lev.

∘₊✧ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ✧₊∘ Last work: 04/05/2026

♡ Resident Evil

Karl Heisenberg

Victor Gideon

Leon S. Kennedy

♡ The Boys

Homelander

♡ Red Dead Redemption

Micah Bell

♡ Genshin Impact

Arataki Itto

Kamisato Ayato

Il Dottore / Zandik

Neuvillette

♡ Apex Legends

Revenant

Requests Info

NSFW CONTENT BELOW - MDNI Ao3 link → click here

It’s my first time writing for Homelander so this is experimental. And actually it was harder than I thought. I ended up getting frustrated, so I will just dump it here and leave it to rot.

summary: Homelander, once infatuated with you, had kept you locked away in his penthouse for months. But when he starts to grow distant, the fear of abandonment becomes too much to bear.

words: 2,340

!! content: smut, kidnapping/captivity, stockholm syndrome, manipulation, isolation, hurt maybe comfort, abuse (full tags on Ao3)

The penthouse was silent.

You were sat on Homelander’s side of the bed, heart throbbing, face buried in one of his pillows. Breathing in his scent… his clean, sharp scent. It had become the only thing that comforted you while he was gone.

Four days. It’d been four days since he’d left. 

He’d never been gone this long.

Outside and far below, the city glittered beneath the night sky. Cars filtering through the streets, people living their lives down there. But you barely paid attention to that anymore.

In fact, you could barely remember your life before, or how you’d even ended up here. Locked away in his penthouse, all alone. The memories, the time, it had all blurred and faded together. 

Days had turned into weeks, weeks into months.

Homelander always told you the same thing. That he’d saved you.

That you were too soft for the world outside. Too delicate for society. That no one would ever care enough to keep you this safe. No one would ever love you the way he did.

At first, you rejected him.

You remembered crying until your throat hurt, begging him to let you go. Fighting him whenever you could, even though it never worked. You were terrified during those first months, confused, angry, desperate for someone to notice you were missing.

But no one ever did.

So maybe, he was right.

Soon he became the only person you ever saw anymore, the only voice you heard, the only person who held you. Waiting for him to come home, listening to his footsteps, holding onto every bit of attention he gave you.

And when he was so gentle with you, when he touched and looked at you like you were special, it felt impossible not to cling to it.

Your life started to revolve around him, exactly how he’d planned it.

Your arms tightened round the pillow as the silence dragged on, eating you alive. You wanted him to come home now. It’d been too long.

You’d even started counting the seconds in your head, hoping for a sound to break the streak… any sound…

Your heart skipped a beat.

At last, the elevator had chimed.

He was home. He was finally home.

You practically skidded off the bed and hurried toward the door, excitement fluttering wearily in your chest. Your heart always seemed to do that when he returned.

When the doors opened wide, Homelander stepped inside. His cape slightly crumpled, hair messy, and his jaw locked tight. The moment your eyes landed on him, your excitement faltered.

You knew that look. Even before he spoke, you could tell he was in a mood.

Slow in your step, you approached cautiously, the way you had learned to move around him like this.

“You’re back… I missed you,” you said with a soft smile, even if you shouldn’t. “It felt… really long this time. I really missed you.”

He didn’t even look your way.

“Not now.”

Your stomach dropped. That tone, that awful tone. He always used it as a warning, and you knew better to push his buttons.

But you still reached out to him. You couldn’t help it, you’d missed him too much. You needed him too much.

“But I really-” you repeated, arms stretching wide, hoping he’d scoop you up and pull you against his chest regardless.

Your fingers barely grazed the edge of his hand before he swung his head down at you, swatting you away with a singular tap.

“Go to your corner,” he snapped, pointing across the room. “Now.”

Everything hit you like a slap.

But you didn't argue, it would only end badly. You simply turned and skittishly crossed the room to the small space he’d set up for you a few months back.

The corner you’d learned to retreat to whenever he wanted to be left alone.

You sunk down into the cushions, pulling the blanket over your legs. From here, the room always felt too big. Too far away from him.

You didn’t make a sound when your eyes burned. The tears slipped out quietly, trailing down your cheeks, pulling the blanket to hide your face. He never liked it when you sulked, but how could you not?

He used to sit with you for hours. Uttering sweet words, cradling you, stroking your hair. He liked having your full attention, he liked knowing that you needed him.

But now it only seemed to irritate him.

His softness had become rare. The attention he gave you had faded into something barely there at all. Like the past four days, when he often left you alone, when he often returned and barely spared you a glance.

It hurt. A lot.

You shuffled deeper under the blanket, your tears and breathing erratic the more you thought about it.

Maybe now he’d grown tired of you. Maybe now he just wanted you out of the way.

You could hear him moving around the room, muttering under his breath. Every so often there was a bang which made you flinch, drawer slammed, something thrown. It sounded like he was on the verge of a meltdown. 

Time passed in uneven pieces, and you stayed exactly where he’d put you. You’d learnt that moving around when he was mad only made things worse, so you stayed utterly still.

But the room had fallen silent.

“Stop sulking,” His voice cut through.

You startled, head snapping up. You hadn’t even noticed he’d crossed the room, standing only a few feet away. 

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, his expression telling. “I just get lonely when you’re gone for that long, I waited for you… I was good.”

A sharp breath left him, then a pause. A painfully long pause.

Something was simmering, and you could tell it was about to bubble over the surface. You could see it in the subtle twitch of his eye, in that look you could never quite decipher.

You sat perfectly still with your breath hitched, afraid that even a singular movement might make him snap.

The silence ticked on… waiting… 

Then he moved.

One moment he was standing over you, the next he was coming in closer. Until there was nowhere else for you to look but at him.

Slowly, he crouched down in front of you, bringing himself to your level. The way he did it should have made him less intimidating. But it only made you more uneasy, especially when his eyes never left yours.

Then his hand lifted all too quickly. You flinched before you could stop yourself, and something flicked across his face at that.

His fingers brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear with an absurd amount of gentleness. His thumb slid over your cheek, hovering there for a moment before sliding lower. Across your jaw, over your chin, along the side of your lip. 

The contrast made your stomach churn. Moments ago, he’d been pacing like thunder. Now, he was here. Touching you, caressing you, gentler than ever.

“You think I enjoy coming home to this?” he asked softly.

Too soft.

Then his fingers slithered to the back of your neck. For a second, you thought he was going to pull you into him. Like he finally wanted to give you the piece of affection you’d hoped for.

But you were so wrong.

His fingers squeezed. His softness vanished, grabbing the scruff of your neck like you were an animal.

“To you looking at me like a kicked fucking puppy every single time?” He sneered, a fleck of spit catching your chin. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurted, the apology burning your throat. “I know you’re stressed. I know I’m… a lot. I don’t mean to look sad. I just-”

“You just what?” He let you go and rose to his feet, face twisting ugly. “You just can’t function without me for five goddamn minutes? I have to come home to this? A broken little doll who starts crying the second I walk through the door if I don’t immediately coddle her?”

Your ribs felt like they were breaking, the shame burning hot behind your eyes, but the fear of losing him completely burned hotter.

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I love you so much it hurts… I’m so sorry…” Tears slipped down your cheeks as you stared up at him. “Please… please don’t throw me away, I’ve been so scared, you leave me alone for days…”

“I can fight again if you want me to… I can be difficult again. I know I’ve become too comfortable, too boring… too needy… I’ll do anything. Just please don’t get tired of me. I love you more than anything. I'll do anything you want.”

Homelander stared down at you, taking it all in, your tear soaked face, the desperate grovelling. Too many things all at once, all clashing together inside his head. You looked so pathetic. So utterly pathetic.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, pinching the bride of his nose.

That hurt worse than any insult he could have thrown at you.

“You know what?”

“You love me more than anything,” he repeated after you, tone laced with mock. “You’ll do anything?”

He reached down and grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking you up sharply. You squealed as he dragged you out beneath the blanket, your legs sliding across the floor before he threw you onto the bed.

Before you could even push yourself up, he was on you.

He pinned you down from behind, knees forcing your thighs open. One gloved hand pinned your wrists over your head, as he stripped the other glove off with his teeth. Then he shoved your oversized shirt up to your waist, exposing your underwear.

“Four days,” he growled against your ear, grinding his hard cock against your ass through his suit. “Four fucking days, and I come home to this snivelling mess. If you’re going to be this fucking needy, then you’re going to take whatever I give you.”

Without warning, he pulled your panties to the side and pushed two fingers in deep, curling them upwards. You choked loudly into the pillow, hips jerking back against his hand.

“So wet already, you really get off to me treating you like shit?”

He started to pump his fingers, faster, scissoring, stretching you open. The wet, dirty sounds filled the room as he worked you right to the edge, then suddenly, he pulled his fingers out.

You whined at the loss, only for him to slap your ass hard enough to sting.

“Beg.”

“Please…” you shook out. “Please, Homelander. I need you inside me. I missed you so much, please-”

He didn’t wait for you to finish.

You didn’t even notice he’d unzipped his suit.

He slid into you in one hard thrust, burying himself deep inside your heat. The sudden stretch tore a cry from your throat.

“Fuck, yes,” he groaned, hips against your ass. “Still so tight. So fucking tight.”

He didn’t give you time to register anything, he didn’t care.

He started fucking you hard and fast, skin slaping skin. Each thrust stuffed you deeper into the mattress, while one hand kept your wrists pinned, as the other gripped at your hip.

You sobbed into the pillow, pushing back against him desperately.

“Please.. Please… more…”

Homelander hissed and leaned over you at that, chessed pressed to your back, teeth sinking into your shoulder. He bit down hard, completely ignoring the way your body recoiled against the pain.

He pulled your hips so you were on your knees, face still smushed into the bed. His cock reached even deeper, his hand slipping underneath as he found your clit.

You came hard at the single touch, fluttering around his length, legs shaking as he fucked you straight through it, never slowing his pace.

“That’s it. Milk my cock just like that.”

But he wasn’t finished yet.

He pulled out suddenly, flipping you onto your back as light as a feather. He shoved your legs wide and pushed back inside you, staring straight into your eyes, watching every feature on your face.

You couldn’t help but look away, it was all too much.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

Your teary eyes met his as he fucked you slow now, grinding his hips in circles, making sure you felt everything he was giving you. His hand then smeared the tears across your cheeks, then wrapped around your throat.

“Say it.”

You knew what he meant.

“I’m yours-” you choked out. “I love you- I love you so much-”

He kissed you at that, messy and rough, tongue deep in your mouth while his cock claimed the rest of you.

“Go on, cum on my cock again like the desperate girl you are.” He muttered against your skin as he felt you start to tighten around him again.

His fingers returned to your clit, rubbing until you shattered a second time.

And just like that, with a deep groan, Homelander buried himself to the brim and came hard, filling you up with hot pulses of cum. He kept pumping through it, pushing his load deeper, marking your insides.

He stayed still for a moment, panting, hot breath against your neck, still half hard and completely enamored by the way your body twitched when he started moving again. Lazily fucking his cum deeper while you whimpered from how sensitive it all was.

“Shh,” he murmured against your throat. His hand loosened around your neck, sliding up to cradle your chin. 

You sobbed softly, not from pain anymore, but from the relief of having him so close again. His weight pinning you down in the best way, after days of emptiness. 

For a while, neither of you moved.

Homelander pulled out carefully, watching with satisfaction as his cum dripped from your pussy onto the sheets. He pulled your back against his chest, wrapping one strong arm around your waist. His suit was still half on, the fabric moulding against your skin.

He was home.

I rushed towards the end cos I ran out of ideas and got mad

id like to request comfort heisenberg x f reader who has an anxious attachment and abandonment issues,, where he helps and comforts her,, please,,

peace of mind. | karl heisenberg x f! reader

Ao3 link → click here

words: 965

!! content: comfort, fluff, abandonment & anxiety issues

The factory was never quiet. The constant whir, the steady churn of machinery, it had all faded into the background over time.

But tonight, it was different.

The sounds were louder. Each clang boomed like it meant something, like it was directed straight at you. The whirring behind the walls wasn’t just noise anymore, it blended with the storm in your head. Every sudden bang made you jolt, your heartbeat pounding heavier.

You sat curled up on the old sofa in the corner of Heisenberg’s workshop, knees pulled in, arms wrapped around yourself like your organs would spill out if you dared to move. The anxiety had crept in slowly at first, but like always, it’d started to become suffocating.

He’s going to leave you. He’s getting tired of you. Why wouldn’t he? You’re too much to handle. Too needy. He’ll find someone better eventually.

Every time you tried to push the thoughts away they just came back. You hadn’t meant to spiral like this. You’d just wanted to stay close to him while he worked, but even from across the room, your mind wouldn’t let you have that peace.

You watched as he was bent over his workbench, sleeves rolled up, focused as he screwed something together. His brow furrowed in concentration, a cigar between his teeth, grey hair falling messy over his forehead. Every now and then he’d mutter a curse or let out a grunt. 

He looked so in his element, he’s always been so capable on his own. See? He doesn’t need you sitting here being miserable. You’re just making his life worse.

You knew it was stupid. He had told you way over a hundred times that he wanted you around, that he loves you. But the fear never listened to reason, not for long anyway. 

Your eyes stung. You tried to push the tears back, but one slipped down anyway. You quickly wiped it away with your sleeve, sniffing a little too loud, hoping he wouldn’t notice. The last thing you wanted was to distract him from his work.

But the clinking and fiddling stopped. You heard the scrape of tools being set down, then the sound of his boots crossing the floor toward you. Your heart squeezed even tighter.

“Alright,” he said, tone low. “That’s enough of that.”

Before you could even try to brush it off, he was already there, sitting down on the sofa beside you. He reached out without hesitation, pulling you straight into his lap like it was the most natural thing on earth. One arm wrapped around your back, the other sliding up to the back of your head, fingers threading softly through your hair.

“Hey, look at me,”

You shook your head, embarrassed, pressing your face into his warm chest instead. The familiar scent of smoke filled your lungs, but it only made the tears dribble faster.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

Karl let out a breath, his chin rested on top of your head as he rocked you, the way he did when he knew you needed it most. He’d been through this with you countless of times, but not once did he ever show a slither of anger.

“You think I’d rather be alone in this shithole than have you here? I’ve been alone my whole damn life, sweetheart. I’m damn good at it. But I don’t want that anymore. Not since you.”

“I see you over here getting eaten alive by that mind of yours, and it kills me,” he admitted, thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “You’ll never be too much. You’re mine. And I want all of you. I’m not going anywhere. You hear me? I’ll repeat it as many times as I have to.”

You let out a shaky sob and nuzzled into him deeper. 

“I’ve got you,” he whispered against your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Always.”

You remained within his grip. Karl didn’t rush you. He didn’t tell you to stop crying or that it was silly. He just held you for as long as you needed, like always.

“I’m scared,” you whispered eventually, muffled against his shirt. “I know you’re here right now, but… what if one day you decide it’s too much? What if I get like this too often and you just… can’t do it anymore?”

Karl was quiet for a second. “Listen to me,” he said. “I’ve been betrayed by my so called ‘family’, spent years alone in this rotting factory. You think a few bad nights or you needing me more than usual is gonna make me throw you away?” He gave a soft, tired laugh. “That shit doesn’t bother me the slightest.”

“I’m a stubborn asshole,” he continued. “When I say you’re mine, I mean it. Not just on the good days. I mean all of it. The clingy days, the quiet days, the days where your head’s being a bitch. I’m still gonna be right here.”

You sniffed. “Promise?”

“Promise.” He leaned in and kissed your forehead. “Cross my cold dead heart. And if that voice starts lying to you again, you tell me. Even if I’m in the middle of working. Even if it’s three in the fucking morning. You drag my ass over and I’ll hold you just like this until it passes.”

A tiny smile tugged at your lips as you glanced up at him.

“There she is,” he muttered, brushing some hair back from your face. “My girl.”

The factory still hummed around you, but it felt far away now. 

“I love you, thank you,” you whispered after a while.

Karl’s arms squeezed around you.

“Yeah… I know you do,” he said quietly. “And I love you too. We’re in this together.”

♡ Smut One shots (MDNI)

hostage. | victor gideon x gn! reader x leon kennedy

I've been getting a surge of questions in my inbox recently so I figured I'd create an info page!

My requests are always open, but I might not get around to writing all of them. I write for fun, so I will write what I find entertaining at the time.

Things I enjoy writing ➜ i'm pretty much into anything ranging from vanilla fluff to dead doves. headcannons, short fics, smuts and x readers are my speciality, i'm not really into ships. as for genders i mainly write fem readers, but i can do any.

Things I won't write ➜ scat, piss kinks, hardcore gore, character x character, racism, fem characters x reader (sorry)

Fandoms I write for ➜ resident evil, red dead redemption, genshin impact, outlast trials

My comfort characters ➜ karl heisenberg, leon s. kennedy, micah bell, il dottore, kamisato ayato, neuvilette (outside of requests i write for these guys a lot)

!! I may take a while to getting around to each request as I get burnt out very easily, I promise I'm not ignoring you.

If you have any questions just feel free to shoot me a message or ask in my inbox :)

Karl Heisenberg, Victor Gideon, Leon S. Kennedy, Albert Wesker, Billy Coen, Carlos Oliveira

Your writing is a blessing ❤️❤️❤️❤️

hostage. part 2 | victor gideon x f! reader x leon kennedy

NSFW CONTENT BELOW - MDNI Part 1 → click here Ao3 link → click here

I am loving all the requests I'm receiving and I cannot wait to for fill each and everyone. Everyone is so creative, yummers.

Also I notice now you didn't actually ask for a female reader but I'm honestly too lazy to go back and change it to gender neutral. Sorry about that I was too locked in. (If you rlly rlly want me to change it shoot me a message)

words: 3,791

!! content: dark fic/dead dove, smut, non-con, heavy angst, slapping, choaking, cuckolding, violence

The room was dark, the scent of must damp in the air. Rusted chains hung by Leon's ankles and wrists. They ached, the metal had worn slices into his flesh, crusted with layers of his blood from weeks of struggling. He had tried, god, how he had tried to rip them off, but the cuffs never gave in.

His shirt clung to his chest filthily, soaked with sweat and grime, torn open in spaces which exposed his ribs. They stood out sharply beneath his skin, which was stretched thin by starvation. Dark circles were prominent beneath his eyes, fraying his features.

Days had passed by in an endless blur. Shackles clanking, fresh bruises over old ones, hunger gnawing deeper within every hour. Only a week earlier, or what seemed like a week, he could still muster the strength to shout, to demand for release, to fight back.

Though, through most of it, he had demanded, kneeled, begged, to see you.

You were being kept in another room, suffering all the same as him… if not worse.

He couldn’t think much clearly anymore, but there was one memory that refused to fade.

The day Victor had taken you. 

Leon had no clue what his motive was, but he had come searching and all too recklessly. That was the day Victor gained the upper hand. The day everything turned to ruin. Events so vile, so unspeakable, that Leon could barely stand to store the memories in his mind, yet they replayed endlessly like a broken record.

He hadn’t seen you since Victor had laid you over that mattress.

The heavy door bolts clanged open.

And the very man himself, Victor Gideon, stepped inside alone. Just him, white coat, his headpiece clouding half of his face, composed as ever.

“Good morning, Leon,” He said softly, like a doctor checking on a long term patient. “Or is it evening? Hard to tell down here, isn’t it?”

Leon didn’t look up. His eyes stayed half shut, head bowed, staring at a crack in the concrete between his shackled feet. He didn’t have the energy to glare anymore.

Victor walked closer. His towering frame crouched down, ringed hand reaching out delicately to tilt his chin up with two fingers. Leon’s head rolled slightly but he didn’t resist. 

Victor studied him for a long moment, noting every shriveled line on his face.

“Are you enjoying your stay?” he asked playfully. “You’ve been so quiet lately. No more charming quips. I almost miss your witt.”

Leon’s cracked lips creaked open. “What more could you possibly do,” he muttered exhaustedly, his words falling out flat.

Victor’s smile widened just a slither.

“Oh, Leon. There’s always more.” He released Leon’s chin and stood again, brushing dust from his coat. “But I’ve been thinking. You’ve been… hmm… cooperative, in your own way. And, I suppose, I’m nothing if not fair.”

Leon’s breathing hitched. 

Victor paced steadily up and down the makeshift cell, as if he was pondering something, his shoes loud against the concrete.

“I’ve decided to grant a small mercy,” He continued. “You may see her. One time, but supervised, of course.”

Leon’s head jerked up at the very mention of you, eyes wide for the first time in days. “Please,” he pleaded. “Please.”

His chest started to heave. Hope. Slammed into him so hard it felt like a punch. His shackled hands flexed behind his back, and for one moment the pain, the cuts and bruises… had all faded. All that dithered was the possibility of seeing your face. Of knowing you were even still alive.

“Please,” he repeated like a prayer. “Please… let me see her.”

Victor’s pacing fell to a halt.

After a still moment, “Eager… Very well then,” he said. “On your feet.”

The chains rattled as Leon struggled upright, his legs shaking. Victor didn’t help him. He simply waited, then unlocked the chain which kept him trapped inside the cell. 

He kept it in his hands, leading Leon down a winding corridor. Every few paces he gave it a tug when Leon’s footing faltered. Each pull faintly gritting on his nerves, but he didn’t complain. He barely registered it at all actually. All he could think about was the door ahead.

They stopped, it was identical to the one that had imprisoned him for days, maybe weeks, maybe months. Victor punched a code into the keypad, and with a soft beep, it opened.

The room inside was practically a mirror of his own cell, cold, damp, windowless… but you were there.

Lying on your side on a stained mattress, curled tightly like you were trying to fade into the sheets. Your hair had fallen across your face, tangled, hiding your eyes. Marks spread across your skin, dark circles scattered along your neck and collarbones. You looked so small, and too still. So unimaginably fragile in a way that made Leon’s chest cave in the second he laid eyes on you, as though one noise might shatter him completely.

Hurriedly, he stumbled over his feet and pushed into the room. Chains clanking against the floor, his knees hitting the concrete. He dropped beside the mattress, close enough to feel the faint whisper of your breathing.

“What have you done to her?” The question spilled out of him. His hands, still cuffed behind his back, reached uselessly toward you, wrists twisting and turning until old wounds began to swell up.

Victor leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed over his coat, and let out an amused scoff.

“I take good care of her,” he stated lightly. “She’s stronger than she looks.”

Leon’s head dropped to the edge of the mattress. Angling it so that his face was as close to yours as he could, voice dropping to a broken whisper meant only for you.

“I’m here, sweetheart, wakeup… please,” he begged, even though your eyes were still closed, even though you hadn’t moved. “Baby…”

A tiny, pained sound escaped your lips then. Your fingers twitched weakly toward him, searching for his touch.

“L… Leon…”

Your eyes slowly fluttered open to a blur, aching from exhaustion. Your chapped lips moved again, barely audible, the name slipping out too lightly…

“Victor…”

Victor’s smile extended effortlessly. 

Then, he let out an abrupt, curdling laugh which bounced off the walls, and the room went cold. He stepped fully inside, the door sealing behind him, arms still loosely crossed over his chest.

“Look at that,” his voice dripped with delight. He glanced down at you with a fondness, then back to Leon. “Even half conscious, she remembers my name. Isn’t that sweet?”

Leon’s body tensed beside you, blood trickling lightly down his wrists. His gaze snapped up to Victor, his eyes burned a small flame with something feral and helpless all at once.

Victor only chuckled again, quieter this time. “Don’t look so surprised, she’s learned her place. Just like you’re about to.”

“What…”

Victor’s smile didn’t waver. He merely reached into his pocket and took out a key, holding it up between his fingers like a prize.

“I’m going to unlock your restraints now,” he told Leon. “And then…”

“I want you to fuck her.”

Leon choked on his breath, the sound shredding his throat like broken glass.

“What?”

The silent stretch, and Victor stepped closer.

“Right here,” he gesturing toward the mattress. “In front of me… But… there’s a catch.”

He paused, letting the words dance, eyes never leaving Leon’s face.

“I want you to be… cruel,” it was as if he was explaining something simple. “Hurt her. Make her cry. Show me exactly how far you’ll go, how much you’re willing to pay the price just to keep this pathetic reunion a routine.”

Victor twirled the key once between his fingers, then leaned in slightly, voice dropping to tone so deep it made his spine chill.

“Your choice, Mr Kennedy. But we both know what happens if you refuse.”

Leon’s entire body went still. “No.”

“You’ll do it,” Victor replied shortly. “Because if you don’t, I’ll take her back to my private room. I’ll chain you to the chair, just like last time. You remember what happened, right?”

“I’ll make you watch again while I break her piece by piece this time, until there’s nothing left of her for you to save.”

“Or,” he continued, voice lightening so quickly it almost sounded reasonable, “you can do exactly what I ask. And when it’s over, you get five… no… I’ll be kind… ten more minutes unchained… and you can have that every week.”

Leon looked down at you, his mind racing.

You were weak, trembling, but your eyes had fluttered open by now. They found him, filled with trust despite everything.

You whispered his name. “Please… Leon…” 

“Your choice. But choose quickly. I’m starting to lose my patience.”

The room stayed heavy with the smell of concrete, a metallic tang of blood stung in Leon's mouth from where’d he’d bitten his cheek too hard while making a decision.

His hands twitched as Victor finally slid the key into the cuffs. The metal clicked open, first one wrist, then the other, then his ankles. The chains fell away, clattering to the floor. His arms dropped forward, blood rushing back into fingers that had been numb for days.

The sudden freedom felt foreign.

He thought about fighting, about suckerpunching his tormentor in the face, but he had too much to lose if he failed.

Victor stepped back one step, folding his arms again, watching keenly.

Leon didn’t look at him. He looked at you.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. The little nod you gave him told him everything.

He swallowed once, and hard. Then he mustered up the courage to move. 

He shifted over you carefully, knees bracketing your hips, one hand braced beside your head so he didn’t crush you with his weight. His other hand sheepishly slid under your knees, lifting your legs gently to hook around his waist. He moved so slow like he was afraid you’d break.

He reached down, sliding his boxers down just enough, your thigh beginning to shake by his side. He felt it. The fabric caught on his hips for a second, his fingers fumbled clumsily. He pulled your panties to the side with the same delicate touch.

He lined himself up, tip nudging against your entrance, all while Victor’s eyes bled into you both.

But, nothing happened.

He was soft.

Completely soft.

Leon stuttered. He pushed forward desperately, trying to will himself to do it, to get hard, trying to force a reaction, but there was nothing. His guilt wrecked him from the inside. No stiffness, no response. Just utterly soft.

Your eyes opened wider, confusion flickering through the haze, all while Leon’s face crumpled.

“I-” His voice cracked. “I can’t… fuck, I can’t…do- I…”

“I can’t… get hard…”

He squeezed his eyes shut, forehead dropping hard against yours. Tears slipped free, hot and silent, dripping onto your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry… I can’t even… I can’t even do this right.”

“Poor Leon,” Victor interrupted, hand moving lazily inside his pants. “All that desperation, all that begging to see her… and your body says no?” He tilted his head, lenses glinting. “Or perhaps it’s saying something else. Perhaps it knows what you’re about to do to her. Perhaps it refuses to play along.”

Leon tried again, stroking himself once, twice, rough and frantic, but still nothing. His cock remained dormant.

That’s when your hand slid weakly from over his shoulder to his cheek, pulling him down, thumb brushing away one of his tears.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “Leon… it’s okay.”

But it wasn’t.

He shook his head. “No… It’s not. It’s fucking insane.”

Victor stepped closer, until he loomed beside the mattress.

“Hmm,” he hummed. “Even your body rebels against the idea of hurting her.” He crouched down by Leon, his presence intrusive. One hand rested lightly on the back of his neck, fingers curling into a grip.

“Or perhaps, you just need a little… encouragement.”

His other hand, still slick from when he’d toyed with his own hardening cock, reached down. His large fingers wrapped around Leon’s soft length as he stroked once.

Leon jerked like he’d been shocked. A choked tore from his throat, half a protest, half something else.

Victor worked him intimately, thumb circling the head, fingers squeezing just enough to force blood to rush where it was needed. Leon’s hips twitched forward involuntarily, an accidental whine escaping his lips.

“There we are… you like that?...”

Leon’s chest started to heave. His cock reluctantly thickened under Victor’s touch, his head spinning with emotional turmoil. When he was hard enough, Victor released him with one last lazy stroke.

“Now,” Victor stood up again, “Fuck her.”

Leon looked down at you, eyes wet. You nodded once, trying your best to reassure him.

He lined up again, and you gave a tiny lift of your hips in response, a short whisper of his name.

“I’m sorry…”

“Leon… just… be with me. Do what he says… or it’ll be worse…”

He pushed deeper, until he was half inside you, until you were shuddering. You both gasped against each other's mouths, your nails digging into his shoulders. He stayed still for a long moment, letting you adjust, feeling the tightness of you wrapped around him after so long.

Victor watched from beside the mattress. His hand rested lightly on Leon’s shoulder, while the other slipped back inside his own trousers. The flow of him stroking himself resumed, matching with Leon’s first few careful thrusts.

“Move,” He commanded sternly. “Slow at first. Let her feel it all. Let me see how much she still wants you even after everything I’ve done to her.”

Leon’s hips rolled once. The drag was torturous, you whimpered softly, back arching just enough to press your chest against his. He pulled out halfway, then slid back in deeper, until a muffled moan left his lips.

Victor’s hand sped up while he watched. “Harder,” his thumb brushed a tense muscle on Leon’s skin. “Make her feel how much you still need her, even like this.”

Leon obeyed.

His next thrust snapped forward. Your breath plummeted sharply in a croaked cry. He set a pace, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in. Each snap of his hips rocked the mattress, the wet and obscene sound of him filling you echoing.

Your thigh trembled rougher against his side. Victor leaned in so that Leon could feel the heat of his breath against the back of his neck.

“Choke her,” He murmured, lips brushing the side of Leon’s ear. “I want to see her struggle for air while you fuck senseless.”

Leon lifted his spare hand, wrapping it softly around your throat, fingertips feathering over your pulse. 

“Tighter.”

Your eyes rolled slightly when he squeezed, your mouth opened on a silent strain. Your walls clenched hard around him, pulling him deeper.

Shortly, Victor started to make sounds of his own, pleased, his hand moving faster now, stroking away as he enjoyed the show.

“Slap her.”

Leon’s free hand lifted, hesitating, shaking, looking for the permission in your face, then cracked across your left cheek.

The sound was sharp. Your head snapped sideways, fresh heat boiled across your skin. 

Victor hummed in approval, his breath growing uneven.

“Again.”

Another slap. Your sob broke high, your body wriggled beneath Leon. He winced too, his hips slowing and moving backwards at the way you tried to instinctively crawl away.

Victor took in every detail. The handprints on your cheek, the way your body reacted, the way your legs remained around Leon’s waist even after you tried to flee, the way Leon’s tears dripped onto your marked flesh.

“Beautiful,”

Leon too watched the print on your face redden until it glowed. Your sob had turned silent now, as if you’d just grown used to it.

“Keep going. Don’t you dare slow down now.”

Leon’s next thrust ground right up against that spot inside you that made your back arch, whimpers trailing from your lips. He leaned down and stifled a whimper of his own against your neck, lips grazing skin he couldn’t kiss.

“Choke her tighter,” Victor ordered again, each demand beginning to grate on Leon’s nerves. But he had to submit, there was no choice in it.

Leon’s fingers flexed, then squeezed. Your pulse thundered under his thumb, mouth stretching open again. 

Victor had already pulled his pants down by now, his hand tugging at his cock fast, the slick sound syncing with the slap of Leon’s hips meeting yours.

“Slap her again. Right cheek this time. Match the set.”

Leon’s hand lifted, it shook violently, then froze mid air.

“No, I…” The words left him. His fingers hovered over your cheek. “I can’t… I can’t do it again…”

Another tear trickled from the corner of his eye. You didn’t speak. But your gaze stayed on him.

Victor’s hand stilled on his cock.

He exhaled once, then stepped forward until his knee nudged the edge of the mattress. The shift in his posture was quick, the observer in him gone, replaced by something hungrier.

“Leon,” his voice dropped dangerously low. “What did I tell you?...”

Leon remained buried deep inside you, cock throbbing, but he didn’t dare move. His hand stayed frozen above your cheek.

Victor leaned over, and one hand reached out, not to you, but to Leon.

He caught his wrist, the one hovering above your face, wrapping his fingers around it in an unyielding grip.

“If you won’t then, I’ll do it for you.” Victor said, tone flat, almost bored.

Leon’s eyes flicked to Victor’s face, then back to yours. You were watching him still, sweaty, chest rising and falling too fast.

Victor tightened his grip, forcing the hand downward inch by inch. Leon resisted, he resisted as hard as he could, but Victor was stronger. The rings on his fingers dug in until Leon’s flesh, blood trickling down from old cuff wounds.

The slap landed harder than he had ever struck before. The crack echoed like a gunshot. Your head snapped sideways again, a fresh, vivid stain grew instantly across your right cheek. 

Victor released Leon’s wrist. His hand dropped to the mattress beside your head, he was shaking so violently now his whole arm vibrated. 

His hand returned to his cock. “Good boy. Look at that pretty face, so ruined… See? You can do it, even with a little help.”

“Now fuck her like you mean it. Don’t stop until you come inside her. She’s dripping for you. I want to see her stomach swell.”

Leon picked up his pace. Every thrust dragged through the wetness, heart beating fast with every snap of his hips.

Victor’s free hand soon slid from Leon’s shoulder to the back of his hair, fingers threading into sweaty strands, tugging his head back just enough to force eye contact.

“You’re close,” Victor said with certainty. “I can see it. Don’t hold back, cum inside her. Fill her up and let me watch you mark what I’ve allowed you to have.”

Leon’s rhythm turned frantic, hips grinding hard against yours. His hand on your throat loosened just enough for you to drag in a breath, his other arm clenched around your waist, holding you tight as he chased his high.

“I’m… fuck… I’m sorry… baby… I can’t… ”

Victor tugged harder on his hair.

“Do it,” he hissed into his ear. “Cum. Now.”

Leon fell apart.

One final thrust was all it took, and he came within a wrecked sob. Hot pulses flooded you, his cock throbbing inside, spilling everything he had. His body shook so hard Victor had to steady him with both hands, one in his hair, one now on his shoulder, keeping him upright while he emptied deep inside you.

Victor watched every second until Leon finally stilled, forehead dropping to yours, breath hot and sticky.

Only then did Victor move again.

He stood, straightening his coat with one hand while the other worked himself, all until he loomed directly over you both.

Leon tensed, arms tightening around you protectively, but all it took was for Victor to nudge him out of the way.

Thick ropes spilled across your belly, marking your flesh in white streaks. He moaned, allowing the straggle of deep sounds to stretch from his throat. One line landed just below your belly button, another higher, streaking across your breast. 

Leon could only watch, as you did too. 

Soon, Victor drew a slow breath through his nose. He adjusted himself quickly, tucking away any trace of what had just occurred, but his eyes remained on the glimmering streaks painted across your skin.

No one spoke.

Your pulse hummed faintly in your ears, and Leon’s presence beside you was impossible to ignore. All while Victor’s gaze lingered on the both of you.

And then, he tilted his head with a smile. “Welldone,” he breathed out.

The praise made your stomach twist. His eyes moved between the two of you, as if he was committing the moment to memory.

“You follow instructions better than most.” He pointed at you first. “You don’t, Leon, however, you still have me rather… impressed.”

He wiped his hand on a handkerchief, folded it neatly, and slipped it back into his pocket.

“You both get ten minutes. Use them wisely.”

He turned to the door, sealing it shut behind him. All too quickly, as if he’d forgotten to do something.

Leon didn’t move at first. He stayed inside you, his cock twitching, then softening slowly. His arms fell back to your shoulders, attempting to wipe the mess from your skin, but all it did was stick to his fingers.

He buried his face in your neck. His breath feathering on your collarbone, tears dripping.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again and again. “I’m so sorry… I love you… I didn’t want to… I love you… I couldn’t let him hurt you… But… he made me…”

You pulled him closer with what little strength remained, weak fingers threading into his matted hair, holding him there as tightly as you could. Your own tears slipping onto his skin.

In the silence that followed, broken only by the faint drip of water somewhere outside, the sticky warmth cooled on your belly, Leon’s own warmth leaking out of you too. You both held each other.

Those ten minutes felt like the only real thing left.

Feeling like a fat chud hunched over my keyboard rn. I rushed toward the end too shoot me idc

hostage. | victor gideon x gn! reader x leon kennedy

NSFW CONTENT BELOW - MDNI Part 2 → click here Ao3 link → click here

Hi Anon I hope you know I jumped out of joy when I read this request. Sorry if this is too nasty, my imagination kind of went wild.

words: 1,612

!! content: dark fic/dead dove, smut, non-con, rough sex, heavy angst, dirty talk, cuckolding

The metal clasps bit into Leon’s wrists every time he struggled against them. His breath ragged, the chair he was chained to creaked, swaying his body left then right, but it never showed a sign of giving way. 

You were already stripped bare when Victor shoved you face down onto the mattress. He yanked your arms behind your back, and binded your wrists tight with Leon’s own belt, the leather still warm from being cinched around his waist only minutes ago.

“Get your fucking hands off them,” Leon snarled, venom lacing between words, his veins pulsating along his neck and arms.

Victor didn’t even glance at him. He only kicked your knees wider apart, his palm slamming down on your back, crushing your chest flat against the sheets. Your cheek mashed into the surface, nose buried, breathing muffled.

You bucked, bound wrists yanking uselessly against the belt. Every frantic squirm, every attempt to drag yourself forward was snuffed out the moment it started. 

Victor’s free hand then feathered over your spine, thumb pressing just above your tailbone, pinning your pelvis exactly where he wanted it, ass up, legs open.

You couldn’t even turn your head far enough to breathe properly.

Then, the head of his cock nudged, then pushed, all too suddenly. Your eyes shriveled up, and the stretch burned like fire. You hissed through your teeth and tried to twist away.

But a rough hand fisted your hair, pulling your head back and tilting it until your neck hurt, forcing you to look straight across the room at Leon.

“Face up, pretty,” Victor purred. “He’s going to watch every second of this.”

Leon grit out, “I’ll fucking kill you.”

Victor laughed, full of amusement, then drove himself inside. The air bursted from your lungs, and your body clenched around him on instinct, trying to push him out, but it only made him groan.

“Mmm, yes, keep resisting,” he muttered against your ear. “Feels better when you do.”

Leon’s chair almost scraped forward. However, the legs had already been bolted to the floor long ago, Victor had planned ahead. Leon’s hands shook as the realization hit him, endless beads of sweat sliding down his temple.

“Don’t, don’t do this,” he pleaded, losing his composure completely. “Please- hurt me instead, I’m begging you…”

Victor slowed, letting you feel every inch as he slid almost all the way out… as if he was going to consider Leon’s pleas… 

He slammed himself back in. Your knees skidded, a whimper escaping your throat before you could prevent it.

“You hear that?” Victor said, his eyes glued to Leon. “That little whimper? That’s because they’re opening up for me.” He rolled his hips and grinding, stirring your insides. “Bet you never got them this tight from crying.”

Victor’s free hand slapped across your ass, striking your plush skin hard. The sting made you quiver. He did it again, and again. And you just couldn’t help it, you couldn’t stop the yelps.

“Say it,” he ordered you now. Fingers clawing into your hip, sure to leave a bruise. “Tell him who’s inside you right now.”

You shake your head, tears already prickling in the corners of your eyes.

Victor only yanked your head back further. 

“Say. It.”

Your whisper came out small, reluctant, humiliated, quieter than a mouse. “…you.”

“Louder.”

“You… Victor… Victor Gideon,” you forced it out, hesitating on his name. Your eyes locked widely onto Leon’s, fearfully searching for his reaction.

He made what you could only describe as a heart shattering sound, like he’s been punched in his gut. His head dropped, fringe falling in his face. You could see his jaw working, see the shine of tears he didn’t want you to notice.

Meanwhile, Victor picked up a brutal pace with zero mercy. Each thrust shoved a dirty noise out from between your lips, something between a cry of help and pleasure. Your body began to slick, betraying yourself with every slap. And the shame of it burned, as you buried your head into the mattress like you could escape from the guilt.

“Hey, hey, look at me,” Leon suddenly rasped like he could sense it. His voice wrecked, head lifting quickly. “Baby, look at me, please.”

“... You’re so fucking strong… Stronger than anyone I’ve ever known,” He whispered, his words overwhelmingly gentle. “I love you so much.”

“You’re mine,” he said again through burning eyes. “No matter what happens. You’re still mine. Remember that. Please, just remember that.”

His bound hands flexed uselessly, knuckles white, but his gaze never left, even when your eyes were squeezed shut, even when Victor yanked your head back harder.

Leon’s words had landed within you like a lifeline. Something to cling to while your body was being used like a toy, while sheer shame and an unwanted heat coiled tighter and tighter in your belly.

Victor snorted. “Sweet. Real touching.” He dragged, pushing in deeper, making your whole body jolt. “Keep whispering your little fairy tales...”

But Leon didn’t stop. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Holding your gaze like if he could just keep talking to you, he could somehow shield you.

Even shackled, helpless, even when breaking.

Even through the worst thing possibly imaginable, he was still trying to protect you through the only way he had left.

“Mgh... Their cunt’s gripping me like it doesn’t want to let go. Every time you open that mouth, they get tighter. Hah… You’re helping me fuck them.” Victor taunted, a scoff carried on by a laugh. 

Leon’s voice practically shredded him in return, something you weren’t prepared for. “You’re a dead man walking. I’ll carve your fucking name into your own pasty skin before I end you.”

Victor heaved unbothered through his breaths, still fucking you deep. “Big promises. Meanwhile, they’re dripping down my balls while you’re crying like a bitch.”

“Whose cock’s going to make you cum beautiful, hmm?”  Victor growled in your ear, his hot breath stickily sweet against your neck.

He didn’t even wait for your answer before he pinched your clit. “Go on.”

“y-you…” 

The hand on your head pushed your face into the mattress.

“You, mhmff… Victor- fuck-”

Victor grunted.

His thrusts turned erratic, turning sloppy. That single curse which tore from your throat by mistake, the unmistakable sound of you breaking. “That’s it, you filthy slut, fuck- take it- cum while your own boyfriend watches.”

“Cum for me… for the cock what’s going to fill… hah… fill you full.”

The heat snapped.

You came hard, moaning, shaking, sobbing, spasming, tummy blazing like fire, your cunt throbbing tight around his length.

His pace turned wild. “Oh yes, look at that Leon. They’re.. hhf… milking me.”

You went dizzy while he ground against your ass, riding out every wave.

“That’s it,” Victor panted, voice shallow and smug. “Are you enjoying this… Kennedy? Me rearranging their guts… Hah… Each step they take tomorrow, every time they try to touch themselves… thinking about your pathetic face...”

He slammed in one last time and came, a thick ooze flooding you while he ground against your ass, riding out his high with murmurs.

And even after his release, Victor stayed buried inside for what seemed like an eternity.

The wet drip of his load started to leak out around where you both were still joined. His cock twitched, softening but not pulling out yet, like he wanted to make sure you knew he was breeding you.

Your thighs vibrated, walls fluttering weakly. You couldn’t close your legs. Couldn’t hide. Couldn’t even draw a full breath without feeling the thick of him still lingering.

Finally, agonizingly, he began to withdraw.

Victor exhaled, satisfied, then straightened. The sound of his zipper was loud and as casual as ever. He stepped back, eyes performing laps over you, ass ruined and burned red with handprints and clawmarks.

“Stay like that,” he panted. “I want him to see what I left inside.”

Then he turned, his boots scruffed softly across the floor as he crossed to Leon, his expression telling, as if his entire soul had been sucked from him.

He grabbed his chin gently, tilting head up so he had no choice but to take in the view. Your body swollen, stretched entrance leaking white, glistening down your skin.

“You’re welcome for the show, baby boy. Next time maybe I’ll let you have a turn.”

Leon’s eyes were glassy, fixed on the mess between your legs. His lips parted, but no sound came, just breathing.

Victor released him with a small push. Looking back at you one last time.

“Ten minutes ,” he said flatly. “Maybe more.”

Then the door clicked shut behind him.

Silence.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Could only just lie there, still able to feel his grip.

Across the room, Leon’s voice eventually broke the silence.

“…baby.”

Your head turned just enough. Just enough to meet his eyes through the blur. He looked sickly pale, streaked with sweat.

“I’m…” He choked over his words, ripped out of him before he could finish. An ugly sob caught in his throat, the kind that made your own chest cave.

You’d never seen him cry before.

“I couldn’t protect you…”

The whisper was so light it couldn’t even carry across the room. But you heard him. And it twisted like a knife in your heart.

His shoulders trembled inward.

“I’m sorry,” he said shakily, the words splintering. “I’m so sorry.”

A fresh sob caught in your throat.

Leon swallowed hard.

“When I get out… I’m gonna hold you… I promise…”

The minutes stretched. 

Your eyes stayed on his, never wavering.

Even as you ached.

And even as the door handle turned again.

It's 3am, I've re-read and edited it five times, my eyes burn.

Requests are open if you wish to kill me off

♡ Smut One shots (MDNI)

obsession. | victor gideon x f! reader

hostage. | victor gideon x gn! reader x leon kennedy

hostage. part 2 | victor gideon x f! reader x leon kennedy

short smut / headcannons x afab! reader

NSFW CONTENT BELOW - MDNI Ao3 link → click here

words: 5,819

summary: You had came to Rhode’s Hill to work a quiet desk job, filing reports, stamping letters, organising papers. Though, what you didn’t expect was the gradual, consuming obsession with your boss… or the way his gaze now lingers on you a little too long, as though he’d already noticed long ago.

!! content: smut, blowjobs, degradation, breeding kink, groping, obsessive behaviour, size difference

You had come to Rhode’s Hill for one simple thing, to work a desk job. It was what you were qualified to do. Filing papers, stamping papers, drafting letters. And for a while, that had been enough. 

But what you hadn’t planned for… was him. 

Somewhere between the endless paperwork, the trips to the coffee machine, the brief moments where you managed to catch a glimpse, something had shifted. You couldn’t quite pinpoint when it had happened. Only that, at some point, your thoughts had begun to wander in ways they absolutely shouldn't.

And unfortunately for you… those thoughts seemed to circle back to one very specific person.

Victor Gideon.

Not only was he your employer, but the owner and lead researcher of the care centre itself.

You knew anyone else would call you mad, or even utterly insane. After all, he was your boss, but beyond that, the man didn’t just look wrong, there was something about him that felt wrong too.

And yet, you couldn’t deny how much that piqued your imagination.

It started off small, just plain curiosity. A quick glance here and there whenever he made an appearance, stolen in the seconds before he noticed. Then those glances slowly turned into the occasional attempt at small talk, awkward greetings offered whenever you crossed paths in the corridor or lingered too long outside his office.

Though, those moments never lasted long.

He had a way of shutting them down immediately. Not rudely, just with a finality that made it clear he had far more important things to do.

“Surely you have duties you should be tending to,” he’d murmur, smooth as silk.

His voice was something else entirely. Melting like butter in your ears, every word spoken with that stern certainty. Even long after he’d walked away, you could still hear it sometimes. 

And even when his words were so very dismissive, your heart would still pump all the same. 

You then started taking better care of yourself. Small things at first, subtle changes to your makeup, the way you styled your hair, the jewelry you chose to wear. Even your clothes changed, a prettier blouse, a blazer which complimented your figure… a shorter skirt…

All of it was done in the hope that one day he might actually stop and look at you.

But every time he passed you without so much as a glimpse, something in your chest pricked.

And still… the next morning you found yourself standing a little longer in front of the mirror. 

That restless desire which burned from within was not so easily distinguished. 

And without quite realizing it, the hours you spent at Rhode’s Hill began to stretch longer and longer. 

What had once been a regular workday gradually turned into something else. You began staying later to finish work that could have easily waited until morning, rereading reports before they ever reached his desk, taking on tasks that no one had asked you to do.

After all, if your work was flawless, then perhaps he would notice that instead.

So, even as the building gradually emptied around you, you stayed put.

The office grew quiet as the evening crept in, coworkers gathering their coats and exchanging goodnights while the lights dimmed one by one. Yet, you remained seated at your desk, the scratch of your pen becoming the only noise that remained.

Endlessly, as you worked late into the depths of the night, the words on the pages slowly blurring together, your wrist aching and your throat dry, you told yourself it’d be for something.

His attention, and his attention only.

And eventually… it seemed like you might have it.

Not in the way you had imagined, of course. There were no compliments waiting for you in passing, no sudden acts of acknowledgement that would make your efforts feel rewarded. Victor Gideon was not the sort of man who offered praise so freely.

Still, there were moments.

Fleeting things you might have gone unnoticed if you hadn’t been paying such close attention.

A glance that lingered just a little longer than usual as he passed. A faint pause in his step when he noticed the lights of your office were still on. Once, when you placed a stack of organized reports before him, he had flipped through the pages, his eyes scanning the work before he gave the faintest hum beneath his breath.

“Excellent,” he had said.

Excellent.

Only a single word, but it had stayed with you. Etching its way into your brain, never to be forgotten.

Another evening, long after the corridors had grown dark, you thought you heard a door creak open somewhere down the hall. The sound of footsteps trailing behind, echoing faintly along the polished floors.

They slowed as they passed your door. Not enough to a halt, but enough for you to notice.

You always kept your eyes fixed on the papers before you, pretending not to realize someone was there, though your heart would quicken beneath your ribs.

Because somehow, without needing to look up, you knew. 

He was watching you.

And it became routine after that.

The soft glow of your desk lamp, the rifling of folders beneath your hands as the clock ticked away as it stretched later into the night. Occasionally you leaned back in your chair, rubbing the ache from your neck before reaching for the next task.

Then came the usual footsteps, falling still as he loomed in the darkness before the doorway.

After a while, sometimes he’d even enter.

Peering down at your desk, at the faint smudge of ink on your fingers or sleeve, and rarely, he’d offer what seemed to be a brief nod of approval before moving on.

And every time without fail, your cheeks would grow hot, your hands would grow clammy, and your focus would dwindle. 

Tonight, you thought, would be no different.

The office had settled into its usual hush, the low burr of the water dispenser and the scratch of your pen across paper. You were deep into sorting the latest stack of medical records, flipping pages… losing yourself in the rhythm of routine… when the sound reached you.

Footsteps.

They slowed as they neared your doorway.

You didn’t look up. You never did. The concentrated mask you’d perfected, head bent, pen moving.

The doorway framed him in silence for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

“Still here?”

You lifted your head a fraction, your eyes staring at the paper in your hand before you shuffled it away, though for a moment it felt as though you were looking straight through it.

Victor stood in the doorway, coat straight, hands folded loosely behind his back. 

For a moment, he said nothing. He simply watched, the faintest tilt of his head giving the impression he was studying you. Then, finally, with that soft tone he often used, he added, “I’m beginning to wonder whether you intend to sleep here as well.”

Only then did he step into the office.

His steps were unhurried, gradually carrying him further into the room until he stopped beside your desk. Close enough now that the lamplight caught against the lenses of his headplate.

You lowered your eyes back to the papers, forcing your hand to move again, though the line you were writing had begun to drift unevenly across the page.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. 

Then a thick hand, adorned with rings, reached forward.

You stiffened slightly as he lifted the folder you had been sorting earlier. The pages shifted as he flipped through, his lenses angled downward.

Page after page.

Your fingers curled faintly against the edge of the desk, waiting for something, criticism, praise, anything. Even the curt remark he was known for offering when things failed to meet his standards.

“Organized. A valuable quality.” He said after what felt like an eternity. 

The single sentence made your stomach tighten.

He set the folder back down precisely where he had taken it from, adjusting the corner so it aligned perfectly with the rest of the stack.

Only then did the lenses lift again. Even without seeing his eyes, you could feel the attention settle back onto you.

“You stay very late,” he continued, almost thoughtful. “Long after everyone else has gone home.”

A pause.

“Tell me… is it diligence that keeps you here…”

The crook of his mouth angled into a faint smile.

“…or something else?”

Your throat clenched.

For a moment, you weren’t sure what to say. The room suddenly felt smaller than it had a minute ago, the silence pressing in around the two of you.

“It’s just work,” you said finally, though the answer felt thinner than you intended. 

“Just work,” he repeated.

The tone in his voice made it impossible to tell whether he believed you. 

Then, without warning, he stepped a little closer to the desk.

You suddenly became very aware of the position of your hands, of the ink smudged faintly along the side of your palm, on the edges of your fingers.

“You are very… devoted… to your work, aren't you?” His hand moved again, this time toward the paper you had been writing on.

He picked it up, scanning it like he did the others.

You anticipated the moment he would set it down again, but that never came. Instead, he kept reading, and reading, until you’d begin to wonder if there was something wrong with it again.

“I, uh,” You began, words not seeming to get past your tongue, “That one isn’t finished just yet, I still need to proof read it, and stamp it, but, um, my coworker left the stamper-”

The paper fell from his hands.

Gliding across the air in a delicate swoop, until it drifted onto the floor halfway across the room.

Your words died in your throat.

For a moment, you simply stared at where it had landed, your mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened.

Victor, however, hadn’t even looked at it.

“…the stamper?” he repeated calmly.

Your mouth opened slightly.

Steadily, he reached forward, twirling your office chair toward him. The movement was controlled, yet it shifted something in the air between you both, and you couldn’t quite tell whether it was for better or worse.

Victor leaned down, looming above you, just enough that the distance between you both had gotten your heart thumping at a pace you couldn’t quite hide.

Your hands remained frozen in your lap, your shoulders stiff, your spine tense, unsure of what you’d ought to do. 

“The stamper,” His head shifted, “Is across the room.”

It wasn’t a question.

Your pulse skipped a beat, the hairs on the back of your neck standing tall.

“You should probably go and retrieve it…”

He straightened at last, the faint shuffle of his coat as he drew his hands back behind it.

But he didn’t move away from the desk. He remained standing there, watching, waiting, making it very clear he expected you to move.

He didn’t even step out of the way as you rose from your chair, leaving you to squeeze through the narrow space he’d created.

For a brief second, your blouse brushed against the front of his coat. You caught his scent, a strong cologne. Not one you recognized, but there was something refined about it, the sort of fragrance that wafted just long enough to make your head feel light.

Expensive, you thought, though it did little to settle the boom in your chest.

By the time you reached the stamper, your heels clicking against the wooden floor, you fumbled through the drawers below, knocking the desk softly as you pulled them open one after the other. You knew your coworker had left the ink press somewhere in there.

Behind you, the room remained still. Victor watched closely.

Taking it all in.

The jitter of your knees. The way your hands hesitated over every drawer handle. Reminiscing on the uneven rhythm of your breathing when you had brushed past him. Even the nervous habit of your fingers rubbing together.

Eventually, you pushed the drawer back into place.

Relief flickered across your face as you pulled it free, the stamper, at last.

You took a step back toward your desk, forgetting something.

“The paper,” Victor called out.

You stopped, the click of your heels falling still.

“Oh,” you mumbled, turning your head slightly. Only then did you notice you had already stepped over it.

Your gaze dropped to the sheet lying on the ground.

Then back to him.

Then down again.

Then, briefly, to the hem of your skirt.

“Pick it up. Please.”

A strained sound left your mouth. “I, uh, I-” The stamper sat awkwardly in one hand while the other instinctively smoothed down the front of your attire.

Carefully, your knees bent as you attempted to reach the paper without leaning too far forward.

“No, not like that.”

You froze halfway down.

“Try again.”

Your brows lifted, confusion written plainly across your face as you looked between him and the paper on the floor. You looked genuinely lost, like a deer in headlights.

And then he moved. The sound of his shoes crossing the floor reached you, circling, before halting just behind you.

A hand settled against your shoulder. Unrushed, he guided you a step to the side, turning you so that the front of your body now faced the fallen paper properly… and that he stood directly behind you.

Only then did he remove his hand, taking a single step back.

“Pick it up,” he told you again.

For a moment, you didn’t move. The paper lying innocently on the floor while your mind raced far too quickly for something so simple.

Still, you obeyed.

Carefully, you bent down, one hand gripping the stamper while the other reached toward the sheet.

Your skirt shifted slightly as you lowered yourself, the fabric pulling just enough to make you suddenly aware of how exposed the position felt.

And all the while, he remained there. Watching.

The heat crept up the back of your neck as you finally gathered the sheet between your fingers, the paper whispering as you lifted it from the floor. You straightened quickly, perhaps quicker than you meant to, the movement almost clumsy.

Your pulse was practically inside your throat.

Then, behind you, Gideon exhaled softly.

“Interesting.”

You turned slightly, unsure whether you were meant to face him fully or retreat back to your desk.

“You become very attentive,” he said after a moment, his voice growing lower, “when given clear instructions.”

As the words left his lips, he took a slow step forward. Then another. Each step placed with purpose until the space between you had almost disappeared.

You didn’t dare move.

From this close you could smell the trace of his cologne again, something cool beneath it that reminded you of antiseptic and polished metal. It made your head go dreary, like your thoughts were struggling to stay where they belonged.

He then seemed to notice the loose strand of hair before you did. Without warning, his hand lifted.

The backs of his fingers brushed lightly against your temple as he gathered the stray strand and tucked it behind your ear. The touch itself was brief, but the closeness of it sent a sharp flutter through your chest.

And for a moment after, his hand brushed near your cheek. His attention subtly resting on your face, examining every small reaction you failed to conceal.

“Tell me…” he said, his voice calm, almost curious, but nothing could’ve prepared you for what came next.

“Is degrading yourself for the faintest hint of my attention something you find… gratifying?”

Your eyes went wide, and only then did you just notice how much more intimidating he was up this close. 

“All these months…” he tutted into a scoff, his tone carrying a hint of amusement.

The warmth of him reached you, the faint heat of his breath brushing the side of your neck each time he spoke.

His head tilted down, the all four optics angling toward your face, studying you with that same unnerving patience he seemed to give everything.

“The shade of lipstick you’re wearing,” a single finger against your chin, lifting it slowly, “is darker than yesterday.”

“The ring on your left index finger is new.”

“And your undergarments… you haven’t worn those since twelve days ago.”

His breath smoothed over your skin again, your heart thumping at a pace so vigorous it made your knees feel weak, warm against your skin as he leaned just a smidge closer.

“I notice things, you cannot paint me as a fool,” he whispered against the shell of your ear, his voice so smooth it slid through the air like silk. His breath ghosted across your skin, sending a sharp, tingling chill crawling up the line of your spine.

Neither of you moved. The room seemed to hold its breath with you. Your lungs worked unevenly, each inhale shallow and unsteady, your pulse thudding nervously within every vein.

“How pathetic of you…” Victor cooed softly.

The words were almost gentle, but the mockery laced through them made your stomach twist into an untieable knot.

A pause stretched, you could practically feel his gaze lingering, studying you, taking in every nervous shift and every shaky breath.

“But…”

“I would be a liar if I said I didn’t find it…”

“… entertaining.”

The word slithered off his tongue. 

His fingers lifted, then hovered for the briefest moment near your face, then placed his thumb atop your bottom lip.

The contact was light, the edge of it brushing along the faint curve of your lip as though confirming the observation he’d made earlier. Your breath hitched at the touch, and you could feel his eyes sharpened at the reaction.

The corner of his mouth twitched upward, just barely, like a man who had predicted something correctly and found the result so very satisfying.

Then it travelled up the slope of your cheek, until his hand settled along your jaw. His fingers curved beneath it, firm enough now that it was merely more than a graze.

Your head tipped slightly under the pressure, just enough that looking away would have required effort you no longer seemed capable of summoning.

Victor kept studying you.

Really studying you.

He took in the way your throat worked as you swallowed, every tremor in your body, the tension held stiff in your shoulders. Even without being able to see half of his face, it was the kind of look that made you feel as though nothing about you escaped his notice.

A soft hum left him, dragging, thoughtful rather than mocking this time.

His thumb moved again.

It drifted along the edge of your jaw in a slow pass before slipping lower, brushing against the sensitive skin of your throat. The contact was now featherlight, like he was teasing, yet it was heavy enough to make your pulse jump violently beneath it. 

His fingers stilled, “There it is.” 

His thumb pressed against your pulse point, and his gaze lifted back to your face.

Then, his hand slid away and drifted down to your shoulder. His fingers brushed lightly over the fabric of your blouse, tracing the hem as if smoothing a small crease, before continuing down the length of your arm. 

The warmth of his palm now unfolding followed the natural curve of your arm, brushing along the outside and sliding past the elbow. Your breath caught at the sensation, and he noticed immediately.

His hand didn’t ease.

It curved gently with the line of your body, drifting from your arm to your chest as if the transition were inevitable. 

His palm came to rest over your breast, pressing lightly through the thin material. The contact was seamless, every nerve in your body alert to the weight of his hand. Your chest rose and fell beneath his touch, your heartbeat thundering like a drum.

“You give yourself away,” he spoke. His thumb slid from the top of your breast, brushing lightly over the curve before pressing just enough to make you squirm.

“So… sensitive,” he murmured softly, almost indulgent, the words drawing a wince from your lips. “Every little twitch, every breath.”

The heat of him pressed near your collarbone, your cheeks burning with a flush of crimson. He made it impossible to breathe normally, impossible to think clearly.

“You just can’t help it, can you?,” he whispered in velvet.

Under the helmet, Victor’s eyes flicked to your lips for a brief second, then back to your face. Then, almost imperceptibly, he leaned in.

Every fraction of an inch intentional, giving you just enough time to realize what was coming. 

Your breath caught in your throat, the curve of his mouth ghosting over yours before it even touched. 

And then his lips met yours. A soft press, despite his rough looking lips.

His fingers remained anchored on your breast, circling your nipple now, feathering lightly.

Your body reacted instantly, to every single sensation, pulse hammering, knees threatening to give way, but you didn’t falter. He held you there, letting the kiss deepen, like he was testing the waters.

Then, almost imperceptibly, the kiss shifted.

His lips parted slightly, teasing at first, and then, suddenly, his tongue slipped into your mouth. Your body jolted at the sensation, breath catching, every muscle tensing under the intimacy.

As his tongue explored yours, his other hand moved silently, almost instinctively, to your hip. He gripped it tight, anchoring you against him, the pressure almost possessive.

He didn’t let go of your breast either. His thumb continued its faint circles over your nipple. And every wisp, every glide of his tongue, you drew out that muffled hum in your throat he’d wanted to hear.

You in your stomach, nerves on fire. 

And then, he squeezed, testing another reaction through the fabric.

Your breath stuttered violently into the kiss, and his hand on your hip gripped tighter, pressing you closer.

Then, he shifted his weight, and you felt it before you saw it. A push against your hip that guided you downward, leaving no room for resistance. Before you could fully register, his grip had faded as he subtly pushed you onto your knees.

Your eyes widened at the sudden change in perspective, like you couldn’t believe it was real. All while his gaze bored over you with that same intensity.

Then, with a slow flick of his hands, he moved them to the front of his waist. His fingers worked the buckle of his belt, the clank of his rings meeting the metal clasp rang throughout the room. It slipped through his fingers, brushing over the waistband of his pants, the leather falling. 

His fingers worked at the button, the subtle tug of fabric. You watched, caught between anticipation and shock as his hands slid lower, undoing the zipper.

The shift of his pants, loosened and sliding slightly, revealed the outline of him through the fabric of his boxers. Your eyes were drawn instantly. 

He didn’t speak, didn’t move, just let the minute stretch, letting you take in the sight. 

After a while, he moved subtly, just enough that the tent in his boxers was on full display, and you flinched, pulse hammering. The low hum that vibrated through him made it clear he’d noticed, and your chest tightened at the sound.

“Just like that,” he whispered as he reached down and took your hand, guiding it over the waistband of his boxers, letting you pull the fabric just enough to free him. 

He leaned slightly forward, eyes flicking down to yours, as you took him in your hands. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth again, an acknowledgment of the control he possessed without a single harsh word.

A bead of sweat ran down your forehead, his cock was undeniably large. The same dark pattern that streaked across his skin now pulsed along the thick underside. Your eyes couldn’t look away.

His hand settled at the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. Not forcing, just guiding. You opened wide, lips stretching as you took him in.

The first inch filled your mouth instantly, the faint salt of pre cum coating your tongue. A low, satisfied hum rolled from deep in his chest, the sound causing you to squeeze your thighs together.

“Good… let me feel how eager that pretty mouth really is.”

You hollowed your cheeks, sucking gently as you slid further down. The stretching burned at the corners. Another inch, then another. Your throat fluttered around him when he bumped the back of it, and his fingers tightened in your hair.

He held you there, letting you feel every rigde as your tongue pressed against it. The lenses of his headplate angled downward, watching with intensity while his free hand reached down to trace the line of your jaw with one ringed finger.

“Look at you,” he said, almost fondly. “On your knees for your boss. How many nights did you touch yourself while thinking about this?”

You couldn’t answer. Could only moan around him, the vibration pulling another quiet groan from his throat. He rocked forward once, letting you choke softly, beautifully, around him.

Tears pricked at your lashes. You didn’t pull away. You couldn’t. Not when his thumb stroked your cheek like you were something precious.

He pulled back slowly, letting you gasp for air, strings of saliva connecting your lips to the head of his cock. His lenses glistened, studying the mess you’d already made of yourself.

“Pitiful, and perfect.”

Then he guided you back down, deeper this time, until your nose brushed the hair at his base. He kept you there longer, hips barely moving, just small pulses that fucked the back of your throat. The wet, obscene sounds of your mouth filled the quiet office like a confession.

When he finally let you up again, you were gasping, lips shiny, chin wet. He wiped a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb, almost tender.

“Enough,” he decided, voice low. “I want the rest of you now.”

His hands slid under your arms, lifting you to your feet like you weighed nothing. The moment you were upright he spun you, pressing your tummy against the edge of your coworkers desk. You barely had time to brace your palms on the wood before he shoved your skirt up over your hips.

The air kissed the damp fabric of your panties. He hooked two fingers into the waistband and dragged them down just far enough, leaving them stretched tight around your thighs.

One large hand pressed between your shoulders, bending you forward until your chest met the cool surface of the desk. The position left you utterly exposed, ass up, legs trembling.

He stepped in close. You felt the heavy heat of his cock slide between your thighs, gliding through the slick mess already coating your pussy. He dragged the tip up and down, teasing your clit, then lower, pressing just against your entrance, never quite pushing in.

“Tell me,” he said, voice even as his free hand gripped your hips hard enough to bruise. “Is this what you stay late for? To be bent over your desk like a desperate little toy?”

You whimpered, pushing back against him on instinct. He clicked his tongue in quiet amusement.

“Answer me.”

“Yes,” you breathed, voice wrecked. “Yes… please…”

The words seemed to snap the last thread of his patience.

He thrusted in with one relentless stroke.

The stretch was overwhelming. Your mouth fell open on a silent cry as he buried himself in, hips flush against your ass. 

He stayed there, letting you feel all of him, like he did with your mouth, letting your walls pulse and clench helplessly around his cock.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, the first real crack in his composure. His hand slid up your spine, fingers curling around the back of your neck to hold you down. “So tight. So wet for me already.”

Then he started to move.

Slow and deep drags, just until just the head remained inside you, then slamming back in hard enough to make the desk wobble. Each thrust punching the air from your lungs. 

His headplate reflected in the lamplight as he watched every reaction, every twitch of your thighs, every broken moan, every time your back arched when he hit that special spot inside you.

One hand left your neck and reached beneath you, fingers finding your clit with ease. He circled it slowly, perfectly in time with his thrusts, until your legs were shaking so badly you could barely stay upright.

“You’re going to cum like this,” he told you. “On your boss’s cock. In the office you’ve been defiling with your filthy daydreams for months on end.”

His pace quickened. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed. His fingers tightened on your hip, sure to leave bruises, pulling you back onto every thrust like he couldn’t get deep enough.

“Cum,” he ordered, thumb pressing firmer against your clit. “Let me feel it. Let me feel how badly you’ve wanted this.”

The coil in your stomach snapped so fast it stole your breath.

Your orgasm burned through you. You cried out, pulsing violently around his cock as pleasure tore through every nerve. He didn’t slow down. If anything, he fucked you harder.

But, once he slowed, he didn’t pull out.

Even as your body shuddered, he stayed buried deep, letting you feel every inch while you tried to catch your breath. The desk was slick beneath your palms from sweat and scattered papers stuck between your fingers.

You whimpered, oversensitive, trying to shift forward just an inch to ease the pressure.

His grip on your hip tightened. 

“Uh uh,” he tutted, like you’d asked for something unreasonable. “We’re not finished.”

He watched the way your body quivered around him. Your thighs trembled so badly they could barely hold you upright.

Without warning, his hands slid under your thighs, fingers digging into soft flesh. In one smooth motion he lifted you off the desk entirely, pulling you upright and flush against his chest.

A startled gasp escaped you as he took you in his arms, hips still impaled on his cock, the new angle driving him deeper. Your ankles hooked instinctively around the back of him, heels brushing the fabric of his coat. 

Your legs dangled helplessly in the air. Your blouse hung open, you hadn’t even realised it’d become undone, your breasts only covered by your bra pressed against his chest.

He was close enough now that you could see the faint reflection of your own flushed, wrecked face in his optics, lips parted, eyes glassy, cheeks streaked with mascara.

Then, he sat you back down, your back placed atop the desk, your limbs sprawled out underneath him. And once again, Victor's hands were on you without a second to spare.

“So pretty, look at you…” he hushed. “These cheeks,” he continued, stroking across the flushed skin, “always bloom the moment I look at you.”

His thumb drifted lower. He traced your lip again, parting them just enough to let it slip inside for one slow glide over your tongue.

“And this mouth,” His voice dipped darker. “So slick and eager.”

Victor smeared the faint sheen of your lipstick and saliva across your lower lip like he was painting you. 

Then he moved.

One smooth roll of his hips, deep enough to make your back slide an inch up the desk again. 

You whimpered, his free hand hooked under your knee, lifting your leg and spreading you wider. Your head tipped back on a silent cry, working around nothing as he held there once more.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

You obeyed, eyes fluttering open.

He started moving again, not the teasing rolls anymore.

Harder, and deeper.

Pulling almost all the way out until the head caught at your entrance, then slamming back in. Your nails raked down the surface of the desk, then caught on the crisp sleeves of his coat. 

You tried to speak, tried to beg, to curse, to say his name, but all that came out were shattered moans and gasps.

“You’re crying again… and you’re going to cum again… crying for me.”

His finger found your clit once more. No more gentle circles. Hard, fast strokes that matched the snap of his hips, pressing down just hard enough to make lightning shoot up your spine.

Your whole body locked up. The coil that had been winding since he first lifted you off the desk snapped like a wire.

You came again, back shuddering off the desk that only his grip kept you pinned. You clamped down around him in a spasm, milking him so hard he hissed through his teeth. 

He fucked you through it, chasing his own release in the tight heat of your climax.

“Fuck, there,” he growled. His pace stuttered, once, twice, then he let out a heart racing sound that vibrated through his chest and into yours.

Heat flooded you in thick spurts. You felt every throb, every twitch as he came deep inside, hips grinding in slow, forcing every last drop as far as it would go. 

For a long moment the only sounds were your ragged breathing, the faint creak of the desk, and the soft drip of everything he’d left behind leaking onto the wood beneath you.

Then, slowly, as he caught his own breath, he eased out.

The sudden emptiness made you whine, a thick ooze followed immediately, sliding warm and sticky down your pussy. He didn’t let your legs close, instead he left the one hooked over his arm where it was, watching  the mess he’d made dribble out.

Wrecked beyond repair, dripping his seed onto the wood beneath you, utterly his in a way no one else would ever see.

“You’re quite obedient, even now, lying there, you’re still waiting for permission to move.”

“Tomorrow,” he spoke, quieter this time, the words sinking into you like a brand, “wear the black lace, the set with the garters. And when the last person leaves…”

“…you will be waiting at your desk. Exactly like this.”

You nodded eagerly, no doubt in your mind.

“Good girl.”

Then he straightened, coat settling perfectly around his broad shoulders, pulling up his pants and buckling his belt as if he hadn’t just fucked you senseless at your own workplace.

He walked to the door without looking back this time.

The office fell silent except for your ragged breathing and the faint, wet drip still sliding down your inner thigh.

You stayed exactly where he’d left you, body aching, heart still hammering with the promise of tomorrow.

Already counting the seconds.

Until he returned to claim what was already his.

His newfound toy.

I spent way too much time on this and i was lowk stroking my shit #tmi #keeping it real

Requests are open :p !

NSFW CONTENT BELOW - MDNI

I’m deeply yearning for Victor Gideon at the moment. I’m going insane. #needthat (I have a full smut fic in the works too)

I haven't written in months so please bear with me if this is shit from a butt!

!! content: smut, size difference, praise, teasing, choking, biting, cream-pie, dirty talk

Victor’s always in control, and he enjoys taking his time in teasing you. He studies you with patience. The slower he moves, the more restless you become. Every shift of your posture, every shaky breath, every flicker of expression across your face… he takes in all of it.

On the couch, he always positions himself suffocatingly close. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your neck, close enough that the difference in size is impossible to ignore. 

His voice is a weapon, and he knows exactly how to use it. The hum from his throat right by your ear, the sound vibrating through the air between you. He’ll often pause between each sentence, just to watch you squirm, letting the quiet stretch until you’re the one who fills it.

He tilts your chin up when you look away. Not roughly, just two fingers beneath your chin, guiding your face back toward him so you’re forced to meet his eyes. Every gesture is calculated, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, letting his hand linger a moment longer than necessary.

The tip of his fingers traces along your skin, feathering across the faint lines of your veins as if he’s mapping them out. And when he reaches the hem of your underwear, he notes the way your breath hitches, the way your heart quivers under his touch.

He leans a little closer then, looming over you with ease. “Sensitive…”

He lifts you onto his lap with ease, his fingers brush lightly along your hip as he settles you there, as though he’s perfectly aware of the effect he has on you.

His fingers explore your body, intentionally grazing over your panties, lightly rubbing over every sensitive spot. The faint, helpless sounds you make like music to his ears, all while he memorises the way your body responds to him.

“Look at you,” he whispers. “All this, and I’ve barely touched you.” 

He pushes your panties to the side, your body trembling as he circles his thumb over your clit. His finger slick, rubbing and playing with your patience. 

Soon, when he’s taken in all your pleads, all your whines of desperation, he pushes a single digit inside. Leaving it still, waiting. 

“Go on, tell me how badly you want it.” He’s in no hurry. If you want more, you’ll have to beg him for it.

He begins pumping his fingers into you at a gradual pace, letting the rhythm build gradually. One finger after another, until there are two, listening to every small sound that slips from your lips. A low chuckle escapes from his, “You’re practically dripping for me-” 

Soon enough, you feel something hard press against your bottom through the fabric of his jeans. 

Instinctively, you shift against it, the friction making him pause for a moment. A low sound escapes him then, the first hint that he too is becoming undone.

His calloused hands tighten slightly, without warning, Victor lifts you easily, as though you weigh nothing at all. Your legs wave in the air briefly before he sets you down again, this time sprawled over his desk.

He stands between your legs, dividing them slowly with his knee, gaze boring into every curve of your body. All while he unbuckles his belt. The sound of it dropping to the floor without a single care made you shiver, his hands then gliding over your thighs.

You’d expected him to keep up his teasing pace. But once Victor decides he wants something, that patience gives way to something far more… erratic.

His cock is huge. And before you can even begin to ponder how on earth it’d fit, he’s dragging you closer and aligning himself with your cunt. He can tell by the look on your face that you’re nervous, “Relax… Let me take care of you….”

When he pushes himself in, he observes the way you stretch around him with glee. A strangled breath leaving his throat. Even after that, he still can’t keep quiet. He whines, groans, growls, his breath hot on your skin as he leans over you, placing a hand beside your head. Then, suddenly, he thrusts into you, leaning down, nipping at your neck, hard enough to make you yelp.

It only makes him harder.

He picks up his pace faster than intended, aching to use that whole of yours.  “Oh- Haah-... Yes- such a.. hah- good… wonderful-” Wrapping a hand round your throat, he squeezes, and he can’t help but to laugh. Keeping you pinned, using you like a toy for his own pleasure until you squeeze tight around him.

He notices, his cock twitching in response. Your cunt pulsating, slick wet slapping echoing through the room, your helpless whines overshadowed by his breathless grunts. He runs a hand through his hair, fingertips digging into your skin like he could claw his way into you.

You cum first, a series of praise wheezing from his lips. But, still, he remains relentless, if not more so.

He follows you shortly. Nestling himself deep inside, shoving you down on his cock, filling your cunt with his load. His teeth gritted, his chest vibrating as he murmured, his hips swaying as he gave you a few last thrusts like he needed you to take every last drop.

When he pulls out, he can’t help but stifle a laugh as he watches in amusement. His cum slowly seeping out of you, dripping onto his hardwood desk. Your breathless body twitching, bruised and red with his handprints.

“Perfect,” he pants softly, leaning over you to catch his breath. 

Afterward, he steps back just enough to regain his composure, taking in the sheer mess he’d made. He adored it. “Let’s… hah, let's get you cleaned up,” he breathes, knowing exactly how important aftercare is for someone like you.

Requests are open btw :p

NSFW CONTENT BELOW - MDNI Ao3 link → click here

words: 1,794

summary: After escaping a scheduled hanging at Strawberry, Micah had slithered his way back to Horseshoe Overlook. Since he knew no one would care to throw any celebrations, he thought he’d pay you a little visit after dark.

!! content: oral sex, fingering, blow jobs, dirty talk

A warm breeze drifted through Horseshoe Overlook. Not too long ago, Javier had been playing his guitar, others huddled around to listen. But now the sun had set, and the camp had grown peacefully quiet.

Only you and Hosea remained by the campfire as it crackled, throwing orange sparks into the dark, and you downed the last of your coffee. 

“Think I’ll call it a night,” Hosea said softly, tucking his book into a pocket and rising from his chair.

You yawned, rubbing at your eyes. “Same here.”

“Even after a coffee?” He chuckled fondly, before turning toward his tent. “Rest well, if you can.”

You only smirked in response, setting your cup down on the dirt. Stretching your limbs, you let the warmth of the flames linger on your skin just a little longer, before retiring to your tent for the night.

Once inside, you stripped off your outdoor clothes and crawled under a blanket you’d been lucky enough to find. But as you did, your eyes couldn’t help drifting to the bedroll beside yours, one you’d laid out for a certain someone who hadn’t been around lately.

However, you pushed the thought aside. It was time to rest, hoping for a dream of bliss that swept you away for the night. But that was when you cursed yourself. Hosea had been right, it was a bad idea to drink coffee before bed.

Thirty minutes had passed and you were still twisting and turning, your mind restless as you wrestled with the blanket. Huffing, you then buried your head in your cot and resorted to counting sheep. But as you fought with the lingering caffeine buzz, you failed to hear the rustle coming from outside.

Bushes shook, twigs snapped, and quietly, the tent flap creeped open. You’d somehow had just begun to settle, counting sheep finally starting to work, when a hand grabbed onto your shoulder.

You gasped, nearly a scream, but a rough hand clamped over your mouth.

“Damn woman,” a voice gravelled into an all too familiar chuckle.

You sat up and yanked his hand away from your mouth, earning a gruff remark. “Micah?” you whispered, shifting around in your cot.

“Aw, what, you miss me?” he asked smugly, a grin spreading across his face as he opened his arms for a hug.

A few seconds passed, you couldn’t make him out all too clearly in the dark, but the stench of whiskey hit you like a train. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” You spat out.

“Micah Bell, gettin’ himself hanged?” You would’ve slapped him, but instead you shoved him back.

He only laughed, way too low for your liking. “Now, now, don’t be so hostile. I’m alive ain't I?” And his hand slowly snaked its way onto the blanket covering your leg.

“That ain’t the point, and you know it.” You shook your head. “Does Dutch even know you’re back?”

“Nah,” he said, leaning in, dipping his head along your neck. “Though he’ll be hearin’ soon enough.”

Micah’s mustache brushed over your skin, catching a whiff of his breath. “Really?” you scoffed, pushing him back again, it wouldn’t have been Micah Bell if he’d snaked in here sober.

“Aw, come on,” he groaned. “You must’ve missed me somethin’ fierce.” He leaned in again without a care in the world. “Play nice.”

“I ain’t seen you in weeks, and you expect me to play nice?” you shot back, whispering sharp.

“What if I told you I got somethin’ nice for ya?” he hummed against your ear.

You squinted through the darkness, searching for his eyes to see if he was pulling your leg, but the darkness swallowed him whole. Micah just took your silence for a yes, pushing you down onto the cot.

He hovered over you. His hands found their way beneath the blanket, sliding under your night garments. Your body tensed at first, but relaxed as he whispered against your neck.

“Darlin’,” He murmured in a slur, pressing down a kiss. “Oh how I’ve missed you.”

Deep down, you knew he was just spouting out a big fat lie. He always said stuff like that to butter you up, but hell, it worked like a charm every damn time. 

His hands roamed up and down your side, onto your breasts giving them a light squeeze. “All alone up in that big old bad country, without you, just weren’t right.”

You rolled your eyes and opened your mouth, about to say something back, but the moment his fingers drifted down so suddenly to your heat, your breath caught. He wasted no time in letting you know what he wanted, as per usual. 

All it took was for you to huff and shuffle closer, him sliding just a single digit in, brushing his thumb over your clit.

He then slid another in, two. “Ain’t that sound so pretty?” he cooed, listening to that soft sound you made, starting to move them in and out slowly.

Then, like always, he grew impatient. He slid in another, three, curling them upward, and you had to arch forward, gripping his arm. Pumping them in and out, you had to cover your mouth tight.

And after a while, his fingers growing slick, Micah got an idea and shifted behind you, settling you into his lap so that your back pressed against his chest.

“What if I fucked you like this, huh?” He grabbed your thigh, parting your legs as his fingers delved in deeper. A low wet sound bounced off the cotton walls of your tent, hoping no one was close enough to hear.

Heat rose within your gut, the sensation of his fingers etching into your cunt. You heatidly pressed your face into his neck, muffling a noise, as Micah fucked his fingers in and out. His usual scent of gun oil clung to his moustache, and you couldn’t help but nip at his skin to stifle your noises.

A gentle peck on his neck was all it took. Reciprocating his touch always drove Micah crazy. His movements soon grew sloppy, one finger slipping out, then another, until he finally froze. Choking out a groan, you started to press sloppy kisses along his neck, the rough stubble grazing your lips.

Then, you took his stray hand to where you wanted it, clasping it in your own, and shifted to face him atop his lap. Pressing your kiss onto his lips, grinding against him through the fabric of his pants. This time, your own hand traced down, fingers brushing against his tent.

Unbuckling his belt, ruffling with his pants, undoing his buttons. He was hard beneath your touch as you guided your thumb up and down his length, sliding it out. His fingers curled around yours, gripping your hand like he couldn’t wait long enough.

You wrapped your fingers around his cock, stroking up and down, and he suddenly jerked upward, “Fuck,” escaped his lips along with a low whine.

“Ain’t that sound so pretty?” you remarked, mimicking his tone, expecting at least a sour mutter from him in response.

But it only seemed to make him harder, jerking his hips upwards again as if he couldn’t get enough. You arched a brow, thinking a thought, before stroking him quicker, driving each movement into something teasing.

Letting go of his hand, you shuffled back slightly and dipped your head down. You gave him one last pump before giving him something far better. Your tongue swirled over him, before taking him in your mouth, just an inch at first.

Micah's chest rumbled, and you were going to tease him like he often did, but he had other plans. He was itching to grab a hold of something, aching to be the one in control, so he planted his hand firmly on top of your head, balling a fist of your hair and shoving you down to swallow him whole.

Humming low, you almost choked as his cock pressed against the back of your throat. He held you there for a long moment, drool spilling down your lips, before finally tugging you back up.

You hadn’t even gotten a chance to catch your breath before he shoved you back down, taking his length whole again. He muttered something inaudible, your hands bracing against his thighs to steady yourself.

“Look at you,” he droned out. “Things turn out real nice when you behave.”

He worked your mouth, growing rougher, chasing that high that drew closer every second your lips stayed wrapped around him. “Ain’t even been a whole month, and you’re still my little whore.”

Heat rose in your cheeks at his words. You tried to glare up at him, but it was near impossible with the sheer darkness and him holding your hair, using your mouth as he pleased.

However, after a few more seconds, your jaw started to ache, your chest tight. You pressed against his thighs, trying to push yourself up for something more than a few ragged breaths from your nose.

Micah loosened his grip just a little, but that didn’t mean he was finished yet. He pulled you up slowly, the head of his cock slipping from your lips with a wet sound, just for you to gasp and take him in your mouth again.

You weren’t letting up, not yet. You bobbed your head, sending a shiver through him until his chest grew heavy. His grip tightened around your hair again, his arm moving in sync with your mouth.

“Christ,” he breathed out.

That’s when you felt his cock twitch against your tongue, before you sealed your lips around him and grazed his head with a swirl. A line of hitched breaths tore from his throat, before he pressed you down hard one final time.

In a hushed whine, he spilled into your mouth, hot, his release sliding down your throat as you winced. Micah held you there until he was sure you’d taken every drop, his fist still tangled in your hair. 

After a while, he loosened his grip, “Hell,” he rasped, “reckon you been practicin’ without me.” he mocked as he leant back onto his elbows.

You pushed yourself up with a cough, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. “Oh shut up Micah,” you muttered, voice coarse and throat aching unbelievably hard.

Micah just drew out a laugh, that deep, annoying sound, and ran a hand through your hair, smoothing down where he’d ruffled it up. “Mm, that’s the thing ’bout you,” he dragged. “Always so feisty.”

“What’s that nice thing you got me anyway?” you asked, leaning into his touch like you were some mutt getting petted.

He tipped his head back, glad you’d asked. “Me. Don’t get no finer than that.”

A/N: Just a short one for now, since I’m working on another that is a lot more lengthy. I tried going for something a little more soft?? To weigh out a difference in my smuts, lmao.

NSFW CONTENT BELOW - MDNI Ao3 link → click here

words: 1,748

summary: As the Arataki Gang wandered the streets of the annual Summer Festival, browsing stalls and on their way to the fireworks, Itto found himself more distracted by you than the celebrations.

!! content: smut, publix sex, size difference, teasing

It was a warm evening in Inazuma City, and the Summer Festival thrived. Laughter rippled through the plaza, the air rich with the scent of grilled skewers. The mood was almost perfect, until a certain Oni started to get a little rowdy.

“Come on!” Itto whined, tugging at your wrist as he trudged alongside you, towering over the crowd.

“No, Itto.” You shook your head, resisting his pull. “Just wait.”

He huffed, pouting as if he was a child. “But I don’t want to.”

Shinobu was rather excited to see the fireworks this year. Normally the gang watched from afar at a quiet hillside, but Yoimiya had promised a new and improved ‘spectacular’ show, and the gang was determined to get a front row view.

Itto, meanwhile, was restless in a way that had nothing to do with the fireworks. He’d been dragged away from stall after stall, scolded by shopkeepers for being too loud, and now he was excited with an entirely different kind of heat.

That sharp tug you’d given his collar earlier had sent a rush of blood somewhere not so innocent. His cheeks had flushed, his grin grew a little too wide, and every step he took beside you had him fighting the urge to pull you in close.

The gang had moved a little ahead, but their chatter blurred into the crowd with how intently Itto’s gaze started to bore into you.

“You walk too fast,” he muttered, feathering a hand over your hip, and the all too deliberate touch made him smirk when you sighed. “Why don’t we take a rest?”

Then, you felt his fingers graze your wrist before he slipped his hand into yours, as you both continued walking through the street.

“I know what you’re doing, Itto.” You narrowed your eyes at him, but took his hand anyway.

He glanced down with an innocent smile. “What? Me? I’m just holdin’ your hand. A totally normal thing to do!”

But the way his thumb started to trace slow circles against your skin made you think otherwise.

“Uh huh.” You deadpanned. 

A few minutes passed, Itto now seemingly behaving. You passed a couple knick-knacky looking stalls, some selling homemade decorations or jewellery and such. Though, none of it caught your eye.

But before you knew it, Itto’s eyes lit up instead. “Whoa, check that out!” he gasped, barreling toward a stall as he hurriedly pulled you along.

It was a display of glittering trinkets, but before you could even make them out, Itto spun you around in a complete 180, leading you away from the crowd. Before you could protest, he had you slipping into an alleyway you hadn’t even realized was there.

The sounds of the festival faded, replaced by Itto’s heavy breath and your own quickening heartbeat. 

He leaned down slightly, grinning. “What about now? Do I still have to wait?” His tall frame blocked most of the lantern light from above, as the two of you stood toe to toe.

“Itto-” You were about to scold him, but as you caught sight of his rising chest right in your face, his abs, your voice fell silent.

“You know I’m not good at being patient.” He hummed, anchoring his foot between your legs, his knee grazing over your inner thigh.

You let out a sharp breath, glancing around wearily as you tried to push him back. “Itto, don’t be ridiculous!"

“Well I don’t see anyone looking.” He gave a half assed glance down the alley, your hands still resting against his chest. 

“Someone could find us!” You hushed sharply, but his knee grazed just a little higher, his hand travelling down to your hips, all while squashing you further into the wall.

You swallowed hard, face turning hot. You wouldn’t be lying if the idea had turned you on, the sensation in your stomach fighting against your worries. And after a while of Itto’s persistence, it seemed to be winning.

You glanced up at him, and his crimson eyes caught yours, glinting in the dimness. You couldn’t hear anyone nearby, nor could you see anyone.

Itto leaned in ever more slightly, knee pressing harder. Then, he gave you that look. That one where he cocks his eyebrow as if to ask, “So?”

And it was all too much.

You lifted your hands from his chest and grabbed him by his collar, pulling him into a kiss. Messy and hot, his fangs grazed your lower lip, searching for an opening.

His tongue slipped in and his hands started to roam, soon snaking beneath your clothes. Quickly, he skimmed across your stomach, further and further, until he reached your breast. Playing, and then, an unexpected pinch.

You yelped, quickly pressing your hand over your mouth as you glanced around, but Itto’s pace didn’t slow a bit.

“Wait, I think someone heard-” you whispered, but before you could finish, his lips had drifted to your neck, nipping in a way that made your knees feel weak.

“Relax, just stay quiet.” he teased, leaning back just enough to peer down at you. Yet it was rich coming from him, teasing or not, he was the one who was always too loud.

You gave him a look, one of which asked if he was serious, but nodded. But that was all Itto needed. 

He pressed up against you harder as he dipped his head again, lips trailing. His hands slid their way to your breasts once more, exploring your body with his touch.

“Mm, you’re so jumpy.” he muffled against your skin, his smile obvious in the way his mouth moved. 

“Just make it quick.” You rolled your eyes, replying quietly.

His thumb brushed over your waist before he spun you around, your cheek almost palming into the wall as you grunted. He always had to turn things rough.

Itto’s chest rumbled. “Quick? Oh, yeah?” he scoffed, but a low chuckle followed after.

Your breath hitched as his hand slipped lower, fondling with the hem of your panties, tugging lightly just to make you squirm. He watched your reaction, his horns nearly butting the wall.

“Y’know, you’re way too cute when you’re nervous.” He said, palming your ass, then pressing the tent in his pants right up against it.

He was hard, possibly harder than hard. He hurriedly started to unbuckle his belt, the soft clink chiming down the alley.

Soon enough, his hands found you again, squeezing with enough strength to remind you just how much taller he was.

You let out a shaky breath as he slipped your panties to your ankles. Then, you tried to peer over your shoulder, just to make sure you both were definitely alone. But instead, you caught sight of him freeing his cock, pumping it once.

Instinctively, you gulped. The memory hitting you, how you’d never been relatively quiet when he’d had you before. And now, facing it in real time, you yelped again. He struck his hand down onto your ass sharply, slapping it.

“Itto!” Was your best attempt at scolding him, but the way he slicked his head along your slit had you shutting up instantly.

Your gasp caught in your throat as he quickly pushed himself in, stretching you slowly, his hot breath lowering against your ear.

“Focus on me.” he whispered, an attempt to ease your worries. One of his hands slid up your front, fingers splaying over your neck while the other steadied you in place.

He rocked his hips back and forth, slowly, then faster. “There you go, ain’t so bad.”

The alley felt smaller now, your chest against the wall, his frame caging you in completely as his cock throbbed.

Each thrust had Itto growing needier as you tried to keep up with his quickening pace. But every time you tried to stifle those soft noises of yours, he just drove himself deeper. The sound of his uneven breath, the sound of yours.

“Shut up, someone might hear.” you hissed in a whisper, trying to keep your voice down. But his own not so soft noises were like music to your ears.

He muttered something into your ear, but his movements were anything but patient, he was now rutting into you like he couldn’t go deep enough.

“You feel so good,” he moaned, squeezing your neck just a little, sending you arching up against him. “Bet you wanna make a little noise though, don’tcha?”

You shook your head to the best of your ability, breath coming out hot and shaky. 

“Liar.” he teased, half laughing, and his hips snapped forward with an extra force that made you finally sound out a whimper. 

Your face flushed red, eyes darting. His hand rose to your breast again, his thumb brushing over your nipple through your clothes. He squeezed, trying to force another sound out of you.

But when he realised you weren’t going to be caught off guard again, he became relentless. His pace turned messy, each thrust knocking you forward as he growled while arching you in closer.

“Ah, Itto,” you whispered, breath catching as he found just the right spot that made your own heat tighten. “Right there.”

He kept up, his cock slid in and out, his broad arms keeping your balance in check. 

“Go on baby.” He hummed, pressing closer. 

The build up heated like a storm. He grappled, pressed, nuzzling into your skin as he fucked into you. Hot breath running down your neck, his hand snaking to your clit and rubbing hard.

The sheer thought of someone stumbling across the two of you just made his cock throb on even more achingly.

Soon enough, the soft noises that soon escaped your lips had him going crazy. 

“Oh fuck.” He panted out, as he felt your cunt squeeze tight around his length.

And before either of you knew it, he pulled out, finishing messily across your ass, painting a messy picture in white as he ragged into your ear.

You both stayed there, bodies close, his grip still tight as you both struggled to steady your breath. Itto soon peered down at the mess he’d made, watching a slow trail of his cum slip down your skin and onto the pavement.

He opened his mouth to say something, but a sudden bang boomed through the night. An explosion of colours, orange, green, blue, lit up the sky above, shining over Inazuma City.

“Damn,” was all he huffed. “We should’ve held out for, like, one more minute.”

A/N: Was originally for my Day 1 of Kinktober 2025 but I gave up since I only have a month to write 30 more. I am NOT doing that.

if you're comfortable ofc, how would heisenberg reaction to one of his kids coming out as trans?

I love this request, I’m so happy to write it :) First, I would like to disclose that I am not trans myself, so I’ve done further research and hopefully this is okay <3

dad! heisenberg headcannons (pt. 4) - heisenberg & trans! child

Heisenberg had noticed something had been going on for a while, but he thought it’d been something to do with puberty. So when the truth finally came out, and his kid came out as transgender, it wasn’t what he expected, but it didn’t matter. What did matter was that his kid trusted him enough to be honest.

“Dad… I need to tell you something.”

Heisenberg kept his eyes on his work bench, sparing a small glance over his shoulder. “Go on.”

“No, Dad, I need to tell you something.” His child choked out, voice tender and trembling. 

Heisenberg almost immediately turned around at the sound, his full attention now on them. “Hey,” he hushed, noticing the small tear stains on their cheeks, “what’s with the tears, huh?”

“I’ve known for a while, but I’m scared you won’t understand.”

For a second, Heisenberg just stared. Then, slowly, he stepped forward and pulled them into a hug. “What’re you talking about? You can tell me anything, you know that.”

“Okay,” After some time, his child breathed out, sort of muffled into his shirt. “I am… transgender.”

Heisenberg broke the hug just enough to look down at them, still holding them close. “Transgender?”

“Are you mad at me?”

He hummed, almost a sigh of relief. “Of course not, why would you ever think that?” He pulled them into another hug, tighter this time. “God, you had me worried for a sec.”

“You could be a damn cog wheel for all that matters. You’re mine, and you’re brave as hell. I’m so proud of you.”

But then came the confusion, not so much about what it meant, but about how he was going to help. He was never the best at emotions, still, he figured if he listened, kept trying, kept researching, he’d get it right.

He asked if they had a new name they wanted to go by, and what they wanted to be referred to as. And once they told him, he picked it up almost right away. Heisenberg was a fast learner, through and through.

If his kid ever got emotional and felt dysphoric, Heisenberg honestly wasn’t sure how to comfort them at first. Even though he was an engineer, that kind of pain wasn’t something he could just fix. So he simply asked if there was anything he could do. And whatever the answer was, yes, he’d do it.

If his kid ever brought home clothes that didn’t fit right, Heisenberg wouldn’t hesitate to learn a little textiles. Altering hems, loosening seams, whatever made them feel better. He’d subtly start using gender affirming nicknames for them, amidst off hand comments and whenever he’d praise them.

Over time, as he watched them grow, becoming more comfortable in their own skin, Heisenberg couldn’t have been prouder.