❛ 0X81=JUST OURS ˖ 𖥔  ָ࣪ ❜

The Fall

2.8k mostly sfw homelander x reader. christmas adjacent. depowered homelander.

Summary: After being struck by an unidentified projectile that renders him powerless, Homelander crash lands in your backyard, wholly at your mercy.

this is a rework of this original prompt. inspired by the fable of the mouse that aids the lion whose paw has been stuck by a thorn.  ♡

Homelander is over a hundred feet in the air when he hears something whistling through the sky behind him. Some kind of projectile. A small missile, maybe. It's nothing he hasn't handled before: It could blow up in his face and he would be fine. He’s more curious about what exactly it is, who’s stupid enough to fire it at him, and where it’s coming from. 

With that in mind–in that split second he has to react–he decides to forgo dodging it and instead attempt to catch it.  However, as the mystery projectile gets nearer, his vision begins to tunnel. 

What the fuck? 

His reflexes slow, and before he knows it, the projectile strikes him hard in his left side rib, exploding in fumes that fill his lungs and coat his skin. In an instant, he feels pain like he's been turned inside out, a sensation worse than anything he’s felt since childhood. Instantly he's plummeting towards the ground, crashing directly into your backyard in an eruption of snow and yard furniture.

With his vision going black, the last thing he hears is the sound of the world turning deafeningly quiet.

When Homelander comes to, he's being shaken. No–compressed, hands over his chest, pushing again and again in a steady rhythm. Warm lips press against his, and a rush of air fills his lungs. His eyes snap open, and out of pure reflex, he drives his fist into your unfamiliar form, sitting up with a frenzied look in his eyes.

You should have flown back thirty feet with a hit like that. Instead, you only fell back onto your ass, coughing. Homelander's hands are shaking as he looks at them, and he can feel blood dripping from his ears, taste it in his mouth. He's disoriented, his whole body heavy. He's having trouble breathing, every ragged inhale a struggle, and his heart is pounding.

"Someone tried to kill me," he rasps in disbelief. Not surprised that someone tried, but that someone very nearly succeeded. "Someone... Someone tried to fucking kill me," he says again, growing more hysteric the more the pain sets in. His own brain is hammering against the confines of his skull, beating at the backs of his eyes.

He’s certain that he’s halfway to cardiac arrest, but no matter how he tries to focus, he can’t calm himself. His strength is gone. It’s gone. He looks at you, you, who should have a hole punched through your chest. Instead, you’re staggering to your feet, totally unharmed. 

"Homelander!" You address sharply, audibly trying to rein in your own bubbling panic. He can see his own fear reflected in your eyes. You’re just as confused as he is. Just a stupid little mouse that crawled out of your hole and found him like this. "I can help you, okay? Let me help you."

There’s something about the sharp authority in your voice mixed with an undeniable quiver of compassion that catches his attention. It could be the degree of his vulnerability sinking in, but after a second of dumbfounded staring, Homelander nods.

It must be pure adrenaline that gives you the strength to help him into your house. You don’t look like you should be able to carry him. He's practically dead weight in your arms, barely keeping himself on his feet as you both stumble into your living room. The height difference does neither of you any favors.

You get him down onto the couch before fetching a wet rag, a bottle of water, pills, and a first aid kit. He watches you fumble with it, hands shaking. He assumes it’s adrenaline, though you lack the acidic stench of it. No, you probably don’t. He just can’t smell it anymore. He can’t smell anything except the faint tinge of blood, and whatever nauseating scented candle you use to stink up your home. Though, even that’s distant compared to what he’s used to. However, he finds he doesn’t have it in him to panic. Is this what shock feels like?

He takes the water you offer him, but denies the pills. “No, no. I have no idea what that shit will do to me right now.” You nod, setting the bottle aside. You then lean over him, inspecting the level of damage. His ears are ringing, and his whole body is throbbing with sharp, painful aches. Maybe the pills would help, but he’s never had to take painkillers before. He’d rather swallow tacks than lean on something so pedestrian.

As you work, he notices a mottled mark blossoming darkly across the center of your chest, just under your collarbone, approximately the size of his fist. Without thinking, he reaches up to touch it, remembering the blow he’d dealt you.

You startle, looking down where he touches with a wince. The skin looks as tender as he feels. It must sting. Is he bruised like this beneath his suit? The thought of these same ugly dark marks mirrored on his own body brings him visceral disgust. 

"Don't worry about me," you tell him, as comforting as your voice can muster. You grasp his wrist and gently lay it back down at his side.

I'm not worried about you, he thinks derisively. "That should have caved in your chest."

"Guess it's my lucky day, then," you say absently, more focused on using a wet cloth to wipe away the blood from his temple, up into his hairline, seeking the injury. You're meticulous but gentle in the way you handle him, cupping the side of his face to turn him one way, then another.

If not for how clumsy your movements feel, he’d think you’ve done this before. There is care and determination in the way you tend to him, but no obvious medical expertise. Even the kit you pull from looks out of date and sparse. You probably picked it up from a gas station on a whim because you needed safety pins. "I think these need stitches," you say as you carefully apply bandages, brows furrowed. Homelander's gaze lingers on your lips as you speak. What kind of person sees someone fall out of the fucking sky, blowing a crater in their yard in the process, and then thinks to give them CPR?

"I'm calling an ambulance," you say, moving to stand. That breaks him out of his stupor. He catches you by the wrist, stopping you in your tracks, despite how pitifully weak his own grasp feels. "No, no, not... Don't do that," he says, screwing his eyes shut briefly. No one else can know that this happened. Besides, if those psychopaths are still out there, it will draw them right to him. "Too much attention, I just... give me a fucking minute," he says, flexing his hands. They still feel weak, tingling like they've fallen asleep, but the bizarre sensation is gradually beginning to abate.

Whatever was done to him, it doesn't seem to be permanent. 

He hopes to fuck that it isn’t. "Okay," you say tentatively. Instead of leaving, however, you reposition to continue wiping the blood from his face, gently rubbing from his temples down his jaw. He watches you like a hawk, rolling his fingers in and out of fists, gradually feeling his strength return to him.

He's unaccustomed to the way you're handling him. One hand cupping his jaw, ginger in the way you move his head only when you absolutely need to. The concern wrinkled between your brows is so palpable, so sincere, that for a moment he almost forgets you're strangers to each other.

"What're you doing?" He asks eventually, voice low. You pause, looking down to meet his eye. "Oh, I just... There's still blood, and I didn't want to leave you alone."

Your response tightens something in his chest, like a steel coil wrung too tight, leaving him uncomfortable. He feels small, vulnerable, and the tenderness of your touch is doing nothing for it. "I don't need you," he snaps defensively. "I'm fine."

"Okay," you respond, aggravatingly calm. Still soothing. "What do you need?" Homelander opens his mouth, but hesitates. Your earnestness is infuriating, waiting on bated breath for what you can do for him. He closes his mouth, jaw tight. His gaze flickers back down to the bruise on your chest. It's darker now, varying shades of purple and yellow fading into one another.

Looking back up at you, he schools his expression into calm focus. "Close the blinds," he says, gesturing with his head to the window, where you have twinkling white Christmas lights strung up. 

"I need to lay low awhile." He can feel his powers steadily returning. Once he gets back to Vought, he'll find out who it was, and rip out their fucking spine.

You've already gotten up to do as he asked, drawing the blinds down, and then closing the curtains over them. Afterwards, you turn to leave.

"Hey," Homelander calls, frowning. You stop in the doorway. "Where are you going?"

"The kitchen," you answer, hand on the doorframe. "You can call if you need something."

"Stay here," he says, ignoring the bit of petulance he can hear in his own voice. He doesn't care if you're confused. He doesn't care that he doesn't entirely understand himself. He just wants you to stay.

He watches you take a seat at the end of the couch, near his feet. He exhales, closing his eyes. It isn't as though you could do anything if proficient killers did appear, but for whatever reason, no matter how useless you would ultimately be, he feels better for having you near.

Even a curtain is better than no door at all.

After half an hour, his senses begin to sharpen again. It begins as a dull, irritating buzz at first. It has him rubbing at his ears, screwing his eyes shut. It rolls in and out of focus, making it difficult to adjust to. “Are you okay?” You ask from the other end of the couch, where you’ve been sitting with remarkable patience. Maybe you’re afraid of him. He hates not being able to tell by the rate of your heart.

“Peachy keen,” he replies flatly. “Hearing’s coming back.”

“That’s good,” you say, though the inflection you end with makes it sound more like a question.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s good, it’s just… Loud,” he says, grinding the heel of his palm into his temple. His skull is still pounding. “Everything’s all… Coming back in a jumble. Giving me a fucking headache,” he says, though as he speaks, he realizes he’s able to focus fairly well on the conversation, drowning out the more intrusive ambient sounds. “Keep talking.”

You look surprised by his demand, but after a beat, you oblige. After maybe an hour of idle conversation, he learns your name, that you work from home, you like decorating for Christmas even when you spend it alone, and that you've lived a thoroughly dull, ordinary little life until this very moment.

That’s just what you’ve told him.

From his personal observations, he's learned that you’re a perpetual fidgeter, that you touch your face when you're nervous, and that you would rather laugh than take any of his disparaging remarks about your mundane life to heart.

"I think it's lucky for you that I’m so boring. I might not have been here otherwise," you counter. Your smile is so inexplicably charming–nose wrinkled like you’ve somehow pulled a fast one on him–that Homelander forgets to refute your point. Instead, much to your alarm, he sits up.

"Oh, steady! Are you sure you're okay?" You ask, standing as he does, hands out as if to catch him. He stretches his hands out in front of him, and then curls his arms back in. Exhaling, his eyes flare crimson. He likes the way it makes your heart jump when he looks at you through the red glow.

His lips quirk, lasers fading out. "Good as new," he says confidently, though the aches of his fall still linger in his joints. Not quite new. He takes a few long strides across your living room, pausing in the doorway to your kitchen, where he can see through to your yard, and the absolute crater he left in it. "Vought will... take care of that," he says, gesturing vaguely to the destruction.

You can't help but laugh, crossing your arms loosely to survey the damage with him. "I appreciate it, but really, I'm just glad you're alright," you say honestly, staring out into the wreckage of your yard.

Homelander purses his lips slightly, glancing at you from his peripheral. Above him, he feels something brush the top of his head. When he glances up, what he sees hanging in the doorway makes him smile deviously.

Without warning, he puts his hands on your waist and spins you to him, lips landing warm and firm on yours. He absolutely devours the surprised little noise you make against him, halfway tempted to see what other sounds he can wring from you.

Your heart quickens to a race in his ears, and much to his delight, you kiss him back. You even surprise him by grabbing the back of his head with both hands, deepening the kiss of your own volition.

Not one to be out done, he adjusts his hold on you, one arm wrapping properly around your waist while the other slides up to cup the back of your neck, gloved fingers gently squeezing your bare skin.

To his delight, you retaliate with your tongue, slipping it between his lips and coaxing his forth.

Just full of surprises, little mouse.

Maybe you aren't so boring after all.

He meets you eagerly, exhaling a rough, excited little huff through his nose, dropping the hand at your waist to grab a cheeky squeeze full of your ass, wringing a soft moan from you that sends a bolt of heat straight to his cock.

When Homelander pulls back, you're flushed warmly all over. You smell of antiseptic wipes and peppermint, like Christmas in a hospital. It’s bizarrely appealing.

"What was that?" You ask, dazed.

"Mistletoe," he purrs, tipping his head back without taking his eyes off you, settling his hands back on your waist.

You look up slowly–taking a solid few seconds to process–and huff a gentle little laugh, nodding at the aforementioned ornament dangling above you. 

"Is this your way of saying thank you?" You manage to ask after swallowing back the lump in your throat, your shoulders relaxing, though your heart continues to gallop in your chest. "I hope you're still going to pay for my yard."

It's Homelander's turn to laugh. "Oh, no. I haven't even begun to say thank you yet," he assures you, hands lingering on your hips. 

The kiss had been pure unrestricted impulse, nothing he intended to follow through on. However, now that you're toying with the hair at the nape of his neck, your skin warm against his, your eyes half lidded, he’s not sure that he wants to let you go. Your lips shine where you’ve licked the taste of his from them. 

“I think for your good deeds, you’re owed a very merry Christmas,” he says, waggling his brows. 

You give a flustered, incredulous bark of laughter, covering your mouth as you look away from him, that flush of yours intensifying, making your whole body thrum warmly. You wouldn’t need to worry about keeping warm on these cold winter nights if he had his way with you.

“Okay, well, uhm, thank you for… for that thought,” you say, tripping over your words in a way you haven’t this entire encounter. “You hit your head pretty hard, though so maybe before you make any promises, we make sure you get checked out by an actual doctor,” you say, pushing lightly against his chest.

He maintains his hold for just a second longer, utterly immovable. It feels good to be himself again. He runs his tongue along his teeth, downright predatory in the way he stares down at you, but he does relinquish his hold.

“You should come with me to the tower. You know, now that you’re… Compromised,” he says, folding his hands behind his back. “Someone might come looking for me here. Interrogate you on my condition.”

Real fear flashes in your eyes at that. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he gives back gravely.

“Uh… Okay. Uhm, let me… I’ll pack a bag,” you say nervously, stepping away from him to do just that.

“Okie-dokie,” he gives back simply, glancing around your home while he waits. He picks up an odd little gnome with a big red hat that covers everything but a little button nose, and a long white beard. Maybe he’ll convince you to bring along some of your festive decorations.

Merry Christmas to me, he thinks, already daydreaming about twisting the head off of whoever hit him with some kind of neutralizing agent.

He might thank them for the impromptu date while he’s at it.

What binds us // 2

John 'Soap' MacTavish / fem!Reader

Summary:   Returning home as soon as he is able, Soap can‘t help but hope that his wife will reconsider their divorce. 

Content:   civilian wife, lots of hurt/angst and some comfort, divorce (?), swearing, coming-home-from-deployment

Word Count:   2.6k

Part:   1/2/3 <- previous chapter next chapter ->

Notes: I finally got around to finishing the second chapter! Had to write this one in my phone notes, so please forgive any mistakes you might find. I felt so bad for him halfway through, but tried to stay strong. 💔 They also own a cat, everybody say hi to Salome - 🐈

True to his word, Price had arranged a flight home within 72 hours of his first message, and Soap didn‘t even bat an eye at the eye-watering extra fees for his checked luggage and business class upgrade. 

He‘d been all wired up since his wife had called him. He snapped and shouted at everyone except Lieutenant Ghost (he wasn‘t suicidal enough for that - yet) that came too close, asked stupid questions or even dared to simply breathe too loudly in his proximity. Soap felt himself unravel at the edges, one carefully placed stitch at a time.

Only the extensive therapy he‘d been dragged to over the years gave him enough of an outside perspective on the turmoil inside of himself to realize that all that molten hot anger was not directed at the useless driver, or the informant who didn‘t seem to be able shut the fuck up for a moment.

No. Soap knew that all the irritation and itch to hurt was directed at himself. That he‘d messed up badly this time, that it had been going on for months and he‘d been too focused on other things to see it. Or maybe he‘d just suppressed the sadness in his wife‘s voice, the silences and half-assed answers when he asked her about her day and immediately accepted her fine‘s and the usual‘s.

He had been such a colossal prick looking back, it was kind of astonishing that she‘d held out and waited for him as long as she had. Soap had scrolled back through their conversations, had listened to some of her older voice messages, read his own excuses for cancelling again and again.

And even though she‘d assured him that his training and the missions and his career was more important, he should have been better than that. Should have watched out for her, cared more - not lost himself in the work that ate away at his soul and mind when the cure for all his aches was waiting at home.

Soap rubbed over his eyes angrily as he stared out the plane window, long legs stretched far away from himself. The seat to his left was blissfully empty thanks to his second reservation under her name. The stewardess had given up on offering food, but steadily poured him another glass of Scotch when he pressed the little button on the menu screen.

His eyes felt dry and raw, and Soap wasn‘t ashamed to admit to himself that he‘d been on the verge of tears for three days now. His wife had tried calling him twice more since he‘d hung up, then texted him that he shouldn’t do anything stupid. 

Don‘t come home for this, John. I will always be here for you regardless. 

He brushed his thumb over the message, and was silently thankful for the forced airplane mode. The drinks in his system made his thoughts run even wilder, insecurities and fears that most army men carried in their hearts rising up in his throat.

Is there someone else? He wanted to type back. Is that why you don‘t want me to fix it?

But Soap knew she‘d never hurt him in such a way, that she truly thought they‘d be better off on their own. He would just have to prove her wrong.

Soap barely registered the landing, the extensive security screenings and double checking of his gun licenses, then military clearance. It was all standard procedure, he was able to answer their questions in his sleep. 

The only difference was that his wife wasn‘t there to greet him, wasn‘t standing ready with one of those airport luggage trolleys that always seemed to have at least one jammed wheel. The knowledge didn’t stop him from looking for her, traitorous heart beating fast and then dropping into his stomach at her absence. 

Glasgow wasn‘t very busy at this time of night, on a Tuesday no less, and the taxi driver was content to let the meter run when Soap asked him to wait outside the 24 hours supermarket. He picked up the disgusting stuffed olives she loved so much, briefly contemplating flowers before abandoning the thought. They‘d never been that kind of couple, and he didn‘t want to start putting on a mask when what he really needed to do was strip himself.

For the first time since they‘d bought their small house he was glad that she hadn‘t listened to him about completely replacing all the street facing windows with milk glass. Soap was able to see her clearly, sitting at the low sofa table with her legs tucked underneath herself and their fat ginger cat on her lap as she typed away at something. 

Her hair was pulled up into a messy ponytail, face bare and pale in the glow of the laptop, and he oddly felt like he was intruding on a scene not meant for his eyes.

It took him a couple more moments to unglue his feet from the sidewalk, to push open the rusty door of the little path lined with colored pebbles that ended in their front door. He‘d been meaning to replace it, along with their postbox - when had that been? Two years ago now?

He fiddled with his keys, anxious. What did it say about him that he felt like a stranger standing outside his own home?

Shaking his head and dropping his heavy bags, he rung the doorbell instead.

There was a beat of silence, and Soap could just picture his wife raising her head away from the screen, how Salome had probably squeezed herself under the armchair, hissing. Neither one of the women in his life liked it when unannounced visitors came around.

Then the faint glow from the livingroom became brighter, he could see it through the colorful glass shards of the entrance door - how the dark shape of her moved closer. She hesitated on the other side. He wondered if he could take the blow of her not answering the door, or if his heart would shatter right here on their doorstep with the faint drizzle of rain dampening his curls.

But then she cracked the door open, her big eyes peering up at him for a moment. They stared at each other, and then she exhaled shakily, resting her forehead on the chipped wood. 

"You came," his wife whispered, and Soap ducked his head down to her level, shoulder against the frame as he fought hard not to beg her to open the door further and let him in.

"f'course I did," he rasped, shocked at the raw need in his voice. "Said I would, didn’t I?"

She blinked her eyes back open, and it seemed like she was holding back words heavy on her tongue. That was okay, he knew what she was thinking anyway: wouldn‘t have been the first time you said one thing and did another.

"But you were out on a mission."

There was no question, but he nodded anyway.

"I was."

"And then you left early."

"Yes, ma‘am." 

She snorted, then pulled open the door more firmly and stepped aside. Soap stumbled inside, immediately assaulted by warmth and the smell of her that permeated their home. It was dizzying and intoxicating and it made him want to curl up in a ball and weep.

"Are you hungry?" She asked, apparently unbothered that it was two in the morning and that he was dripping all over her nice new carpet in the entryway. 

"Starving," he breathed, then followed her like a lost puppy as she disappeared into the kitchen. 

Soap felt wrong-footed, clumsy and awkward as he wrung his hands and watched her reheat a plate of spaghetti.

His wife hugged herself around the middle, staring at the rotating dish in the microwave.

He wanted to tell her to be careful as she took it out with her bare hands instead of using the cute oven mitts she‘d gotten from her sister, but all he managed was a weak thanks as she put it down next to him on the kitchen island. 

They stood there, and she didn‘t meet his eyes anymore as Soap stared down at the crown of her head. They were close and yet there seemed to be a chasm, an ocean impossible to cross right between them. He might as well have been back in Afghanistan.

"Baby," he whispered, clutching the countertop so tightly that his knuckles turned white. She shook her head, then leaned away from him with yet another shaky exhale and pinched the bridge of her nose. 

"Mo ghràidh," Soap tried again, undeterred. "Can I hug you?"

"I-" she started, voice thick. "I don‘t know if I want that."

"Okay," he agreed, heart stinging. "Will you keep standing with me just like this then?"

She nodded slowly, leaning against the counter next to him and staring at the floor. 

When he didn‘t move, too busy drinking her in, she nudged him softly in the side. 

"It‘ll go cold."

"I‘m not actually hungry."

"Oh." It was a faint sound, somewhere between exasperated and amused. "I see."

They stood like that for some time, the rain heavier now as it hit the windows in a steady rhythm. Soap almost jumped out of his skin when something warm and furry circled around his legs, purring.

"Fuckin‘ cat is lucky I‘m not carrying," he swore, nudging Salome with his boot in greeting. She purred even louder, rubbing her chin along his shins. 

His wife giggled, then scooped the gingery monster into her arms. The one green eye that wasn‘t blind yet sparkled in the half-dark, and their cat meowed loudly at Soap.

"She just missed you," she smiled, kissing the scarred ears for a moment.

And did you? He wanted to ask, but swallowed the words down. It seemed like he‘d reached his limit of things he was able to leave unsaid for the night though, because the next question slipped out before he could stop himself.

"Did you call the lawyer again?" 

She stiffened a little, then glanced up at him from behind long eyelashes.

"Yeah," his wife said slowly, thinking hard. "She wasn‘t very happy that I called you. Thinks you‘ll talk me out of it." 

Damn right I am.

"What," he scoffed, arms crossed in defense of what might follow next. "She wanted you to just… send the finished papers?"

"Something like that."

Soap ground his teeth hard, trying not to panic again. 

"Well, I‘m glad you didn‘t listen."

"I wanted to," she confessed, and now it was him who couldn’t meet her eyes anymore. "I wanted it so badly, John. I‘ve been miserable and alone, and our whole life just seems to suffocate me recently."

"I‘m sorry," he said, and meant it with his whole heart. "I know I fucked up, that I should have been better for you-"

"No," she interrupted him, and reached out a hand, resting it on his bicep. Her small fingers were cold but it made him feel warm regardless. "I didn’t need you to be better, I just wanted you to be there."

His throat closed up, and Soap let his head drop far enough to rest his chin on his chest, trying to keep the tears at bay. Their cat meowed between them, as he rested one hand on hers without glancing up.

"I lost sight of what was most important t’me," he whispered. "‘s not an excuse but… bein’ out there, it just fucks up your perspective. Days bleed into one big messed up pile of monotonous tasks, violence, and death. I‘m not a good man, never pretended to be. You knew that when you married me, and never blamed me for it. And… I love you so fucking much, it hurts to even just think-"

He had to pause, drag one hand over his face roughly. 

His wife sighed softly, then rested her cheek on his arm where their hands were joined. 

"I know I hurt you, badly. And I know that you said you‘d stay in my life as a friend, but you‘re not. You never have been. You‘re my soulmate, my wife, and I-" Soap swallowed, torn between wanting to get it all out and crawl deeper into himself. "I want us to try again. Price offered three weeks of leave, but if I have to find a doctor that can testify how fucked in the head I am so I can stay longer, I will." 

"John!" She gasped, grabbing his chin to force him into facing her again. "You know that a bad psych eval might mean the end of your entire career!" 

Thinking about that hurt, but not as much as her phone call had. 

"I‘d do it for you," he whispered back. "I‘ll say that-"

"Shut up," she hissed, then dropped Salome on the countertop and shoved the cold spaghetti towards him. "Eat this, and then you‘ll go sleep on the sofa. I don‘t want to hear any of this nonsense."

"But-"

"No."

Chastened, Soap carried his plate into the dim living room and tried very hard not to take a peek at the still open website on his wife‘s laptop. There was a strange sense of relief when he noticed that all their wedding and travel pictures were still up on the walls, and he fiddled with his ring as he slumped heavily on the sofa.

The food was good as always, and he didn’t try to protest when she dragged in two pillows and a blanket, carefully putting it down next to him. 

She stood there for a moment, looking down at him with soft, sad eyes. Soap balanced his plate on a cushion nearby, then gently pulled her closer by the hips until she stood between his legs and he was able to bury his face in her stomach.

His wife didn’t move for a few long heartbeats, then stroked through his mohawk and all the way down to the top of his spine. Soap exhaled sharply, and hugged her, unable to speak as she comforted him when it really should have been the reverse. 

And much, much later, when the lack of sleep and constant worry finally caught up with him, she didn’t comment on the tear-stained blotches on her shirt, or the way his head hit the pillow way too hard. She draped the feathery soft blanket all around him, and the perfume of her skin and laundry detergent was the most heavenly thing he‘d smelt in months.

Just as he closed his swollen and dry eyes, his wife bent down - Soap held his breath as she kissed his forehead and cheekbone.

"We can talk again in the morning, my love," she whispered, and all he managed to do was squeeze her hand one last time before she packed up her things and left.

Tiny, clawed footsteps - then the sudden heavy weight of their cat on his hip startled him from a restless slumber, and Soap groggily patted the gnarled ears as he instinctively listened out for danger nearby. 

"You think we still got a chance, old girl?" He asked, and Salome meowed back. 

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I’m going to go insane why are so few people talking about him LOOK AT HIM.

Pretty Flower | N.L.

in which neville wants to ruin the reader.

warnings: smut, nsfw, corruption kink, soft dom!nev, sub!reader, fingering, overstimulation, fluff!!! (lmk if i missed any!)

fine..... if no one will write nev with a corruption kink then i suppose ill just have to do it myself.

(edit: this....... may have come out WAY longer than i wanted it to.... but.... i literally couldn’t stop writing....)

—

it hit him out of nowhere. he never saw it coming, nor never even anticipated the concept on its own. yet, when him and his friends walked on the bridge that day to get back to hogwarts after holding the first secret DA meeting in 5th year, everything seemed to flip.

it was a snowy day that day, the the snow painting white on the ground for miles. there wasn’t one single spot that hadn’t been left in ice. you decided to indulge in the weather that day, as winter had always been your favorite season. especially when it came to being at hogwarts, because winter just seemed so... different there.

you skipped along the bridge, humming an innocent lullaby to yourself as your feet had a mind of its own. you didn’t know where you were going, but you honestly didn’t seem to care either.

maybe it was fate that brought you two together that day, as you two had honestly crossed paths before, but never in a way like this.

you heard small chatter erupting from straight ahead of you, and you saw the group of intimating gryffindors you had always tried your best to stay away from. they weren’t bullies or anything of the sort, there bravery just really scared the bones out of you. you had always been more shy, timid, and honestly weaker. so, seeing the group practically made your skin crawl.

as you neared them, you expected just to simply walk past them, and them pay no mind to you. but before it happened, you heard hermione granger make a small joke about a girl named cho chang to the harry potter. it earned a few grins from the people in the group, and a frown from a girl in your year, ginny weasley. ginny was probably the only gryffindor you had the strength to speak to, as you two had been partnered up many times for different projects and assignments in your classes. little did you know, the whole group knew about you.

you mentally pleaded as you reached them, just planning on stepping out of the way without a word. but then:

“oh! hi, y/n!”

fuck.

you halted, grasping onto the strap of your bag a bit tighter,

“oh... hi?”

ginny had sent you the small greeting, and the whole group stopped.

“oh! y/n! how are you?” hermione chimed in, sending you a small smile, already noticing the slight trembling coming from you.

you glanced at the gryffindors, and gulped before responding,

“fine...” you breathed out, hands how shaky, “you?”

neville had always believed that he was shy, anxious for no reason, but when he saw you? his whole mindset changed. you were a whole different type of shy... innocent. your fragile voice imprinted itself into his mind, and he even furrowed his eyebrows at the thought.

“just fine! say... you wouldn’t happen to know any place we could hold—discreet meetings, would you?” hermione smirked, sending harry a wink.

you pondered for a moment, not knowing exactly what she was talking about, but definitely deciding that you did not want to get yourself involved.

“um—no... sorry...”

you glanced at the disappointment on their faces, and harry sighed.

“it’s fine... we’ll find a place ourselves, i suppose...” ron added, looking over at his two twin brothers who were seemingly plotting something.

“well... bye...” you muttered, looking down as you began to walk away.

hermione furrowed her eyebrows, “hey! wait a second!” she called out, and you turned around, still just wanting to get away from them. “you want to be apart of something cool?”

hermione and harry lightly explained it to you, and red flags went off in your head reminding you that this was breaking the rules, and that you would definitely get in loads of trouble if umbridge ever found out.

“well... i don’t know...” you uttered, looking down at your shoes,

ginny had ended up chiming in, trying her best to convince you. she knew how shy you were, and how things like this terrified you. but truthfully, they needed all the help they could get.

“o-o-okay... i-i-i guess?” you finally answered, and hermione squealed as she pulled out a list of names, and handed you a pen. “just sign your name!”

and you did so shakily, not even noticing how neville’s stare was practically shooting daggers into your figure.

and there it was, that was it. from that day forward, you had not only sealed the deal with the DA, but also with neville. from that day forward, the boy couldn’t get you out of his head. you were a consistent thought always, sensual and non-sensual.

you were what neville got off to in the night, thinking of your small whimpers and pleads just for him to keep going. and yes, he did feel guilty every time he saw you, as you were completely oblivious to his obsession with you. he would watch you as you left the room of requirement with ginny, thinking of all the things he wanted to do to you. he imagined your lips on his cock, that innocent look on your face when you would cum on all over him for the first time.

god, you were so fucking ethereal and you didn’t even realize it.

he had made small conversations with you over time, but you still managed to hide under that shy shell of yours. you were quite jittery, always looking over your shoulder.

and oh god, he loved to tease you.

he would never forget the first time he was trying to get past you on the way to class, and he simply placed his hand on your back for a moment, making you go cherry red in the face. or even when you had sat with ginny at breakfast one morning, and he purposely sat beside you just to every so often “accidentally” run his finger up your thigh. he loved when you squirmed from it, and oh god, he only imagined how much you would be squirming if you were under him.

as the year went by, you only caught on to him a little bit, but never to the point in confronting him about it. but even if you did, you would never have the guts to do so anyways. plus, you sorta enjoyed the small glances he shot you in the great hall, how he licked his lips at the sight of you.

you had absolutely no idea what you were doing to him.

—

year 6 for neville.

he was so excited to see you again, watch your innocence bloom. all he thought about was you over the holiday, and he seemed to actually miss you. he had somehow managed to lose his virginity over the summer, and practice on how to properly pleasure a girl.

oh yeah. he was prepared to ruin you this year.

and that time would finally come when a party in the gryffindor common room was announced, and ginny had pleaded with you to come. you agreed reluctantly, as socializing in big gatherings like that was never your thing. but, now you could say that ginny was one of your closest friends. the dynamic between you was intriguing to others, as she was brave and rebellious, and you were just shy and... innocent.

that night, you wore a simply white tanktop, with a skirt with small pink flowers on it, and a thin sweater just in case you got cold.

but, as you arrived at the common room, you realized the sweater was probably not going to be needed. as the common room was packed with students, most drunk and others just wait too close for comfort. you gulped at the sight, and automatically began to look for ginny.

you found her snogging her new boyfriend dean, who you actually quite liked. but then, you saw seamus and neville standing right beside them, sipping on drinks. you walked over, and your presence became very apparent to neville.

you looked so fucking cute in that outfit. so fucking innocent.

“y/n!” ginny squealed, pushing dean away and pulling you in for a drunken hug, “you look so cute! where in the bloody hell did you get that skirt from?!”

you sent her a shy smiled and thanked her, “i—uh... don’t actually remember...”

“that’s fine! oh, here! drink up!”

she handed you a random cup, and you took a small whiff from it, your lips pursing with disgust. ginny let out a chuckle,

“you don’t have to! but... it’s your first big party so i figured that you might want to at least try!”

you thought for a moment, glancing over at neville who was leaned up against the wall, biting down on his lips as his eyes skimmed up and down your body.

“m-m-my mum said that she would murder me if she ever found out that i drank alcohol...”

seamus laughed at this, earning a slap on the arm from neville. ginny smiled politely at you,

“well... i don’t see your mum anywhere... do you?” she sent you a small wink, noticing that you wanted to drink, but that simple comment from your mother having an affect on you. “like i said... your choice! no pressure!”

you thought for a moment, and reluctantly took the cup from ginny’s hand. the group watched you intently as you shakily took a small slip, and your face cringed when the taste hit your tongue.

“that’s—that’s disgusting!”

the small group laughed,

“well... i don’t suppose it’s supposed to taste like pumpkin juice, y/l/n!” dean chuckled, grabbing the cup from your hand. him and ginny could tell that you definitely weren’t keen on drinking more tonight, which was more than fine.

you looked over at neville, who was still staring at you. he sent you a small wink, making your eyes go wide and your cheeks turn red.

yeah... he loved to make you blush.

the party seemed never ending as time passed, and you had found yourself sitting alone on the sofa, distancing yourself from ginny who was all over dean. you sat staring at the fireplace, watching it simmer away with every minute that passed.

“not having fun?”

you felt the spot next to you dip, and you looked over to see neville. you gulped as he adjusted his legs so they weren’t invading your personal space, but they were still definitely touching your own.

“k-k-kinda... i just don’t do well at parties...” you stuttered out, his presence always having an affect on you, “well... i’ve never been to a party so—i don’t really know why i... said that—oh, never mind...”

it was so cute how you hid your face after stumbling over your own words, and neville couldn’t help but to send you a small smirk. his imagination (like always) was already taking flight just from the mere sight of you.

“would you like for me to take you back to your dorm?” he asked, generosity laced in his tone. as much as he wanted to take you right there, he didn’t want you to be uncomfortable at a party. he still had respect for you, and maybe even felt a bit protective.

“oh... it’s fine. i’m okay...” you replied truthfully, sending him a small, reassuring smile.

you two began to make small talk, and with every new topic, he scooted a bit closer to you. the topics of conversation were miscellaneous at first, but then you two began to delve into more personal facts, like first kisses and things like that.

“i—uh—never had my first kiss. or... you know...”

he smirked at you, leaning a bit closer, “know what, love?”

he didn’t know why, but he just wanted you to say it. and, he could tell by the way your thighs were clenching together, and the way your cheeks blushed from the nickname that you were thinking the exact same thing that he was.

“you know... the thing.”

“what thing, darling?”

you huffed, because you knew that he knew exactly what you were referring to.

“sex...”

there it was.

“oh... hm...” he tsked, setting his cup down on the table, “well... that’s understandable. but, i assume that you’ve gotten yourself off before, right?”

you froze at the question, as you had tried masturbating before, but felt too ashamed to continue. maybe you were just too innocent.

your silence was loud to neville, and this sparked an even bigger interest in his chest.

“oh... you’ve never—“

you quickly shook your head, your whole face now a shade of red. you were so embarrassed... and you knew you probably sounded super lame.

“it’s—it’s weird, i know... i just—“

“it’s not weird, doll. just—“ he stopped for a moment to glance at your lips, “interesting...” he then stopped again, now closing the small gap that ran between you two, “ever wonder what it feels like, y/n?” he whispered into your ear, and your chest tightened. “i know you think about it... i can tell by those pretty little thighs of yours clenching together...”

he was so close to you, and your heart felt as if it was about to beat out of your chest. your stomach felt fluttery, but it was... good.

“look at me...” he whispered once more, grabbing your chin. you did so slowly, only now noticing how close your faces were. “can i kiss you?”

before you could even think about it, you nodded. neville had always had an impact on you, and this moment definitely wasn’t changing anything. in fact, you had a strong wanting for him. a wanting that you had never felt before.

he slowly attached his lips to yours, and he couldn’t help but to let out a content sigh at the feeling. your lips felt just like how he thought they would... absolutely perfect. and even better, he could taste strawberry as well, giving him a sign that you had put on chapstick.

you had never kissed anyone before, but, you hoped all of the next times felt like this one did did. you were absolutely breathless by the time he pulled away, and for some reason, you didn’t want him to stop touching you. you needed more of whatever he was putting out.

he glanced around the party for a moment, and then swiftly tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

“would you like to go up to my dorm, petal?”

your eyes widened for a second, as you had never dared to enter a boy’s dormitory. he noticed this, and placed a small peck to your nose,

“we don’t have to. only if—“

“yeah... i wanna go...”

he grinned at you, and stood up taking your hand, and you followed him through the crowded common room. he would look back at you every so often, noticing how your eyes were getting lost at all the activities going on around the both of you. you were so innocent....

he couldn’t wait to change that.

when you two got to his dorm, you looked around for a few moments, taking small notes on how things were organized—or... unorganized.

he lead you to his bed, sitting you down carefully.

“don’t know how you’re still wearing that sweater... i’m boiling in mine!” he joked, taking it off swiftly, and you could see the faint muscles stomach as he did so. he made you feel even more fluttery, as his exposed skin just seemed so perfect to the wondrous eye.

you awkwardly chuckled at the joke, and soon enough, you took your small, pink sweater off with ease, and neville grabbed it from you, and set it on his bedside table. he turned around, noticing how shy and nervous you looked,

“what’s wrong, love?” he asked kindly, looking down at you. your face and his crotch were at perfect level with each other, and you looked up at him,

“mm’ nothing...”

and it was the truth. you weren’t uncomfortable, nor felt paranoid or scared, you just were simply that shy.

he smiled at you, and let his hand find its way to your cheek, stroking it softly with his thumb.

“so pretty...” he cooed, “you don’t know how long i’ve been waiting to touch you...”

you were taken back by this, but all at the same time, the dots finally connected.

how could you have been so oblivious?

“h-h-how long?”

he bent down a bit just to where your noses were barely touching, “a long time.” he replied, licking his lips.

“oh... well—i’m sorry...” you apologized, seeing his eyes turning dark.

he chuckled deeply, “no need to apologize, petal. you just needed to take your time...” he settled his hands on your thighs, slightly letting them wander up your skirt, “can i touch you some more?”

your body trembled, but seemingly in the best way possible. your stomach was practically on fire from his small, teasing touches. and, of course you wanted more. so, you nodded your head.

“use your words, or i can’t do anything...”

you found yourself getting lost in his eyes,

“yes...”

“yes, what?”

you paused for a moment, not even knowing how to say it.

“touch me...”

that was all neville needed before he snapped, and his lips once again collided with yours. you gasped into the kiss, noticing how much harder than it was than the first. but nonetheless, you were enjoying the hell out of it. especially when he slipped his tongue past your lips, and began to explore every part of your mouth.

he crawled on top of you, laying you down on the bed as he did so. he rubbed small, comforting circles into your hips, just to let you know that it was okay to feel the things you were feeling right now.

he broke the kiss for a swift moment, “if you want me to stop... tell me and i’ll do it, okay? i don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

you nodded your head quickly, not even really regarding his words, only just craving more.

“words, y/n...” he reminded you,

“okay. i will.”

“promise?”

you sent him a small smile before replying,

“promise...”

he was about to dive in for another kiss, but stopped when he saw you lifting up your pinkie. he let out a breathy chuckle at this... how could a pretty girl like you be so innocent? you were a teenage girl, and you still made pinkie promises?

he hooked your pinkies together, and suddenly adjusted your fingers to where you were holding his hand. you chest became warm, and suddenly you realized that all along, you may have been slowly developing a crush on the boy.

you expected him to kiss your lips again, but instead, he started to press light kisses to your neck. you had never felt a sensation like this, and you let out a small whimper at the feeling. he knew that you would sound so pretty, and when the noises actually started to leave your lips, he definitely was not disappointed.

“you like that, petal?” he cooed teasingly in your ear, nibbling a bit on it, causing a shiver to go down your spine. that was all he needed before he continued to work on your neck, leaving small love marks on the smooth flesh.

“more...” you pleaded, still not really knowing what you needed more of, but just knowing that you needed it. he chuckled in your ear, and placed one last kiss on your jaw before sitting you up gently, and laying your head on his pillow.

“what do you want more of, love?” he asked, hovering over you.

that’s when you panicked a bit, “i-i-i don’t know... just—more...”

it was so funny, because even though you were begging, you truly didn’t even know what you wanted. it made neville’s thoughts go wild, and he could feel his cock harden at the look on your face as he got closer to you.

“you want me to touch you more?” he asked, already trailing his hand down to your outer thigh, “want me to make you feel good with my fingers?”

your heart almost exploded from his words, and you felt your panties suddenly dampen with something you weren’t familiar with. but, you had heard other girls talking about it. you may have been innocent, but you weren’t completely clueless.

“yes, please...” you shuddered, grabbing at his shoulders. he smirked, and placed a small, but reassuring kiss on your lips.

his fingers gently trailed over your thighs, going up your skirt, and it made you whimper. he pinched at the delicate skin, and you sighed out of content as his fingers inched closer and closer to where you knew you needed him the most.

you could feel yourself going red in the face, and sweat forming your forehead,

“aw... are you nervous, petal? does it not feel good?” he teased again, because he knew it did feel good. he just loved to see the look on your face when he let those types of words leave his lips,

“it—it feels good...” you reassured him, unknowingly.

“don’t worry, baby... gonna make you feel amazing,” he kissed your neck once more, and his fingers finally found your clothes bundle of nerves, and he pressed down gently.

you gasped at the sensation, your hips instinctively bucking up as you tried for more friction. he began with small circles on your panties, and you were already a soundly mess by the time he was attempting to push them aside, and run a finger up your slit.

“i’ve barely even touched you and you’re soaked... what’s got my pretty flower so worked up?”

the question made you hide your face in his chest from embarrassment, and he chuckled lightly.

“no need to be embarrassed, petal. i think it’s adorable...”

he kissed your lips again, his tongue finding its way back into your mouth as your chest heaved from the overwhelming pleasure.

without warning, he slipped one finger in. it made you gasp into the kiss, partly from pain, the other from pleasure. you sounded exactly like how he dreamed, and god, he couldn’t get enough of it.

“my bunny is so tight, isn’t she? untouched just for me?”

soon enough, he was fucking you relentlessly with his just one finger, and you rocked your hips back and forth, just chasing a build up that you had never even experienced before.

“look at you, petal... being so good, fucking my fingers like this. thought you never done this before?”

you opened your mouth to respond, but before you even could, a small whimper escaped your lips once again, “h-h-haven’t...”

he kept going and going, even at one point, slipping another finger in to stretch you out a bit. you practically screamed at this, the overwhelming sensation almost becoming too much for you to handle.

“do you touch yourself like this, baby?” he asked gently, in such a contrast to how his fingers were moving.

your eyes were screwed shut as you answered him, “c-c-can’t do it like—like this...”

like this, huh? that’s exactly what neville wanted to hear.

“c-c-can’t make myself c-cu—“

you were interrupted by neville swiftly pulling your tank top down, and beginning to suck on your nipple lightly. luckily, you hadn’t worn a bra with this tank top for the sole purpose of a bra not looking right with it. he chuckled at the sudden halt in speech, and kissed your breasts soothingly as he felt your pussy clench around his fingers.

“i can feel you clenching around me, bunny... are you gonna cum for me?” he asked, coming closer to your face. you nodded your head rapidly, not really understanding what he meant, but the coil in your stomach progressively becoming looser.

“my—my tummy f-f-feels funny...” you warned him, and he simply hummed at your obliviousness. “neville—“ you gasped, a wave of pure pleasure washing over you, sending electricity through your veins as he fingers went even faster.

“there you go, petal... there you go.”

your thighs trembled violently as you came, and you had to force your face into neville’s shoulder to muffle the scream that elicited from your lips.

as you saw white, neville kept going, this time focusing on your clit more than anything. those same noises leaving your mouth hadn’t stopped, and before you knew it, that same feeling over came you again. you rocked against his hand as you came, dragging the sheets from the corners of the mattress with you.

your whole body shook as neville took his hand away, and he licked the rest of your release off of his fingers. he hummed as he did so, as you tasted just as sweet as he imagined you would.

“wanna taste yourself, doll? you taste so good...”

you furrowed your eyebrows at him slightly, but you only understood then when he held his fingers up to your lips. they were glossy and covered in all sorts of liquids, but you nodded your head. he watched you intently as you sucked on his fingers, his cock now painfully hard and practically pleading to be inside of you. he watched the drool that spilled from your lips, and the absolute desperation on your face.

you were the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

but suddenly, when he pulled away, you became quite ashamed for some reason. you had never had an experience like this before, and you couldn’t believe that you had just lied there and actually enjoyed it.

“what’s wrong, bunny?” he asked sweetly, moving some hair from your sweaty face.

you looked down at your thighs, and they were soaked with cum, as well as the sheets below you.

“i—i made a mess... i’m sorry... i-i-i didn’t know—“

“hey... it’s okay... that’s supposed to happen. it was quite hot, actually.” he reassured you with a teasing grin on his face, “aw... are you embarrassed?”

you hid your face in your hands as he asked the question, because yes... you were painfully embarrassed.

“no, no... there’s no need to be embarrassed, petal. you did so good for me, you know that? the most pretty thing i’ve ever seen...” he removed your hands from your face, and rubbed his hand up and down your hips, attempting to soothe you. “do you want more? or... are you done for the night?”

as much as you wanted to say no due to your shyness, it simply wouldn’t be an honest answer. of course you wanted more, you wanted so much more. you wanted everything you just had, and even more than that if even possible.

“um—more...”

he raised an eyebrow at you, “are you sure?”

you nodded your head as his finger grazed your exposed skin, “yes... please.”

and with that, he lifted you up for just one moment to fully take your tank top up, kissing your shoulders every now and then, as he could tell that you were nervous about him seeing you in such a vulnerable moment. he slipped your shoes off, and slid your skirt and panties down with ease, throwing them off to the side of the bed.

you laid back down, watching as he began to take his own clothes off. when he was finished, he hovered over you again, skimming your naked skin, drawing small circles into it. you instinctively covered your chest, also attempting to cover your whole lower region.

“no need for that, petal. you’re so beautiful... no need to cover yourself up.” you still kept your body covered up, and neville giving you a look of permission, slowly took your hands away. “i’ll prove it to you... is that alright?”

you thought for a moment, and gulped. but, you trusted neville, even if you weren’t that close with him, he seemed like a genuine person. so, you agreed.

he smiled at you, and pecked your lips. he began to kiss all over you, sucking and nibbling at certain parts, leaving you to whimper and tremble some more. his hands traveled everywhere, especially when it came to your breasts. he played with them between his fingers, showing extra attention to your nipples. you sighed from pleasure when he kissed them, and began to play with them with his tongue.

suddenly, he leaned up, and took you in for another heated kiss, “i can’t wait to ruin you, bunny...”

maybe if any other scenario, you would’ve panicked and ran foe the hills. but, this time, the words simply made you clench your thighs together. he felt it, and looked over. he let out a low chuckle, and shook his head.

“is that what you want? want me to fuck you?”

you were nervous for this part, but you couldn’t even be bothered to think on the fact that you were still a virgin. neville simply wouldn’t let you freak out, or feel shy or embarrassed.

you nodded your head fiercely, and he teasingly rubbed his cock on your swollen clit. you decided to kiss him this time, even forcing your own tongue in his mouth, which baffled him as he continued to rock his hips into yours.

“look at you... already making demands...” he moved some hair from your collarbone, “fuck... you’re so beautiful, bunny...”

there was a beat of silence, only the sounds of the long forgotten party somehow still going on downstairs.

“nev?”

he hummed in response, not being able to tear his eyes away from you,

“will—will you—um...”

you were too shy to say it, as such vile words had never even been thought about leaving your lips.

“will i what, flower? say it.”

you glanced over for a moment, your face turning red again, but he grabbed your chin, and forced your head back in his direction. “say it.”

you huffed, growing more needier and needier by the second,

“will—will you please—please... fuck me?”

there it was.

“thought you’d never ask, flower...”

that’s when he kissed you again, but this time, it felt... different. it didn’t feel as if he was just trying to fuck you, get you wet, no. it felt... loving. like, he simply just wanted to kiss you because he just wanted to kiss you. that was it.

he aligned himself with you, and looked up at you with reassurance in his eyes. “are you sure?”

you nodded, “yes, of course...” you shot him a innocent smile, despite the very thing that was about to happen. but, your smile suddenly faltered when a small memory popped into your head. it was ginny’s voice saying:

“yeah... and it hurt like—really bad at first when he put it in.”

he noticed the shift in your face, and stopped automatically.

“what’s wrong, flower?”

you looked up at him for a moment,

“do—w-w-will it hurt?”

he couldn’t help but to smile at you, as your voice was just so fragile and curious. but, he kissed your temple,

“just for a few moments, bunny. but, if it’s too much... you can let me know and i’ll stop, alright? i want you to enjoy yourself.”

you couldn’t help but to smile back at him, as his voice was so soothing and hypnotic. “okay...”

and with that, he aligned himself one more time, and held your hip down as he slowly slid his tip inside of you. that burning sensation started, the one that ginny had described. and for a moment, you thought you wouldn’t be able to handle it. a small hiss came from your lips at the intrusion, and neville caressed your cheek,

“s-s-slow at first... please?”

he chuckled, “that was my plan, petal.”

he began to dig his hips deeper, his cock making its way slowly more into you. you whimpered with every movement, but neville was there to whisper soft praises and reassurances in your ear.

“taking me so well, baby...” “you feel so good...” “god, you’re absolutely stunning, bunny...”

as time went by, his patience never faltered, and finally, that burning pain turned into searing pleasure. he hugged your body as he thrusted into you, every time an obscene noise leaving your once shy lips.

“tell me how good it feels, princess...”

“s’ good, nev... please...”

and at one point, a string of curses even left your mouth, leaving neville a groaning mess, as your innocence was slowly dying out underneath him.

“never knew such a innocent bunny like you could say such nasty things...” he whispered, kissing your throat, sucking on it a bit.

finally, that now familiar burning your tummy took over, and you were squirming underneath him as you unraveled in his arms. a loud scream left your lips, and neville planted an open mouthed kiss to muffle your noises.

“you look so gorgeous when you cum...”

with just a few more thrust, neville pulled out, cumming all over your stomach. he should’ve asked you before hand, but you yourself knew how sex worked, and how not to get pregnant, so you were more than fine with it.

he rested on top of you for a few moments, not even caring about your sweaty bodies sticking to the other’s. he placed a few kisses around your face, and slowly got up. he picked your panties off of the floor, and leaned you up to put them back on you.

“you need to go use the bathroom, darling...” he suggested, eyeing you through hooded eyes. you furrowed your eyebrows,

“why?”

he chuckled at your innocence—well... obliviousness.

“because... you can get a UTI if you don’t. and those suck for girls to have.”

your mouth formed into an ‘o’ shape, and you obliged by getting up. but, you underestimated everything for a moment, as your legs aches, as well as your whole entire lower body. neville saw you struggling as he threw his boxers back on,

“need help?”

you looked over at him with puppy dog eyes,

“h-hurts...”

he quickly took you into his arms, and carried you into the dorm bathroom. you did the rest on your own of course, and noticed how you were bleeding. you freaked out inside of your head for a moment, but then remembered ginny saying that the same thing had happened to her. so, that eased your clouded mind for the time being.

when you arrived back into the main part of the dorm, neville was sitting on his bed, already reading a book as he waited for you. you tip toed over to your small pile of clothes, picking them up and slipping everything back on.

“um—i’m gonna—go, i suppose...” you stated awkwardly, shoes in hand and sweater in the other. neville suddenly laid his book down, and furrowed his eyebrows at you.

“why?”

well, you didn’t really know why. you just maybe assumed that you were being invasive now.

“well—we... you know—did that. so... you have no need for me anymore...”

neville couldn’t believe what he was hearing. he had wanted you, not just sex. you had obviously been very misinformed.

“y/n...” he laughed softly, sitting up all the way,

“do you actually think that’s all i wanted from you?”

That Unwanted Animal

18+

Homelander x Soulmate!reader

You don’t love Homelander. Even when he looks like everything you’ve ever wanted.

Loosely based on this post from @blindmagdalena

His t-shirt is soft under your hands as you cling to him. The baseball cap shields his features from you as presses you against the alley wall. The blue fabric rubs against your cheek as he thrusts up into you. The both of you avoid eye contact and as you bury your face into his shoulder, the scent of his cologne nearly chokes you. You thought it would be easier like this. You’d believed that maybe without the suit you could pretend your “lover” was a normal man. Maybe the two of you had met at a bar, or a doctor’s office, or while walking dogs in the park. You could have been an ordinary couple with a soulmate story fit for a Hallmark movie.

But a change of clothes can’t distract you from the fact that this man, your soulmate, is the very man you’ve dedicated your life to bringing down. It’s a sick joke, isn’t it? You love your team. Hughie is always there with a shoulder to cry on. M.M. gives good advice. Frenchie and Kimiko have become almost like siblings to you. Even Butcher you hold fondness for, as infuriated as he often makes you. They’re your family and yet you’re here fucking enemy #1 in a filthy alley and he’s going to make you come.

You bite his shoulder to keep from crying out as he effortlessly holds you up. It would be easier if he was bad in bed. The soulmate bond would still suck ass, but at least you wouldn’t derive pleasure from it. He came so fast the first time you fucked him that you’d initially been relieved. It had been perfect until he’d spread your legs to lap his own come from you until you’d shuddered helplessly against his tongue. You’d gone home and cried after, despite the pleasure still pulsing warmly through your veins.

You can’t even say it isn’t consensual. Your bond causes you to ache for him viscerally. Hell, this time you sought him out. He didn’t even protest when you laid out your terms. He had seemed more amused than anything. When he showed up wearing civilian clothing like you demanded, you almost turned him away with tears pricking at your eyes.

He looks soft, human, like someone you could love, a real soulmate. Even as he pumps into you, the peek of blond sticking out from beneath the cap makes you ridiculously endeared against your will. If only he was anyone else…

Soulmates have always been romanticized to a ridiculous degree, despite everyone knowing a story of some person who is enslaved by their mark instead of liberated. There are many things that can tie two souls together besides love. Yet everyone still longs for the day they find their match, in hopes of the happiest of endings. You had been no different.

You whine and clench around him as he angles himself differently, his cock sliding even deeper into you until it feels like you're choking on it. Your mark burns and the empty pit in your stomach that lingers in his absence is washed away with each heated pulse. The nausea of being away from him finally subsides with each brush of your skin against his. He sighs happily into your hair, as the same sense of belonging envelopes him. This feels right and it makes you want to scream.

“Mine,” he growls against your temple.

“Yours,” your bond answers for you.

You only ever fuck him in comfortless places.

Your heels dig into his ass and you rock yourself into his thrusts. He nips at your ear gently…affectionately. He can’t distinguish between true love and the oppressive obsession that comes with a mate. You don’t love him. Things would be easier if you did.

Why couldn’t he be anybody else?

“Is this good?” He asks needily. He can sense your distraction. He wants to be good for you. He wants to please you. You flutter around him and one hand strokes the back of his neck tenderly despite the mental torment that you’re facing. No one has ever been so attentive during sex before. He makes you feel cherished. Even when you beg for him to make it hurt, he refuses. The same hands that have commited endless cruelties hold you like something rare and precious.

You don’t answer and you can feel his petulant frown against your skin as he waits for feedback.

He adjusts you effortlessly in his grip so he can stroke you exactly the way he’s learned you like it. You whine desperately as you leak all over his fingers and drip onto the ground below. He sighs at the feeling.

“I love you so much.” He whispers intimately into your ear. His sincerity makes you want to weep. “You’re everything I ever wanted.”

It doesn’t matter how many times you rebuke him or refuse his offer to take you home with him. He still believes that you feel the same. He believes that one day he’ll find you soaking wet at his penthouse door, having run across the city in the pouring rain to him, confessing how much it hurt to push him away. He wants the satisfaction of knowing that you abandoned your team from sheer want of him. He thinks of your situation as a romantic comedy that hasn’t hit the emotional climax yet.

It’s pathetic and delusional and you hate how close you know you are to fulfilling it. You don’t love him…but you know you could.

Despite how hard you try to resist, you come hard and you sob into his neck at the intensity of it. He whispers sweet nothings into your ear as he rubs you through it. You kiss him to shut him up and he groans into your mouth as he releases inside you. He kisses you back desperately, seeking whatever crumbs of affection you let yourself give him, using them as proof to fuel his delusional fantasies.

Once you’ve both ridden out your respective orgasms, he finally pulls back to look at you. The softness in his eyes belongs to a kinder man. Your stomach flips. His cap has been knocked slightly askew and he looks human. He frowns slightly and the hand he was using to bring you pleasure brushes something off your cheek.

“You’re crying.” He remarks, hand now cupping your cheek as his thumb strokes your skin in an attempt to comfort you. You want him to be rude to you the way he is to everyone else. You want him to mock you and make crass disrespectful remarks. You open your mouth to reply and a broken sob comes out. He hushes you softly and leans down to kiss the tears that roll down your cheeks

“I love you.” You confess finally, the truth is bitter and shameful in your mouth. You’ve finally stopped lying to yourself

“You say that every time. Are you actually going to follow through or are you going to deny yourself some more?” He asks dryly, cocking his head at you. His grip flexes as he continues to press you against the wall.

You both know the answer. Just like you both know that one day the answer will be different.

Your team better succeed before then.

Lucy Maclean and Maximus in Season 1 of FALLOUT

Hello everyone! This is my Art Info Post, if you have any questions please send me a message. I only accept PayPal. I’ve just recently started this, and I’m excited to start creating tons of more art posts, Horror related characters are my favorite to draw, but if you would rather have any other please let me know!

BRIAN VAN HOLT as Bo Sinclair in House of Wax (2005)

Spit In My Face 1

◥ PAIRING: Sugar Daddy!Patrick Bateman x Fem!Reader

◥ SUMMARY: New York Fashion Week is coming up and you are going to visit your first fashion show in the company of Patrick Bateman himself. The chain of events that happen there will reveal a new side of Mr. Bateman that you never knew he had.

◥ WARNINGS: NSFW │seduction, fingering, nipple play, finger sucking, oral (reader receiving), spanking, biting, choking, orgasm control, overstimulation, dry humping (kinda), heavy Daddy kink, mild degradation & size kinks, pet names, dirty talk, toxic and possessive behaviour, Patrick being a d*ck.

◥ WORDCOUNT: 4.3k

◥ A/N: This is the first part of my planned trilogy about Cupcake's angsty but hot adventure with Daddy Patty. I was inspired by this edit, I hope you like it!🥰

◥ SONG REC: ThxSoMch - Spit In My Face🖤

◥ LINKS: [Sweet like a Cupcake Masterlist] [Main Masterlist]

Fashion, grace, money, wealth, these were the words running through your head as you rode in the taxi, and you couldn't believe Patrick had just convinced you to go to the goddamn Dior boutique. Not to mention the upcoming fashion show you were going to together, which was an actual nightmare for you and your nervous system.

“I really can’t understand. Why me?” You asked Bateman, turning in his direction to see him looking through the window, with his headphones on. And of course, he didn’t hear you. 

All you could do was give him a shy tap on the shoulder. You heard the loud beats of rock music as he opened one of his ears and turned to face you: "What?"

His slightly annoyed intonation almost discouraged you from repeating your question. "I'm just wondering why you decided to invite me to this fashion show when you have much better options." 

You watched him frown, and before you continued, you already knew what Patrick was going to say: "Cupcake, I've told you several times. I want to show you the beauty of being rich. I bet you've never seen so many fabulous people in one place."

Sighing a little sadly, you fixed your coat to distract yourself from the burning anger in your chest. "I've had enough of the rich snobs in our company and…I’m not a fan of all these 'luxurious’ things, you know…”

With a small chuckle, Bateman removed his headphones completely, quickly checking his haircut in the window's reflection. 

"Of course you're not. How can you be a fan of things you can't afford?" He stated before trying to hug your shoulders, but when he saw your intense expression, he just gently put his palm on your knee.

"Money is not happiness," you cast a serious look at him, brushing his hand away from your leg. "Can you call yourself a happy man?"

Perplexed, Patrick knitted his eyebrows, as if your question had caught him off guard–you have never seen him so lost before and that was really strange. Fidgeting in his place, Bateman was certainly about to replay something when you heard the raspy taxi driver’s voice:

“We’ve arrived.”

"Thank you!" You responded before quickly getting out of the cab without waiting for Patrick to pay for your ride.

Obviously, you were upset and pissed off because of his endless snobbish dialogues about rich people, money and how much his regular suit cost - none of this really interested you, would he ever understand that?

As soon as you were outside, you felt a stiff wind blowing through your hair, ruffling it and making your mischievous locks cover your face. Quickly, you brushed them away and raised your eyes to the beautiful sign that read "Dior" in large letters; so stylish, so plush–just the way he liked it.

"Are you going to stand here forever?" Bateman scolded behind your back, his loud footsteps forcing you to spin around. 

"I'm so amazed, I can't even move," you sarcastically sneered, staring at the window of the boutique. "The aura of richness has just overwhelmed me."

"How witty," Bateman almost applauded you, his lips curling into a cheeky grin as he came closer, his muscular arms wrapped around your waist. "Come on, let's go inside." With a light push on your back, he induced you to move forward, his arms never left your little form. 

When you finally reached the entrance of the store, Patrick gallantly opened the door in front of you and looked at you from above, his eyes glowing with an unfamiliar tenderness.

"Much obliged-" You stammered as he somehow managed to grab your ass, stroking it and squeezing your buttock a little through your coat. Embarrassed, you turned to face him, but Bateman just smiled in his usual smug way. 

"My pleasure…" He murmured in your ear before letting you go. Once inside the boutique, you heard someone greeting Patrick with undisguised excitement:

"Mr. Bateman! It's so nice to see you again!  Welcome to Dior, we are so happy to help you."

Again, huh? You chuckled to yourself, turning your gaze to a side and wondering about the number of his visits and how many girls had been here before; Bateman’s face changed almost immediately as if he noticed your reaction.

“Thank you for the warm welcome, Mr. Graham,” you could definitely hear some tense notes in his tone. “You look great as always!”

The guy let out a little giggle; he seemed to enjoy the compliments as much as your yuppie boy. “Not as perfect as you!” he pointed his both index fingers at Patrick, and now was his turn to grin from being praised. “How can I help you?”

“Uh, I need a dress for…” he paused before staring at you, his eyes gliding over your completely relaxed expression. “For my good friend, but she doesn’t really know what she likes,” ‘good friend’, with whom he slept almost every day. Nice shot, Bateman. “Don’t cha, baby?” While saying that, Patrick groped your cheek, pinching it a bit.

Mr. Graham, who was supposed to be a local stylist, gave two of you a suspicious glare, and only then did Patrick understand what he was doing, pulling his hand away as if it had been burned. 

"Well, if the young lady doesn't mind, we can try something to your taste, Mr. Bateman," the stylist confirmed, examining you like a statue. "What do you think?"

"Great idea," Patrick exclaimed, pulling you into his arms to take off your coat. You almost fell into his embrace, whimpering as he 'accidentally' touched your boobs, squeezing them gently. Damn, he was insufferable. "I can't wait to see my Cupcake in one of these beautiful dresses." He whispered before leaving a tiny peck on your neck.

"That's very sweet of you, but..." you murmured, looking into his hazel eyes. "I don't think I'll fit into those dresses."

"Don't worry, honey." Bateman winked at you and gave you a quick slap on your butt to nudge you toward Mr. Graham, whose smile widened the longer he watched the two of you together.

“Please, follow me.”

Trying to distract yourself from all the bad thoughts, you just did what you were told and moved along countless hangers with new dresses. The further you got away from Patrick, the more insecure you became, and that strange feeling made your whole body shiver like from a cold shower.

“So, which color do you want to try on first? Maybe something dark?” the man asked you, sliding his hand across the beautiful fabric of some dress nearby. “Dark blue or dark red…Or even black?”

"I really like the black color, it goes with almost everything."

Mr. Graham chuckled amusedly and handed you a black cocktail dress, which of course was very short. Apparently, Patrick couldn't stand long dresses or skirts, you knew that already, but that didn't mean you were happy about it.

“Mm-mh, and I think this one can fit too,” he gave you another dark blue dress before adding: “I still recommend you to have a look at our new collection, maybe you’ll find something interesting.”

“Maybe you’re right,” you sighed and smiled sincerely for the first time of the day. "Those amazing dresses I saw when we just entered are from a new collection?"

“Yes, Miss.”

“I’ll check them out! And…Thank you, Mr. Graham.” Excited, you smile again, and then you strolled away, with a bunch of dresses in your hands.

Once you reached the place you had been before, you heard multiple voices–one of them definitely belonged to Patrick while another one seemed to be unknown to you.

"What are you doing here?" you peeked out from behind the hangers to see a beautiful blonde girl, her face literally glowing with enthusiasm. "I'm so glad to see you, it's been a while." You didn't even have to look to know what she did next as the loud pecking sound echoed in your ears as if you had been hit with something hard.

The blonde left a small kiss on Patrick’s cheek before he replied: “Nice to see you too, Meredith.”

“Are you here alone?”

“Mm-mhhm,” Bateman looked around and when he didn’t spot you, he added almost emotionlessly. “Yeah, you can say that.”

An instant pain burned in your chest, causing your hands to cling to the dress you were holding. Breathing heavily, you were about to send everything to hell and just leave, but for some reason, you decided to listen to their conversation, maybe you would learn something else about yourself being nothing but an empty place.

"So, are you going to the fashion show this weekend?" She asked cautiously, as if testing his line.

"Sure," they looked into each other's eyes for a while. "You know, I never miss those things."

The way she giggled, forced you to close your ears from cringe, but that unpleasant sound kept bouncing in your head.

“Patrick, do you have a date?”

"Why do you ask?" Bateman retorted in a stern but concerned tone.

"I just... I thought maybe we could go together?" Flirtatiously, she pulled him closer, pretending to fix his coat.

“I'm sorry, but the answer's no.” Frowning, he quickly removed her hand.

Abashed, she stepped back and faltered: “You could just say you already have someone to go with and-”

Patrick scowled in irritation, cutting her off: “I would still say 'no' even if I didn't-”

“Miss, did you find something to your taste?” Mr. Graham’s sudden voice made you flinch in your place and drop the hanger with a super expensive dress with a thud.

It felt like all eyes were on you at that moment, and you didn't really know what to do other than quickly pick up the dress and act naturally. “God, I’m so sorry…I can be so clumsy sometimes!” You apologized, trying to ignore Bateman’s intense gaze. 

“Don’t worry, Miss! It’s not a problem!” The stylist assured you, matching his words with soothing gestures.

"I'll pay for everything,” Patrick pronounced it so calmly and with absolute confidence, as he moved in your direction. “Have you finished?” 

First, you cast a confused glance at him, and then you looked at Meredith, her mad stare of disbelief almost making you laugh. “I think so,” you murmured, watching him getting closer. “I even got some of the new collection.”

“Ahh, is it so?” he teased, standing face to face with you. “Come on, let Daddy see what you’ve got.”

With that said, Patrick leaned over to your lips, and you let him pull you into a deep kiss, which was pretty surprising–your own behavior almost scared you, as you didn’t even care about people watching you making out. Deftly, he grabbed your waist to lift you up, but your audible protest compelled him to stop.

“Pat-Patrick…” you whispered against his mouth. “P-please, don’t forget where we are…”

“I know, I know,” he snickered softly, hiding his face in the curve of your neck. “I just missed my Cupcake so much.”

With a dull smirk on your face, you broke away from him to look into his dark brown eyes. “Really?” After you asked that, you glimpsed at the blonde girl behind his back, who was now speaking with some middle-aged woman, probably the assistant.

“Time literally stopped for me when you left.” 

What a beautiful flattery.

After a while, you were changing into the next dress, because all previous options didn’t get Bateman's attention whilst you really liked them. Huffing, you were struggling with a clasp when you heard him lamenting in anticipation.

“Baby, did you fall asleep in there?”

“Almost ready!” You blurted out before fixing the dress straps on your shoulders.

And then, you went out from the dressing room to step onto the circular runway, and yes this boutique had a special zone for VIP clients with a fucking runway!

"Finally, my favourite type," Patrick flattered, sitting in the leather armchair and holding a glass of mineral water with a little lime. “Mm-mm, this dress outlines your tits so perfectly, Daddy likes.”

A bit humiliated, you were constantly fixing the hem of the dress as it was too short for you, especially when Bateman was looking at you so vigilantly, making you feel yourself like a picture in some art gallery.

“Baby, turn around and…” he paused and crossed his long legs, pressing a finger to his lips. “Stop crawling! Square your shoulders and straighten your back!”

Spinning around, you couldn’t help but grieved: “I… I don’t feel myself or even comfortable in this. It’s too short,” you glanced at his peeved face, doubting if you should continue your talking. “I’m almost naked!”

“That’s the point!” tilting his hand to the side, Patrick went silent for quite a while as he was definitely reflecting on something. “You know what, Cupcake?”

“What?”

“I’ll say frankly, this dress is amazing but… unfortunately, not on you,” he scoffed before taking a sip of water. “It’s not a problem, honey. Just take it as motivation to be better.”

Biting your lip, you'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't try to hide your pain and resentment, but your voice sounded dejected anyway: “Of course… keep pretending that you didn’t expect this…”

Humming to himself, Bateman squinted his eyes and leaned on his knees. “Expected what?”

“That these slutty dresses wouldn't fit me,” you glared at him, your body was yearning to get rid of this dress as quickly as possible. “Goddamn, I have enough of this…I hope you enjoyed this little performance!”

After saying that, you turned around and got into the dressing room once again. Shaking from anger, you didn’t even care about what would come next as the scorching flame of unfairness was overtaking your mind, no way on the Earth would you allow anyone to treat you like that. 

"Shit!" You cursed as you attempted to undo the fucking clasp on your back, but it didn't seem to work. 

"If you keep pulling like that, you'll tear it apart for sure," his unexpected raspy undertone shot through your back like an arrow. “Let me help you.”

“No!” You nearly shouted, sharply twisting around to face him. Your chest was rising and falling so abruptly, you thought you were going to choke from the luck of the air. 

Sneering, Bateman gently extended a hand as if you were a wild beast he planned to tame. “Cupcake,” he was getting closer, forcing you to walk backwards. “Tell me…what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” you kept stepping back until you suddenly bumped into the wall behind. “Maybe you should ask yourself first?”

“You better stop pouting or you will have wrinkles,” he was certainly trying to be cozy with you, but that was only making you more upset. “I think neither of us want that to happen, am I right, sweetheart?”

“Stop it, Patrick…”

“Mm-mhh, it’s just Patrick now?” you didn’t even notice that his vast form was already towering over you, pressing you a little against the wall. “No ‘Daddy’ anymore?”

Possessively, Patrick strived to cup your face, but you flinched away from his touch, coaxing a warning growl to break from his perfectly shaped lips.

 “Can you just leave and let me change?”

“Jesus, (Y/N)...you’re acting like a stubborn child!”

Gasping, you leaned your hands against his firm chest to distant him a bit. “Do you really think I’ll be in the mood...after all the rude things you’ve said?”

He chuckled, looking at you from above and giving you a feeling of being so small compared to him, you almost stopped breathing. “Rude things?” laughing again, Bateman trapped you between his arms as he put them from both sides of your head. “I always say what I think, there’s nothing special about it…”

"More likely, you always think only of yourself," your voice wavered, and you found it hard to breathe, as if he was sucking all the oxygen out of the air. “Let’s just skip this if you still want me to go with you-”

“No, I don’t need you to do me a favor.” Patrick shushed you with a finger, pressing it against your lips, leaving you trembling like a leaf. 

“And I don’t need your help!” You tried to break away, but he kept you in one place. 

“Oh, is that so, honey?” he crooned in a sweet tone, rubbing his nose against yours; his seductive aura was almost intoxicating, it was corrupting your mind stronger than anything else in this world. “Honestly, I just wanted to help you undo the clasp but now… Now, I want more than that…”

With no delay, Bateman covered your mouth his heated one, wrapping his brawny hands around your quivering frame and spreading your legs with his knee. Suffocated, you didn’t react, feeling his hard bulge brushing against your mound–a muffled moan of sudden pleasure pierced through your bonded lips, sending chills down you spin; your cute reaction didn’t surprise him, but Patrick couldn’t hide his satisfied grin as his hands were already pulling down the straps of your dress. 

And only now, you desperately clawed at his shoulders, weakly pushing him back, not understanding that your attempts to fight him were only putting gasoline on a fire, encouraging him to sprawl you against the wall, pinning your hands against your head.

"P-Patrick!" The way you almost screamed his name made you both tremble with ravenous lust as you looked into each other's eyes, not really knowing if you wanted him to let you go or hold you forever.

Growling quietly, Bateman continued to move along your longing body, forcing you to hook your hip around his loin, so you could grind against his hard groin. “Feeling good, sugar?”

Just say no! 

“Yes-s! Mm-mh…Daddy… ahh!” Oh God, that was the end. 

"Baby," he murmured in your ear, thrusting his firm thighs into yours and shamelessly groping your bottom. "Daddy doesn't like to see his sweet Cupcake upset."

"Maybe...n-next time Daddy will think more before he talks." You stammered from the beat of your heart. 

“Do ya want me to bite this little sharp tongue?” panting, Patrick punctuated his words with rough smacks on your butt, which could be surely heard outside the dressing room. “I’ll teach you how to behave…”

Smoothly, Bateman pulled down the top of your dress, letting your breasts to bounce out from it, and the next second his greedy mouth was already sucking on your taut nipple. 

“Mmm…Gosh.” You arched your back as the last hints of your self-control seemed to vanish as long with your ability to resist this man.

Switching between your engorged peaks, Patrick didn’t stop rubbing against your mound not even for a moment, your throbbing pussy was about to explode at any second. Thirsty, he tugged on your tip with a squelch, enjoying each little whine you made, but he still needed more.

“Turn around,” he urged briefly, licking his lips in hunger as he watched you bent over in front of him. “Oh-fuck, I can smell your sweet arousal… mmm,” snuggling into you, Bateman left a wet hickey on the back of your neck before he started to move down, peppering your exposed skin with hot sloppy kisses. “C’mon, Cupcake, spread your legs for me.”

As if hypnotized, you obeyed and before you even noticed, his long fingers were teasing your sensitive clit trough your so-fucking-wet panties. Clinging to the wall, you were about to moan when you sensed his big palm on your chin, his hot breathing was mercilessly burning the delicate skin of your throat while his rock-hard bulge was still pressed against your ass.

“Aa-aww, Daddy….” You muffled against your own hand before turning around to give him your most innocent look–he read it almost right away.

“So, you need my help?” bastard! – you almost said it out loud, but Bateman was faster as he slid his thumb into your mouth, and you started to suck it like medicine you couldn’t live without. “Ahh-look at ya… Such a little slutty girl, can’t function without Daddy’s finger inside her dirty mouth…”

Twitching under his massive weight, you could only think of his skilful digits playing with your pussy better than you ever wished for, damn you were already so close but it seemed like Partick's endless craving spurred him on to tear you apart completely.

With no words, Bateman knelt behind your back to pull up the hem of your dress, and soon you had to compress your lips so tightly, as loud nasty sounds were about to erupt from your fiery chest when he finally moved your underwear to the side and his plump lips covered your feverish cunt. 

“Oh-mmmy God,” tensed like a string, you didn’t know if you wanted to cry or to laugh, or all these things together from how his masterful tongue was pushing you over the edge. “Mmm-Patrick-” you suppressed another moan when he bit one of your buttocks before spreading them wide open to push two fingers inside your blushing pussy. “A-aah-Daddy, I’m so close… p-please!”

Patrick only purred something incoherently in response, as he continued to lick your engorged folds and pumping your tight hole with his experienced digits. His persistent ministrations made you totally lose your mind, and now you didn’t understand were you begging him to stop or to NEVER stop. 

When your legs shook in his grip, you heard his raspy snarl: “Not yet, Cupcake…Not yet!”

And he just stopped, holy hell.

Your miserable sobbing bounced against the walls of the dressing room as the coil in your lower belly was yearning for its release, it was literally itching so hard you were ready to scratch the wall with your nails if it could help you a bit.

“(Y/N), you can’t even imagine how much I want to leave you just like that,” Bateman hissed, and then you heard the unzipping sound which caused your knees to buckle. "But I want to get all your stupid thoughts about acting like a brat… out of your head!"

Abruptly, Patrick put your legs together and the next second you felt his leaking tip between your legs, brushing against your soaked folds and making your squirm from ecstasy. 

This man had no barriers, he could reduce you to pieces so easily, like no one else, and he liked it. 

A small drops of sweat were running down his forehead as he watched his beefy cock slipping back and forth with a sleek sound; your overstimulated pussy was literally on fire.

“P-please…” You whimpered, bending ever lower to give him a better access to your spasming cunt. 

“If you want to cum, you have to move, slut!” Groaning, Bateman stood still with his hands wrapped tightly around your hips. Mesmerised, he watched you grinding on his huge dick as you desperately chased your release. At that moment, your languid, heavy breathing was all that mattered to him.

Shivering erratically, you almost crested your high when Patrick harshly grasped your throat and pressed you against the wall, possessively he began to smack his cock against your clit, each slap he made was taking your breath away.

“Tell me, Cupcake…” he grunted against your neck, brushing his swollen tip along your throbbing nub barely sensible. “Who do you belong to?”

“You…Only y-you...”

Bateman squeezed your neck with unveiled dominance and demanded in a low voice: "Try again!”

“Aa-aww! I… I belong to you…Daddy!” You cried out through your pressed palm when he sped up the tempo, slapping your pussy with nasty wet sounds.

With a devilish smirk on his face, Patrick had to hold you still as you cummed so hard, gushing on his dick and fidgeting around the wall. Multiple waves of pleasure were washing over you like a waterfall, leaving you completely exhausted, you didn’t even have any power to moan. 

And soon, you became limp in his powerful arms, allowing him peacefully patting your head as he praised you: “You can be a good girl when you really want to,” Bateman kissed your temple, fixing his pants. “But still, you could just let me help you with this fucking dress.”

“You can help me now…” You replied, hungrily catching the air.

Smugly, Patrick eventually undid the clasp on your dress, not missing the moment to leave a red mark on your shoulder blade as he sucked on your soft skin. “Speaking about dresses. Since my favourite one didn’t fit, you can choose whatever you want…I don’t really care.”

You sighed, smiling ironically to yourself. “Great!”

Bateman didn’t stop smirking even for a second, he was so pleased with himself that he didn’t notice your sarcastic intonation, he just ignored it, as usual. “Come out when you are ready, I’ll wait for you in the hall.”

“What for? I can pay for the dress myself.”

His cheesy titter unpleasantly cut your ear. “I don't want you to starve, babe,” you cast an angry glance at him, but he only stroked your cheek before adding: “You only need to be an obedient girl, and Daddy will give you as many gifts as you want.”

“But I didn’t ask-”

A sudden ring of his mobile phone got his attention, so he hushed you with a finger before quickly going out from the dressing room, leaving you alone with your inflaming rage.

Snorting tiredly, you mentally screwed him million times in a row, changing to your clothes and trying not to even think about eavesdropping on his conversation with whoever it was. You promised to yourself you wouldn’t do it because you didn’t care.

But did you?

When you left the dressing room, you heard the echoes of his voice from the dressing room nearby:

“Jesus, Evelyn! I’ve told you already, I can’t take the time off work.”

At that moment, you could swear your legs weren't listening as they led you straight to the source of the sound. With your heart beating, you halted near the dressing room when his voice suddenly fell silent, and the next second the curtain was carelessly pulled aside so that your frightened eyes met his furious ones.

Oops!