets out a chuckle, soft enough to be mistaken as innocent. “are you going to cum to the thought of our wedding?”
He breaches your puffy lips again, sliding in with ease with the lewd amount of slick gathered there. “filthy girl… I’m right.” His hand presses down on your lower back, arching you for him as he buries himself balls-deep.
“oh! Hic—just… just let me cum, already!” you clamp around him, all the obscene ideas making your pussy walls stir.
Xavier’s fingers spread your ass cheeks for him and he sinks deeper than ever. You let out a choked sob—very close to rutting your needy clit against the glass if he keeps you on edge any longer. “it’s okay. I’m thinking of that too,”
He pinches your clit once and that has you creaming around his pulsing length. Your pussy clamping around him like heartbeat has him finishing too, keeping you plugged like that for a moment until you come down from the high.
“there’s no way I can sleep after this,” you pout. Xavior huffs out a fond laugh behind you.
“pfft okay, we’ll take a long nap together after the wedding,”
RAFAYEL QI ☆
You wanted to give him something unforgettable for your wedding—something truly special, because he’s been certain about marrying you for as long as you can remember. No exaggeration. And you knew simple nudes wouldn’t cut it.
Until an evil idea pops in your mind. You were no stranger to his “bride kink”. So why don’t you just play with that?
“fuckfuckfuck cutiieee,” he whines pathetically.
his eyes are snapped shut. All he can do is push his stuttering hips flush against yours, feeding your leaking cunt more of his stout inches—all while holding your dress as far away as he can from the mess. Your hole pulses, dribbling out a mixture of your cream and his pre cum that his angry red head can’t stop spilling.
“mngh you’re suuuch an angel—hah!” he grips your thighs, holding them apart as he destroys your overstimulated cunt. “such an angel for letting me fuck this pretty pussy in your wedding dress babymmff—”
He’s made you cum several times—on the pink muscle in his filthy mouth, his slender fingers and even on his pretty cock. And yet, he hasn’t finished once—holding back for lord knows what.
“ra-raf s’enough already!” you whine. It only spurs him more—he buries himself to the hilt, nudging your spongy spot, now swollen from his cruel overstimulation. “we’re gonna be late. Just cum!” your hips chase his as he pulls back and then with a lewd schliiick, slides back home.
“I know I know,” he rasps out too quickly. He’s flushed, dazed. Delirious. And god help you, it’s pushing you closer to that delicious edge. “wanna hold it out. Wanna tattoo the patterns of your pussy walls onto my dick,”
You let out a groan at that, walls fluttering around him in response. He starts moving once again. long brutal strokes, massaging you perfectly, warming you for yet another orgasm.
“I’m gonna cum…” you tell him, your hand coming down to rub your clit. He frowns before swatting your hand away with a pout, replacing it with his.
“me too,” he says fucking finally. “m’gonna fill my pretty little bride up.” he angles his cock to your sweet spot, making you cum so hard that you see stars.
“ohhh baby fuck—!” he groans deep, hips faltering as he spills into you. “take my cum, my pretty bride. Love feeding your womb…” he pumps his load into you, as deep as your body can take it. Until he begins to melt—
you nearly kick him away before he can start again.
“ow! What was that for?” he looks down, momentarily admiring the trail of white dribbling from your hole before he jumps to his feet.
“uh-oh uh-oh!” he grabs a rag and cleans you up in time.
And later, as you walk down the aisle toward him, you both can’t stop breaking into ugly, snotty laughter at the memory.
SYLUS QIN ☆
“boss lady!”
“boss-man’s back!”
The only downside to marrying the leader of Onychinus was the interruptions—even on your wedding day. You believed Sylus when he said you wouldn’t have to dirty your dress over “pests,” that he’d handle it himself. Still, that didn’t stop you from pacing, restless as you waited for him to return.
“how scandalous,” he lets out a rumble of laugh as you fuck yourself on his impossibly fat dick. “my fiancé ravaging her husband-to-be while our guests outside wait for us to be wed,”
“consummating our marriage before we’re even ma—"
“mmffuck! B-be quiet, sylus.” His cockhead brushes against your sweet spot and you keep him there, grinding.
His fingers hook under the blindfold to see that fucked out expression on your face that only his dick manages to poke out of you. “do-don’t! keep it on.” You swat his hand away. He chuckles, holding his hands up in surrender.
“I can’t see you before the ceremony but you can fuck me? you’re only following rules that are conveni—” you silence him with a kiss, teeth sinking into his plump lower lip. He hisses, before kissing you fervently, holding you still as he pistons his cock into you, just where you want it. You sob into his mouth—all which he happily swallows.
He flips the two of you. “sylus don’t take it—”
“mm im hurt, kitten. do you truly think i need to see you to fuck you proper?” with that, he’s dragging you to his hips, sheathing himself back into you.
“sy o-oh!” your voice cracks as you let out a scream—too far gone to care about the people murmuring outside. “m’gonna cum,”
Sylus leans down, his hot breath fanning over your temple. “I know you were worried. But we are getting married.” He promises, his pace slowing to deep, long thrusts—still managing to knock the air out of your lungs. You sob out, nodding in agreement. “right after I make you cream,”
His hips slam into yours, each thrust punching out choked sounds out of you. his fingers find your clit, gathering all that syrup you’ve dribbled for him. and ohhh the way he touches you down there is nothing short of obscene. A stark contrast to your perfect, innocent white wedding dress you’re getting fucked in.
He massages your pussy lips, fingers moving from your wide-stretched hole, to your clit and back down. he parts your slit only to close your puffy pink lips back around his length as he spears into you with reckless abandon.
Your back feels like it snapped in two as you finish, chanting his name. one more thrust into your juicy, quivering hole has him pumping his thick load into you.
“am I to marry you in this?” he plays with the edge of the cloth over his eyes, still huffing.
a mission goes awry when you're infected with a fever virus...and there's only one way to cure you.
warnings: smut, fem!reader, sometime after re4!leon, sex pollen (kind of), possible dubious consent 'cause it's fuck or die but really everyone here wants to be there and consents heartily, feelings realization, confessions, desperate sex turned tender sex, dry humping, fingering, p in v sex, oral (f receiving), leon kennedy one liners, canon-typical violence, a few sneaky references to other re games/movies, fake science i made up
a/n: picture your favorite leon for this. it was just sex pollen but became lots of plot with sex pollen and mush in the second half. what can i say, i'm a lover at heart. just like leon!
--
It starts with bad intel.
The facility is supposed to be abandoned. No bio signatures on the initial recon scan, no movement from hostiles after an extended stakeout, nothing. An abandoned underground lab for an experimental arm of Umbrella, potentially full of important documents on bioweapons research.
Your mission is to gather as much information as possible, should any of the viruses created there pop up on the black market or worse.
Easy, compared to the shit you're usually assigned.
Leon agrees.
Well, you think he agrees. He treats every mission as seriously as the last. You've grown to appreciate his consistency. It makes him easy to trust, which is essential in this line of work.
He's the best partner you've ever had. Thorough, direct, and smart. He never questions your abilities and relies on you just as much as you rely on him.
And, god. He's kind. Funny, too, when he wants to be. One time on a weeklong stakeout in the middle of nowhere, Argentina, he explained to you, in detail, the plot of The Count of Monte Cristo, all because you said you'd never read it. You hadn't even known he liked to read.
He's hard to crack, though. Professional to a fault, more dedicated to the cause than anyone you've ever met. And he's handsome.
How could you not fall in love with him?
You keep your ever-growing feelings to yourself. Asking him if he feels the same isn't worth ruining your partnership, isn't worth being someone else who wants something from him that he maybe can't give. Not when you can have him this way -- at your side with your life in his hands, his in yours.
In some ways, this is more intimate than any regular relationship you've ever had.
You'd spent the chopper ride here watching him as he looked out the window, even though you knew he felt your gaze. He's always doing that, always taking in everything around him with militant attention. You wonder what he sees that most people don't. Connections, patterns, maybe even beauty. You've never asked. Whatever it is has kept him alive this long. It's kept you alive, too.
And so, the mission.
You drop from a very long hatch into dark, stale air. The ladder leaves your hands aching and your shoulders tight, but there's no time for recovery.
Training takes over. Leon leads, with you at his right flank. Flashlights on, service weapon at the ready.
"Stay sharp," he says.
Sometimes you tease him about it, his constant readiness for a threat. But you feel it this time. Something's not right here, scans be damned.
Flecks of dust and grime float through your bright beams. The corridor ends maybe 15 meters in front of you in a set of metal doors, no windows. The security pad on the left side blinks a dull red.
"Emergency power," you say.
It was in the brief as a possibility but not a guarantee. Leon approaches, and you follow, digging into one of your belt pockets for the access card some other agent had to steal last week for this purpose.
"You want to do the honors?" you ask.
Leon shakes his head. "Be my guest."
The red light blinks green with a hover of your hand, and the unlocking mechanisms creak to life. The doors open slowly with a hiss. You're greeted with a dark lobby, dull yellowish lights lining the base of the walls.
"Must be on throughout," Leon says. Sometimes these places are zoned, or some other needlessly complicated system of power distribution. "Hopefully that means doors will keep opening."
He's still tense, arms outstretched to shine his light into the new space, shoulders taut. You feel it too, a prickle at the base of your neck.
"If not, I'm sure the power systems will be super easy to find with no issues," you say lightly.
He huffs, as close to a laugh as you can hope for at the start of a mission, but it's a win.
"Ready?" he asks.
You dip your chin. He glides into the room, clearing one side as you clear the other. There aren't any signs of disturbance, but that's how it goes with these places. The closer you get to the exit, the more normal it seems -- because all of the horrible things happen behind closed doors.
And no one makes it out.
"Clear," Leon calls. You echo it.
There are two single doors that reveal a bathroom hallway and the security office, as well as a set of double doors that resemble the locked entrance, another keypad glowing red at one side. Leon finds a map of the facility in the office and spreads it on the desk.
"That locked door will take us to an elevator that goes down to the labs," he says, tracing the path with a finger under the beam of his flashlight. "Three of them, all on different levels, connected by staircases instead of the elevator shaft, only accessible by keycard and on the other side of an anti-contamination corridor."
"Isolated," you observe. "In case of an outbreak?"
"It's bare bones compared to the other Umbrella stuff we've seen. This must be really out-there shit. Less resources, less of a footprint, less of an issue when it goes wrong."
You try to commit the map to memory. Leon will undoubtedly fold it into one of his pockets, but it's hard to consult a piece of paper when you're running from a B.O.W..
"Greek," Leon mutters. "More creative than T-virus, that's for sure."
This is just like him, surprising you after countless missions as your partner.
"Do you speak Greek, Leon?"
He shrugs.
"Not really." He tightens the strap on his glove, a cue that he's frustrated. You know most of his tells by now. "I don't know the last one. Fire, maybe?"
"Not really, he says," you tease. "What else are you hiding, Kennedy?"
He rolls his eyes at you, but if the lights were on, you're sure you'd see some pink in his cheeks. Battle-hardened agent he may be, Leon S. Kennedy still blushes for you.
If only...
No. You swallow the pang in your chest and roll your shoulders. "Start with B1 and go down, then loop back up?"
It wouldn't be out of the question to divide and conquer, but the slimy unease dripping down your spine prevents you from suggesting it.
He grunts his agreement, eyes still on the map, frowning.
As a pair, you work so well together because of your communication. It took practice, sure, but now you know each other across a crowded room, through the heat of a fight, in the dark. You don't let things go unsaid.
Well, most things, your traitorous heart says.
"Leon," you say. "It feels off, right? We're missing something."
Blue eyes meet yours. He sighs.
"Yeah," he says. "Guess we just have to find out what."
You can't help it -- you put your hand on his bicep and squeeze just a little, holding his gaze. His fringe hangs in his eyes. In another life, you'd push it back.
"Be careful, okay?" you ask him, faces so close you can feel his breath.
Leon got shot on your second ever mission together. It was a clean wound, through and through, except for the fact that he'd already been shot in that shoulder back in Raccoon City. The bullet fucked up the already fragile joint, so he needed surgery and was benched for six weeks (he was back at your side in four).
There was nothing you could have done. It was nobody's fault. But you felt responsible for waylaying your new partner, who was one of the most well-known agents in the whole damn place, so you went to see him in the hospital to alleviate your guilt.
"They have you with anyone while I'm out?" he asked you.
They did, actually, but hadn't told you who. Leon was troubled by it.
"Well, be careful," he said, as if he didn't trust anyone else to watch your back, even then.
"Only as careful as you," you replied, pointing at his shoulder.
That was the first time you made Leon Kennedy laugh.
Now, it's something you say to each other in the field. A mantra, a reminder, a promise.
Leon gives you a small smile.
"Only as careful as you," he replies, like he always does. We keep each other safe.
You release him and busy your hand at your belt immediately, god forbid you touch him more.
He rolls his shoulders back and checks the chamber of his sidearm.
"Into the depths, huh?"
"Into the depths."
--
Level B1: MENIS
The elevator opens to a dead contamination chamber. Nothing happens as you walk through the three zones where you'd expect to be scanned, doused, and dried. Another set of metal doors opens with a hiss when you tap the keycard. The smell of death hits your nose and makes your eyes water.
There are at least 10 bodies piled on the other side, most of them in pieces.
"Fuck," you curse, sidestepping a caved-in head.
"Looks like the party started without us," Leon says quietly.
"Great," you mutter. "God, that's nasty."
There aren't any claw marks or avid stains or other tell-tale signs of B.O.W.'s you see with this caliber of violence. One look at Leon and you know he's realized the same thing. You tilt your head down the hall. He nods, following your lead deeper into the floor.
Red emergency lights pulse along the base of the walls, illuminating the blood splattered pretty much everywhere. You pass the occasional corpse, most of them so horribly disfigured it's hard to tell if they were staff or test subjects or something else.
There are so many things you want to say, but you keep them to yourself until Leon leads you to the floor's main office. You slide in but don't relax.
"They look like they were torn apart," you say as soon as the door is closed. Leon frowns at you, since you didn't clear the room first, but it's a square office. You can see all the corners from where you're standing.
"I know," he replies. "But no sign of what did it."
You sigh. "So, are you going to tell Hunnigan the location survey was wrong, or should I?"
"I think I've run out of my 'bad news' calls for the year," he says. "That one's all yours once we get topside."
"How generous of you."
Leon smirks. "I'm a giver."
The office is small and the computers are dead. There are papers scattered around, so you divide and conquer.
You find an official logbook. Mostly in-the-weeds science stuff, but you skim until you find a change in handwriting.
LOG #57:
Development continues under new staff. Blood transmission remains the only method that carries enough sample to infect a host; airborne tests were unsuccessful. Vaccine/suppressant formulas abandoned for the time being after we were told that our subject supply would be steady. B2 wants to set one of theirs against one of ours, which seems pointless because any B1 subject will win that fight. B3 is a joke, but they're insistent that it'll work.
No vaccine...that's not good news. But what were they actually testing here? Infecting people with what?
You flip more pages until you find something that makes your blood run cold.
LOG #63:
We've finally gotten a host to survive. B2 and B3 are nowhere near this. We won't be sharing. Their subjects die within hours. B3 is practically useless, anyway. What use is controlling people if they die on you in an hour? But here, we've cracked it. I managed to figure out how to get the virus to work with the host's adrenaline production, stabilizing it into a constant state of fight or flight without short-circuiting the nervous system. If this batch survives the week, we'll ask permission to start on the suppressant. Once we have that, we'll be able to control the whole herd. The future of hostile takeover is here! Now, if only they'd let us out of this fucking dungeon more often…
Holy shit. They were making viruses to infect large populations, to control them. But using what? Changing their brain chemicals, making them reliant on suppressants? Leon told you about this kind of manipulation, how it infiltrated a military unit and even made its way to the White House a few years ago. Who knows how far they got this time?
"Leon," you call, turning with the folder in your hands. "You should look at this --"
You make eye contact and fall silent. He's got his finger over his lips and his gun at the ready.
You toss the papers aside and take your place on the other side of the door.
That's when you hear it.
Groans, grunts, screams. Footsteps -- a lot of them.
He holds your gaze.
Clear the chokepoint, get into the lab rooms down the hall around the corner, make for the stairwell on the other side of the floor.
That's what you'd do, so you know it's what he's thinking, too. No confirmation needed.
The door bursts open. You duck, missing the arms reaching for your neck. It's dark in here, but you rely on muscle memory and gravity to sweep the zombie's legs out from under it and stomp on its head while you fire at the next one.
The attackers are -- well, they look mostly human. But their eyes are wild, blood running down their faces like tears, pink foam and spit dripping from their mouths.
Leon's movements are sharp and decisive. Headshot, parry, twist. Uppercut, knee sweep, headshot. He occupies the air around you like he's magnetized to your movements, always filling the space where you aren't, ceding room when you need it. After hours upon hours of mat practice between the two of you and hundreds of field opportunities to master it, you work together like a well-oiled machine.
It's exhilarating.
You're forced back from the door, but you keep firing, slicing, covering each other. It's essential that you get into the hall sooner rather than later to avoid being trapped in this room.
A zombie rips the arm off another in its attempt to get to you. That's new.
"What the fuck were they doing with this shit?" Leon grunts. He's splattered with blood now. No doubt you are too.
"That's what I was going to tell you before our party of two got crashed," you say between shots.
"They wanted to control people."
"Yeah, this sure looks like control to me!"
"We have to clear it or we'll have to fight through on our way back up."
Leon grunts his agreement. "They're not biting." His aim is true, as always. He downs two, three, four infected. "They just want to rip us apart!"
"We need to go into the hall. Cover me," you say, dodging bloody fingers and sliding through the door. "Switching weapons!"
Your assault rifle is strapped to your back. You holster your pistol and reach around for it, but something catches your jacket and pulls.
The fabric tears. For a split second, you worry your flesh will be next, but then the tug disappears. Leon grunts and he breaks the neck of whatever had you.
You keep your gaze on the approaching pack, maybe 10 or 15 strong. Leon keeps taking them down while you holster your pistol and check the new cartridge.
"Gonna need to reload in a second here," he calls. "Six left. Five. Four --"
"Ready," you shout. Leon stabs a zombie in the neck and walks behind it, using it as a wall against reaching fingers until he's at your side again. He tears his knife free and slides beside you, solid, ready.
You open fire.
That's all it takes. The hallway is soon empty and bloodier than before. All you can hear is your combined panting.
Leon lowers his gun. "Nice job," he says.
You drop yours, too. "What was this floor called again? Menace?"
"Basically," he says, slamming in a new clip. "Divine wrath or anger."
"No shit." You look down at the tear in your jacket. "God damnit, this is my favorite."
Leon checks his chamber. "I'll get you a new one," he says.
You laugh. He almost smiles, like that was his goal all along.
The rest of the floor is mostly clear. A few stragglers here and there, but they're no match for the two of you. The containment chambers seem to be where the infected gathered in the months since this facility went dark -- the walls are covered in scratch marks.
"I can't believe they didn't kill each other," Leon says with mild disgust. "Not having control of yourself like that...I wouldn't wish it on anyone."
You've read the report from Spain. He knows how it feels.
"Do you think they're aware?" you wonder aloud.
He looks so sad for a moment that you almost reach for him. "I hope not."
--
Level B2: KAMATOS
The stairwell is a mess. The door to B2 is barricaded, but you manage to get through after slamming your shoulders against it over and over.
This floor is quiet, but in a different way than upstairs. Years of field-trained instincts tell you there's nothing left alive on this floor. That, and it made a hell of a lot of noise getting the door open, and nothing popped out.
It's dustier down here, like things have been still for longer.
"What's this one mean?" you ask. "This virus."
"Extreme fatigue," Leon tells you.
"So if they controlled adrenaline levels on the first floor to make them angry, they're depriving people of sleep on this floor?"
He shrugs. "Maybe they found a way to keep the brain awake without killing it."
They did not.
The documents you find suggest the virus was a failure. The bodies you find confirm it. Hosts died from heart failure, self-inflicted wounds, a number of things, no matter what the scientists did to keep the mind from giving up. All by depriving them of sleep.
Being so tired that you see no other way out…
The horror of it all rises in your throat. You leave Leon with the corpses so you can press your forehead to the cool hallway wall.
This job asks a lot of you. Your time, your well-being. Your security, your personal relationships, your hobbies. It's overwhelming and can bury a person. The things you see, the things you do -- it gets to you. It’s easy to shove it down, to pretend like you're untouchable, but that's no way to live, either.
Sometimes you just have to feel it.
These poor people.
Leon's hand is light on your shoulder. Not patronizing, not rushing, just there. Warm, solid.
You take a deep breath, then stand up straight.
"Let's take a quick break before the last floor," Leon says.
"I'm fine."
You turn to face him, but he's already crouching, back against the wall.
He grins, a real smile this time. It makes him look younger. "Who said it was for you?"
It's like he's giving you permission to put it all down for a second. To forget where you are, why you're there, what you're doing. Leon's guard is rarely fully down, and right now he's telling you that he's got you. Rest for a second, I'll take care of us.
He's proven to you over and over that he will.
So you smile back, shaky but genuine. "Getting old, Kennedy?"
"Something like that." He looks up at you, grin softening into something fond. "Do you remember Greece?"
You slide down the wall to his level. "Do I remember Greece? Be serious. How could I forget --"
"All those stairs," Leon finishes. "Exactly."
It was last year in the height of summer. A small, sleepy cliffside town, except for the fact that a scummy billionaire moved into the monastery and started developing B.O.W.'s in the catacombs.
The town was evacuated. You were sent in to apprehend the guy and secure whatever virus he was using. It turned into three days of running up and down stone staircases away from bats with tentacles and lizards with thousands of teeth where you wouldn't expect teeth to be.
Over the course of your partnership, you've seen each other in all states, but you've never seen Leon as exhausted as he was after that mission.
"I thought I was going to have to carry you to the rendezvous point," you remind him. "You fell down so many stairs."
Leon rubs his knees as if remembering the way they smacked stone over and over.
"And you would have," he says.
He catches your gaze and holds it. He's reminding you that you're in this together. That he trusts you, something you do not take lightly. It's hard to know who you can trust in this job, even your very own employer, but he never doubts you. You never doubt him.
The familiar ache of everything you feel for him sits warm and heavy on your chest. He's the best man you've ever known.
"I would have," you say.
Leon dips his chin, his mouth curling into a smaller smile than before, but this one is just as fond.
"We should go back," you say without meaning to.
It surprises him, but he hides it well.
"That would be nice," he muses. "I don't know the last time I took a vacation."
"We could go to the beach," you continue. It's scarily easy to imagine -- Leon in swim trunks, cheeks pink from the sun. "Stay at the bottom of the stairs and not walk up a single one."
"But you liked the monastery," he reminds you. "We'd have to go back up to see the windows."
Of course he remembers how you'd looked up in awe at the stained glass, gun in your hand and blood on your face.
"I'll climb up by myself. You can relax."
Leon sighs. "Relax," he says. "I don't even know if I know how to do that."
"You're good at everything," you say. "You'll pick it up in no time."
Whatever game this is, you're having too much fun playing it. Leon doesn't lie to you, so while he might be indulging you, there's a part of him that means all of this. He has to know that you mean it, too.
He stands and offers you his hand.
"One more floor," he says. "Then we can go to Greece."
--
Level B3: PYRETOS
The hit comes out of nowhere.
Maybe you're distracted by talk of vacation, or your guard is down after the silence of B2, but you don't see it coming. One second you're rounding the corner, the next you're flying backwards through glass, back slamming against a cabinet. You land heavily on the ground, more glass and something wet raining down on you.
Leon yells your name.
You try to catch your breath, but it's stuck in your chest. He's still calling for you in between gunshots.
"Fuck," you croak, finally finding air. You roll onto your side. Glass crunches under your weight as you try to figure out what the hell just happened.
Everything hurts, but you try to shake it off and push up to standing. Leon hauls himself through the broken window. He begins to clear the room after he sees you on your feet.
"Clear. That was one ugly son of a bitch," he says. "Must have gotten down here from upstairs."
You open your mouth to say something, anything, but the words catch in your throat.
Something isn't right.
Your skin feels tight, like you already went on vacation and got burned to a crisp. Your pulse won't slow. Deep breaths feel impossible. Strangest of all, it's almost like –
Well, your core is buzzing. You press your legs together and try not to panic.
In the early days, after Leon got shot but well before Greece, you hid an injury from him.
You took a knife to the ribs during a fight. It wasn't too deep, but it was wide and bleeding steadily. Adrenaline allowed you to get through it. You figured you could patch yourself up the next time you slowed. But Leon pushed on ahead, and you followed without saying anything.
That is, until you left a bloody handprint on a door. He stopped immediately.
"Is that yours?" he said. "Where are you hurt?"
"It's nothing," you protested. But Leon S. Kennedy does not give up easily.
"Show me," he said, pulling out bandages from his hip pouch. "When did this happen?"
"I'm not compromised," you said, even as you lifted your jacket to show him.
"I know you aren't," he said. "I want to know when you're hurt so I can make sure you're okay."
"I'm fine," you said weakly. He patched you up quickly and thoroughly.
"We're partners," he told you. "We have to help each other."
Here, now, you don’t hide from him.
"Leon," you croak. "Something's wrong. I think I --"
He's at your side in an instant, so close your breath hitches. Why are you so affected by him? Why are you so warm?
"The rip in your jacket," Leon says. "Your arm is bleeding."
"Liquid," you gasp. "It felt wet when I hit the cabinet."
The pieces come together. Shattered vials at your feet, an empty cabinet behind you. The dull red emergency lights make it hard to tell what color the puddle is, but you know it can't be good.
"They wouldn't keep a virus out in the open, would they?" you ask weakly. You're shaking now, shivering even though you don't feel cold.
"Fever," he breathes. "Pyretos. It means fever."
You've rarely seen Leon afraid. He's human, so it happens, but normally he faces things head-on without complaint.
Right now, he looks terrified. That scares you more than anything.
"Leon," you whisper. "What do we do?"
He snaps into action. He hands you a roll of bandages.
"Wrap it," he says. He presses a few buttons on his watch until it beeps. Setting a timer, no doubt. Just in case. "How do you feel? Describe it to me."
"Feverish," you say. "But not dizzy. I can think clearly."
Leon starts to dig around the lab, tearing open drawers and rifling through what he finds. The office on this floor wasn't in the same place as the other two, so any information must be in here, right?
"What else?"
You follow his lead, desperately searching for anything helpful. How do you explain the fact that your entire body is pulsing with a very specific kind of need? It scares you, feeling this out of control physically while also being in your right mind.
You land on achey. The buzzing under your skin gets worse every minute you spend looking and finding fuck all.
"There's nothing here," he says, frustrated. "Shit."
You're thinking the same thing: no vaccines. Any hope for you is in this lab.
But then -- your eye catches on a cabinet sitting on deep grooves in the floor.
"There's a door," you tell him, already heading for it. A wave of need hits you so suddenly that you have to brace yourself on the wall to catch your breath. Leon brushes by you. The slight contact has you swallowing a moan.
Jesus Christ.
He shoves the cabinet aside. Behind it is a door that opens into the lab office, as dark as the others.
You follow him in and start searching the shelves. Leon drags a table into the perfect place to effectively barricade you in.
"We don't have time to be interrupted right now," he says. He starts searching the desk.
You're sweating now. If this thing is going to turn you, Leon can't be here for it. You don't want him to see it. "Maybe you should go back to the surface --"
"I'm not leaving you," he interrupts. It's sharp, final.
"But if I turn--"
Leon whirls around. "I'm not leaving you," he says again.
Your nose stings. It's not the rational choice, but it's the Leon Kennedy choice. You can't help but be grateful for it.
He returns to the papers. Everywhere your clothing touches your skin feels heavy, almost painful. Your skin is sensitive, your throat dry, breath still fast.
You're so turned on, you think you might explode. It's all you can do to just stand there and try to keep it together.
"I found something," Leon says. He says nothing else. It's hard to see his expression in the dark without being close to him. You don't know if you can handle that right now.
"Bad news, doc?"
He swallows and begins to read.
"In an effort to bend the subject to commands, a fever is introduced via the bloodstream that increases testosterone and dopamine to near-unbearable levels of arousal. We have successfully altered the balance to allow the mind to be unaffected, making the reaction purely physical. The fever, if detected and combated within 1 hour, can be reduced by repeated bursts of oxytocin until the subject's internal temperature returns to normal. Required oxytocin levels seem to vary by subject; no pattern discernible at this time."
"What the fuck does that mean?" you pant. Your skin feels too tight. You still can't take a full breath. Control is becoming a missed opportunity. "Do I have a sex fever?"
No answer.
"Leon."
He exhales sharply.
"I think you need to be touched," he says. "To release the chemical that will help you fight this on your own."
Your responding laugh edges on hysterical.
"I do have a sex fever. So, what, you're going to hug me and hope I don't die?"
"I could," he says. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "I just don't think it'll be enough. This says bursts, and a lot of them. The best way to trigger that kind of response is --"
It clicks in your mind.
"Orgasm," you whisper. "Oh, god."
Leon closes his eyes for a second too long.
"I don't know what to do," he admits. He looks at his watch. "It's been 10 minutes. I don't know what--"
"I'm so sorry," you breathe. The gravity of your situation is like a bucket of cold water. If only it actually made you feel cold. You have to fuck your partner or die. What kind of sick joke is this? "Leon, I'm so sorry. You don't have to do anything, this is my fault --"
He tosses the file onto the table.
"I'm not going to let you die," he says with all his usual conviction. He really believes it, and it makes it easier for you to believe it, too. "Not when there's something I can do about it."
"But not like this," you croak. "This is --"
"I know."
God, you wish the lights were on. You want to see every detail of his face to discern what he's feeling. Can you ask him to do this? Will it ruin everything forever?
A tremor wracks through you. You have to brace yourself on the desk.
He yanks open drawers until he finds a thermometer. It beeps alive, somehow, and he holds it up to your forehead.
"Shit," he mutters.
"What?"
Leon flips the device to show you the screen. 103.2.
"Shit," you echo.
Your brain is going to cook in your skull sooner rather than later. You swallow frustrated tears along with your pride.
"I'm so wet," you whisper. It's the lewdest thing you've ever said to him. "I can feel it."
Leon inhales sharply, standing ever-so-still just next to you, just out of reach.
The pain radiates through you, molten lava in your veins. It's strange to be able to think so clearly. You want Leon as badly as you always do. That's bearable. But the pain. The heat. It's something else, something all-consuming.
You need him to touch you.
"Please don't make me beg," you whimper, turning towards him.
"Jesus," he mutters, filling the space you make for him. His hands find your face. You groan. The contact is like a balm, even through his gloves.
"Oh god."
You nuzzle into his palms. It's like you can feel the battle in your blood, the virus doing its best to cook you from the inside out, but Leon's touch is giving you a foothold, a reprieve.
If it wasn't so awful, you'd laugh at the idea that you're so horny you might die.
"Whatever you need, I'll do," he says. His voice is already hoarse. "But just -- you have to tell me if it's not okay. And I'll stop. We'll figure something else out."
You lean back on the desk and grab his elbows. You've touched plenty, but never like this. Never loaded with all of the unspoken things between you, never with such desperation.
"It's okay," you tell him. "Whatever it takes, it's okay. I trust you."
His thigh slides between your legs.
"Can you forgive me? If I do this?" he whispers, lips so close to yours. You lean forward on instinct, pulled to him by more than just the fire in your core.
"There's nothing to forgive," you say, and then you're kissing.
What you need is an orgasm, but this is something you've wondered about for a long time. Something you've wanted. It almost feels selfish to take it now.
But, fuck, it's good.
He's not shy. You trace the seam of his lips with your tongue. He opens for you immediately, licking into your mouth as he pulls you forward and onto his thigh.
His kisses are desperate, exposing his worry, but also tender, exposing his care. You're in good hands, hands you love.
Even through your pants, the pressure of your cunt on his thigh is enough to steal your breath.
"God," you gasp.
"Not quite," Leon says, kissing a path from your mouth down your neck. "Does that help?"
You grind down on him in reply. His palms have made their way to your hips, aiding you in your quest for pressure on your core.
It's too much. It's not enough. But still, the coil tightens. "Sorry, I just need --"
You chase it, grinding down on his thigh even harder, panting into his neck. You're close, you can feel it. You're chasing it, that snap, that reward. Leon just lets you take and take and take.
You thread your fingers through his hair, panting into his neck. When you tug just a little, he bounces his leg and you keen.
"More, please."
It only takes three more bounces before you're coming, shudders ripping through you, his name on your lips.
When you return to your body, Leon is dragging his palm up and down your back.
"Did you just--"
You're becoming very familiar with the fabric of his shoulder, his leather harness pressing into your cheek.
"Mhm," you manage.
There's a world where you're embarrassed. In that world, you asked Leon out for dinner and then up to your place after. In that world, you made out on the couch and ground down on his thigh until you came. In that world, he laughed with you, utterly charmed, and it was the beginning of something wonderful.
In this one, he gently tilts you back so he can check your temperature with the thermometer.
"Holy shit," he breathes. "102.1. It worked."
You don't feel that different, but the number doesn't lie.
Leon is panting, too. "More?"
You nod. Your cunt aches like you didn't have an orgasm at all.
He tugs off a glove with his teeth, dropping it god knows where.
"Don't know how clean my hands are," he says.
A laugh bursts out of you, but it sounds close to a sob.
Two fingers go in his mouth faster than you can open yours. He doesn't waste too much time wetting them, given how turned on you already are, but he gives them a good suck. A trail of spit hangs from his lip when he finishes.
You work at the buttons of your pants, unbuckling your tactical belt. It clangs onto the desk behind you. Leon slides his hand down under the waistband of your panties. You collapse into him with a guttural moan.
"Leon," you gasp. He holds you up, no problem, even as you go utterly boneless at just his fingers in your folds.
"You weren't kidding," he says, breathy. "You are wet."
"I'm sorry," you pant into his shoulder.
"Please don't say sorry again," he groans. "I can't take it."
"Can I say thank you?"
"That's worse," he says, sliding two fingers into you at the same time. "I just wish it wasn't like this, is all."
The absurdity of the whole thing makes it hard to keep your emotional walls high. What's the point? You're having sex with your partner to save your life in an underground Umbrella laboratory. You're way past keeping your emotions from him.
So you hear his words for what they are. For what he's not saying.
"Oh, yeah?" He curls his fingers and you groan, arching into him. "You have something you want to tell me, Kennedy?"
"Little late for that."
He presses his lips to your jaw, but you pull back so you can see his eyes. He's flushed, his pupils taking over almost all of the blue you love so dearly.
"I always want to know how you feel," you tell him. It's honest, raw, perhaps out of place when he's knuckle deep in your cunt.
"Fuck," he breathes, like eye contact is enough to undo him.
"I just want to help you," he says. "I always want to help you when you need it." He picks up the pace with his fingers. "I like being the guy who has your back."
His thumb circles your clit. It’s all you can do to hang onto his shoulders and ride it out as he keeps talking.
"I want to give you everything you've ever wanted," he says. "I miss you when you leave the room. I trust you more than anyone I've ever met."
"Oh, Leon," you gasp, grinding down onto his hand. "Me too. Me too."
He scrapes his teeth along your neck. "Yeah?"
"Yes, yes, yes --"
The orgasm washes over you. You clench around him over and over. He carefully pulls his hand from your panties and licks his fingers. Good god.
Something has shifted between you. It's still about the mission, about breaking your fever, but now it's more. It's more, because you both want it.
Leon leans in for a kiss. You meet him halfway, tasting yourself on his lips.
Beep.
"101.3," he says.
You push his hair back from his forehead. "Is that low enough?"
This time, you do feel a bit different. Maybe it's the confirmation that Leon has feelings for you, but your muscles feel more relaxed, your skin less taut. The need still burns, though.
"There's no way to say this without sounding like a creep," he says wryly. "But I think you should have a few more."
You drag your hands up and down his torso, but your gaze lands on his makeshift barricade.
"Do we think we have time?"
Even as you ask, you're toeing off your boots and shoving your pants down. Leon is quick to help you.
"If anything comes through that door," he says, fingers hooked in your underwear, "I can kill it with my eyes closed."
He hooks his hand under your thighs and helps you up onto the desk fully, sweeping everything onto the ground.
"So could you," he adds. You hum in agreement. Your hand returns to his torso, trailing it down to the front of his pants.
He's hard.
It's not entirely a surprise, but you're pleased.
"I know, I'm sorry, it's kind of fucked up --" he tries. You don't let it get very far.
"Don't you apologize," you say. "You're allowed to want, Leon. I promise you, whatever you want, you can have. You already do."
His answer to that is a kiss, not searing and heated like before, but soft and slow. Like he's memorizing you, learning every inch of your mouth just because he can.
A wave of heat rolls through you, so intense and unexpected that you have to close your eyes and grit your teeth against the pain.
Leon rubs your back and tells you to breathe, it's okay, you're going to be okay.
The heat dulls. "How long has it been?" you ask through gritted teeth, eyes still shut.
"26 minutes."
His thumbs stroke your cheeks, helping you come back to yourself.
"Are you okay to keep going?" he asks. "I'll do whatever you want."
You reach for his belt with shaking hands. Not because you don't want him, or because you're scared, but because you need him. You need him to survive. This was just as true before you got infected as it is now. And you have him.
He has you.
Leon lets you unbuckle his pants as he undoes his harness and his tactical pouches. They both fall to the ground.
You take him in hand and he hisses. His cock is warm, another layer of heat against your already burning skin. His hips jerk when you stroke him root to tip.
His fingers circle your wrist to stop you.
"Another time," he says. He kisses your chin. "Okay?"
There will be another time. Leon doesn't say things he doesn't mean, so you take it to heart. This will happen again.
It's not exactly romantic, the way you lean back on some long-dead bioterrorist's desk naked from the waist down, Leon's pants shoved down his thighs and his cock in his hand. But it's what you've got, and it's what you'll take.
You spread your legs for him. He sucks in air like a man just saved from drowning.
"Ready?" he asks. You feel his tip at your entrance and can't swallow the moan that rips from your throat in the shape of his name. He wastes no more time sinking into you in one stroke.
You come immediately, legs wrapped around his hips. You might scream, it's hard to tell. But you're so full and it finally feels right. Like you've been missing something all along and finally found it.
Leon says your name over and over, like a mantra, like a prayer.
"I wish I could see you properly," he says, voice breaking. "I wish –
His hips jerk forward even though he's bottomed out. He leans forward until he's bracing his forearms on either side of your head, brushing your nose with his. He's right. It's hard to see him fully in the red-washed office.
"You know what I look like," you tell him.
"Not like this," he shakes his head. "Not like this."
"You're doing so good," you say, lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Leon, it feels so good --"
It's a strange sensation to feel your blood cooling while he's inside you, to regain control of your body just as you surrender your heart.
Leon starts to move his hips, a slow drag at first, but it quickly becomes a snap. You dig your fingers into his biceps and hold on. You can hear how wet you are as he fucks you.
The coil in your core tightens again. "Leon," you moan. "I'm gonna--"
He kisses you, hips slowing to a grind. He reaches between you with one hand to find your clit and give it some messy circles.
"Go ahead," he says against your mouth. "I can take it."
Your cunt clenches around him. Tears prick in your eyes not from overstimulation but from everything else -- the heat in your veins, the tenderness of his hold, the way he's kissing you as you fall apart, swallowing your gasps.
"So beautiful," he says. And god, it sounds like he means it. Half-dressed, sweaty and bandaged, he means it.
Leon goes back to shallow thrusts, but they're becoming more erratic.
"How many is that?"
"Four," Leon says.
"Are you..."
He nods. "I'm close."
His forehead is damp from the effort. You wipe it with the heel of your hand.
"It's okay," you tell him. "It's okay, Leon. You can --"
You tighten your legs around him to hold him inside.
His breath hitches, but he picks up the pace without argument.
The smack of your flesh fills the room. The only thing on your mind is Leon Leon Leon.
The noise he makes just before he comes inside you is a punched-out whine of your name. He stills above you entirely, eyes screwed shut in pleasure.
"So beautiful," you echo. "So beautiful, Leon."
He keeps his weight off you but presses his face into your neck as he catches his breath.
"Fuck," he says. "How do you feel?"
You need to check your temperature, but remarkably better. The heat in your veins is an expected one. You can feel sweat cooling on your skin. The incessant need in your cunt has dulled to a satiated ache.
"Still alive." You kiss him chastely, considering he's still inside you.
"Let me check -- where the hell did that thing go?"
He pulls out. You both hiss just a bit, but he finds the thermometer on the ground.
Beep.
"98.3," Leon says. "That's normal."
You feel boneless and make no move to get up from the desk. If you did, you'd surely make a mess.
"Finally, something normal about today."
Leon tucks his cock back into his briefs, buttons his pants. He drags his hands up and down your thighs.
"Can I clean you up?" he asks.
Even though you now know how he feels, know that he wants you just as much as you want him, he's done so much for you today. Your temperature is back to normal. You still need to make it back to the surface.
"You don't need to," you say. "Just...give me a clean bandage, or something --"
"Let me do this for you," he interrupts. Begs, really, already getting on his knees between your legs. "One more. Just to be safe."
The heat that builds is nothing like the wild, uncontrollable fire of before. This is all you, all Leon.
The fact that he wants his mouth on you, wants to lick his own come from your cunt.
"Okay," you breathe. You thread your fingers through his hair. He preens.
He kisses the inside of your thigh and pushes your legs wider.
Maybe you should feel exposed, but you don't. You feel wanted. You feel safe.
Leon pulls your folds open with his thumbs. He starts with long licks with the flat of his tongue along your seam, flicking your clit when he reaches the top. But your entrance quickly becomes his focus, and suddenly he's a man possessed.
He laps up his own release as it drips from you, humming when you tug on his hair. He hardly comes up for air, but you know he's paying attention to your reactions based on the way he moves his mouth. He sucks on your clit. Your hips buck, so he does it again.
"Leon," you gasp. How is it possible that you're going to come again? But you feel it, the rising tide in your core. All it takes is a glance down to find him watching you, soaking in whatever he can see in the dim light.
He keeps his mouth on you through your final orgasm. This time, a few tears leak from your eyes. Your breath evens out and your heartbeat actually slows the way you expect it to. The fever is broken, you're certain of it.
"Just to be safe," you say to the ceiling. "You just wanted to show me how good you were at that."
Leon wipes his face with the back of his hand.
"I like to be thorough," he replies. He stands, drags your underwear and pants up with him.
"Are you okay? How are the symptoms?"
"I think so." You scoot forward on the table so he can pull your clothes over your hips. "It doesn't feel like a fever anymore."
"What does it feel like?"
Your legs are a little shaky, but you stand and wrap your arms around him. You've just had sex to save your life, but you don't know if you've ever hugged Leon before.
"It feels like you," you tell him, cheek pressed to his shoulder.
Leon stills, but you can hear his heartbeat pick up. He envelops you in his embrace, lips pressed against your temple, his inhale shaky.
"I'm glad," he whispers. "I'm so fucking glad."
He's hidden his fear from you so well this whole time, but you saw the look on his face when he realized you were infected. You hug him tighter, willing the fear to leave him. You're okay. You're here, in his arms. He saved you.
"What now?" you ask. You turn in his arms. He releases you so you can reach for your tactical belt.
"We get out of here in one piece," he says. "We get you to medical."
"Fucking medical," you mutter. You shove your foot back in your discarded boot.
"I won't leave you there," Leon says. They could keep you for days, but you know he means it. "Then I'll take you home. And we'll sleep for days."
You almost forget that you don't have to keep your feelings from him. You let the joy take over your face. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," he says, a little sheepish. "If you want to."
"I want to," you assure him. "I want to."
You'll have to talk about this, surely. The way it changes your partnership, how to navigate field work. There is so much to learn about him. What he's like on a quiet morning at home instead of a stakeout. The noises you can pull from him in a real bedroom. His face when you tell him you love him.
The future is bright.
Leon buckles his harness. He laughs to himself, tearing you from your thoughts.
"What?"
He straightens your belt and grins crookedly, boyish and lovely.
"Are you writing this into the mission report, or am I?"
I figured I should probably make a separate masterlist for the Dad!Leon universe. There's just so much lore at this point.
Main Series: Cooperative Parenting (completed)
[RE4 Leon Kennedy x fem!reader]
Summary: You and Leon have been broken up for a long time but you still co-parent. After your daughter's seventh birthday party, things got a little heated. But it's fine, right? domestic!Leon
part 1 - Cooperative Parenting (nsfw)
part 2 - The Callback
part 3 - Chemistry Read
part 4 - The Rehearsal
part 5 - Laundry (nsfw)
part 6 - Ballet (nsfw)
part 7 - Pandora
part 8 - Cut the Show
part 9 - Territorial (nsfw)
part 9b - Filthy Martinis
part 10 - Teeth (nsfw)
part 11 - Chicken Tenders
part 12 - Don't tell me (nsfw)
part 13 - Olive
part 14 - Village
Epilogue - Flying the Nest (RE9 Leon)
Prequel: A Calculated Risk (miniseries)
[Rookie Leon x pregnant reader]
Summary: You find out you're pregnant—the night before Leon leaves for Raccoon City in September 1998.
part 1 - A Calculated Risk
Spin Offs
Mermaids (requested, Dad!Leon, fluff)
Stealthy (requested, Dad!Leon smut) [coming soon]
Second Daughters (requested, RE9 Leon x mom!reader, Grace Ashcroft x fem!OC) [coming soon]
notes. i offer profttore headcanons while i suffer on this train ride home for not packing extra lead to fill my damn pencil.. the one time i bring the damn portable battery it’s at the price of art supplies; blue pill red pill situation i guess or whatever
tw. semi-public sex, cockwarming, edging, degradation, praise, manipulation, sex toys, dumbification, oral ( dottore receiving ), hickeys, asphyxiation, deepthroating, size kink if you squint, age gap ( not too much but yeah ), possessiveness?
professor!dottore x gn!reader.
prof!dottore that’s being handed papers or having full blown conversations with colleagues while you’re underneath his desk, warming his cock with your mouth. make sure you don’t do anything funny, or it’ll cost you your final grade!
prof!dottore who makes you study by asking you questions while he’s balls deep inside of you, edging you by demanding descriptive and accurate responses.. unless you don’t want to cum?
prof!dottore who gives you after school tutoring but he’s fucking you beyond comprehension; what else does he want you to retain other than him? yet the man still has the audacity to inquire about the material you were supposed to be going over afterwards.
prof!dottore who notices your akademiya robes hugging your figure just a little more than it should, dropping things to bend down and pick them up with this look of innocence that he quickly fucks out of you once the last bell rings and it’s just the two of you in his office that he calls you to.
prof!dottore who watches you stumble into class the next day, inquiring in that pitying voice what kind of ‘after school activities’ you overexerted yourself with despite knowing full well what said activities were and who was responsible for them.
prof!dottore who dual wields praise and degradation in a way that has your insides fluttering like crazy even without his touches or presence.
prof!dottore that hovers over you while you study, articulating whispered concepts in such a backhanded way that has you clenching around absolutely nothing and fighting back every urge to grind against the seat. and when you dare glance up at him as though to question what he meant by what he was saying, he merely stared back as though having spoken about something as mundane as the weather or the gossip from the cafeteria.
prof!dottore that backs you up against the wall while no one is around or looking, capturing your chin in between his leather-clad fingers to pull your collar to the side while he presses a kiss long enough to leave behind a mark only known between the two of you.
prof!dottore who has papers to correct at home, and subjects you to warming his cock because you begged for something.. so he proposed this option until he finishes. but if you get, hm, a little daring — it’s the toy for you and if there’s a setting, it’s the lowest possible one. move again, and you’re getting zip out of him.
prof!dottore who sees you laughing with your fellow alumni, brushing them lightheartedly with the quickest, unnoticeable glance his way to see if he was looking, and orders you sternly to stay behind after class for ‘disrupting’. it was needless to say that you almost stayed home the next day after having your back blown out, were it not for his strict attendance looming so cruelly over your head. “mm, you wouldn’t want to be a bad student by sullying that beautiful record of yours, would you? it’d be so humiliating as well to be unable to answer my questions the following day, too..”
prof!dottore who could either pet your hair so sweetly while you give him head, or pull so cruelly, making sure to leave you gagging on his cock. and if it can’t fit all the way, don’t you worry — he’ll make sure it does.
prof!dottore who has to fight back from bending you over the damn table in the middle of class when you say sir, doctor or professor zandik in a way that shouldn’t be said in front of so many — knowing none of you could do anything until much later.
prof!dottore who plops himself down on your desk while he leans over to explain something, thighs mere centimeters away from brushing your hand — not to mention his ass.
prof!dottore who sends you off to class with a toy he’d made for stuffing you, controlling the pace from underneath his desk with the remote he designed to pair with it. it fluctuates in intensity, but he always brings it back to the slowest pace before you can quite finish or fall apart among your fellow classmates.
prof!dottore who can only hum and smirk to himself when you cry about him being too much or too big, but he just pushes himself deeper into you, purring ever so cruelly into your ear that you were so confident before about taking him, so you could surely live up to that provocation.
prof!dottore who has ruined you for anyone else because who else could fuck you as good as he could?
notes. bless im finally home as im posting this, fuck my stomach hurts so bad uwuueueeu save me doctor please i need this pain to cease
tysm for reading! consider leaving a tip if you enjoyed<3
↳ return to main masterlist . request rules . send an ask
𝟏𝟖+ 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢 | he sends you a voice message while he’s away.
“hey sweet thing. missing ya’.”
his voice erupted, you could only hear the sound of his breathing, imagining the slow rise and fall of his chest.
“how have you been, mm? eating well? hydrating? you best be taking care of yourself while ’m gone.” he laughed, that squeaky one where you could tell his throat was tight from holding something in.
“wish you could feel how much i’m missing you.” you heard his breath shake at the last syllable, then the tell-tale sound of his zipper slipping down rang out. a loud zzziipp like he wasn’t even trying to hide it.
a moment of silence then a harsh hiss came from his side as he wrapped a hand around his aching member, stroking it to full mast. “shit baby, i’m so hard just thinkin’ about you.” he groaned, then a rustle of clothes came as he shoved his pants down to his ankles.
he shifted his phone so that it was placed right beneath his cock, you could hear it slap against his phone screen, hot and heavy. “listen to it. listen to what you do to me.” he panted, beginning to pump himself, every tug of his length drawing a throaty sigh from him.
“wish you were here. y’know, sucking me off.” he paused to breath, stifling a whine as he imagined the scene in his head. “gosh, you’d look so pretty, mouth full of me. choking on me.” he continued.
“or you could just sit on it. let me hump you ‘til you pass out, all dumbed out on my dick.” he rasped, voice dropping a milky octave. you could hear him spit down on his cock, smearing the glob of saliva over his length.
“if you were here, i’d bend you right over this desk and fuck—” he sped up his strokes, you could tell he was close with how whiny he got. “i’d do so much to you darling, but you’re just not here. and it’s killing me.”
“miss you, so fuckin’ bad.” his voice cracked, you could hear the lewd fap-fap-fap of him fisting his cock ruthlessly, teetering on the edge of release.
“bet you’re touching yourself too, huh?” you could hear his smirk through the phone, “bet you’re getting off at seeing me so desperate and needy. you’re evil.” he grunted.
“shit, i’m close.” he cursed through gritted teeth, you could hear his chair creak under his weight as he pumped his cock, chasing his orgasm.
“this one’s for you.” he panted, the sounds of his fist becoming slicker. after a couple more strokes, he came all over himself with a muffled groan, making a mess everywhere.
“it’s so much.” he grumbled, already regretting what he did knowing he would have to get up and clean off. “and i blame it on you.” he chuckled, you could hear him tucking himself back into his pants.
“anyway. i’ll be back soon. love you, byee.” he spoke before blowing an obnoxious kiss to the phone and cutting the voice message.
Sypnosis: After a horrible night of going out, your friend leaves you stranded at the club. Going home, you encounter a certain white-haired man. When he gets too close and grins with those too-sharp teeth, you do the only logical thing your drunken mind can think of: throw a bag of rice at him.
Pairing: Vampire!Gojo x Human!reader
Tags/Content Warnings: MDNI/18+ only, SMUT SMUT SMUT!!! Porn with plot, a bit of fear play (c'mon, Satoru is a vampire, y'all have seen the way he was playing with those curses), compulsion (only to run away), usage of folklore, reader is lowk a dumb bitch (not bimbo like, just drunk), blood-drinking, dub-con (reader consenting to be bitten while drunk), oral (f receiving), unprotected P in V sex, classic 'it doesn't fit' trope, SIZE KINK SIZE KINK SIZE KINK, belly bulging, dacryphilia, permission to cum inside (hehe)
Word Count: 6.7k
A/N: Not proofread since I have a migraine, but I wanted to drop this before going to bed. Special thanks to @cactusvolumes for helping out <3 Dividers by @/pixopix & @/strangergraphic, art by @/somedeimi on x.
You’re stumbling out of the club, absolutely wasted. The world spins around you, pavement dipping to the side, despite it being flat. Your ankle rolls once, making you almost crash into a pole.
A laugh bubbles out of your throat before you can stop it. It vibrates on your tongue, just like the bass vibrated your bones while inside the club.
Why are you laughing again?
You fumble through your purse for your phone, trying to text your friend that' you’re outside. Fingers touching different things in your purse—a lipgloss, a loose tampon, your hairbrush, a bag that crinkles when the pads of your fingers skim over it, and finally your phone, the glass smooth against your fingertips.
Then the thought slams into you, unwelcome and sharp. ‘Naoya and I are dating now,’ your friend had whispered shouted in your ear while you were on the dancefloor with her. Your entire body locking up, hips freezing in place.
Right. That’s why you drank more than you should’ve. Your friend casually admitting she’s dating your piece-of-shit ex-boyfriend.
You lean your forehead against the cold metal of the pole. Another laugh slips out. This time dry and hollow. There’s nothing funny about any of this. The entire situation is fucked up.
She left the club not soon after she admitted to you about dating your ex, not satisfied with your reaction to her ‘news’. What a fucking bitch. You close your eyes, still leaning against the pole, and everything spins, as if you’re laundry in a dryer.
Opening your eyes you push off the pole. Taking three steps, you stumble again. Stupid fucking heels. With an annoyed grunt you crouch down to yank them off, only to promptly fall onto your ass. Huffing through your nose you sit down so you can better access your heels.
Eventually you wrangle the heels off. Standing again you brush down the back of your dress with one hand while the other dangles your shoes from your fingers.
This time you start walking home—still stumbling around, but no longer rolling your ankles with it.
The Tokyo streets glow with sodium lamps and neon signs that are blinking overhead. The streets are mostly empty, aside from a few stragglers and drunks passed out along the sidewalk.
It isn’t until ten minutes into your walk that you feel it—eyes. You glance around, confused. There’s no one you can see, just a small cat on the other side of the street that isn’t even watching you, finding more interest in it’s own paw. Shrugging you keep walking.
Five minutes later you cut into a narrow alley. A shortcut home you normally take after a night out with the girls, granted they are with you—safety in numbers or something. Your drunken mind isn’t really concerned with that right now, though. Your feet are cold, small stones digging into your toes where you’re walking, and you’re lucky you haven’t encountered something sharp yet.
A little bit further into the dark alley you feel it again, that heavy sense of being watched. Whipping your head around you see someone stand at the end of the alleyway. The person’s silhouette completely black, except for the stark white hair that’s illuminated by the streetlight from above. The second thing you note is how tall they are. And the third thing you notice is the eyes—they’re glowing. Piercing blue looking over at you.
He’s just… staring at you. But when he sees you looking at him, he takes a step towards you. Then another. And another. You back up, pointing a finger at him.
“Stay there!” you bark out, finger trembling slightly. “Stay,” you repeat, firmer. The man halts, one pale eyebrow lifting in amusement.
“That’s right. Good boy.” If you were sober, you’d cringe at calling a stranger good boy, but right now all you can think of is that you’re drunk, barefoot, in an alley, and this guy is, what—seven feet tall?
His face becomes clearer now, a bit of moonlight illuminating some of the planes of his face. His skin is porcelain-like, eyes like a kaleidoscope of every blue imaginable, and a smirk is on his face, clearly enjoying this entire interaction.
Right, you’re staring. You clear your throat. “I-I’m going now. You just… stay there.”
He only crosses his arms and leans against the wall, still watching. You slowly nod your head, taking a small step back. Okay, good, he’s staying right where he is. Where you told him to stay. Turning around you nearly scream bloody murder.
He’s right there.
A gasp slips from your lips, mouth dropping open while your eyes bug out of your skull. Did the alcohol in your system fuck you up so bad you somehow turned around slow enough for him to walk in front of you without you noticing it?
You crane your neck up to look at him, stumbling back slightly with the change of your head, before you steady yourself again. He’s smiling down at you, and it’s a nice smile, honestly. It would’ve been charming, if not for the fangs. They’re long, sharp, and very obvious.
Alarm bells blare in your head, muffled slightly by the badum badum badum of your heart in your ears. Impossibly blue eyes, inhuman speed, and now fangs.
“Vampire,” you whisper, voice barely audible.
The stranger’s smile widens. “Ding, ding, ding, sweetheart.”
You swallow hard, of course this would happen to you today out of all days, after being told your friend is fucking your ex and leaving you stranded, alone, in the club.
Your hand slips into your bag, fingers fumbling, digging, trying to search for the bag you had touched earlier that night. But the more you keep fumbling, the harder your heart is starting to beat. Did you make up the fact that you had the bag with you? He notices the motion, of course he does.
“Oh? Gonna pepper spray me? Call a friend?” there’s clear amusement in his voice, “Newsflash, sweetheart, I’m way too fast for that.”
Your fingers keep searching. Come on, come on, come on— There. The pads of your fingers skim over the plastic bag, and it crinkles under the motion. Bingo.
Your heart slams against your ribcage. God, please let that dumb folklore be right. You grab the bag an dump it onto the ground, a soft thud sounds through the alley as thousands of rice grains scatter across the tiles.
The vampire’s head snaps down. He stares for a few seconds, blinks, then crouches. He mutters something under his breath and begins to count, fast—really fucking fast.
You stare at this seven-foot, hulking creature for a few more seconds. Then you take one step back, and another, and another. Then you run, feet pounding against the floor down the alley.
You risk a glance over your shoulder, just hoping he isn’t fast enough to count all of that within seconds. Big mistake. He’s still counting, luckily. But… he looks kind of cute doing it, nevermind the part where he’s a seven-foot vampire.
You slow down, feet coming to a halt, before you turn back and walk up just enough to grab your phone from where it fell onto the ground.
Click.
He doesn’t look up, but the twitch of his fingers tell you he heard it. “Cute.”
Gojo has never seen something like this before. He didn’t expect to be pelted with grains of rice by a cute drunk girl he’d set his sights on the moment she stumbled out of the club. Worse, he has the compelling urge to count them all. He isn’t sure why, all he knows is that he has to count them.
It’s something he’ll look into when he gets home.
It was a smart move on your part, clearly having read some sort of vampire lore before—unless you throw rice at every creep you encounter. However you came back, feet still bare, one of your heels lay abandoned further down the alleyway.
Then you whispered something about how cute he was, as if he isn’t a whole seven feet of vampire.
Now? Now you’re sitting across from him, feet still bare and dirty with grime and small pebbles stuck to your toes—how you haven’t noticed is beyond him—heel danling from your fingers, and your dress is riding up your thighs.
You’re mumbling incoherently about your ex and your friend, not that he’s paying attention to it, all his focus is on the stupid grains of rice.
He isn’t sure why you aren’t running. You know he’s a vampire, having seen his speed, his fangs, his eyes—hell, you even whispered it, vampire. Yet you’re still sitting here, in front of him, as if you’re keeping him company.
He knows you’re drunk, he can smell it on your breath, and if that wasn’t the dead giveaway then the stumbling and walking back to a fucking vampire would be. No one would do that shit when they’re sober.
You’re recounting a story about your ex now, gesturing wildly into the cool night-air. He’s had to restart his count a total of three times already because you keep distracting him. The first time you accidentally kicked the pile when you went to sit down, apologising to him for fucking it up.
The second time you ‘accidentally’ smacked his arm when telling him something. You’d said it was accidental because you were gesturing, but he thinks it’s because he wasn’t paying attention to your story.
He can only hope that the third time just works out for him, because he really wants to sink his fangs into your glistening skin—apart from the sweat you’d certainly built up in the club there’s something else to it, maybe a shimmer you’d applied before leaving for the club earlier today.
He only has a few hundred grains of rice left when your phone rings. And just like anything else tonight, you pick it up without any hesitation.
Gojo can hear a man on the other side of the line, saying something snarky. He isn’t tuned into the conversation, but his ears could hear everything if he wanted to, but he’s still counting, and he’d rather focus on that and finally feed himself than listen to whatever is being said by you or the man.
3124 3125 3126 3127… He’s about to count the last grain of rice when you suddenly flip the phone to him, screen illuminating his skin in a mix of blue and green. 3159 grains of rice, all counted.
He finally looks up and sees a guy filling your screen. Faux blond hair with green roots, brown eyes, and a smirk on his face that quickly morphs into something else. Then you turn your phone back to yourself, slurring out a, “See, ‘m with someone. Now leave m’ alone, asshole.”
Gojo hears the call disconnect, sees the way your screen goes dark. The only light illuminating your skin now is the pale moonlight. Then you take a deep breath and promptly fling yourself backward onto the ground.
“See what I have to deal with?” your eyes find his, a small pout formed on your face while your brows furrow. Gojo doesn’t say anything, just looks at you with those piercing blue eyes. He crosses his arms over his chest and clears his throat. “I’m gonna give you a twenty-second head start, sweetheart. If I were you I’d take it.”
Your brows furrow in confusion this time, nose crinkling slightly. God, you really forgot, didn’t you?
He heaves a sigh and opens his mouth just enough to show his fangs. They glint in the moonlight, showing of just how sharp they are. You squint your eyes a bit, then they open wide again.
“Vampire,” you whisper again, voice fully trembling. But then you groan, it rumbles through your chest a bit, and kick your feet a little. “I don’ wanna runnnn.”
Gojo has to close his eyes for a second and take a deep breath. He likes the chase that comes from when people are afraid of him. Likes it even more when his prey think they can outrun him. They can’t, but he sure does like having them believe they can. Blood always tastes sweeter when there’s a hint of fear involved, after all.
He opens his eyes again and looks straight at you. Then he leans in a little, breath just shy of ghosting the shell of your ear.
“Run,” he whispers, voice sticky sweet as honey. He can see the way your eyes gloss over a bit. Then you’re scrambling upward, and dart out of the alley—your other heel clattering to the ground.
Gojo, true to his word, waits a full twenty seconds. Then he’s in front of you again, making you yelp and dash away again, stumbling over your own feet a little, crashing into the wall, scraping your hand on the rough stones.
The cat and mouse game continues for what he thinks is a full ten minutes. He can hear your heart pounding, blood rushing through your body, and your whispers of ‘Please don’t kill me, I’m way too hot’ and ‘I should’ve stayed home’ and ‘He is kinda cute, though.’
He ignores that last one.
It isn’t until you stumble up the steps of a house where he catches you. His broad chest pressed to your back, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist, fingers dipping into your sides,, while the other is planted next to your head on the door.
“Gotcha,” he whispers into your hair. You’re trembling in his grip, knees almost buckling out form under you. You’re pressed flat against the front door of your house.
You were so close, all you had to do was open it and you would’ve been fine.
You can feel the way his pecs are squished against your back. He’s hunched over you, entire frame leaning down so he can nose against your hair. His muscles are bulging out of his shirt, making you press your thighs together.
It’s a weird mixture of fear and arousal that’s shooting through you. You know he’s a vampire, know he can kill you in an instant—and maybe he will drain you of all your blood—but he’s also so tall. His entire hand splayed out over your tummy now.
He chuckles when he notices the way you’re pressing your thighs together. His cold breath fanning over your skin, almost like a night breeze caressing your face. “You gonna let me in, sweets?”
You know you shouldn’t. Know you should try to get out of his cold, undead grip as fast as you can. The door is right there, one step and you’d be free of him. One big step, you’d just have to get out of his grasp. Sure he has bulging muscles and probably inhuman strength, but you can twist your way out of this, can’t you? Just do a little shimmy and free yourself.
The big hand that’s on your stomach can’t possibly keep you right there, pressed against him, can it? Nevermind the fact that he has such thick forearms and biceps and triceps even Greek Gods would be jealous of.
Turning a bit to the left, you try to see if you have any wiggle room, only for him to chuckle once more. His fingers dig into your flesh a bit harder now, indenting the skin where he touches you. Welp, there goes your plan, straight out the window.
“Promise not to kill me?” You don’t dare to look at him, afraid his eyes will put you under a spell yet again. You know you should’ve ran the first time he told you to, but you were too out of your mind to fully grasp the situation. “Mhmm, just want some of your blood.”
That seems… reasonable enough. You fumble with your keys slightly, still trembling in your grip, the keys and keychains clinking against each other. It’s the only sound in the entire street, everyone else already being in bed—which is no surprise, considering you left the club at… three or something like that.
When you finally slot your keys into the hole, you twist it open, pushing the door open to your dark hallway.
You’re about to set a foot into your house when the guy tugs you back against his chest. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Right, he’s a vampire and not just some random hookup you dragged home. A very handsome vampire, though. If you’re going out, at least it’s by a hottie. Oh fuck, he really can just kill you. I mean, he just said he wouldn’t, but he can lie about it. Then again, he could’ve killed you ten times over already.
“What’s your name?” That seems to catch him off-guard. Blinking a few times, those baby blues looking you over in wonder a few times, and you can’t help but melt into him a bit—only for you to stand up straight again when you feel how fucking cold he is.
“Satoru,” is all he mumbles out, fangs poking out slightly. He really is cute for a terrifying creature.
Nodding your head you nudge the door open even further, extending your hand into your house with a flourish. “Come in, Satoru.”
The next second you’re picked up before he all but throws you onto your couch, your body bouncing a bit before he’s on you. A yelp leaves your lips, heart pounding out of your ribs, fingers shaking slightly, breaths heavy.
Right, he is a vampire with inhuman speed and strength. Your pupils dilate a bit, hairs standing on edge when he grins down at you with those too-sharp canines. His eyes almost seem to glow in this moment, face shadowed completely.
You’re frozen in place, reality settling in like someone poured a cold cup of water over your head to sober you up.
You just invited a vampire into your house. To drink your blood. Way to fucking go.
“Ready, sweets?” He murmurs down at you, picking up your hand where it lies limp beside you on the couch, pulse hammering in your ears. He brings your fingers up to his mouth, before wrapping his lips around the bloodied appendages, tongue laving over the wounds there. You’d honestly forgotten you even had them—too busy running away from him to notice just how scratched up your clammy palms were.
His saliva stings your skin, making you pull away, only for him to hold your wrist in place. He licks a broad stripe from your palms up to your fingers, leaving behind a red trail—blood and saliva mixed together.
When you don’t answer he grins a bit wider, lips slightly red by your blood. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”
With that he surges forward, one strong arm wrapping around your waist to keep you from squirming while the other quickly brushes away the hairs that are falling over your shoulder. His fangs puncture your skin just above your collarbone, and it feels like your nerves are on fire.
Your mouth opens in a scream, only to have it clamped shut by a big palm. Tears spring to your eyes, fat drops falling down the apples of your cheeks before they drip from your jawline onto the couch below.
You can feel the way your blood is leaving you. Satoru is sucking on the wound hard enough to make your eyes roll to the back of your skull—not in pleasure, but in pain. Pure agony running through your veins now.
From all the vampire lore, you whished the aphrodisiac bite was at least true. But instead of pleasure surging through you, it’s pain. Pure pain. You can feel the way your body jerks from the sensation, but Satoru just tightens his hold onto you, pushing you further into the couch.
The last thing you see before the dark takes ahold of you is the blue glow emitting from his eyes, casting the two of you in a soft, blue glare, making his pale hair stand out against the darkness of the room.
You wake up surrounded by softness. Blinking a few times you register just where you are—your own bed. Your pillow is soft and fluffy under your head, and your blanket is keeping you warm. Your head is absolutely pounding, a dull thud behind your eyes making you groan.
Just how much did you have to drink last night?
Thinking back on the night before, you can remember bits and pieces. You went out with your friend to celebrate… something, only for her to leave you alone at the club later that night.
Why did she leave you alone again?
Racking your brain, you try to fill in the gaps as good as you can. You remember drinking and dancing. Hips moving to the beat—well you tried to, but you probably were off-beat if you’re going to be honest—while your friend was laughing with you.
Then she leaned forward with a smile on her face and murmured something in your ear. What the fuck did she say that she had to leave?
You furrow your brows, closing your eyes once more. Right, right, it’s coming all back to you now. She told you she was dating Naoya out of all people. Even after you’d told her every minute detail about that scumbag, she still chose to be with him, destroying your trust in the process.
Fucking bitch. And then she just up and left you there to get home by yourself.
Okay, now you know why your head is pounding—having drank waayyy too much alcohol to at least have a good night by yourself. But how did you get home?
You pat around your bed to search for your phone, twisting your neck to look to your left side, only for a hiss to leave your lips when you feel just how much your neck hurts. Your hand shoots to the spot, only to find gauze under your fingertips.
Gauze? Why is there gauze on your neck out of all places.
You rub your head with your other hand, only to feel small scabs on your fingertips. Opening your eyes you look at your hand, only to see it being scabbed over at some places.
Right, you scratched your hand on the wall when running away from that cute vampire. …Wait, what??
Sitting up you look around your room, to hopefully see said vampire, but he’s nowhere to be found. A laugh bubbles up in your chest and leaves your lips. A vampire, how stupid is that. Your drunken mind probably made all of that up.
Seeing a weird silhouette in an alleyway sure is scary, so you just began to run back home. Yeah, yeah that must be it. Your drunken mind having conjured up a whole story about a guy that doesn’t exist. Vampires aren’t real; they’re just myths made up to scare children.
So why is there gauze on your collarbone?
Your head is pounding all the same, these silly questions surely can wait until after you had some water, or coffee.
Standing up you’re about to walk downstairs when you hear someone… humming? Your shoulders immediately tense up, feet planting themselves in their place. Why is there someone in your house?
Grabbing the nearest object—a vase with fake flowers, because nowadays it’s too much to ask guys to get you some flowers—you tiptoe down the stairs, careful to not make a sound. It’s one thing if there’s someone in your house, it’s another when they know you’re there.
On the last step you hear someone call out to you. “Oh, you’re awake. That’s good!”
You nearly drop the vase in shock, fingers slipping slightly, before you tighten your grip again. Your heart hammering out of your chest, goosebumps littering your skin, and before you can even do anything, a tall, white-haired man walks into view.
And suddenly everything from last night slams back into you. No, your mind hadn’t simply made up Satoru, it’s real. The gauze on your throat a bitter reminder that there are, in fact, vampires roaming the earth.
“What the fuck are you still doing in my house?” you ask him, setting the vase down onto your kitchen counter before walking up to him. You poke your finger against his arm, testing to see if he really is real, or if you might still be drunk. “You’re real, right?”
Gojo just chuckles at you, his fangs poking through his lips at your question. His fingers wrap themselves around your wrist—ice cold to the touch, making you tremble slightly from just how cold they are—stopping you from poking him any further.
“Duh, you can’t make up a face this pretty.” He gestures to his face with a small pout on his face. Okay, conceited much. You scrunch your nose up at that, looking him dead in the eye—the same eyes that glowed last night while he was feasting on you - is that the correct term? You’re not sure, but you don’t really care, either.
“As for your question, I stayed because I might’ve drained you a bit too much. The alcohol in your system made your blood thinner, so I had a harder time gauging just how much I drank. So I stayed to be certain you wouldn’t pass awa— anyway. Alcohol makes your blood taste bitter, by the way, Certainly didn’t help you weren’t as afraid as I wanted you to be,” he mumbles that last part under his breath.
“Not as afraid as you wanted me to be? I thought my heart was gonna crawl out of my mouth— can you let go of me? You’re cold as fuck,” you try to tug your wrist out of his grasp, only for him to tighten it just slightly, slender fingers enclosing around your wrist.
Grinning he leans down slightly, back hunched just slightly as he looks you in the eye. “Why? You didn’t seem to mind me touching you last night.”
You inhale sharply, the memory of him pressed against your back flooding your mind. His strong chest pressed against your back while his hand was splayed out over your tummy making you all hot and bothered— no, you can’t think like this, fucking stop it.
“Yeah, well, that was just me being drunk,” you mumble out.
He takes a step forward, and another, while you walk backwards, until your back hits the wall. The wall scratching your back slightly, straightening your spine. His hand plants itself next to your head, leaning forward until his nose is almost brushing yours. “You sure that’s all it was? I’m hurt, sweets. You’re saying you don’t find me cute anymore?”
Gulping you press your thighs together, your panties damp under your sleeping shorts, core hot and achy. There’s no denying he’s hot—not quite cute as you called him last night—but should you really do this? He’s a vampire, hot, sure, but still a bloodsucking creature. His grin widens when his eyes flick down to your thighs.
You know you shouldn’t do this. It’s irresponsible, downright stupid, but you can’t deny to yourself that he’s making you horny by just existing.
And suddenly a thought enters your mind, like someone whispered in your ear. Your friend—now ex-friend—is dating your ex. It makes your stomach flip a few times, trying to make sense of the situation you’re in right now.
Fuck it.
Your hands find his pecs that are flexed with the way he’s standing, fabric doing little to hide them. Your finger trails down to his abdomen where you can feel the clearly built muscles. You bat your lashes at him, tilting your head just slightly. “And what if I said I thought you were hot?”
“Then I’d ask to have another taste— a different taste this time,” he murmurs down at you. That’s all you needed, fisting the fabric of his shirt and pulling him down to meet you. Lips crashing against each other in a messy battle of teeth and tongue.
He groans into your mouth, carefully nipping at your lower lip, puncturing it slightly. He sucks on the little droplets of blood before he claims your mouth once more. Copper filling your taste buds, making you moan out slightly.
Then he suddenly picks you up, hands under your thighs while yours find purchase at his broad shoulders, clutching onto them, nails digging into his skin just slightly. He chuckles against your mouth, “I’m not going to drop you.”
And true to his word, he doesn’t drop you, but he does bring you upstairs at speeds you’ve never dreamed of having. He carefully lays you down onto the bed, matrass groaning under both your weight just slightly.
His lips disconnect from yours, and he has to keep himself from groaning out at the sight of your bloodied, kiss-bitten lips. All swollen for him. Gojo peppers featherlight kisses down your throat, until they find the gauze just above your collarbone.
Yelping you look down at him. He’s grinning up at you, blue eyes crinkling slightly while he carefully places another kiss onto the gauze. “That hurts, dickhead.”
“Hmmm, just showing my little blood bag some appreciation,” he purrs before his lips trail further down, all the way until he’s seated onto the floor, cold breath ghosting on your thighs, leaving behind slight goosebumps. “I’m not your personal blood bag.”
He just winks up at you before pressing a kiss to the fat of your thigh. Then one a little higher, another one to the apex of your thigh, and one on your hipbone. You’re squirming out at the feeling of his lips—cold to the touch, but oh so careful.
His fingers hook around your pajama shorts, looking up at you for permission. When you nod he pulls them off you, leaving you in your panties. His pupils dilate when they see the wet spot, “You’re soaked. All this for me?”
Rolling your eyes you look down at him, leaning on your elbows. “How about you touch me instead of being such a conc— oh fuck,” your head lolls back onto your shoulderblades, eyes fluttering shut slightly. His thumb presses onto your clit.
“What was that, sweetheart?” he chuckles when you moan out at the pressure he applies through your panties, thumb circling your twitchy clit. “That’s what I thought.”
He leans down to lick a broad stripe over your panties, moaning out at the taste of you—so sweet, and oh, how he wishes you weren’t drunk last night so he could’ve had a taste of this pussy earlier—lips wrapping around your nub and sucking on it slightly.
“Shit. Fuck— Satoru, right there,” your hand finds his head, fingers threading through his silky locks, pulling on them slightly when he sucks even harder, cheeks hollowing out. Pleasure shoots right through your core, thighs threatening to snap shut. Something that doesn’t go unnoticed by the white-haired man under you, big palms clasping your thighs and keeping them spread riiight open for him. “Just get those panties out of the way already!”
He releases his lips with a pop, making you sigh out. Grinning up at you, one of his fingers comes up to your swollen folds, rubbing them slightly—still with that damn fabric in the way.
“Someone’s eager. You want me to get rid of these cute panties?” He tilts his head slightly before his fingers creep further upwards,, until they hook into them, making you think he’s finally going to get them off you. Instead he pulls the fabric upward, stretching it over your poor twitchy cunt, “But they look so good on you— yeahhh look at that.”
His eyes are zeroed in on where the fabric disappears between your pussy lips slightly, stretching the fabric even further until you’re pushing at his head, whining out.
“Please, please just get them off,” you whine out, tears gathering in your eyes from the way he’s just playing with you, taking his sweet time while your hole is pulsing around nothing. He chuckles once more before letting the fabric snap! against your skin, having you gasp out.
“Guess I should give this pretty pussy what she deserves, huh?” He gives a few taps to your clit, thighs twitching with each pass of his fingers, before he finally hooks a finger around the gusset and pulls it aside, revealing your cunt to the open air.
Without any preamble he dives in, tongue flat against your twitchy clit. Your back immediately arches with the swipe of his tongue—this time without any fabric between the muscle and your aching clit.
One of his slender, cold fingers plunges itself into your soppy hole. Your fingers tighten in his hair, tugging on it slightly, moaning out at the intrusion. “Fuck— right there.”
He thrusts his finger in and out of you before adding another one. The cold touch such a stark contrast to your hot, needy core it has you keen out. Your legs are trembling in his hold, one of them still spread open by his other hand, while your own creeps down to hold your other leg open for him.
“Such a good girl,” he mumbles out against your core, pleasure shooting through you. He curls those long digits inside of you, trying to find that one spot inside of you while he very lightly nips on your clit, your walls clamping down on his digits. His fingers keep thrusting and curling inside of you, finding finding findi— you loudly moan into the air, head thrown back. Found it.
“F-fuck, Satoru, keep them there ‘m so close,” you sob out, thighs tensing up slightly while he continuously hits your g-spot with perfect precision. Your orgasm crashes over you, tiny fireworks exploding in your tummy. “Cumming— cumming.”
He stays down there, lapping up the slick that’s gushing out of you. Cold tongue dipping into your hole alongside his fingers, opening you up even further for him.
You go limp in his hold a minute later, and he finally detaches himself from your mound—lips shiny with spit and your arousal. Then he pulls his fingers from your hole, stringy juices webbing between his fingers when he spreads them, looking at them in wonder, before putting them in his mouth and moaning out at the sweet, sweet taste that’s you.
“Think you’re ready for me, baby?” He stands up already unbuckling his belt, and you have to swallow once you see his bulge. Fuck. He’s ginormous. You shouldn’t be surprised, this guy is seven-feet tall, everything about him is enormous compared to you, but still you can’t help the way your eyes are almost bulging out of your skull.
He pulls out his cock—angry, red tip swollen and glistening with pre—and wraps his fist around it, giving it a few tugs.
“That’s not gonna fit inside of me,” you blurt out, eyes transfixed on where his hand is still wrapped around his dick. He smirks at that, of course he does. He’s probably heard it a million times before, but of course you had to say it.
He leans forward, tip nudging your clit, coating himself in your arousal. “Relax, it’s gonna fit.”
Gulping you lay back slightly, opening your legs even further to accommodate him. He smiles at that, one hand clamping around your waist while the other guides his member towards your entrance. Taking a deep breath in, he pushes inside your fluttering walls.
A high-pitched moan leaves your lips, sweat breaking on your skin. The stretch is unbelievable—your walls fluttering uselessly around him, and this was just the tip. He hisses at the feeling of your walls clamping down on him—yes, actually hisses, fangs on full display. “Fuck, loosen up baby.”
His fingers come down to your sensitive clit, rubbing on it to keep you distracted from the intrusion—not that it helps. He pushes another inch inside of you, and tears are starting to spill down from your eyes, disappearing into your hairline.
Gojo looks at you, blue eyes almost completely black now. He can feel the way his dick twitches when he sees your tears. Leaning forward he balances on one forearm, tongue lapping up your tears, groaning at the salty taste of your tears.
“You’re too big,” you squeal, hand uselessly pushing against his abdomen. He merely presses a kiss to your cheek, then to the corner of your mouth, and finally his lips claim yours, tongue tracing the seam of your sealed lips.
He stays still like that for a little while, letting you get used to the way he’s stretching you out. When he feels you loosen up slightly he pulls his hips back until just his tip remains and pushes back in again, a bit further this time.
You moan out into his mouth, legs wrapping themselves around his waist, and your hands entangle themselves in his hair. “That’s it, knew you could do it.”
With a few more thrusts he finally bottoms out, his hips meeting yours. Tears are flowing free down your face and he has to resist the urge to just bite you with how cute you looked. Fuck, what he wouldn’t do to get a taste of you again—your blood surely much sweeter now.
He looks down, only to grin. Would you look at that. “Look down, sweetheart. See how well you’re taking me?” he grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger and angles your head down. Blinking a few times you look down and—oh! The print of his cock fully visible, bulging your tummy where he’s buried.
“You’re so deep,” you mumble out, slight awe in your voice, only for a broken moan to leave your lips seconds later. Gojo pulls out and thrusts back in, tip smooching your cervix. Again. And again. And again.
A creamy ring starting to circle around his base, balls slapping against your ass with each harsh thrust. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, leaving behind crescent shaped marks. You’re sobbing out into his neck, vision blurring slightly.
“Mhmm, I know.” He presses down onto your stomach where he can feel his own cock through your womb, and it has you keen out even more. Moans and groans and the lewd plap plap plap! of his hips fill the room.
Your legs begin to tremble, cock plummeting in and out of your soppy hole, the squelch it makes has your face heat up, a pretty blush forming on your face as you feel yourself near your second orgasm. After a few more thrusts, you come around him, clear liquid gushing out of you, spraying onto his abdomen, thighs and the sheets below you. Your vision whites out completely while your back arches, mouth forming an ‘o’ that you can’t seem to close.
Satoru hisses when he feels your walls clamp down onto his girth, speeding up his thrusts slightly. “Fuck, lemme cum inside, please.”
Your mind doesn’t register his request at first, too busy trembling around him. It’s only when he starts whining that you take note of his request. “Yes, yes ‘toru. ‘S okay.”
“Shit- need you to say it. Say it out loud for me, pretty,” he pleads with you, his own thighs tensing up slightly. “Y-you can cum inside, S’toru.”
That’s all it takes. He thrusts once more before stilling, his fat tip snug against your cervix while he spills inside of you. Ropes of cum keep coming, emptying his balls inside your greedy cunt completely. His forehead dropping down to yours.
The two of you lay there for a few moments, trying to catch your breath—well, it’s just you who has to catch their breath, but Satoru stays there for you—and calm down slightly.
“Soooo, you need permission to cum inside too, huh?” you giggle at the seven-foot vampire. He just groans, eyes fluttering shut. “Shut up.”
You love being Satoru Gojo's girlfriend, he dotes on you, takes you on dates, spoils you - just one little problem, you are perpetually ovulating around him! Is wanting your nerdy boyfriend's cock in your mouth really such a bad thing? Satoru wants to wait for the perfect moment for your first time, though! He'll totally wait even when you're wearing that slutty lil dress and grinding on him, right?
pairings - nerd! gojo x girlfriend! reader
warnings - cute and silly, oral over panties/boxers, Satoru edging tf outta us -- reader is horny, Shoko/Hime, Sukuna being a fratboy dick, jealous Toru, rough blow jobs, p in v sex, first time, squirting, teasing, fingering, creampie, consent, breed kink, making your nerdy boyfriend feral and spit in your mouth <3
art creds here!!
this was a comm for my angel @cantarcantar!! ty for understanding that my life was like INSANE - ilysm for being patient <3 wc - 10.1k
It took you almost two years of crushing on Satoru Gojo to actually become his girlfriend, and you’re loving every minute of it. From being too damn shy to admit you like him, to very awkwardly trying to confess and every chance just utterly failing – to then instead becoming the very best of friends.
You two were finally ‘officially together’ as a couple.
Oh, and it was everything, being in his arms, swallowed up by those huge biceps he had hidden underneath his starch white dress shirts. Hearing that little laugh from his lips, all of those sweet little kisses he bestowed upon you – truly, all the feelings blossoming between the two of you in the most beautiful way, especially over the months of truly being his girlfriend.
He’d take you out for all day movie marathons, going to play bumper cars, mini golf, you name it – Satoru was down for it. Every date was a meticulously planned out one too, with little to no down time aside from the drive to and from. Perhaps that’s where you would sneak just the littlest pecks on his neck, hear his sighs as he gripped the gear shift of that fancy sports car.
Satoru adored you – and you adored him.
You were all his. There was no one else in the entire world than the boy who could never quite tie that tie on correctly, always just a little crooked for you to straighten out.
Yet with that came you being unreasonably horny all the fucking time, who wouldn’t be with Satoru though? Those long fingers pressing into your waist, the way that bulge pressed between your thighs, plump lips slipping up your throat. Every time it even got just a little close, maybe you were grinding so good that you were about to cum from that – he paused it.
Wearing a cute, bashful little smile on his face, fogged up, thick rimmed glasses – murmuring sweetheart in a voice that’s designed to make your pussy drip, and you feel like a complete pervert for wanting to beg for more. God, imagining his cock in your throat alone had you desperate and needy, let alone having him filling you, pumping you full, taking you first.
Maybe you are a pervert, truly.
You’ve tried so hard to be patient, you want him to want it as badly as you do, but every time you’re making out with your boyfriend – the top of the dean’s list and ultimate dungeon master for DnD – Satoru Gojo?
Every time his big ass hands grip your waist and he drags you down against his length, before he puts a pause on it?
You can’t even think about it.
You’re pumping your fingers in your needy cunt just thinking about it after every damn date with this boy. Whining out in your bed with your hips bucking up, gasps escaping your lips desperately in your empty room. Pumping faster and faster until you’ve got that sticky release all over your hand.
It’s almost as if you have this sort of ritual now, before you see your boyfriend and right after/.
Your rose toy is probably fucking tired of you.
As if you don’t you ache so damn bad around him it’s painful, hard not to shamelessly hump his thigh till you cum. No, the toy? This takes the edge off just a bit, but even the way you moan his name in your sleep is endlessly hilarious to your poor roommates that have to hear you between the walls of your off campus apartment.
“Still a virgin?” Utahime asked with a laugh when you had woken up this morning, getting ready to see Satoru.
“Not by choice,” you grumble, shaking your head and grabbing a coffee pod from the little rack, popping your favorite inside and pressing the on button. The aroma hits immediately, waking your tired brain.
You’d had the filthiest damn dream of him fucking your tits, cock sliding up and down in messy strokes that had you needing a damn shower right now.
You’re just perpetually ovulating.
Satoru is the perfect boyfriend, truly he is. He’s sweet, he’s a gentleman despite his blue eyes and where they glance too long. Mostly, he cares. You’ve fallen so in love with him so quickly over these past few months, but every time you think that things might progress, Satoru stops it. Gently lifting you up off his lap and sighing, kissing his way up your jaw, his snowy lashes tickling your cheek.
‘Sweetheart, let’s pause this,’ he would murmur those words all sweet and sultry against your skin after almost sucking on those nipples that just stay hard around this man, instead hovering a breath away so it ghosts your tits. Those huge hands brushing just underneath them.
It’s torture, really.
‘Oh, okay Toru,’ you’d whisper back, he’d moan and kiss up your neck, breaths tickling your skin. ‘Mnh…’
‘You’re so beautiful, god look at you.’
It was just wrong to talk to you like that!
“You poor baby. At least you have your toy collection,” Shoko teases, sneaking in and brushing your hair back. “Extensive, too.”
You flip her off, peeking at the phone then and seeing Satoru's name pop up.
Study session?
“Dick session?” She asks, you gasp, as if affronted at such a suggestion.
“I would never assume such a thing!”
You hope so.
*****
It’s not.
No, it’s not a dick session at all.
It really is an actual goddamn study session – both of you were sitting there in Satoru’s living room, his place was far fancier than anywhere, but that came from him being the Dean’s very son. It intimidated you a little at first, but now you’ve grown comfortable, as he made you feel so special.
Today though?
Well, you can’t focus on anything but how badly you’d love to kneel and suck your nerdy boyfriend, his thighs spread wide all slutty.
God his legs are long.
You bet his cock is-
“And this equation?” Satoru teasingly asks you, distracting you from your slutty freaking brain.
You're not even sure what stumbles out of your mouth for an answer, without saying how thick you think the circumference of his cock must be.
That is something you’ve done with your past experiences, and you know you’re good at it. You could easily deep throat a man and you wanted to see his cock so damn bad – could he be a challenge, though?
Your eyes drift down his chest, he peeks at you curiously.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He asks casually, spinning his pen between his fingers and studying you. “Hard question?”
“Um… yeah, a very hard time…”
Stop that! Stop looking at his dick print!
“The question is hard?”
“Uh… the question… yes.” You feel like a damn pervert every time you’re around him, can’t you chill and let things happen when they happen?
He sighs and stands up, stretching his arms up over his head, his abdomen revealed when his dress shirt rides up, showing those little v cuts that make your ovulating brain just a million times worse. It’s like you’re in heat. It's so pathetic right now – maybe you should avoid him till it stops.
“Let’s take a break then.”
“Yeah?”
He chuckles at how eager you are at the thought and comes up to you, leaning down with a hand on each arm of your chair, tilting his head so some of that soft white hair falls over his forehead. You brush a bit of it back and he kisses your palm, lips warm and sweet.
“You’ve been such a good girl, how can I not treat you a bit?” Your heart hammers in your chest, until those next words spill from his lips. “Boba?”
“What? Huh?” You blink as he eases back, pulling up his phone and leaning against the desk. “Boba??”
“Yeah, Boba, I’ll buy you some, I know you love it,” he smiles curiously as you bury your face in your hands. “No Boba? Matcha then?”
“I’m um…” About to cum if he touches you once even. “No, I guess Boba is fine. Thanks Toru.” you manage to say, thighs pressing together, Satoru frowns, kneeling now and gently taking your hands off your face, seeing your blush.
“Are you sick!? You’re all flushed!”
“I’m not-”
“You’re burning,” he touches your cheek in concern, and you almost fucking feel bad – you’re not sick, you’re ovulating. “Baby girl, let’s get you to a doctor right now!"
“No, no I feel fine, I’m not warm because of that,” you shift in your seat and whine out at just that friction. “Promise.”
He frowns and watches you carefully. “You’re hurting, it could be the start of something!”
“Well yeah I hurt,” you sigh as he spreads your thighs and kneels between them, shoving at him. “You’ll make it even worse down there.”
“I’ll make what worse, exactly? Your…” He trails off then, seeing your panties and blushing himself, pink dancing across his high cheekbones and dusting them in that rose. “Y-your… your panties are so… uh… s-soaked and…”
You should freak out at this proximity, at just how much he can finally see of you, but all you can do is whine again, as his eyes shoot back up to yours. “I’m okay, promise.”
“Am I neglecting my pretty girlfriend?” He asks softly, just a little nervous. Satoru has never touched anyone but you, but he’s extensively studied the female anatomy, and how to make you cum.
He just wanted your first time to be perfect.
That’s why he was waiting – the last thing he needed was for you to not enjoy your first time, though he knows you’re a little more experienced than he is – Satoru’s hardly kissed anyone before you. Not because he couldn’t – he just had no interest in that sort of thing until he met you – and even then, he really couldn’t find the damn courage to ask you out forever.
“No I’m being a damn pervert,” you cover your face and he chuckles at that.
“You’re being a what, now?”
You sink into the seat, mumbling. “You heard me.”
He’d been your best friend for so long, thinking there was no chance in the world – always jerking his cock with any article of clothing you’d leave in his room, like a filthy depraved pervert – and you think you were one perverted here?
Does him wanting the timing to be just right making you think that?
Satoru exhales softly, just a hint of what he wants to say slipping from his plump lips.
“What, do you touch your little pussy thinking of me?”
His voice has you lowering your hands, he spreads those thighs and slides up your skirt, making you moan out, head falling back, your hands gripping the arms of the chair even tighter.
“Wha-?” You can’t even finish your damn word.
“Asked you a question, baby.”
“God,” he’s diabolical without knowing – or maybe he does know. You’re trembling as you lean back, letting his thumb brush on your clit and gasping at the touch, already getting slick from a brush on your skin. “What question?”
“Not paying attention, tsk,” he clicks his tongue and his teeth nip your inner thigh, sinking in and making you whine out. “Do you touch her?”
“Y-yes,” he hums a bit, tugging your panties up until your lips are visible, that dark spot growing as slick starts pouring. “Please…”
“Be patient, baby,” he leans back now, smirking at you. “Show me?”
“Are you sure you…”
“Please? I wanna see so bad,” you blush now, you masturbate sure – but not in front of people! “I’ll show you?”
“Show me you um… jerking off?”
“Yeah, I mean… yeah?” You sigh a bit.
“Toru…”
“Mmm?”
“Why don’t I um… suck you?” He is bright red now, he’s almost busting just thinking of your mouth – that won’t do. His first blow job and he busts in one go!? No, Satoru has to jerk it three times before he gets the privilege of fucking your pretty little mouth, of feeling your pink tongue on him.
“Not yet.”
“Not yet? But you’re so hard,” you giggle and tease him with your foot nudging his thigh, he glares and catches it, shoving it wide. “Not yet, then. So you just wanna see me touch myself?”
“God yes, dreamed of that since…” He trails off then, he doesn’t want to admit just how long he’s jerked off to you, because it was before you even knew who Satoru Gojo was. “Lemme see.”
“Okay…” you lean back, running your fingertips over your panties, slipping underneath and leaning your head back, eyes fluttering shut, hearing Satoru’s soft little whine. “Toru…”
“Fuck,” he thought he could handle this, but he’s utterly failing, he can’t even see your pretty pussy and he’s already throbbing, leaking so much pre it hurts, sticking to his brand new digimon boxers. “You’re s’pretty, sweetheart.”
You blush as you look at him with dazed eyes, running little circles right around your puffy clit, coated in hot slick as it dribbles out of your panties. He swipes some of it on his fingers, studying it carefully, his tongue going to lap at it, moaning as the sweetness coats his tongue.
“Oh you’re t-tasting me,” it makes you needier, until you have to plunge two fingers inside your messy, quivering hole, that loud squelch echoing in your ears. He’s gripping your thigh with one hand bruising until you cry out.
“Fuck, so s-sorry… baby I hurt… y-you…”
“No, no, like it,” he moans and puts his hand back on your thigh, squeezing again so hard it aches. He's jerking his cock faster, whining out when he sees your slick fingers pull out of your panties. You press your cum soaked fingers to his lips and he eagerly wraps them around, sucking them off. “Toru…”
“So sweet, my pretty girlfriend,” his glasses fog up when he leans down, licking your inner thigh that is trembling, sliding higher until his tongue is on you – but it's not on your skin, it's on the soaked cotton of your panties.
“Fuck…” he moans as he gets those juices that are spilling through the fabric, his and squeezing his own cock as your thighs sit over his shoulders.
“More, please,” you're tugging at his hair so hard it hurts, bucking up your hips for more. “I need you, please.”
“Such a needy girlfriend,” he murmurs, thumb circling his drooling tip, looking up at you with desperation in his pretty blue eyes. “You want me to lick it more for you?”
Your answer is a little nod, even having him lick you over your panties is more than you've ever had done, and fuck it feels good. Sinful as he trails a long, slow stripe over the fabric, the tip stopping right over your twitchy clit, his moan is muffled against the damp cotton.
“Toru!” He's lost in your scent, in that taste, the little hints of lace decorating your panties rough against his tongue, the sound is fucking filthy.
Satoru tugs those panties up more firmly, strings of gossamer saliva dripping and dissolving, peering up at you with flushed cheeks. “Like that, baby? Is this what you were thinking about instead of studying?”
Your only answer is to nod quickly, a jerky little motion as he sees those puffy lips just swallowing the damp material. He swipes his tongue over and over, the heat and wetness of his mouth making your entire body tremble. You feel it heating up, hearing the messy sounds of his own cock fucking his fist, wishing it were your throat instead.
"Oh god, Toru," you whimper out it so pathetically, your hands tangling in his soft white hair, fluffy and silky underneath your touch, trying to pull him closer, to shove his face where you need it. “Not enough, mnh!”
He chuckles against your puffy cunt, the vibration and the quick lave of his tongue have you on edge. Pulse racing as he had the audacity to tease you, landing a wet smack on your cunt that had you pathetic.
"Ah - ah," he clicks his tongue, catching your wrists in one of his stupidly large hands and pinning them against your waist, smirking at you in a way that's utterly not dirty at all. "No touching yet, sweetheart. I'm taking my time with you."
“Meanie,” he chuckles again, but you love it – feeling that strength as he grips you so tight. “My panties are ruined, Toru.”
“Mmm. Yes they are,” he tugs them again, looking at how wet the material is, just a pathetic little scrap of fabric with your juices pouring.
Instead of showing you mercy and moving them, he just presses them further against you again, tongue shoving that fabric until it's flush with your needy clit, you swear you can feel his tastebuds as that tongue drags through the fabric, pausing everywhere that has you jerking and honing in.
Like this nerdy boy is studying you.
Oh. He is.
He's methodical, almost clinical with his research of your needy, clothed cunt just separated by this pathetic little piece of fabric, his tongue pressing more firmly against your soppy lil hole. She is pulsing around nothing, torturous strokes, pressing his fingers up and down, you're hot and sticky underneath his touch.
“Toru!” Your wrists are still pinned, his cock forgotten even though it's dripping down onto the soft, plush rug below his knees. Satoru finds your clit again and looks up under snowy lashes, you watch the drips of slick connect with that wickedly long tongue.
“Mmm. I bet I could see myself inside you,” he whispers, you suck in a breath at that, as if he is measuring the distance of your entrance to your belly button, easing your wrists to tug up your top, nipping your puffy lips over the fabric. “Scientifically.”
“Then experiment, scientifically.” He chuckles like the little shit he is, finding your clit once more, a hand pressing where he imagines his cock would bulge out.
“You are so needy f'me, s'pretty like this,” his words slur as he wraps his plump lips around your twitchy clit, barely concealed and swollen underneath the cotton material that is dripping wet. He pulls it in his mouth and sucks it hard through your panties, humming against you.
You're aching, cunt filling his hungry mouth as your hands land back on his hair, his movements making you cry out and buck your hips against his mouth for more.
“So sweet right now, god, look at that…”
Satoru is so close to cumming when he grabs his cock at the base again, squeezing so goddamn hard – he could almost bet that if he felt your cunt without the fabric, he'd spurt his white ropes everywhere.
Make a mess of you.
“Mnh. You close, sweetheart?”
Your answer is a jerky little nod, as he keeps torturing you with this fucking barrier, his teeth grazing that tiny clit ever so lightly through the fabric, making you scream out, your head falling back. Your panties are absolutely ruined now, utterly transparent with your slick and his spit coating them, your sweet little cries rushing through his ears.
Satoru? Well, he laps at the mess he's making happily, his tongue coating the entire area in circles that deliberately avoid that spot until you're twitching, tears falling down your cheeks.
"Such a messy girl," he moans out those words, eyes black when they peek up at you, his voice husky as your slick clings to his lips. "Soaking these pretty little panties f’me.”
“Please, Toru… move ‘em please,” he smirks and decides to have mercy on you, tugging them to the side of one of your lips and exhaling, watching the slick drool and spill down. You gasp as the air hits your cunt, already aching and needy, the dampness making it a cool shock.
“Fuck, you're so pretty,” he murmurs, his cock just about to bust without his touch, he glides his tongue from your ass all the way to your clit, looking right up at you. “Is this what you were thinking of, hmm? My tongue inside you?”
“Your cock, too,” he chuckles against you, but just a couple more flicks has you close, as he spreads your cunt wide, studying your every expression.
“Look at that. My slutty little girlfriend.”
Satoru is trying his best to hold it together, but when his tongue glides into your gummy walls and they grip him, he's too far gone, slurping up every bit of the cum that just pours out. You shatter so damn pretty, squirting all over his face, dripping down his chin until it's glossy, his cock starts pulsing right with your hole, imagining her milking him.
“F-fuckk….”
“Toru, mnh! S'good I… please…” You’re overheated, body sensitive, it’s just not enough, even with his tongue lavishing every bit of your pussy.
Not enough.
“Please what, baby? Mnh,” he grips his veiny cock as he cums with his tongue on your clit, more of your mess drenching his throat, his face, his shirt. His white ropes coat his hand, lashes fluttering shut as he savors your jumping clit in his mouth, whining against you.
“Want your cock in my mouth, Toru please…” he exhales, breath making you jolt, looking up at you with a blush.
“I um…” he leans back on his knees and you see the mess, blushing at it.
“I didn't touch you though…”
“Didn't need to,” he's clearly a little embarrassed, you take his cum soaked hand then – dripping white – and wrap your mouth around one of his thick fingers. “Oh fuck…”
You suck him right off, tasting that salty white substance and moaning as it hits your taste buds. Satoru pulls back and laps it off his own fingers, before kissing you right with it, the mess spilling between your mouths and dripping down.
Satoru Gojo – your nerdy boyfriend with an insane Digimon collection was a fucking freak, greedily drinking his own cum off your mouth.
You’re trembling when the door knocks, and you faintly remember that he has ordered you boba. He’s the epitome of a perfect boyfriend after that, considerate, caring, cleaning the little rivulets of your own release from your inner thighs – you’re stuck back on the opposite side of the bed, cuddling him and watching a movie.
Satoru even has the audacity to snore after, heavy body wrapping as you ache to get filled by him – at least the movie was so damn boring you drift off right next to him.
****
“I’m gonna die a virgin,” you mumble to Shoko and Utahime the next weekend, aside from more heated kisses and grinding on Satoru’s thigh after your well planned out dates – nothing.
You’re aching.
How much use could your rose toy really see!? And now you even have two more toys going along with it, though you doubt any of them are getting close to Satoru and how good he must feel. No ‘clit sucker’ could come close to what that nerdy little mouth could do.
“You look like you’re dying, girl, damn…” Utahime earns your glare. “Is it that bad?”
“He finally got me off and…” You blush now, unable to finish your sentence, remembering his tongue drinking up your juices.
“Does he know what a clit is?”
“Very much so, it was so good.”
They look surprised.
“You all have no clue, he really was,” Shoko laughs at that, leaning back and hitting the vape, handing it over to you. “No, no.”
“You need a smoke, sweets,” you grimace, brushing your hair back, pacing back and forth as the two girls watch you, snuggling with each other. “You’re pacing holes in the carpet.”
“I can’t handle this, I just… god I wanna suck his dick, is it so terrible? He hasn’t even let me touch it. I sound like a horny ass man, I hate it. I wanna respect him, I really do.”
“You wanna respect him with his cock in your throat?” Shoko finishes.
“Yes. I mean!? I will respect him without the cock in my mouth! You two are menaces.”
They’re laughing like the brats they are, blowing smoke in each other’s mouths, you damn near moan in frustration. Satoru’s gotten you off that one time, then since then he has gone right back to worshipping you in the sweet way he always did, as if you’ll what – forget about his tongue?
His stupidly long fingers…
The cum on your tongue that you lapped right off!?
The taste.
“Ugh -” you lean back and sink further into the couch. “I really am gonna die.”
“Can’t die, we’ve got that party tonight,” Utahime teases, kissing Shoko’s lips and giggling just a bit, you pout at the two of them.
In public Satoru would kiss your hand at best.
Where on earth even had that freak come from that spit his cum in your mouth last week!? He’s all gone again – the pocket protector wearing Nerd Gojo in his place, like some twin fucking took over for a minute.
“I can’t go to a party and get drunk, I’ll make a fool of myself around him, one drink and my pussy has a mind of its own…” You finally sit down, plopping back into the seat. “I feel like a pervert.”
“You are! Let’s just call you fucking pervy Sage.”
“Hey!” You glare at Utahime, Shoko is inhaling another puff of smoke, you cough just a bit.
“Hah – Sanji from One-”
“Don’t even!? I’m not that bad,” you huff at her, frowning now. “I swear I'm not trying to be pervy. God, what is in this weed?”
“Hmm,” Shoko tugs Utahime on her lap. “I wonder if he's scared you'll like … bite his dick.”
“You're so fucking mean,” you cough a little more, eyes watering as you scowl at the two of them.
“Look slutty, like really slutty,” Shoko walks up now, tilting your chin up and crooking her lips up at the corner. “Something that screams – fuck me.”
“He licked my panties and didn’t even…”
“Really slutty,” Utahime agrees, tapping her chin. “Ooh! I know, I have the perfect outfit in mind, that little black dress of yours.”
“But it’s too small for me now! It’s from like high school, and thanks to you two cooking all the time, my hips-”
“Exactly.”
“Exactly what? Oh…”
You trail off now, realizing what everyone knew – that Satoru loves your hips, he grabbed on to them every chance he got, even when he was just a little bit shy.
“Okay…”
They kiss again in front of you, laughing a bit, making you lovesick for your man – your nerdy man who you wish would kiss you in that way, tongues all dripping. It’s not even fair.
“All lovey dovey, fuck you both.”
They’re so hot and rude laughing at you – you decide to just disappear, you don’t need your hot ass best friends making out in front of you when you’re already in pain from the constant edging from Satoru. You are rushing to your room and trying on outfit after outfit, before finally deciding on the exact fucking one they brought up.
You would look as sexy as you could and hopefully get your boyfriend to not be able to resist you.
But also you’ll respect his decision, dammit! You can wait as long as he wants to, even if you were absolutely gonna put your tits and ass out there for him. Looking in the mirror and touching up your lipstick, swiping a finger across your lower lip to smudge it just a tad.
“Oh damn you look hot, Sanji,” Utahime says when you come out.
“I am not Sanji.”
“You are.”
“Fuck you both!”
*****
Satoru can’t keep his damn eyes off you.
Fuck you’re pretty tonight.
That damn little black dress clinging to your skin is fucking ruining Satoru’s mind, brain short circuiting as the two of you navigate the insanely packed frat house, one of his hands on the small of your back protectively. People are all bumping into everyone, stumbling around, absolutely no chance he lets someone hurt you by accident.
Moreso, Satoru Gojo can’t get his fucking hands off you, no, he can feel your warmth right through the thin layer of cotton material, fingers splaying across it. He reminds himself in his head over and over just what a horrible thing it would be to fucking take your first time at a frat party, even as he has to adjust his cock, turning from you to face the wall for a moment.
“Everything okay, Toru?” You ask softly, hand on his back, he laughs, a fake and terrible attempt at being normal, turning right back around to you.
“Me!? Yes, yes. Do you need a drink, babydoll?” He asks.
The music kicks on as he speaks, and all you can see are his plump lips forming words, ringing from how damn loud they’re blaring the worst dance music known to man. “What!!”
“A drink!!”
“Huh?”
“A DRINK-”
The music pauses for just a minute, switching to something else but leaving multiple people to stare at Nerdy Gojo shouting.
You blink a bit at his shouting, he swears he’ll kill Suguru and Nanami for having the audacity to fucking laugh at him and his pain. Them smoking weed earlier and trying to give him every tip known to man on how to bury said tip right against that surely cute little cervix.
As if Satoru hadn’t studied extensively.
“Yes, please,” you smile all pretty, letting him guide you through, he just about loses it from the sheer amount of eyes locked onto you, gripping you just a little too tight, feeling the curve of those breedable hips underneath his fingertips.
Imagine having them bent over, his hands fit so perfect-
No, he can make it another night, a dumb frat party was not the time or place for something so precious as your first time. Even if you smell that good, and you’re dancing all over him, giggling, your ass brushing right against where his cock has tented his dark jeans.
Your drink in one hand, the other in his as he pulls you against him, for a nerdy boy, Gojo can absolutely move his body. You feel so goddamn good against him, with your waist in his grip now, his lips pressed against your ear – he can inhale that sweet scent you just naturally fucking have.
That’s when he realizes he’s about to cum if your ass rubs up on his cock one more damn time with those heels making you tall enough, he could bend you over and slide it right in. God he bets you’re so wet too.
Satoru has to pull back, making you blink just a bit in confusion, he downs the rest of his drink, smiling apologetically.
“Bathroom, sweetheart.”
“Oh, um… okay, want me to-”
Satoru runs the fuck off.
Maybe you’re doing too much, shit… you were absolutely grinding all up on Satoru because you were craving him so bad. You needed to give him more time! If the roles were reversed, you know he would, even if he may want to as badly as you do. Going to pour yourself a shot, you throw it back and let your eyes shut, sighing just a bit as it burns your throat.
You need to ease up and let Satoru take his time, even if you have to press your thighs together to resist the needy urge of rubbing your cunt on anything right now.
Maybe you are fucking Sanji.
*****
Satoru’s leaned back on the door, unzipping his pants and seeing his reddened cockhead, and just how fucking swollen it is. He’s jerking his cock desperately, whimpering out as the door gets knocked on, banged on in fact by fucking Sukuna of all people.
“Gotta take a piss man, stop jerking it.”
“I’m not!? I’m pissing right now – w-wait,” Satoru is jerking it of course, but how dare Sukuna call him out on it. Dickhead fratboy that he is, he’s chuckling outside of the door, but none of it is getting rid of Satoru’s throbbing erection.
He’s just way too needy, too sensitive, he can see his reflection in the mirror – those flushed pink cheeks. Sukuna thankfully fucks off, but Satoru can't even cum with just his hand, not when he knows your little fist would feel so much better, when your mouth and pussy would grip him.
No, Satoru is left tortured.
*****
You are alone for some time, concerned if he was somehow drunk or sick when the leader of the frat – the slutty ass, pink haired jock named Sukuna comes up to you, sipping his cup and flickering his red eyes up and down your face.
“Hmm, Gojo left you all alone?”
“And?” You scoff, rolling your eyes at him now, he smirks just a bit, leaning close. “He’s busy. Okay?”
“Mmm… yeah,” he peeks over his shoulder now, then looks right back down at you. “So.”
“So, what?”
He grins all big. “Wanna play beer pong?”
“Beer pong?”
“Mhm,” he tugs at a little lock of your hair. “Bet I stomp your ass at it. Look like such a good girl.”
“Hah you think I've never been to a party!?”
“Never seen you before aside from with your nerdy lover boy,” he pours you a drink now and inclines his head.
“I've partied, just… usually me and Toru are busy.”
He snorts at that.
So busy your boyfriend is jerking his cock in the bathroom.
“I see, so busy, huh?”
“Yes but…” you curse now, shaking your head. Satoru has been gone fifteen minutes and won't answer a text, a game of beer pong wouldn't hurt. “Fine then.”
It doesn’t take long until there is an entire gathering of people to watch you absolutely annihilate Ryomen Sukuna in beer pong, to the point he is fucking furious. You're landing the pong ball in every cup, decimating the entire frat at a certain point, giggling as you study them, down to the last shot, against Sukuna again.
“Beginners luck or some shit,” he’s fucking furious – you swear you see his vein ticking underneath his jaw.
Satoru is still not here.
You’re worried but you’re also enjoying the cheers, especially when you land that last one, giggling as the frat brothers who were talking all that shit about the nerdy girlfriend of Satoru moments before are now staring in disbelief. With one final, perfect arc, the ball splashes into the last cup.
It really is beginner's luck.
But.
Also, fuck Sukuna.
"Damn, girl!" someone yells, and you take a little bow, rubbing it right in Sukuna’s face now, who is slamming down the rest of his beer.
Surely he drank enough to get annihilated – but somehow still standing just normal, big ass man has some insane tolerance because those eyes look completely aware.
"Guess I'm not such a good girl after all, huh?" you tease Sukuna, who's standing there looking down at you, setting the cup down and crushing it.
“Hmmm,” his red eyes dilate just a bit as he steps closer to you, suddenly making you feel just a bit nervous.
Satoru hates Sukuna.
It’s well known, since high school the two of them have been overcompetitive and absolutely insane against each other. He’d be fucking furious if he saw you anywhere near him at all. You peek and see him across the crowd then, getting a text from Shoko blinging on your phone.
He’s really mad.
He is.
You get another text now from Utahime, biting down on your lower lip.
Make him jealous and maybe you’ll get dicked down, Sanji.
“I’m not Sanji,” Sukuna raises a brow, lips twitching. “I’m not.”
“Sanji? Who the fuck is that?”
“One piece?”
“Nerd – hey, wait,” you’re turning and he grabs your wrist for just a moment. “Shit, I mean… you’re right, you’re not a good girl, huh?”
“I sure beat your ass,” you say, pausing when he reaches out, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they brush a stray piece of hair back from your face, rough knuckles brushing against your cheek for a second too long.
"You did, you're full of surprises, brat.”
“Brat? Whatever…”
You can feel Satoru’s eyes on you – you’d pull back, but part of you wonders if making him jealous would bring that freak out that spit cum in your mouth – maybe you are a brat. You sip your drink, remaining normal.
“I’m dating Satoru, you’re too close.”
“Would nerdy ass Satoru know what to do, how to handle your ass?” He taunts, your eyes narrow, his laugh echoing despite the music as your boyfriend starts shoving his way through. “Show you that digimon collection?”
“I’m very pleased, thank you.”
“You look like you need to get your attitude fucked right out of you,” your fingers itch to slap him now. “If he fucks up, you know where to find me.”
“No thank you, I- Toru!”
Satoru is between you and Sukuna, shoving him off and glaring right at him – perhaps the two tallest men at the party right face to face, Sukuna’s smirk making Satoru want to punch him.
“Why are you so close to my future wife?”
“Wife?” You blush and he glares at you.
“Yes, and baby momma – but you’re being a brat,” he whispers, Sukuna snorts at that.
“She is a brat.”
“You can’t call her that,” he shoves the big ass man and takes your hand now. “She has better shit to do than talk to you.”
“Aw, but we were having fun,” Satoru is dragging you away, you blink just a bit, almost scowling at Sukuna who blows you a kiss.
What a dick.
BUT.
Satoru is fuming, and he’s hot.
You’re so toxic!
“What’s wrong, Toru? I was just playing some beer pong,” you say all innocently, as he drags you past everyone, you’re struggling to keep up with his long strides. “Um… what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong!? Hah,” he’s laughing, psychotic and feral like you turned on a switch in his brain, when he finally starts getting some privacy. “Everything.”
“I don’t get it…”
“He was hitting on you,” Satoru yanks you away in the center of the party, you barely bite back your giggle at how excited you are to see him this way, looking ever so serious when he glares down at you.
Maybe you are evil, loving how mad he is, how jealous he is when he presses you against the hallway wall on the other side of the party, you can feel the music humming through the walls, but not as fast as your heart is racing looking up at your blue eyed boyfriend. Blue eyed angry boyfriend.
This isn't sweet Satoru at all, no – he's completely fucking unhinged, his chest rising and falling with his quickened breaths, cupping your face and jerking your chin to look up at him.
“You think he was?” You ask softly, making him raise a brow. “I thought he was just… being nice?”
You make him laugh without humor now, thumb brushing across your lip. “Are you being bratty, sweetheart? Teasing me, making me jealous?”
“What? No,” you straight up fucking lie to his face, batting your lashes all innocent and cute, but you can tell my that little smirk he doesn’t buy any of it for shit right now.
“No?”
“No, I was just talking, Toru. Isn't that fine?” You trail your hands up his chest, wrapping your fingers around to hook behind his neck, tugging him down to face you. “It’s fine for me to make friends, isn’t it?”
“Not when he's looking at these pretty tits,” he cups one, making you suck in a breath – your needy boyfriend is never this bold. “They're not his to look at.”
“Oh?” You lean forward now, tip toeing as he leans low, thumb brushing over a nipple, making it perk up for his touch. “Are they yours? Yours to look at?”
He’s losing it, his pulse hammering behind his ears, in his wrists, everywhere was hammering, his mouth practically salivating as he cups that tit right where anyone can see, big hand squishing it. You gasp out at the sensation, your lashes fluttering closed, little whines mingling against his lips.
“Yes, mine, every inch of you is mine,” Satoru shakes his head now with a soft laugh. “He thought he could dance with you. Kiss your lips? Lips that are mine.”
“All yours,” you open your eyes and giggle again, earning his scowl. “Sorry you're just so cute like this.”
Satoru blinks.
“Oh, I’m cute?”
You go to press a kiss when he snatches you up in one swoop, you gasp and wrap your arms around his neck now. Thighs trembling as he carries you to some room he finds, stumbling you in and shoving you right against the door.
“You think I'm cute,” he presses his cock against your slick heat, slutty little panties practically ruined for him, grinding his cock until you're gasping out. “Well I think that you're a brat.”
You gasp. “Me?”
Two people calling you that.
Well… maybe you are.
“You are bratty, with those pretty fucking lips,” he's kissing you filthy, tongues dancing, saliva dripping between you both, easing you down so that you slide against his body achingly slow. “Maybe I should shut your bratty mouth up.”
Oh fuck.
“Yes please?” He glares at your big fucking grin.
“On your knees then, sweetheart,” you so eagerly obey, he laughs softly, his heart hammering in his chest, a mix of being utterly furious, nervous about his first time, and dumbstruck by the sight of your heart eyes. “Look at you, bein’ such a good girl – but are you really that desperate to suck me?”
“Please yes,” you have no shame – all you want is Satoru’s cock deep and buried in the back of your throat. “If you want though! C-consent.”
“As if I haven’t wanted this for years,” he shakes his head and tilts your chin up, sighing. “I wanted to do it all perfect, to lick and kiss every inch, worship your body until you were writhing, so fucking needy for it.”
Satoru unclicks his belt, the metallic click hitting your ears. “Mnh… years?”
"Years," he repeats softly, unbuttoning his jeans entirely too slow for you, you go to move your hands and he halts them with a little smack, you bite down on your lip, aching. “Hands on your thighs, you’ll listen to me for once, since you’ve been driving me so fucking crazy.”
“Me, making you crazy, really,” you do as he says though – eagerly – palms on your thighs, he laughs a bit, the sound of his zipper lowering echoing in the room even with the reverberating walls.
“You know every time you drag that messy cunt on me it ruins me, right?” He draws out that word, sighing now. "Every time you wore those little skirts and bent over, every time you'd bite your lip while concentrating…”
Satoru drags a thumb down your lip now, achingly slow against the plumpness that moves underneath it, your teeth nip on his thumb teasingly, and then you let him push your mouth open.
“Open real wide, sweetheart,” you do just that, and he can’t help but whimper as he presses down on your tongue, as if he’s studying the recesses of your open, eager mouth. “Wider, can’t you? For me?”
You listen eagerly, opening wide and fucking obscene, your tongue out for any bit of him he wants to give you, core just aching.
“Fuck, I've imagined this exact moment."
Satoru won’t tell you just how long he has, either, he swallows – just a bit nervous now.
“Suck,” you suck his digits, slurping them and moaning around them, imagining his cock instead, loving how dominant he’s being. “Stop.”
You obey, making him raise a brow.
“You like me tellin’ you what to do? Is that why you got me so fucking mad, so jealous, to have you listen?”
“Yeah,” you whisper, as he shoves his jeans down, and the hard, thick length of his bugle strains against the thin fabric of his boxers. “Pokemon? You traitor!”
“I can’t wait to shut your mouth up tonight,” you giggle at that, Satoru sighs and frowns at them, brushing your hair back a bit. “They were a gift, okay?”
“I’ll buy you digimon ones.”
“God, you’re so perfect,” you’re still giggling, when he gently smacks your face – the lightest little touch that has you almost moaning. “Open up again, yeah? Be a good girl, baby.”
“Mmm, yes,” you nod your head, doing just as he says – the side of freaky Satoru you only saw hints of last week when he’d lavished your panties with his long tongue.
“You got me jealous on purpose, yeah? Wore that slutty outfit to fucking ruin me, wanted cock in your throat that bad? Got me fucking leaking so much… fuck…”
Your answer is to keep that mouth open, leaning forward as you lap your tongue along the damp spot where his pre cum has already soaked through, right over a traitorous yellow pikachu. You’ll make more fun of that later, right now he’s jerking his hips, hissing at the drag of your cute lil tongue on him.
“Fuck…” You’re teasing him just like he did you – licking and sucking his tip over the damp cotton of his boxers. “Act so sweet and you’re evil, shouldn’t feel that good through that… mmm…”
Satoru’s letting you suck around his fat cockhead, slurping every bit of his white cum from it, tongue lolling right along that slit over and over.
“Torturing me back?”
“Yep,” you lick your lips, making him sigh, shaking his head now.
“Go on then, take what’s all yours…" his voice is low, hoarse damn near as he for the very first time pulls his cock out, letting it spring free, slapping against his lower abdomen with a loud, wet smack. “Can you fit all of it?”
You knew he’d be big.
You didn’t know he’d be that big, with his jeans undone all slutty, his pokemon boxers shoved down – his cock is perfect, just the right amount of thick and entirely too fucking long, with a prominent pale blue vein running along the underside. You’re literally drooling as he strokes it right in front of you, the head flushed a deep, pretty pink as it leaks white.
You’re soaked, fucking ruined.
“I can.”
You cannot.
Maybe?
You will try!
“Go on then, sweetheart, lemme see how good you can take all of me,” he chuckles as you lean forward without hesitation, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the tip. “Teasin’ me more?”
You lap your tongue up, keeping your hands right where he asked you too, sliding underneath so you hit that frenum. His sharp inhale is met with his huge hand tugging in your hair so hard it hurts, pulling at the hairs on the nape of your neck.
“Fuck… greedy lil mouth,” he’s damn near slurring his words when you swirl your little tongue around the head, lapping up the salty taste of his cock underneath, brushing along that vein. He whimpers out when you wrap your lips around it and suck. “Oh my… f-fuck…”
Satoru loses it the first time you really suck his cock, his hand coming to rest on the back of your head, pushing you down further as his other hand rests on the doorway, beginning to move so that he’s choking you. You’re whining out, aching to touch your cunt so bad you slide your fingers down.
“So desperate,” he tuts his tongue, fucking your throat now, his cock slamming the back of it as tears spill. “B-baby, is this s’okay?”
You pull back as he does, with a wet, filthy pop, grinning. “I want it, all the way deep in my throat, Toru, I can take it.”
“You can take all of it in that tiny lil’ throat? When she’s this tight?” He whispers, your nod makes him glare now. “Have you done this?”
You blink a bit. “Yes?”
“Then I’ll fuck your throat so hard you’ll forget anything but me,” he takes you over now, slamming deep inside, you’re whimpering as one of his feet spread your thighs, and you’re soaking his black boot. “That’s it, rutting on my boot and taking cock like a little slut, hmm?”
“Mnhgh…” you’re done for, this is exactly what you needed, him railing your throat until you can’t think, until you’re gagging and tears are spilling.
“Look at me,” he orders softly, you do just that as he presses deep, sniffling as you try to take all of him, he hisses as he feels his tip stretching that tight throat, his Adam's apple bobbing. “You know I fucking love you? And respect you?”
You giggle around him and he glares.
“You have to know if I’m gonna say all this,” you pull back again, fingers all coated in your slick, gliding it along his sticky tip.
“I know you love me, Toru. I love you…” He sighs, touching your cheek. “I love you talking to me this way, you could be meaner.”
“Oh? Fuck my frustration on your throat?”
“Please?”
“You’re ruining me,” he mumbles, slamming right back inside, now that he knows you’re okay, he can lose control, see how much you can take, as you grind on that shoe, nails now pressing in the muscles of his thighs, jeans slipping down. “Want our first time to really be right against this door? Shove your slutty skirt up and ruin your cunt for fuckin’ anyone?”
God, Satoru’s sexy like this, fogged glasses and all.
Your answer is to take him all the way, your nose brushing against the white hair, the tufts of it tickling your nose, he’s stuttering now, unable to stop himself from fucking faster, harder, the wet sounds mixing with his whines. He doesn’t hold them back, either, every time he does he feels a fresh gush of wetness even over that leather, he can see it shimmering as he pulls back and slaps his cock on your mouth.
“Slutty girl, this all f’me, huh? Not that fucking loser downstairs?”
“All you.”
“Hold that tongue out,” you do just that, and Satoru slaps his tip on your tongue over and over, as you keep grinding on him. “Can’t believe you’re this much of a pretty little whore, god I thought you were a good girl?”
“Toru… please…”
“Please what?” You just keep rubbing. “Desperate, fuck… stand up.”
You can hardly do that when he helps you by tugging you up, spitting directly in your mouth, you swallow it greedily, earning his pathetic moan as he turns you, shoving you against that door. “Mnh!”
“Stop me before I fill all your fucking holes with cum,” he’s kissing down your neck, his glasses cool against your neck, whines escaping his lips as he shoves that slutty lil dress up the gentle curve of your hip. “All of them, I’ll have your cunt drippin’, your throat full, fuck that ass while I’m at it.”
“Mngh, please, please,” it’s all you can do but to arch.
“That needy?” He’s tugging your panties to the side, dragging his tip up and down over and over, moans escaping his lips when he bends down, turning your face to him. “First time in a frat house against a door? You’re so wet do I even need to finger you right now?”
“Already did,” you answered, he laughs, shaking his head and kissing you, rubbing even more, teasing your slit with the fat head of his cock until you’re weak, your thighs shaking. “Please, please….”
“Please what, fuck your cunt for the first time? That’s what you’ve been wanting, me to lose it, huh?”
“Yeah,” he scoffs, teasing even more, mouth messy and mean as he bumps your clit, until you squirt right down his length, dripping all down the carpet.
Sukuna’s carpet – it’s his room you faintly notice, as you see the little pictures on the walls.
You wonder if Satoru meant that.
“Squirting already, haven’t even fucked you yet,” he pulls back and bends down, slamming his cock so deep you scream out, head falling back as he tugs your hair, making your ass arch out as he fills you. “Oh my g-god… baby…”
“Toru,” he lets you adjust to his thickness, the very first time your cunt has ever been filled – and this wasn’t how he wanted to do it.
He wanted to stretch you out – one finger, two, then three – but you’re so soaked you suck him right in. Such a tight, perfect fit he can hardly take it, bending down to press sweet kisses on your bare shoulders, easing back and shoving in again, taking your hand and placing it on your tummy, pressing so you feel it all.
“Feel me here?” He asks softly, desperately – worried for a moment with how tight you are that he’s hurt you, but your answer is to look back at him with those slutty, parted lips and dilated eyes, nodding. “Who’s inside you?”
“You, Toru.” you answer, cunt spasming as she’s already close, his body overtaking you, wrapping and tugging, shoving even deeper.
“Who’s first?”
“You.”
“Who’s gonna make this cunt stretch out?”
“Y-you and… ah!”
“Mine, mine… fuck you’re all mine,” Satoru gave you that minute to adjust, a last mercy before your nerdy boyfriend fucking loses his mind. “Mine, this pretty body, this perfect pussy… you… mine…”
“Yours,” you whisper it over and over as Satoru fucks your messy cunt, even though it’s hard to take, you’re so full it feels perfect, letting his hand wrap your throat, fingers pressing on either side of your windpipe. “Ah!”
“Hah – such a perfect fit, made f’me,” he’s fucking you so deep you feel him everywhere, cock gliding in and out of your sticky, gummy walls, fucking you so goddamn messy it's dripping down between your thighs. “B-babyyy…”
You arch for more when he pulls out of your cunt with a filthy squelch and you whine from the loss. “Back in, please…”
He lifts and carries you to the bed, thighs shoved wide, feral now as he shoves back inside and sees himself moving inside you. Every slick glide smoothing your puffy cervix, until she is bruised and aching, that dress shoved higher, panties tugged firmly to the side. He uses both to move in you, laughing as you gasp out, as your thighs tremble.
“Aw, is it too much, sweetheart? Too deep?”
Feral Satoru is here, mixed with sweet Toru, but his cock is anything but sweet – the way it stretches you out, fucking ruins you, pummels your cunt so deep you’re about to cum all over his length, already sensitive.
“Mhm!”
“Full of me?”
“Nghhhh…”
You don't know how the fuck else to answer, it all is entirely too much, the way he can see his cock print, his insane laugh, those blue eyes glittering with the frames fallen off. So blue it hurts to look at, eyes almost threatening to close.
“Nuh-uh, eyes on me, that's it,” Satoru keeps pumping into your cunt, leaning up to shove your thighs against your tits, smushing them as he fucks you dumb.
He knows it too.
“Can't think?”
“mmm, nnnhhh,” your answer is pathetic and just a babble really, as your nerdy, once virgin boyfriend pummels your messy, needy cunt until she's stuffed so full it hurts. Your nails pressing into biceps, digging in as he stretches your puffy lips on it.
“Can’t even fucking talk – already?” Your eyes roll back in your skull as his cock ruins your pussy, so deep you do feel him all over.
“Gonna pump you so full, hah will you finish college without me breeding your cunt?” Satoru Gojo is batshit insane, as he leans over you, bending you so that you're folded in half under his heavy weight. “What would you do then, hmm? If I breed your slutty cunt? Make you mine.”
“Want it, mmm,” you’re utterly fucking shameless about it, feeling his bruising grip, his cock getting creamy at the base as his heavy balls slap.
“Jerked it in the bathroom, had me so hard,” you bite down on your lip, gasps escaping your throat, eyes locked. “You love that, huh? Driving me insane, slutty dress, pretty body… god…”
He presses your thighs down enough to tug your tits out, gripping them and exhaling, thumbs brushing your nipples until they’re peaks.
"Look at you," he pants, "taking my cock so well, pretty girl. You’re just such a good little slut for me, aren't you?"
You can only moan in response, your body trembling as he hits that spot inside you that makes your vision go white, your answer is to grip his hips with your thighs, letting him cup your face, pumping you so full that you can feel it all over. Warm and hot when he whines out so pathetically in your ringing ears, slutty little moans falling from your lips.
“Takin’ all of it, god…” He kisses you even as you shatter, your cunt spasming all around his veiny length, milking him for every drop. “So fucking greedy. So needy.”
He leans down and captures your lips, spurts of cum still pouring, you can feel him twitching, nails pressing into the strong muscles of his back. “Toru… l-love… toru y-you…”
“Cock drunk, sweetheart?” He teases, like the menace he really is – but he also lovingly caresses your cheek. “You took me like you were made for me.”
“I did?” You’re so damn drunk off him you’re slurring your words, pussy achingly empty, feeling his cum slipping out.
“You did a very good job. Such a good girl.”
“Yay!”
Satoru snorts at you, shaking his head and peppering kisses, leaned up on an arm, his shirt half open, revealing the hard planes of his chest. “You’re s’cute… I wanted to take it easy your first time.”
“I loved it,” you admit, yawning now, peeking around the room. “Mmm, can we go home though?”
“Of course we will,” he kisses down your body though, breath ghosting your thighs, spreading them to watch the filthy mess of his cum pour out, groaning. “You’re wasting it all, baby.”
“Hmm? Ah!” Satoru scoops some of that mess up against his fingertips, shoving it right back inside your quivering hole. You’re gripping him tight, thighs clamping down on his hand, as he smirks. “Toru you’re… crazy…”
“Mmm, you really have no idea what I have wanted to do,” he clicks his tongue, pushing that cum deep again, watching your every expression. “Gonna keep you so full of cum it’ll drip everywhere.”
Satoru does not just fuck you once, no – he makes sure to bend you over in the backseat of his car, fucking cum back inside. Once you're at his house he is pumping ropes of cum on your tits, laughing at how messy you get coated in white, before spreading it all over your body.
Satoru fingers and fucks all that cum inside until you're a trembling mess in his arms, passing out and snoring.
“So funny you started all this but then couldn't keep up, hmm?” He teases softly, cleaning you up, cock sore from how you gripped him, how much he came. But even the sight of milky drops escaping your hole had him damn near twitching back to life, groaning against your skin.
*****
“Good morning,” your nerdy boyfriend is littered in pretty kiss marks, indentions of your teeth all down his neck, a loopy smile on his face as he stands there shirtless, glasses firmly back on.
“Oh! Good morning…” you thought you'd be the one to ruin Satoru Gojo, ride his cock till he whimpered and cried from overstimulation.
You had no clue he'd fuck you so good you couldn't sit up right without his help, cupping your face and leaning down to kiss your lips, tilting your chin up and smirking. You're a mess.
A pretty mess.
Hair fucked up, covered in fingerprints and hickies, taking the coffee he brings and sipping it, sighing as it hits your tongue. “Mmm… good morning.”
“Don't you look pretty in my bed?” He muses, smirking on his features. “I wonder what Sukuna thought of his bed covered in your squirt.”
A blush heats up your cheeks. “I didn't squirt that much!?!?!”
“You really did,” you shove him playfully, giggling then. “My cum too though.”
“You did it on purpose, his room!”
“Me? Never.”
Satoru absolutely did.
That's what Sukuna gets for hitting on his girlfriend, dried up cum all on his blankets – as if he could handle you ❤️
heheh i hope ya'll liked horny reader for a change!!!
summary: You and your husband, Leon Kennedy, are getting used to a new routine.
pairing: leon!re9 x wife!reader
note: I’m writing this fanfic because I found out my favorite streamer became a dad
✹ English isn’t my first language (I’m still learning), so if you spot any mistakes, please let me know nicely
🔮leon kennedy masterlist
MORNING
Before the sun had even risen, Leon was already awake.
His instincts wouldn’t allow him to sleep through an entire night, especially now that his daughter was finally in the world. Almost every night, Leon watched over his daughter’s sleep, monitoring every breath and every movement she made.
Even though she had only arrived a short while ago, Leon was already wrapped around her tiny fingers.
Leon looked over at his wife, peacefully resting beside him, and without even noticing, a small smile appeared on his lips. He admired your strength. The delivery hadn’t been easy you had gone through difficult things before finally having your daughter in your arms but every struggle was rewarded the moment her cries were heard.
A soft rustling filled the room, the tiny movement catching Leon’s attention. He carefully got out of bed so he wouldn’t wake you. Leon had been doing this ever since Tulip came home; he didn’t mind taking care of his daughter during the night while you got a peaceful night of sleep.
His bare feet touched the cold wooden floor as he carefully walked toward the crib on the other side of the room.
Unfortunately, the nursery wasn’t ready when Tulip was born, but to Leon, the closer his daughter stayed to him, the better he could protect her from anything.
Silently, he approached the crib, looking tenderly at the tiny little thing moving desperately, her blue eyes searching every corner for familiar faces. Leon watched those eyes, so identical to his own, filled with unshed tears.
“Don’t cry, little Tulip.” Leon picked her up in his arms, rocking the tiny pink bundle. “Come on, we don’t want to wake mommy.”
Quietly leaving the bedroom, Leon walked downstairs, arriving in the cozy living room, and sat down on the couch with his daughter in his arms.
Leon held his daughter against his chest, rocking her back into the world of dreams.
And there he stayed until the first rays of sunlight appeared. Until you walked downstairs and found one of the most beautiful sights you had ever seen.
Your husband sleeping on the couch with your little daughter drooling on his chest.
AFTERNOON
You looked at the scene in front of you with complete adoration.
Your husband was sitting on the floor while playing with the little one, your daughter’s happy babbles filling every corner of the house.
These peaceful moments were special to you. Seeing Leon’s face so serene whenever he held his daughter in his arms was all that mattered.
Inside this house there were no bioweapons, no fights, no infections. Just Leon being a caring and attentive husband and father.
“Now you’re going to stay with mommy while I take care of your room.” Leon stood up from the floor and held Tulip out to you. “There are only a few things left to finish in the room, and after that she’ll finally be able to sleep in her own bedroom.”
Leon wanted to renovate the entire room by himself. He didn’t even want you helping, something you had strongly protested, but after much insistence your husband ended up winning. Whenever he wasn’t away on missions, he was working on the nursery, but unfortunately it still wasn’t finished, and Leon wouldn’t let Tulip, even though she still understood nothing, see the room.
He took his work very seriously.
You took your daughter into your arms and gently kissed the top of her head, smelling the cotton candy shampoo Leon had insisted on buying.
“Need any help?” Unable to resist, you asked with a small smile.
“Just stay here and take care of our little flower.” Pressing a kiss to your forehead and another to your daughter’s chubby cheeks, Leon stepped away and quickly headed upstairs.
Turning toward your daughter, you smiled at her chubby little face. Letting out a tiny yawn, Tulip rested her head against your chest, filling your heart with love.
“I think it’s nap time.” You sat down on the couch, getting comfortable and ready to rock her to sleep.
And it didn’t take long for Tulip to fall asleep. One thing you would never complain about was how absurdly fast she fell asleep. As long as she had a full stomach, ever since her first day home you and Leon had been amazed by her ability to drift off so easily.
Carefully standing so you wouldn’t wake her, you walked upstairs to the bedroom you shared with Leon to lay the sleeping baby down.
As soon as you made sure the baby monitor was on, you headed straight to the kitchen.
Taking a few ingredients, you made a simple sandwich, but one Leon would definitely like. Heading upstairs again, you walked toward the open door at the end of the hallway.
The room had walls painted a very soft yellow. White shelves decorated the walls, filled with teddy bears and children’s books that Leon had insisted on buying, saying he would read to her every night. A rocking chair sat on the other side of the room beside a small cart where Tulip’s essentials would stay.
A small space with a fluffy rug had been reserved for the crib.
“I think there’s nothing left to do in here.” You caught your husband’s attention while he stood on a ladder, attaching the curtain rod holder to the wall. “You bought way too many things for a baby.”
Furrowing his brows, Leon climbed down the ladder and tossed the screwdriver into the toolbox on the floor. He placed his hands on his hips, looking at you with that serious expression of his.
“Well, you never know what a baby might need. Besides, I don’t want her to be missing anything.” He shrugged while looking around every corner of the room.
You stared at your husband, noticing how his eyes sparkled at every little thing he looked at. You understood why. His job demanded too much from him. Leon was rarely home, constantly moving from one place to another to fight dangerous organizations. Sometimes he didn’t even know if he would make it back home, back to you.
Leon never said it out loud, but you knew he was afraid he wouldn’t make it home alive. He was even more afraid now with Tulip. Leon was terrified of not being there to watch his daughter grow up.
So he did what he could to make sure she would be comfortable if he were no longer here.
Setting the plate down on top of the dresser, you walked toward him until only a few inches separated you, placing your hands on each side of his face, feeling the rough stubble against your palms.
“You know, you don’t need to worry. She’ll be okay. You’ll be okay too.” You smiled softly, resting your forehead against his. Leon closed his eyes as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “Nothing is going to happen to you.”
Leon pulled you closer, resting his head against your shoulder while breathing in your scent. The two of you stayed like that for a few minutes, simply feeling each other’s presence.
“I still need to fix these curtain holders.” Reluctantly, he pulled away from you and pressed a kiss to your lips.
“Leon…”
“I swear that’s all that’s left, sweetheart.”
“I hope so.” You stepped away from him and headed toward the door.
“Is she okay?”
The question made you stop. Looking back at him, you noticed that worry again.
“She’s okay, Leon. She’s doing great.”
Leon let out a relieved sigh. At least that reassurance would keep him calm for the rest of the day.
NIGHT
You stepped out of the bathroom, only to find the bedroom empty. Furrowing your brows, you headed to the only place your husband could possibly be.
Leon had told you he would put Tulip to sleep and come back once she had fallen asleep, but knowing your husband, you knew he wouldn’t be returning to bed anytime soon.
And just as expected, he was there, staring at the tiny little being sleeping peacefully in the crib. You approached him carefully, not wanting to disturb the calmness of the moment.
You stopped only a few steps away from Leon and the crib, watching your husband with tenderness and love. His features, usually so serious and tense most days, were now softened, almost ethereal.
Smiling softly, you wrapped your arms around his waist. Pressing a kiss to his broad back, you rested your chin on his shoulder while looking at the baby. Leon placed his hand over yours, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“I think it’s a bad idea to leave her here alone.” You already knew where this conversation was heading, and you held him tighter, ready to push those thoughts out of his head.
“We’ve already talked about this, Leon. Nothing is going to happen to her.”
“I know, but…”
“We went over everything we should do in case something happens. You don’t need to worry. We’ll be right across the hallway.” You tried to reassure him, but Leon’s instincts never truly faded, always alert, always thinking of different ways to solve every possible problem. “Let’s let her sleep. She could wake up at any moment.”
You gently pulled him away from the crib and pushed him out of the room. Before leaving, you turned off the bedroom light but left the nightlight on. Carefully pulling the door almost shut, you turned to face your husband, looking deeply into his eyes.
You guided him back to the bedroom you shared together. As you laid down in bed, Leon pulled you closer to him and kissed the top of your head.
“I love you,” he whispered softly, holding you tighter against his body.
“I love you too.” You smiled at him, placing your hand against his cheek. “But you need to worry less. I know it’s difficult for you, but we’re going to be okay.”
“I’ll try…”
You snuggled closer to him and quickly drifted off into the world of dreams, but Leon didn’t sleep. He stayed awake, alert to any sound that might appear.
Because he knew that no matter how calm everything seemed, at any moment it could all fall apart.
But for now, Leon would be okay at home, with his wife and daughter. Living the peaceful life he deserved.
